"Hey—hey, you need to get out of here."

He blinked blearily, squinting through blurred vision to see the looming figure above. From what little he could make out, it was a man wearing the familiar blue uniform of a cop.

The officer sighed heavily, muttering something about junkies loitering around and plaguing the city. Spencer froze, froze because he didn't know where he was, froze because something was flickering in the corner of his eye and was the darkness smiling at him?

"Look, I don't know who you are or what you're doing here, but you can't sleep in a public location," the cop said firmly. When Spencer didn't move, the man snapped his fingers loudly, making the FBI agent flinch. "Hey, you hear me? Scram ."

He groaned, turning to shift away from the man and squeezing his eyes shut. He knew it was stupid, knew that only an idiot would give such an attitude to an officer, but he was so tired and the shadows were drawing closer and they were laughing so very loud.

Before he could even react, the officer grabbed a fistful of his shirt, tugging him forward. When Spencer's eyes flew open in a panicked frenzy, an agonizingly bright light was shining in his eyes and he recoiled as if he were dying.

"Jesus, how high are you?" the other man asked, releasing the young genius and letting him collapse against the alleyway wall.

"I…I need help," he gasped out. There was a strange chatter filling his ears and his mind felt so very foggy but through the haze he knew he had done something wrong. He knew that at some point he had promised himself, sworn to everything in his life, that he would never be at that alleyway and he had screwed it all up even though he couldn't remember why he made the promise in the first place.

"Get up. We're going to the station," the cop ordered. Spencer blinked slowly—this was all wrong, he thought. His head felt terrifyingly sluggish but even then he knew, knew that he shouldn't—couldn't—be arrested because he was…he was what? Why couldn't he remember?

"No," he murmured. This was all wrong and he needed help and he needed to call…Arnold? Alexander?

Wait, no. He remembered…Erin? No, that was close but not quite. It was at the tip of his tongue, the name of the one person he knew would always protect him. He knew he loved them, knew he admired them more than anyone, but who…?

Oh, yeah. Aaron .

"I said get up ," the cop repeated, voice becoming increasingly agitated. "Really, kid, I can't deal with this right now. Come with me or I'll make you do it, you understand me?"

"I need Aaron," he croaked. "Please. He can help me."

"At the station," was all the officer said as he hauled Spencer to his feet.

On the ride there in the cramped police car, he managed to gather his thoughts. He couldn't remember everything exactly and still felt as if his mind was stuffed with cotton, but he could recall that he was SSA Agent Spencer Reid and he by no means belonged in that alleyway or the back of that police car.

At least, he hadn't for several years. He couldn't make himself look down at his arm, afraid to see the proof that he had erased all of his progress of the past years, afraid to see the evidence that he had truly, really, royally fucked up.

What had happened? He could barely remember anything but a…a bathroom and Emily's comforting face and his own apartment growing more and more terrifying and then a hospital. He could see the anguished faces of the team and his stomach dropped as he realized who hadn't been there.

Emily.

And then it all came crashing back to him. Emily, amazing Emily with her jokes and her teasing and her everything, was gone. She was gone and he had run off into that alley and he had wanted to stop the voices and the laughter and the delusions and he had used the needle, used the needle he had sworn he would never touch again.

By the time he made it to the station, he was so disgusted, so disturbed, so horrified by himself that he could barely hear the officer as he stumbled out of the car. He had ruined everything and Emily was gone and everything was going wrong and it was all his fault, all his fault because he could have been there to help her, could have been there to save her. She had needed the team together, had needed him, and he had let her down.

He had let her down. He had failed her.

"You killed me."

He whirled around and there she was, standing there before him with her perfect hair and perfect eyes and perfect perfect perfect, but it wasn't her.

It wasn't her.

This didn't stop him from recoiling at the words, flinching away as if he had been slapped. She was approaching slowly, boots clicking against the ground, and his eyes were widening and he was backing up but she was coming closer and he was backed up against that police car and only distantly aware of the cop's alarmed voice ringing in the background.

"You did this," she said coldly, stopping barely a few feet before him. "You killed me, Spence ."

"No," his voice was small, more akin to a whimper than anything. She was right, she was right and he knew it, she was right because he should've been there, she was right because maybe if he had been, she would still be alive. She would still be there, able to comfort him and help him through all of this. But she wasn't. She wasn't and it was his fault and he felt like he couldn't breathe, felt like he was dying—

"Kid, you alright?"

He turned on his heel, finding himself facing Morgan. But it wasn't exactly him, Morgan's face blending with the officer's to create a horrible mix that made his head throb.

"Stop," he whispered, begging, pleading, for it to end. He wasn't ready, wasn't ready to face the same fate as his mother's, wasn't ready to give up even though he knew there was nothing to be done.

" Fucking druggies ," Morgan-not-Morgan sneered, grasping Spencer by the arm and the young agent nearly cried out as the physical contact sent sparks of discomfort throughout his body. Everywhere where the other man's fingers came in contact with his flesh felt as if it were burning and he was trying to jerk away but the man wasn't letting go, dragging him into the building.

Inside, it was worse than ever. The dim lighting allowed the darkness to consume everything, the shadows baring their teeth in manic grins. The entire place was filled with the sickly sweet stench of blood and as he looked around he saw that it was on the walls and dripping down from the ceiling and collecting at his feet.

He looked up and barely managed to stifle a scream. It was Emily, pinned to the ceiling with her eyes wide open and mouth slack as if she had spent her last moments crying out, her last moments begging for mercy. Her hands and feet were nailed tight to the cheap plaster roof in the signature way of crucifixion and suddenly all he could think of was Hankel.

Choose.

Choose who lives and who dies.

He hadn't meant to. He hadn't meant to but he had chosen Emily. He hadn't meant to but he had chosen one of the most important people in his life and there she was, paying for his sins, paying for his mistakes.

"Sir, you have to calm down," a voice was saying but when he looked for the origin he found himself staring at…Aaron? His face was blurred without any recognizable features but Spencer would always know his voice, would always know the voice of the man who had given him a life at the BAU so many years ago.

But Aaron didn't call him 'sir'.

But Aaron didn't reach out and grab him, shouting that he calm down, stop this, be normal .

But Aaron didn't force him into the darkness, didn't force him to sit in the sticky red of the blood, didn't force him to stay still even as he thrashed and begged to be let go. The touch hurt , each brush of skin against his own sending a jolt of agony through his veins.

It was too much. Everything, all of it, it was too much. Emily was staring down at him, eyes so horribly blank, and he shrank away into the shadows that were always laughing in his ears. The touch wasn't stopping and he tried to do everything he could to escape, yelling and kicking and pleading, but it was only getting worse and he couldn't do this. He wasn't wrong enough, couldn't atone to his sins, couldn't expose himself to God because he was too weak and he needed his team, needed his family-

He fell to the floor, releasing a choked sob as the darkness and the blood and the faces and the voices took over. He was too weak and he couldn't do this any more no matter how much he wished he could, no matter how much he wished he could be stronger, be better .

He couldn't do it.

"I'm sorry," he murmured aloud, apologizing to everybody. Apologizing to himself, to his mother. Apologizing to Ethan, to Emily. Apologizing to Morgan, to Rossi, to Hotch, to Garcia, to J.J. Apologizing to Seaver and Gideon and Elle.

He had failed.

He had failed all of them.