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Chapter Text

Dr. Spencer Reid leaned heavily against the kitchen counter with his palms whilst he waited for the telltale hiss of the coffee machine brewing its sweet caffeinated goodness. The mug in front of him had already had three teaspoons of sugar heaped into the bottom. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, his chestnut curls brushing against the collar of his lavender button-up shirt. The case the team was working on in Nebraska was starting to get to him. No matter how many times he studied the crime scene photographs and his geographic profile, he was still unable to visualise any patterns. He had removed his navy silk tie and loosened the first two buttons on his shirt in frustration. He felt choked, suffocated. He rolled his shirt sleeves to his elbows and tried to focus his mind whilst he waited for the machine. He opened his eyes and glanced over his shoulder at the sound of approaching footsteps squeaking on the tiles behind him. 

“Oh, look. It's Doctor Reid. Your team left you behind again?” hissed the officer that approached him.

“I'm working on victimology and the geographic profile,” snapped Spencer.  

“Looks more like you're too busy profiling the coffee machine.” Spencer turned slowly and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the counter. His hazel eyes flashed in anger at the officer. 

“So, I'm making some coffee. What's your point?” 

“My point is, you've been confined to this precinct for two days while your team does some actual work. Have you been a naughty boy?” 

“No, I specialize in geo profiling and victimology. My skills are better utilized here than out there.” The officer scoffed in response. He leaned in close to Spencer.

“I hear that good old Dr. Reid is a prison bitch.” 

“Shut up,” warned Spencer, his voice low and dangerous. His hands dropped to his sides and curled into fists.

“Three months, huh? Bet you didn't look so pretty on the inside.”

“Shut up.” Spencer breathed heavily through his nose, desperately trying to quell his anger. 

“I bet you took it up the ass like a good boy.” The officer chuckled to himself, pleased with the rage that visibly crossed Spencer's face. 

In a split second, Spencer grabbed the officer's wrist, twisted his arm painfully up his back, and shoved him up against the counter. Spencer’s jaw was clenched, eyes burning with fury. He said nothing, his face an unreadable mask whilst the officer squirmed underneath him. A pair of hands gripped Spencer’s biceps and hauled him away. Spencer continued to stare at the officer. The doctor was dragged away to a nearby interrogation room. Once in the room, Spencer paced the floor, one hand in his hair and the other on his hip. 

“What the fuck was that, Spencer?” barked Emily Prentiss.

“He started it,” responded Spencer. 

“I don't care who started it! You can't just go around manhandling law enforcement!”

“Oh, but it's okay for him to harass me? I see how it is. You've left me behind for the past two days, and I've had to listen to his shit. The minute I turn the tables, it's suddenly my fault?” 

“You can't just assault people!” Spencer turned his face away, pursing his lips in anger. 

“So, just like I had to with the bullies in school, I'm supposed to just stand there and take it?”

“You need to take a walk to cool down.” Spencer glared at Emily once more before turning on his heel and leaving the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Emily pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a defeated sigh. 

…

It had been an hour since Spencer had been sent out of the precinct to calm down. The officer in question had become very sheepish and quiet at the fact that the unassuming agent had fought back. An earful from Emily had him agreeing not to press charges. After all, it was his fault. Emily glanced around the table where the others worked, quietly discussing theories about the case, and ignoring the elephant in the room which was their missing genius. Spencer had not yet returned. She slid her cell phone out of her trouser pocket and dialled his number. 

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid. Sorry, I cannot take your call right now, but please leave your name and number, and I will get back to you as soon as I can.” Emily frowned. He always answered her calls, even when he was angry. She scrolled down to the number for Penelope Garcia. 

“Technical goddess Penelope Garcia at your service!” came Penelope’s chirpy voice. 

“Hey, Garcia. I need you to track Spencer’s phone. I sent him out of the precinct to cool off over an hour ago. He hasn't come back and isn't answering my calls.” Rapid typing sounded over the phone. 

“His cell’s in the park two blocks away. Emily? What's going on?” 

“Everything's fine, Pen. He went a little handsy on one of the LEOs, so I sent him for a walk.”

“Okay. Be safe!” The call ended with a click. Emily lifted her eyes back to the team.

“I'll be back soon. I'm going to go and find Reid. It'll be best if I go alone so he's not overwhelmed.” Five heads bobbed in response. Emily pocketed her cell phone and made her way out of the precinct. 

The park was relatively small. The luscious grass was neatly trimmed and the trees provided some much needed shade. Emily strolled along the asphalt path, eyes darting in every direction as she searched for Spencer. That was when she heard wheezing. She glanced over to a darkened corner facing away from the public to see a huddled figure. She approached the man slowly. What was alarming was the fact that it was Spencer. His knees were pulled painfully into his chest. His curls were entwined around his long, thin fingers. He rocked gently in place. Beads of blood appeared over long scratches on the inside of his forearms. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut and his breaths were short and sharp. Emily knelt down in front of him. 

“Spence? It's Emily. Are you okay?” Spencer shook his head wildly. 

“Please, don't…. I won't tell… I swear…” He was clearly reliving his beating at the hands of the two men in his cell in prison. 

“Reid? You're not there now. Come back to me.” Emily reached forward to placate her friend. He had slipped into a vivid flashback. As she touched his arm, he yelped and drew back. 

“N-no touching allowed…”

“Spence, you're safe. You aren't in prison now. I'm going to lower your hands to the grass, okay?” Spencer was trembling violently. Emily firmly pulled his hands away from his head and set them gently on the ground beside him. 

“What can you feel, Spence?” Spencer’s brow furrowed in thought. 

“Grass.”

“Okay. Now open your eyes. I want you to tell me five things around you.” Spencer's breaths still wheezed from his shaking chest as he slowly peeled his eyes open to look around. It took a moment for his vision to come back into focus.

“Grass. Trees. A path. Uh… People. Emily?” Spencer's eyes widened and his heart clenched. He spotted the bleeding scratches up his arms. “Oh, God… What did I do? Did I hurt someone?” 

“No, Spencer. You went a little cell block D on an LEO but he's okay. You shocked him more than anything.” Spencer bowed his head in shame, his hair falling over his face. 

