A wise king once said, "Faithful are the wounds of a friend"

An unknown time later, Reid began to hear things again. His first thought was surprise that he was still alive. He lay still, trying to understand where he was. Gradually life returned to his limbs, and he opened his eyes.

He was shocked to see the sky above him. He was no longer on the jet. He was cold and hurting.

He moved his hands to feel the ground he was laying on, but before his mind could register, unbelievable pain shot through him.

He felt suddenly light headed, and his movements seemed to be at half speed, floating.

He turned his head and vomited onto the ground, closed his eyes again and fought to regain control through the pain.

Slowly, very slowly, he turned his head the other way and looked at his arm.

His left arm was twisted un-naturally, white bloodied bone sticking through at the elbow.

Reid was sick again and then he fainted.

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After a time, he opened his eyes again. His throat hurt where he had been throttled, but every time he coughed, his body shook, and moved his arm.

Slowly, carefully, he sat up. Wincing in pain, he checked himself out.

His hair was sticky with the blood from a wound on his forehead. There was a tender spot on his right hip, but his legs seemed okay.

"Hotch? Where are you?" He realized he was whispering. Looking around him into the darkness, he felt the tension build up as he realized he was alone in the dark, and he had no idea where he was.

The moonlight picked out the silhouette of the jet against the sky.

But something was wrong.

Very gently, he lifted his arm and laid it across his chest. Holding it very still, tears streaming down his face, he got on his feet.

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"Hotch! Can you hear me? HOTCH!"

He heard a soft moan from inside the jet. As he got closer, he could see the jet had smashed into the trees. Snapped in half.

Reid stepped carefully through the hole in the fuselage.

"Hotch! Are you in here?"

Reid could here Hotch's breathing. It didn't sound good.

"I'm coming!"

Reid painstakingly crossed to where he could just see Hotch in the faint light. He was terrified he would fall. If he did, he doubted he would be able to get up again. He felt sick with the pain, and the darkness frightened him.

He knew that there was a flashlight in the locker above where Hotch was laying. Reid hooked the fingers of his useless arm into his belt loops; he reached up and opened the locker.

He felt around for the flashlight, and retrieved it along with what he hoped was a first aid box.

Reid realized he was shaking. He closed his eyes tight and tried to concentrate his thoughts. Hotch would be relying on him to keep his head.

Come on Reid, you're supposed to be a genius.

He sat down next to Hotch and switched on the flashlight. He stood it up so that it would illuminate the inside of the jet.

Then he looked at Hotch.

Hotch was breathing shallowly, his eyes closed, The blood was thick and sticky across his face. The wound on his temple looked serious.

But his leg was worse.

Reid opened the First Aid Box.

"Hotch. Can you move your legs?"

Hotch moaned softly, but didn't move.

Using the towel he found in the box, Reid gently cleaned the blood out of Hotch's eyes.

"I think your leg may be broken." He looked around for something to brace his leg.

"Nice of him to leave this!" Reid said under his breath as he reached for the caliper that Benton had left behind.

Awkwardly, he cut the fabric from around the gash in his leg.

"Looks like this could do with some stitches," Reid said, "I'll just bandage it for now."

It took a long time for Reid to bandage the wound, as he could only use one hand. Very gently, he strapped the caliper to Hotch's leg.

"I'm sorry if I am hurting you," he said. "I wish you would wake up."

Hotch slowly opened his eyes and tried to focus.

"Reid? Is that you?" Hotch gripped Reid's wrist. "What happened?"

"I don't know, Hotch. But that wasn't Wesley Cross we had on the jet. It was Benton." Reid brushed Hotch's bloody hair from his face. "He tried to kill me."

"Tell me what happened!"

"The last thing I can remember before I woke up was Benton Cross with his hands around my throat, strangling me." His hand went to his neck. "I tried to call for you, but you were asleep."

"Drugged." said Hotch. "I can still feel it in my system. Seems like he hit me too." Hotch weakly moved his hand up to the wound in his temple.

Reid looked at his head wound. He didn't want to say how bad it looked. He tore part of the towel and made a pad. With a bandage, he tied it against the wound.

"I need to do something to immobilize my arm."

Hotch pulled himself upright, swayed a little, then leaned against the bulkhead. "I'll help you Reid. You stand still."

Reid stood still obediently as Hotch made a pad to go round the bone. Then he strapped Reid's arm to his body across his chest. Reid did his best to not cry out, but tears coursed down his cheeks, cutting through the dirt and blood.

"I'll go and check the pilot."

"No Hotch. I'll go. You're still drugged."

He turned away from Hotch, embarrassed for the tears. Maybe Hotch hadn't noticed, but it was unlikely. Angrily he wiped his face with the back of his hand

Reid climbed across the debris to the front of the jet. The pilot was still in his seat. Reid bent down next to him and felt for a pulse, but the pilot was dead. The bruises on his neck matched those on Reid's.

Reid went to the gun locker. It was open and empty.

He returned to Hotch.

"Pilot's dead." Reid put Hotch's arm around his shoulder. "And Benton Cross is armed. We can't stay here."

Reid picked up the flashlight, and with Hotch leaning heavily on him, they carefully climbed out of the plane into the woods beyond.

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Benton Cross sat 50yards from the jet watching. He had Reid's bag in front of him.. He took out the two mobile phones, opened the backs and took out the sim cards. It was easy to destroy them. He threw them into the undergrowth.

Then he took out the guns.

"Plenty of bullets," he smiled to himself,"But then, I only need two."

He watched as Reid and Hotch stumbled into the trees.

"But there's no rush." He leaned against the tree behind him.

"Killing is for the end. Time for a rest first."