Disclaimer: See first chapter.

Comfort the Fearful Part I

Robert Heinlein wrote, "Courage is the complement of fear. A man who is fearless cannot be courageous. (He is also a fool.)" - Lazarus Long, Time Enough for Love

Reid certainly was not a fool, nor did he feel particularly courageous. If truth be told, at the moment, as he sat on the floor, his aching back against the wall, his eyes squinted in pain, he felt rather like a scared little boy. His heart continued to beat a staccato pattern in his chest and his breathing remained ragged and labored. Calm down! He ordered himself. He would face whoever was on the other side of the door with as much bravery as he could muster, admittedly though, that wasn't much. If only Morgan or Hotch were here. If only I could reach one of them on the cell phone. If only I hadn't lost my gun. Strangely enough, Reid's list of 'if onlys' served to calm his nerves a bit. His breathing had nearly normalized as the door began to creak open.

The crack in the door cast a sliver of light across the room, bathing Reid's face in an eerie glow. Unable to move, he sat propped against the wall, shivering in pain and fear. He could hear heavy breathing on the other side of the door as it slowly inched its way open, seemingly of its own accord. The bed obscured Reid's view; he couldn't see who was entering the room. He could only see the top of the door over the bed and the bottom of the door under the bed which showed him the tip of a white and blue tennis shoe clad foot.

Odd, Reid didn't think that the unsub would wear tennis shoes. He pictured the man wearing heavy boots, much like Hankel had. As a matter of fact, the mental picture that Reid held in his mind of the person on the other side of the door was entirely Hankel complete with a syringe in his hand and a maniacal look on his face. True the young man had been troubled and had a number of personalities brought on by years of abuse from his father, but in Reid's mind the young man had been, in a manner of speaking, a monster. Something Reid secretly feared he himself would become thanks to his own less than ideal upbringing, endurance of years of unmerciful bullying at the hands of peers who apparently thought him to be worth nothing more than a punching bag, and his mother's mental illness.

Though Reid understood that his fear was irrational and that Hankel was dead, he couldn't stop the images of his confinement and subsequent torture at the hands of the man from bombarding his mind. Nor could he stop himself from trembling as these memories forced him to relive the horror. It was strange, in one part of his mind he was completely rational, he could reason with himself and tell himself that all was okay, Hankel was dead. But, there was another part of his mind, the part that seemed to have hijacked his body, which insisted that Hankel was on the other side of the door very much alive and that he was going to come in to put the poison in his veins again. Then, Hankel's personality would change, quick as lightning, and he would be at the mercy of a madman intent upon beating the devil out of him. His rational mind kept talking to him calmly and insistently, Hankel is not alive, he is dead, you killed him, remember? He can't hurt you anymore. He's dead. You are safe. While he calmly rationalized with himself, another part of his mind kept him cowering in fear, reliving the horror and seeing Hankel step into the room, towering over him, like a shadow.

He didn't hear the soft questioning voice calling out for Braden, nor did he see the figure of a small boy step tentatively into the room. He kept muttering a steady mantra of, "Hankel's not alive, he's dead, come on snap out of it! You're okay; no one's going to hurt you. You're okay. You're okay…" as he huddled himself into as small of a ball as he possibly could, trying to make himself invisible.

Aiken stepped into the room, he could have sworn that when he walked into the house that he had heard a voice, but it wasn't very loud and he was a little afraid. He had gone into the kitchen to get a drink when he heard the voice again, this time louder and angry. The next statement that Aiken heard caused him to drop the glass he had been holding with a loud crash, "Whoever you are, I have a gun and I am not afraid to use it." He should have bolted right then, but to his mind it sounded a little like Braden. Could Braden have been here the whole time? Maybe he hadn't searched the house well enough.

He had spent at least two hours walking around the house and into the woods looking for his brother before returning to the house that he now recognized as Savannah's, her white pick-up in the drive giving it away. Knowing that it was Savannah's couch that he had slept upon was a comfort, though he wondered why he hadn't recognized the place earlier. Looking around, it was as if his eyes had been reopened, he could see more clearly. He was a bit alarmed to see that there was a black vehicle in the drive in addition to Savannah's truck and wondered if she had a visitor. When he walked into the house he had been expecting to see Savannah, a welcome smile on her face, but had been greeted by a sense of emptiness and the sound of a voice that he couldn't quite make out. It was so faint that he thought he had imagined it at first until he heard it again when he was in the kitchen. Where was Savannah? Where was the person who owned the big black vehicle? Was Savannah okay?

Aiken slowly made his way toward the bedroom from which he thought he had heard Braden's voice. He attempted to call out to his brother as he went along, but for some reason could not seem to find his voice as it came out in a hoarse whisper. As he reached for the knob to open the door, his hand shook and he suddenly lost all confidence that he would find his brother on the other side of the door. Instead, a sickening thought occurred to him and an image of a bloody Braden broke into his mind.

Pulling the door open with a visibly shaking hand, Aiken called out, "Braden?" It came out as no more than a harsh whisper. He had to get rid of this vision of his brother's body, broken and bloody. It couldn't be true. Braden couldn't be dead. Willing himself not to cry, he walked over to the bed, expecting to see his brother there. A sob caught in his throat as he saw, not his brother, but someone else – a man – cowering on the floor.

Reality came slowly to Reid. He didn't know how long he sat there trying to reason with himself only to have some insane part of his mind hold him victim to a paralyzing fear that threatened to tear him apart. When he did finally come to awareness outside of himself, breaking out of his acute terror, he saw a young boy standing before him, tears running down his face. It took a few moments, but Reid, blinking away the disturbing images of Hankel, which threatened to descend upon his mind should he allow them to, was able to sit up, albeit with a great deal of pain.

"Aiken?" He asked softly, his voice coming out in no more than a croak. He recognized him from the picture the BAU had procured from the boy's father. The boy continued to stand there, staring off to some point in front of him, tears streaming down his face as though he hadn't heard Reid.

"Aiken," his voice came out little more than a whisper. Still the boy did not move, save to sway a little on his feet and shift his gaze a little more to the right. And, as though he saw something horrific there, his eyes widened and Reid could see something in them akin to the panic he had mere moments before experienced himself.

"Aiken," Reid attempted to move toward the child, but his muscles, strained in his recent panic attack, resisted the movements he made and kept him stiffly in place. He would have to try to get the child to come to him or figure out a way to loosen his tense muscles. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, he coached himself and briefly closed his eyes, willing himself to relax.

Opening his eyes, he saw that Aiken was in even greater distress. The boy's gaze was settled on a fixed point just to the right of Reid and it seemed as though the boy had ceased to breathe. Reid forced himself not to panic, he waited, counting to a beat of five and caught the slight movement of the boy's chest as he took a single hitched breath.