“He knew about me being in prison. I told him to stop but he kept pushing it. He shouldn't even know that information. I just had to make him stop.” Spencer buried his face in his hands. 

“Well, that explains your reaction. I'll get Garcia to look into the LEOs. Someone must have connections to Quantico to get a hold of confidential information like that.” Something instantly clicked in Spencer’s mind. He tilted his chin up and narrowed his eyes.

“Wait… Who were the officers who attended each crime scene?” Emily frowned as she pulled her notebook out of her pocket.

“Uh… Romans and Jones.” Spencer scrunched his face in deep thought, the tip of his index finger tracing back and forth across his bottom lip. Images flashed in his brain as he filtered through the reactions of the officers that he had committed to memory. 

“That's what I've been missing. The link between them. They aren't connected by their jobs or social activities. It's one of the officers. A classic UnSub move is to insert themselves into the investigation. Romans was overly helpful. Why didn't I see it before?” Spencer forced the heel of his hand into his left eye in frustration. 

“Spence, you've been under a lot of stress. Are you sleeping?” Spencer huffed out an unamused laugh. 

“Of course not. I haven't slept for more than an hour at a time since my arrest.”

“You know that lack of sleep slows your cognitive processes.”

“Tell that to my nightmares.”

“Come on. Let's get back to the precinct and catch this son of a bitch.” Spencer knitted his brows in confusion.

“I'm not suspended? I assaulted someone.” Emily shrugged. 

“He deserved it. Come on.” Emily scrambled to her feet and extended a hand to help Spencer up. His gangly limbs had begun to seize from his curled up position. 

…

Spencer was infinitely grateful to look upon the BAU jet. Going to the jet in another state meant that the team was going home. Spencer desperately needed his own apartment, with his favourite blend coffee, and his books. He had been right. Romans had been the UnSub after all and had in fact been the officer in which the genius had had a run in with, so he felt a degree of retribution. 

He clambered up the metal steps to the jet and made his way to the back. He seated himself in one of the plush leather chairs with its back to the others, and curled up with his book. It was a silent indication to the rest of the team that he wanted to be left alone. 

…

Spencer was the first one off the jet when it touched down in Virginia. Normally, he would go back to the office to write up his reports for the case, but he was so depleted by his spiralling thoughts and rapidly changing mood, that he decided he would go straight home and complete his reports the next day. He needed to shower and try to recharge his batteries ready for the following day. 

Moonlight streamed through the windows of the stairwell as Spencer slowly ascended the four flights of stairs to his apartment on the second floor. His left knee was aching and he was utterly spent. He fumbled with his keys as he tried to locate the one for his front door. His mind was spinning, still caught up in the last case. He reached the second floor landing and paused. He let out a deflated sigh and tilted his head back, his curls brushing over his shirt collar. In a few short steps, he would be in his sanctuary, his fortress of solitude. The click of the key in the lock was satisfying. Spencer was immediately met with the scent of books and coffee which made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. 

Spencer stepped over the threshold into his apartment and dropped his ancient leather satchel and blazer down to the floor next to the coat stand with a soft thud. He ruffled his hair with his fingers and unclipped the holster from his belt, setting his Smith and Wesson down on the unit beside the door. As he turned to push the door shut, he was instantly stunned by something colliding hard with his head which sent him crumpling to the ground. He cautiously reached a hand to the back of his head, his fingertips gracing a large wet wound. As he withdrew his shaking hand, he noticed his fingers were glistening with blood. The room tilted quickly as he tried to turn onto his side to see what had hit him. At first, all he could see was the shape of a young male dressed entirely in black who stood half a foot shorter than the agent. His vision began to blur, black spots dancing before his eyes. He briefly caught sight of a crowbar before it came down on his head once more, sending a stream of blood spilling down the side of his face from a cut in his hairline, and instantly rendering him unconscious.

With Spencer out cold on the floor, the male got to work sliding the backpack from his shoulder and dropping it to the floor. He shoved Spencer over onto his front with his foot and knelt down beside him. He unzipped the bag and retrieved the roll of thick black duct tape. The sound of the tape cracking against itself as it was pulled away from the roll was deafening in the silent apartment. The assailant pulled Spencer’s limp arms behind his back and bound his wrists together tightly with several layers of tape. He shuffled on his knees down to the tall doctor's feet and pushed them together. He wrapped more tape around Spencer’s ankles to bind them together. He grasped Spencer’s shirt in his hands and yanked him onto his back, trapping the genius’ tied hands behind him. The male glanced at Spencer’s face and debated how he would steady his head and use both hands. He ambled around and supported Spencer’s head between his knees. With his captive’s head held steady and facing up, the male tore a long strip of tape from the roll and smoothed it down firmly over Spencer’s mouth, stretching across his cheeks, to seal his lips shut. Spencer hadn't yet seen his face, and the black ski mask was irritating his skin. The male ripped another piece of tape off the roll and pressed it down over Spencer’s closed eyes, making sure that he wouldn't be able to see a thing when he regained consciousness. Satisfied that Spencer was secured, the male pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, and dialled a number. 

“Hey, Sam. You ready? I need help getting him downstairs. He's taller than I remember and he lives on the second floor,” said the male in a hurried voice.

“Took you long enough, Jack.”

“He's over six foot tall, man! Just shut up and come and help me.” He could almost hear Sam roll his eyes.

“Fine, Hotch. Give me two minutes.”

“I've told you not to call me that, jerk off. That was my bastard father's nickname.” Jack terminated the call and shoved the phone into his pocket with a huff. 

Jack listened hard at the quickened steps that climbed the stairs. Luckily, the neighbours were already asleep. Sam appeared at the apartment door, his blonde curly locks hanging from under a black beanie. Jack came to his feet and shouldered his backpack, brown eyes staring back at his friend through the holes in the ski mask. 

“I can't believe we're kidnapping an FBI agent, Jack. This is crazy.”

“Yeah, well my dad loved him more than me, and I want him to pay for that.” Sam rolled his eyes and reached for Spencer’s upper body. He wrapped his arms around Spencer’s chest and clasped his hands. 

“We're going to have to drag him down to the car. Neither of us are strong enough to carry him,” said Sam with a sigh. Jack grasped Spencer’s bound ankles. 

