"Breakdowns can create breakthroughs. Things fall apart so things can fall together." Anonymous
Chapter 5 – Learning About How to Be Comforted
He was dreaming again. He had to be dreaming. Why else would Michael be in his bed? Looking around, he realized with a start that he wasn't in his bed at all. He was in Michael's. He was back in the warehouse.
"Help!" He tried to say, but nothing came out of his mouth. His throat was swollen.
Abruptly, Michael was there with him, one hand on his leg with the other on him, on his groin, stroking him for all he was worth. Hotch moaned at the feeling, trying both to pull away from the hand and push into it at the same time.
"You're my whore, aren't you Aaron," the look on Michael's face was positively lecherous, making him turn his head away with a cry. Then, fingertips were touching his anus, pushing in dry, making his flesh burn with the pain, with the shock of what was happening to him.
Aaron.
"No! Not again!" He tried to yell, to shout and make the bastard hear him, but all that came out of his mouth was a small puff of smoke.
Suddenly the taste of peanut butter was back in his mouth and he could feel the sickening feel of Michael's cock pushing into his unprepared flesh. The combination of the two was too much, and he choked at the feel of vomit bubbling out of his throat.
"Time for your medicine, Aaron," Michael laughed, handing him a big jar of peanut butter. "My pretty pretty Aaron. You want it, don't you? You want me to make you bleed. Feel this?" Michael pounded himself into his ass and Hotch howled.
"Aaron, I need you to wake up now," Rossi's voice finally broke through his dream and with a mighty effort, he wrenched his eyes open.
"D-Dave?" He blurted out in surprise. Around them was the scent of sickness and to his great mortification he could see that the trail of vomit led back to him. "God, Dave. I'm so sorry," he gasped out as he moved away from Dave's comforting arms.
Perching on the opposite side of the bed, Hotch roughly pulled off his soiled shirt; the task made more difficult by the tremors in his hands. The terror was still rolling through him, and it was all he could do just to keep from breaking out into sobs. He knew that Dave was still on the other side of the bed, and he couldn't let himself breakdown like that in front of him. He just couldn't. Barely aware of it, he wrapped his arms around himself and began rocking back and forth with his eyes closed, his heartbeat pounding loudly in his head.
He nearly jumped out of his skin with he felt Dave touch his arm, the surprise allowing a choked sob to make it past his firmly clenched lips.
"Dave, don't," Hotch pleaded, turning his head away from the other man, desperately not wanting his oldest friend to see him unraveling like this.
He didn't know he was cold until he felt Dave's warm arm drape around his shoulders.
"Aaron—," Dave started, only to be interrupted by Hotch recoiling backwards at the sound of his name.
"Don't call me that," Hotch put his hands over his ears and resumed rocking. After a moment, he dropped his hands and moved them back around his chest.
He couldn't stop shaking. There were tears in his eyes that wouldn't go away, no matter how many times he angrily swiped at his face. And underlying all of it, he could feel Michael's hands on him; hear his voice whispering and laughing in his ears.
"Hotch," he heard Dave's voice cutting through his misery and he finally looked up.
For some reason, that simple word was all that it took to send him over the edge, and abruptly his tears were spilling down his face, his shoulders shaking with the force of his sobs. Somehow he managed to pull himself to his feet; turning his back on Dave as he tried to get away from the sight of his worried face. He glanced at the time and was unsurprised that it was after three in the morning.
He worked his way across his room and into the bathroom, where he pointedly avoided looking at his reflection. He knew who would be staring back at him. It would be Michael, just like it was in all of his other fucking nightmares. It didn't matter that he was awake. Michael was always there, leering at him behind his back.
He brushed his teeth brusquely, trying to get the taste of vomit off of his tongue as he did. He could see Dave in his peripheral but didn't say anything. There wasn't anything to say. His tears were still falling, and his hands were still shaking, but there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing at all.
It wasn't until he finished with his teeth that Dave tried speaking to him again. By this point, Hotch felt wretched enough that he didn't care much one way or another.
"Feel better?"
Hotch gave his old a friend a look that told him exactly how he felt about such a stupid question.
"Guess not," Dave shrugged.
Hotch wiped futilely at his face once more. His tears seemed to be slacking off finally, but his shudders hadn't. He stepped forwards, but Dave was still standing in the doorway in his way.
"Dave, please move," he tried to order, his voice coming out much weaker than he had hoped for.
He wasn't sure how much more interaction he could take. He just wanted to go curl up in a dark corner somewhere and hide.
"Hotch," Dave said with a sigh, holding out a clean t-shirt to him.
"Thanks," he whispered, putting it on clumsily. His trembling fingers didn't want to work.
He started to move back towards his bed, only to be stopped by an insistent hand on his arm.
"Where do you think you're going?" Dave demanded with a stern look in his eyes.
He flinched back and immediately saw his old friend's face turn apologetic. Damn it, he was an adult. He wasn't afraid of crap like this. He wasn't!
I haven't flinched like that in years, he thought furiously.