“Let's go already.” With Spencer’s back and hands brushing against the floor, the pair dragged him out of the apartment and down the stairs. 

The pair were beyond exhausted by the time they reached the ground floor. Spencer’s back and hands had thudded against every step on the way down which would surely leave him with some colourful bruising. A navy blue BMW was parked directly outside of the apartment building. They continued towards the unlocked car. Sam and Jack dropped Spencer to the asphalt for a moment as Jack tugged open the back door. 

“Who's car is this?” asked Jack. 

“My mom's. I stole her keys. She has no idea.” Jack shrugged and grabbed Spencer’s ankles again. Sam climbed into the back of the car from the other side and curled his arms under Spencer’s shoulders once again. They dragged the unconscious doctor into the space between the back seat and the front seats, his legs tucked up tightly in front of him. Sam threw a large patterned picnic blanket over Spencer and clambered back out of the car. With the genius settled, Jack and Sam locked the back doors and climbed into the front. Sam glanced at Jack from the driver's seat. 

“Where to?” asked Sam. Jack tugged the ski mask over his head, ruffling his short brown hair. 

“Where my mom and dad used to live. The place where my mom was killed.” Jack punched the area code into the car's navigation system and sat back in the seat, his eyes staring out of the windscreen. 

Chapter Text

Emily knew she would have to be in the office early to be able to catch Spencer before anyone else arrived for the day. She didn't want to talk to him with the others profiling the situation through the blinds at her window like a bunch of voyeurs. She had to discuss the events that occurred in Nebraska. She needed to place Spencer on administrative leave to undergo psychological evaluation. Not only had he used force against a police officer, he had a severe flashback in a public area. He voiced that he wasn't sleeping. He was guarded and was isolating himself. Emily knew what it looked like when he relapsed on Dilaudid, and he wasn't displaying the same signs. Was he? He was mortified at the fact that he was drugged with heroin and cocaine in Mexico. Perhaps she just didn't want to acknowledge the possibility.

Emily shook the thoughts out of her head as she climbed the steps to her office. Spencer had not arrived yet for which Emily was grateful. She hated having conversations like this with anyone, particularly with her friend who she knew was struggling. As she approached her desk and set her leather purse down on the carpeted floor, she cast her eyes over Spencer’s personnel file. She anticipated that he would be filled with rage when the topic of his sobriety would be brought into question. If there was one thing that Spencer would never do, was to become physically aggressive towards a woman. She knew she would be safe that way. Emily eyed the clock on the wall. Spencer was due to arrive any time soon. All Emily could do was wait.

…

The following two hours rolled by exceptionally slowly. Emily had downed three cups of coffee to calm her nerves, and had paced her office several times. Spencer still hadn't arrived. When the rest of the team had begun to filter into the bullpen for the day, Emily knew that she had to act. Even when Spencer was on drugs, he never turned up two hours late for work. She fished her cell phone out of her purse and scrolled through her contacts until she reached Spencer’s name. Unable to steady her shaking hands, Emily dialled his number and set it to loud speaker, placing her phone on the desk. She gripped the edge of the wood to keep herself upright. 

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid. Sorry, I cannot take your call right now, but please leave your name and number, and I will get back to you as soon as I can.”

She didn't want to believe that he was purposely avoiding her. His professionalism was important to him, and he wouldn't ignore their calls. She quickly hung up and called Penelope. 

“Top of the morning to you, boss lady! What can I, Garcia, goddess of all things technical and wonderful do for you today?” 

“Morning, PG. Have you heard from Reid today?”

“Uh, no. Why?”

“He hasn't shown up for work and isn't answering his phone.” The line fell silent, save for the clacking of Penelope typing. 

“His phone is pinging at his apartment.”

“Okay. Thanks, Garcia. I'm going to go over there. I need to talk to him.”

“He's been kinda odd. You don't think he's using again, do you?”

“I don't know, PG. I hope not. I'll let you know if I find anything.”

“Alright. I hope boy wonder is okay.”

“Me too, Penny. Speak soon.” Emily terminated the call and sighed. Things were looking worse for Spencer with each passing minute. She ignored the attempts of the team to engage her in pleasantries. Instead, she grabbed Dr. Tara Lewis by the arm and dragged her out of the bullpen and into the elevator without uttering a word. 

…

The women drove in an uncomfortable silence. Tara was utterly confused by why they were driving to Spencer’s apartment in such a hurry. Emily had only muttered something about a possible relapse which raised more questions than answers in Tara's head. When the government issue SUV screeched to a halt outside of Spencer’s apartment building, Tara turned to Emily from the passenger seat.

“Emily, what's going on here?” asked Tara, her brown eyes wide with concern.

“It's Spence. There's something wrong. He didn't show up for work, didn't call, and isn't answering his cell.” Emily wrung her hands anxiously, glancing up at the second floor of the building. 

“You've been talking about a relapse. What do you mean?”

“You only saw Reid after he was drugged in Mexico. Truth is, he was drugged in Georgia eleven years ago when he was kidnapped by an UnSub. He was dosed with Dilaudid that had been cut with a hallucinogen. He got hooked on it. He really struggled to get clean. He had been sober for nearly a decade until Lindsey and Cat dosed him in Mexico. His behaviour these past few days is similar to then.”

“Emily, you do recall that Reid is barely a year out since he was in prison? He's still going to struggle with the PTSD symptoms.”

“I know. I can't shake the feeling that something is wrong.”

“Then let's go and see what's going on with him. Sitting here wondering isn't going to give us any answers.” Tara unclipped her seat belt and clambered out of the car. 

The pair climbed the stairs to Spencer’s apartment, the heels on their boots tapping loudly against the linoleum. The sunlight that shone through the windows was warm and comforting. Emily’s skin prickled as she noticed that the third door along the hallway was open. She slipped her Glock from the holster on her belt and grasped it in both hands. Tara followed suit. They quietly approached the open door. Emily’s stomach clenched at the realisation that it was Spencer’s. They silently entered the apartment, immediately noticing the doctor’s beloved satchel on the floor. Next to the worn bag was a small puddle of blood. Tara stepped past Emily, her gun raised in front of her, and began searching the apartment. 

“Reid? Reid! It's Tara. Sound off, man!” She was met with silence. Emily fumbled with the buckle on Spencer’s bag and opened it. Inside was his phone, credentials, and books. She glanced at the unit beside the door and noticed that his gun was missing. Tara returned, holstering her firearm. 

“Reid’s not here. The bed's still made so he never even made it to his bedroom,” said Tara with a deflated sigh. 

“His belongings are still here and there's blood. I bet anything that the blood is Reid’s. He was clearly accosted at the door.” 

“Still think this is a relapse?” asked Tara, crossing her arms over her chest, and an eyebrow raised questioningly. Emily shook her head in response. The two women stared knowingly into each other's eyes.

“Reid’s been kidnapped.”

…

Spencer jerked as his muscles twitched, consciousness slowly returning. His head was pounding. It felt as if someone had a jackhammer to his skull. The vibrations of pain were relentless. He blinked sluggishly, his faculties gradually slotting back together. His head was bowed and his neck was aching. He tilted his chin up slightly to find himself in a mildly darkened room. 

The blinds and curtains were drawn at the window to his right. He shifted his position slightly to find himself sitting upright in a wooden straight back chair. Spencer glanced over his shoulder to find that his arms were pulled painfully around the back of the chair, and his wrists bound together with duct tape. His bindings were tight and effective, his wrists crossed and palms facing outwards to make it difficult for him to reach his bonds. His ankles had been bound tightly to the front legs of the chair. His nose twitched, dust irritating his nostrils. He could feel duct tape irritating his septum. The strip of tape brushing against the underside of his nose was stuck firmly over his lips and across his cheeks to keep him silent. Blood had dried to his head and face, clinging desperately to his skin. 

As Spencer gathered himself back to full awareness, he noticed a large mahogany desk to his left. There were rows of law books that had long been forgotten on shelves above the desk, and had a thick coat of dust on them. There was a wooden chest under the window. Spencer’s brow creased in thought as he processed the room. It looked familiar somehow, but the constant thrumming in his skull prevented him from retrieving the memories. It clearly hadn't been lived in for some time. It was as though it was frozen in time. A single memory filtered through the haze in his mind. 

“I worked the case, daddy.” 

Spencer felt his heart stop. He was in Aaron and Haley Hotchner's house. He couldn't comprehend who would take him there or why. Several years had passed since Haley’s death, and Aaron had long since left the BAU to be a full time father to Jack. Aaron had cut all contact with the team when he and Jack were forced into WitSec courtesy of Peter Lewis, aka Mr Scratch. Spencer tilted his head in confusion. He had no idea why anyone with a connection to the Hotchners would abduct him. He and Aaron had been good friends and colleagues. Spencer saw Aaron as a father figure. 

A hand trailed along Spencer’s right shoulder, across the back of his neck, and clamped down on his left. Spencer flinched despite himself. He narrowed his eyes at the gloved hand squeezing his shoulder. He shrugged the hand off and fired a glare at his captor. There was a brief flicker in the brown eyes staring back at him that reminded Spencer of someone familiar. As quickly as it came, the look was replaced with a hardened steel. The hand curled into a fist and slammed into Spencer’s cheekbone with a sickening crack, forcing his head to the right. Breathing slowly through his nose to steady his building rage, Spencer turned his head back. His cheek had already begun to bruise.

“You were supposed to leave him blindfolded, S!” barked Jack over his shoulder into the hallway. Jack dragged the chest across the floor to where Spencer was sitting and perched himself on it. Spencer averted his furious stare to the man seated in front of him. He was still struggling to piece together who had kidnapped him and why he was in Hotch's old house. 

“You look different. You always used to look so nerdy.” Spencer frowned in confusion. “I really did give you a good whack on the head. You don't recognise me, do you?” Spencer cautiously shook his head, aware of the pain that continued to spike through his skull. Jack rose to his feet and began to circle the trussed up doctor. 

“He loved you, you know. He actually saw you as a son. In fact, he loved you more than he loved me. He told me so on more than one occasion.” Jack firmly wrapped his hand around Spencer’s lithe neck and tightened his grip, fingers digging into his skin. Spencer’s breathing increased. 

And then it clicked in his brain. It was Jack Hotchner. 

Spencer’s features softened in realisation. He had always been incredibly fond of the Hotchners. He and Jack had always had a great bond. He performed magic tricks for Jack and Henry after the prison break. Spencer had been devastated when Hotch and Jack went into WitSec, but then wound up in prison himself. Unfortunately, Hotch had chosen to remain away from the team when Scratch was killed. Spencer anticipated that he would never see or hear from them again. 

Jack grasped a corner of the tape over Spencer’s mouth and tore it away harshly, leaving raw red patches on his cheeks and ripping the skin from his lips. Spencer hissed at the burn across his face, and carefully traced the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip. 

“Jack? What?... Why?” 

“He's dead. Famous Aaron Hotchner wasn't the man you thought he was.” Spencer's brow creased.

“How?” Jack released his hold on Spencer’s throat.

“Drank himself into a heart attack. The man was a mean bastard. He would beat the shit out of me when he'd had a few too many, and tell me that he wished I had been a better son. How he wished I was more like you.”

“I don't understand. We never had a father/son relationship.” Jack wrapped his fingers around Spencer’s hair and wrenched his head back. Spencer groaned at the ignition of pain in his skull. 

“No? Who was he always taking care of when he was sick? Who did he see all the time while I had to stay with my Aunt Jessica? Huh? You were his golden boy. You were the son he wished he had.”

“We worked together! He doted on you! You were always his world. He gave up everything to be a father to you! If he really saw me as a son, he would have known about my arrest, about being in prison. He would have reached out to me! He didn't. Because he was being a father to you!” Jack released his hold on Spencer’s tangled curls. There was a resounding smack as Jack backhanded Spencer across the face. 

“Then why did he constantly ask why I couldn't be more like Spencer?!” Spencer had no words. He refused to believe that Hotch would turn on his son like that. 

There again, Hotch's own abusive father, the loss of Haley, his stabbing, and the accumulation of trauma associated with the BAU, was certain to lead him to finding solace at the bottom of a bottle. 