"Come on Hotch," Dave waved his hand at the door. "You're not going back to sleep there. Your sheets are still messed up."
"Just show me where some spares are then," he bit out through clenched teeth. His tears were threatening to come back, and he honestly didn't care about the fucking sheets.
"Hotch," Dave shook his head and then grabbed his arm more decisively. "Come on. You're sleeping in my bed tonight."
"What?" He tried to stop and turn to look, but Dave wouldn't let him.
"So I can make sure you don't choke," his friend all but growled at him. "Now get a move on!"
It didn't take long to get to the other man's room, and once they were there, Hotch felt the hand on his arm directing him into the rumpled bed in the center of the room. Once more, he felt a burst of guilt as he realized his nightmares must have woken Dave up—again, he thought angrily.
"Move over," Dave directed, pointing a finger to the center of the bed. He tried arguing once more, but was silenced with another glare.
He got into bed and lay there stiffly on his back. After turning out the lights, Dave followed him in, lying down close beside him. He wondered if the other man could feel the shaking of his body, or the way the tension was rolling off of his muscles from his efforts at trying to control himself.
"Damn it Hotch, if your old man were still alive, I'd beat the absolute tar out of him. He sure as hell didn't do you any favors when he taught you to hold all of your emotions in, Hotch. I've thought that for years, but never have had a chance to do anything about it."
He blinked. Whatever he was expecting his old friend to say, that certainly was not it.
"I'm going to teach you something that you need to know, and I don't want you giving me any flak about it, got me?" Dave said forcefully, his voice just above a whisper.
"Dave?" He questioned; a touch uncertainly.
"Just keep your mouth shut," Dave instructed, moving a bit closer to him.
He tried to remain still and not move away, but it wasn't easy, especially not knowing what was coming next. He could feel his body begin trembling even harder, and he had to close his eyes to control himself.
"Here's what's gonna happen: I'm gonna put my arms around you and you're going to do the same to me. It's what people do to comfort one another, Hotch, and it's long past time that you learned how this works."
"You can't possibly be serious," he managed to choke out as he felt Dave's arms move around his body.
"Damn right I'm serious," his friend growled. "Now turn over and put your head on my chest, Hotch, before I have to show you just how fucking serious I am."
Hotch found himself moving according to the other man's instructions. He told himself that he was only doing it because he was tired, because he was emotionally exhausted. Why else would he now be curled up next to Dave in his own bed, feeling the other man's arms around him?
"Next you relax, Hotch. You relax and you cry on me, getting my shirt wet. And you know what I'm going to do?"
He shook his head, completely out of his element.
"I'm going to keep on holding you, Hotch. Eventually you'll tire yourself out, and you'll fall asleep. And I'm just going to keep holding you. And tomorrow, when we wake up? We're not going to pretend like this never happened. This did happen. I comforted you and you felt better for it. And that's all there is to it, get me?"
He nodded slowly, his cheek moving up and down against Dave's warm chest. His friend wasn't as built as he had been back ten years ago, but he hadn't let himself go either. He was still just a solid core of power, of strength, with just a little softness around the edges now.
"I can't just cry, Dave," he whispered harshly into the darkness surrounding them.
"Then just relax Hotch," Dave answered, running his hand gently through his hair.
Hotch closed his eyes tighter and did as the older man instructed, hanging on to his friend tightly as he continued to ride out the waves of his leftover terror. The smell of peanut butter had finally dissipated, leaving nothing but the clean smell of Dave in the air. The other man's aftershave was understated, just barely present at the edges of his senses, but it was enough to surround him, make him feel secure that this was Dave and not Michael that he was currently curled up so securely against.
"I hate feeling like this," he finally said after a few more minutes of silence. His face was nearly buried in his friend's chest, and it was a wonder that Dave understood him at all.
"I know," the hand was still in his hair. He wondered if Dave understood the effect that simple touch was having on him. It was gentle, comforting even. It made him want to break into a thousand pieces and melt, all at the same time.
"I hate Michael. I hate what happened," he bit out with a small strangled sob. His shoulders were beginning to shake again as his tears started up once more.
"Go on Hotch, let it out. I'm not going anywhere."
"It hurt," he gasped out, tightening his hold on his friend, and being comforted as Dave's arms pulled him just slightly closer.
"And the things," Hotch swallowed roughly, glad that Dave couldn't see his face. "The things he had m-me do, Dave. He made me feel so dirty," he shuddered again, his mind trying to take him back to that horrible time.
"He made you ashamed," Dave's hand began to stroke the side of his face.
Hotch nodded his response, not worried that his friend wouldn't feel his reply, considering their proximity. His throat felt as though it had closed up again.
It had just hurt so much, he thought exhaustedly, putting his head down and letting his tears fall silently onto Dave's t-shirt.
It took a long time that night, but eventually his tears finally stopped and dried up. His breathing began to level out sometime after that too, getting more in sync with Dave's own as he finally began to relax.
"Sleep, Hotch," Dave whispered at long last, pressing a small kiss onto his forehead.