“Jack, your father loved you. You need to understand that he went through a huge amount of trauma. He was never the same after your mom died.”

“Shut the fuck up! You don't know anything!”

“Don't I? I saw your dad break down when he found-” Spencer was cut off by a sharp jab to his solar plexus which instantly winded him. He doubled up as much as he could and let out a ragged cough. 

“Sam! Bring the tape through!” Panting to regain his breath, Spencer lifted his head, hair falling into his eyes, to see another young man walking towards him. He and Jack had to only be around nineteen. Jack snatched the roll of duct tape from Sam and advanced on his prisoner. Spencer sat back against the chair and glared at the pair. 

“I guess you don't like hearing the truth. So Hotch turned into an asshole when he got drunk. Did you even try to support him? No. Of course you didn't. I would have. Because he was my friend and I know how traumatic our job is.” Jack gave Sam a knowing nod, who moved behind Spencer, slid a leather belt from the front pocket of his black hoodie, and wrapped it around Spencer’s neck. 

Sam pulled back on it so that the leather cut into the agent's throat. Spencer released a choked gasp, his neck cording against the belt. He was unable to pry the belt away with his hands restrained. Jack ripped a long strip of tape away from the roll and shoved it down over Spencer’s lips, pressing it down firmly with his thumbs to make sure it kept him silent. Spencer angrily tried to wrench his face away. Jack tore another strip of tape from the roll and covered Spencer’s eyes. Sam retained his hold on the belt that strangled the doctor as Jack sauntered to another room. Spencer listened carefully over the sound of his own ragged breathing. Sam sounded anxious, clearly uncomfortable with being dragged into his friend's kidnapping plans. Jack returned with one of Hotch's old golf clubs grasped in his hands. Sam slipped the belt through the buckle and pulled it tight, the brass pressing into the back of Spencer’s neck. He stepped back from the chair, the leather still clasped in his hand. 

Spencer could only give a muffled huff of pain as the golf club slammed into his ribs. The second blow to his chest made him cough roughly into the tape. There was an audible crack of his right collarbone under the club on the third strike which elicited a muffled groan from the genius. The fourth strike caught his stomach.

“I remember your poorly knee. That's why you couldn't carry my mom's coffin.” Jack brought the club down hard against Spencer’s left knee. Spencer felt the bones shift slightly. His kneecap crunched under another forceful blow which made him scream into his gag. Jack had become hyperfocussed on his knee, raining blow after blow down on it, shattering bones, and tearing through tendons and ligaments. Spencer’s eyes moistened behind the tape blindfold, sheer agony sweeping from his toes to his hip. Satisfied with the terribly swollen joint that was pulling against Spencer’s trouser leg, Jack moved on to his face. The club swung around and connected hard with Spencer’s nose which automatically crumpled. Blood gushed over the tape from Spencer’s nostrils. A neat cut snaked across the bridge of his nose, more blood trickling down the crevice between his nose and cheek. Every part of his body burned. Spencer was more than grateful when the club smashed against his temple, instantly rendering him unconscious. 

Chapter Text

For a solid moment, Emily would have truly preferred Spencer to be angry with her, or to have relapsed, which was a heartbreaking prospect. At least then, she knew where he was and how to deal with him. She hated the unknown. Not knowing where he was, who he was with, or what he was going through. Again. She scanned the team at their respective desks, the camaraderie amongst them. She didn't want to break the happy bubble they were in, but she had to. She approached the handrail of the mezzanine. 

“Guys? I need you all in the conference room.” 

The silence was palpable as the team filtered into the conference room. Tara's eyes were downcast, fully aware of the situation. It was David Rossi who was the first to address the fact that there was someone missing. He frowned as he dragged a chair away from the table, his deep brown eyes staring knowingly at the empty space near the window. 

“Where's Reid?” asked David. Emily sighed. 

“That's why I've called you all in here. Lewis and I went to his apartment when he didn't show for work or answer the phone. After Nebrasksa, I was worried about his mental health. When I found him, he was in the middle of a flashback in the park. When we got to his apartment, the door was open, and his bag was on the floor. There was also blood and his gun is missing. We believe that Reid was kidnapped some time between us returning from Nebraska and this morning.” JJ pressed her fingers against her lips to keep in the sob that she could feel behind the lump in her throat. Matt Simmons and Luke Alvez stared at Emily, brows knitted in alarm. Penelope was much quieter than expected, her tears rolling down her cheeks in thick black lines. 

“At this point, we have no idea who has taken him or where. We need to look at traffic in and out of Reid’s apartment building. We need to go door to door. Most of Reid’s neighbours are elderly or hard of hearing, but someone on one of the floors must have heard or saw something.” Emily eyed the team.

“We need to find Spence quickly. Mentally, he's not in a good place, and this kidnapping might just tip him over the edge.”

“Tara and Matt? I want you to go and interview the ground floor neighbours. Luke and JJ will take the first floor. Dave and I will take the second floor. Garcia, I want you to go through the security footage for the building. We'll meet back up after lunch and see what we have. I've already arranged for CSU to take samples from the blood. We will find him.” JJ straightened up in her seat, her hands curled into fists on the table, and her jaw clenched in determination. 

“Wheels up,” said JJ in a low voice.

…

Spencer had grown tired of waking up in a dense fog with his skull feeling as though it had been cracked open like a coconut. His nose felt too big on his face. His trouser leg felt as though it was going to tear apart around the swelling in his knee. He was beyond confused by Jack's behaviour. Hotch had always been a family oriented man. Granted, his job interfered with his marriage, but he still put them into protection to save them from George Foyet. Unfortunately, Foyet was always a step ahead. That didn't stop Hotch from being the best father he could be. That much was clear to everyone. 

Spencer could only assume that Mr. Scratch's stalking had been the final straw. Once he and Jack had entered WitSec, Hotch had lost everything else in his life that he held dear. He lost his family and friends at the BAU. He lost the job that he had fought for years to cling to. He had lost his identity. Add to the fact that Jack was in his early teens when going through the process. The typical teenager hormones likely made him difficult and obnoxious. Hotch was alone. He had always been afraid of turning into his own abusive, drunk father. Perhaps he felt that alcohol was the only way to soothe his pain. The alcohol that ultimately turned him into his father. Surely Jack hadn't taken Hotch's words at face value when he was drunk? Though Spencer supposed that drunken words, more often than not, had an element of truth to them. 

Spencer was grateful for the blindfold. He normally hated the dark, but in that moment, it was bliss. Railroad spikes felt as though they had been drilled through his eyes and into his brain. He felt nauseous, but was able to keep the bile at bay by heavy breathing through his broken nose. He knew he at least had a moderate concussion. He had to pray that he did not receive any more blows to the head. What he didn't anticipate was the tape being torn roughly from his lips. The belt around his neck loosened slightly to loop around a spoke in the back of the chair, and buckled in place to hold his head back, his neck arching painfully. 

“You've had your fun, Jack. Your dad hurt you, not me. So give up already. I've dealt with enough shit lately without having a silly little boy with a jealousy problem adding to it,” snapped Spencer. The doctor swallowed hard against the belt. His hands clenched into fists behind the chair. 

“You sound just like him,” snarled Jack from somewhere above Spencer’s head. 

“It's called trauma. If you'd even bothered to sit down and have a conversation with him, you'd understand. Maybe he saw me as a son as I would have talked with him. Here's a newsflash for you, kid. Be grateful your dad was still in your life. Mine left when I was eleven leaving me to take care of my schizophrenic mother. I had NO parents as a child! You did!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Your parents brought you up better than this. Your father would be disgusted that his son turned into an UnSub. Your mother would be horrified that her son became a monster.” Spencer's lips quirked up in the corners in accomplishment. He could sense by the change in Jack's breathing pattern that he had hit a nerve. 

Coarse material that felt like a pillowcase was pulled taut over Spencer’s nose and mouth and around the back of his head. The agent writhed in place. The pillowcase in itself was suffocating, however his blood turned to ice at the feeling of water being poured onto it. The water was cold, soaking into the pillowcase, and drenching his hair. Spencer thrashed as much as he could. The water quickly soaked through the material, and poured down his nose and throat. The position of his head and the constant flow of water meant that his mouth and sinuses filled with fluid, which triggered his gag reflex, expelling air from his lungs. It left him unable to exhale, and he couldn't inhale without aspirating the water. It took a matter of seconds for panic to set in.

He couldn't breathe. 

He couldn't breathe. 

He bucked and writhed to escape the onslaught of water filling his airways, but it was unrelenting. 

The pillowcase was removed and the belt loosened to allow Spencer to lift his head. Spencer jerked himself into an upright position, ignoring the spinning in his head, and released a series of wet, ragged coughs. Water surged over his lips as he coughed, desperately trying to clear his lungs. He leaned to the side slightly and retched. All that came up was water and bile as he vomited to his left. His head was yanked back again and buckled in place. The sodden pillowcase was replaced, and the water torture started again. Spencer screamed into the wet material. The water was filling his lungs again, but he needed to alert someone. Anyone. The wet pillowcase and belt came away once again, allowing Spencer to hack and splutter. He felt dizzy with the lack of oxygen. He panted, his chest heaving for breath. His curls dripped onto his shirt. 

“Jack… you need… to stop this,” gasped Spencer, his nose and throat burning with the residual water. His teeth chattered with the cold. “T-this won't… make you feel… any b-better. What… ever your dad… d-d-did or… didn't do… it won-won’t go away… b-by doing th-this…” A rough towel harshly scrubbed the water droplets from his face, wiping away the blood that had crusted to his skin. Spencer hissed in pain. 

“Shut up.” Jack's voice was low and dangerous. It wasn't dissimilar to Hotch's when he was angry with an UnSub or idiotic last enforcement. Frankly, it was terrifying. A new strip of duct tape was torn from the roll and jammed down forcefully over Spencer’s cracked and bleeding lips. His lungs felt as though they were aflame. 

“I'm not done with you yet, Uncle Spencer.”

Jack's words sent tingles down Spencer’s spine. They would forever be etched into his eidetic memory. It was the tone in which they were spoken that scared him. There was no emotion behind the words. They were cold, calculating, and callous. Jack had become a sociopath. Spencer jerked in alarm as the belt was tightened again. The tape over his eyes was ripped away with a single flick of the wrist. He groaned into the gag and blinked to try and regain his vision. For all the room was relatively dim, it was agonising to his eyes. With his neck curved backwards, he was unable to look anywhere but at a cobweb on the ceiling. 

A distinct chemical smell approached him, burning Spencer’s nostrils as it grew nearer. Having used it enough times in his Volvo, he knew the scent of antifreeze too well. Jack hovered directly over the top of Spencer, a plastic jug filled with the concentrated cobalt blue liquid. He wore thick gardening gloves on his hands. Spencer’s brows creased in fear, twisting his limbs against their bonds, and trying to turn his face away. Sam used small pieces of medical tape to hold Spencer’s eyes open. The genius knew what was about to happen, and was helpless to stop it. He thrashed in place, desperately trying to break the tape binding his wrists. The buckle on the belt tightened around his swan-like neck. Jack carefully poured half of the antifreeze into Spencer’s right eye. The pain that Spencer experienced in that very second was unimaginable. 

It was like a forest fire had ignited in his cornea, spreading swiftly along his optic nerve, and into his brain. Spencer’s scream was primal and agonised. His hands had balled into tight fists, the skin over his knuckles pulled taut, and turned white with the pressure. Sam clamped a hand over Spencer’s gagged mouth in an effort to quiet him. His vision quickly swirled and blurred. Spencer’s eye had turned crimson, his tears trying to flood the foreign substance out. The skin around his eyes and on his cheeks began to redden and blister. Spencer was frozen in fear and pain, his head held back by the belt and Sam's hand, as the antifreeze was poured into his left eye. He was unable to make a sound, his voice completely spent, and his throat raw from screaming. 

Once Jack was satisfied, Sam removed the medical tape from Spencer’s eyes, and released his neck from the belt. Spencer’s neck had stiffened up from its awkward position. He slammed his eyes shut against the onslaught of agony that ravaged his face. His contacts had been washed out with the chemical and his tears. He tried to open his eyes at the sound of steps moving away, but he could only see slight shadows. His eyelids were swelling from the burns. He listened as the door was locked and the steps faded away, leaving him in the darkness. 

A darkness that persisted despite his eyes being open. 

Chapter Text

As the team had anticipated, going door to door in Spencer’s apartment block had proven to be fruitless. One person had heard thudding noises as though something was being dragged down the stairs, but didn't bother to investigate. It was beyond frustrating. As Emily was about to climb into the passenger side of the SUV, she was approached by a middle aged man with greying hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. He scratched at his thick beard, glancing over his shoulder. Emily frowned at him.

“Can I help you with something?” asked Emily. 

“Yeah. My name's Trent. I'm a cab driver. You're looking for a missing guy from this block, aren't you?” Emily narrowed her eyes. 

“Yeah. How do you know?”

“My last fare of the night was a drop off in that building. There was a navy BMW parked outside. I was getting ready to clock off for the night and texted my wife to tell her I was on my way home. They didn't see me as I was parked a little way back. I saw two kids, probably around 18 or 19 dragging something out of the building. They seemed to bicker for a while before they opened the car. I couldn't really see what they had dragged though.”

“Did you see the plates on the car?” 

“Yeah. Virginia plates. I remember it started with VRX. I don't remember the rest. What they were dragging… Was that the missing dude?” Emily gave a jerking nod in response. Trent whistled. “Do you know him? The guy that's missing?” Emily sighed, wishing the entire situation wasn't real. 

“Yeah. It's Dr. Spencer Reid. He's one of my agents.”

“Shit. Sorry, man. I have a dashcam. I can send you the footage?”

“That would be great.” Emily reached into her blazer and slipped out a business card. “If you think of anything else, please give us a call.” Trent nodded in affirmation and turned back to his parked up cab. He popped the memory card out of the dashboard camera and returned to Emily, dropping it into her palm. 

Emily tugged her cell phone out of her pocket and dialled Penelope’s number. 

“You have reached the oracle of all knowing! Speak and be heard!” came Penelope’s chirpy voice.

“Hey, PG. I need you to run a search on a vehicle. Navy blue BMW. Virginia plates starting with VRX.” The air was tense, broken by the muffled sound of clacking on the other end of the line. 

“I got hit on that vehicle. It was reported stolen yesterday by a Maria Weston. Apparently she hasn't seen her son Sam in the last 24 hours.”

“I don't think it's too much of a stretch to suggest that Sam stole his mom's car. The car was seen outside of Reid’s building. I've got dashcam footage from a cab. We'll see if we can pull anything from it.” 

“Got it.” The call ended with a click. 

There was a beat. They finally had a lead, something that they could use. Emily’s fingers tingled with anticipation. She was determined to have the UnSubs praying to God when she found them.

…

Spencer had no recollection of falling asleep. His hands and feet were numb from the tightness of his restraints. His spine ached from sleeping upright. The burning in his eyes had eased to a constant sting. The swelling prevented him from opening his eyes. His cheeks felt sticky from the blisters that had ruptured, sending a straw yellow fluid trickling over his skin. He knew antifreeze wouldn't permanently damage his vision. The blindness he was experiencing was temporary. His optic nerves were almost certainly swollen. He also knew that there had to be a degree of intracranial swelling from the blows to the head. He hated that he didn't feel scared or upset about the situation. He despised that he felt angry. Extremely angry. Especially given that he was angry towards a teenager. In particular, someone he considered family. 

He felt fingers fumbling with the tape over his lips. He furrowed his brow, twisting his head away slightly. 

“It's okay. I'm sorry. I just want to give you a drink.” The voice spoke at a low volume. It sounded different to Jack's. The tape was peeled away from his lips and scrunched up before being thrown to the corner of the room.

“Who are you?” asked Spencer, his voice barely audible and his throat feeling as though it had been torn apart by razor blades.

“My name's Sam. I go to school with Jack.” Spencer flinched at the sound of a water bottle cracking as the lid was unscrewed. A drinking straw was dropped into the bottle and pressed to Spencer’s lips. Spencer cautiously sipped the water. It was soothing against his parched throat. The straw briefly moved away. 

“Why are you helping him do this?” asked Spencer warily.

“He was really messed up when his dad died. His dad really was a mean drunk, and he always compared you both. Jack just didn't know how to deal with it when he found his dad dead in the bath. He just has so much anger, and he doesn't know how to manage it.”

“He didn't need to drag you into this. Whatever Hotch told him was untrue. We never had that kind of relationship. Anything he did for me, he did for the rest of the team.” Sam pushed the straw back between Spencer’s lips. He continued to drink compliantly.

Spencer knew he had to try and get Sam on his side. When the straw was removed, Spencer licked his bloody lips and took in a deep breath. 

“Sam, please listen to me. What Jack is doing right now is wrong. You must know that. By helping him do these things, you're going to get yourself into a huge amount of trouble. I'm sure you're a good kid. You need to let me go. I'll protect you as much as I can.” Sam glanced over his shoulder. 

“Shh. I'll see what I can do.” Sam came to his feet and turned, just as Jack barreled through the door, his face contorted in rage. 

“What the fuck are you doing, S?” roared Jack. 

“Giving him a drink. He'll die without it. He's already dehydrated.”

“You don't get to decide! He needs to suffer!” 

“Leave him alone, Jack,” demanded Spencer, his voice resolute. “You've dragged an innocent kid into your personal shit. You may not give a damn about spending the rest of your life in a cage, but don't force other people to.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Jack produced a kitchen knife from the back of his belt and pressed the sharp edge of the blade against the pulse point on Spencer’s neck. The agent's eyes opened as much as the swelling allowed. He could only make out Jack's shape in front of him. 

“Look. Whatever you plan to do to me, just do it, but let Sam go. I've been through enough in this past year. I won't be missed. But just know that none of this will make you feel better about what happened with your dad.”

Jack snatched himself away in rage and grabbed the roll of duct tape. He picked the end of the tape away and pressed it down forcefully to Spencer’s blistered and peeling cheek. The tape was wound tightly over his mouth and around his head. Jack broke off the end and patted Spencer roughly on the cheek. Spencer slowed his breathing and settled back into the chair, preparing himself for whatever Jack had planned. 

“You know, I read up on what the Boston Reaper did to my dad. He stabbed him nine times in non-lethal areas, then left him at the hospital. So, I did a little research to see where those areas are. I wonder if you can beat my dad's record.” Spencer could see Jack's shape circling him. Jack became acutely aware that his captive’s clouded eyes were still following him. 

“S, blindfold him,” snapped Jack. Sam raised his eyebrows in confusion.

“Why? You blinded him?” 

“He's not totally blind. He can still see shadows, otherwise he wouldn't be watching me right now. Just do as I say.” Jack shoved a black bandana at Sam. Sam eyed the cloth in his palms, then glanced at Spencer. The doctor's hazy eyes were fixed in his general direction. Sam set his jaw and folded the bandana. Jack watched with glee as Sam draped the cloth over Spencer’s eyes and pulled it tight, knotting it twice in the messy curls at the back of the agent's head. 

Spencer lifted his heavy, throbbing head in defiance. The blade of the knife flashed in the low light as Jack brought the tip of the blade to rest against Spencer’s left collarbone. He traced the knife down over his ribs, counting them until he reached the fourth. Spencer’s breathing was slow and cautious. He was prepared. Only, his trembling form betrayed his stoicism. Jack leaned close to Spencer’s ear, his breath warm on his captive’s cheek.

“I'll count them out for you. This is number one.” Jack pushed down on the handle of the knife. The blade slid easily through Spencer’s skin, his pectoral muscle and between his ribs. As it pierced his lung, Spencer coughed into tape, the side of chest suddenly feeling like a vacuum. Blood blossomed across his shirt. The knife came out with a sickening squelch and hovered over Spencer’s upper abdomen, just below his sternum. 

“This is two,” hissed Jack. The blade was thrust into Spencer’s torso, making him groan into his gag. The knife was yanked back out, blood speckling Spencer’s slacks. Jack tilted Spencer’s head back up with the bloody blade under his chin.

Spencer had no idea how he did it, but he somehow managed to snap the tape around his wrists. His wrists were raw and chafed, bruising evident all over his hands and forearms. He jammed his shoulder hard into Jack's midsection, completely ignoring the spike of pain through his broken collarbone. He tackled his captor to the ground, the chair falling with him where it was still bound to his ankles. His knee screamed at him. The motion knocked the air out of Spencer. He lay on his front, desperately trying to inhale. His lung had collapsed. That much was for sure. Whilst the agent was incapacitated on the wooden floor, Jack managed to scramble out from underneath Spencer, and reached for the duct tape again. He quickly and efficiently bound Spencer’s wrists behind his back once again, pulling the bonds tighter than before. Jack severed the tape around Spencer’s ankles and threw the chair out of the way. Blood had begun to ooze onto the floor from Spencer’s wounds. 

Spencer attempted to get himself to his feet without the use of his hands, his Chucks slipping against the floor. Jack pushed Spencer’s ankles back together and tied them together tightly with more tape. Sam was terrified by what he was watching, his blue eyes wide as he watched a murderous rage take over his friend. Spencer writhed on the floor, pulling at his restraints. Jack held Spencer down with his foot on his upper back and slammed the knife down into the centre of Spencer’s spine. Spencer was unable to prevent the tortured scream that was ripped from his throat. He felt an intense pain that swept from his spine to his toes that was immediately followed by a sensation that felt like electric shocks. Within seconds, he could no longer feel the floor on his knees, the tape around his ankles, or the movement of his shattered kneecap beneath his skin.

He couldn't feel anything.

…

The dashcam footage from the cab driver didn't tell the team as much as they'd hoped. They saw a pair of young men dragging a tall unconscious male that they knew to be Spencer. He had been tied up, gagged, and blindfolded. The pair struggled to get Spencer into the back of the car. One of them had jaw-length blonde curls. They couldn't decipher who the other was. They both appeared to be in their late teens.

“The blonde kid matches the description of Sam Weston. He stole his mom's car to help his friend,” said Luke with a sigh. 

“He looks uncomfortable about what he's doing,” stated Matt, his eyes narrowed at the wall monitor.

“He was still a willing participant,” responded. 

“What the hell does a couple of teenagers want with a federal agent?” asked Tara. The group fell into an uncomfortable silence as they tried to form a profile.

The shrill sound of a phone ringing disrupted the tense silence. They all glanced at the phone in the centre of the round table, the red light blinking to indicate an incoming call. Emily reached over and accepted the call, placing it onto loudspeaker.  

“BAU offices. SSA Emily Prentiss speaking,” answered Emily, her hands clasped on top of the table. 

“Agent Prentiss. I'm Sergeant Matthews with Virginia PD. We just received a 911 call that I think you need to hear.” 

“911, what's your emergency?”

“Police. My friend kidnapped someone. He's hurt him really bad. I'm scared of what he's going to do. My name's Sam Weston.”

“What's your friend's name?”

“Jack Hotchner.”

“And the person he has kidnapped?” 

“Spencer Reid.” 

“Can you tell me where they are right now?”

“I-I don't know the address. He just said it was where his mom was killed. Please. Just help him.” The call ended with a click. JJ stared at Emily, her bright blue eyes wide with realisation. 

“Jack? As in Hotch's Jack?” asked David in disbelief. Emily snapped her head towards Penelope. 

“Garcia, I want you to find me everything you can on Hotch and Jack after they left the program.” Penelope nodded in understanding, fingers flying wildly over her keyboard. 

“Jack is enrolled in Virginia State. He is studying mechanical engineering. Hotch is… Oh, no…” Penelope’s voice trailed off. 

“What is it, Garcia?” asked Matt. 

“Hotch died six months ago. Heart attack. He was found dead at home in the bath. Reports indicate that he had exceptionally high blood alcohol levels, and he had severe cirrhosis of the liver,” responded Penelope, her hands trembling, and her eyes filling with tears. 

“Who found him?” asked Tara. 

“Jack,” answered Penelope. “He and Sam are in the same classes.” 

“Sam said they were in the place where Jack's mom died. That means they've taken Spence to the house where Foyet killed Hayley,” gasped JJ. Emily straightened in her chair. 

“Garcia, send us the old Hotchner address from the Foyet file. Wheels up.” There was a sombre silence, then a beat as everyone came to their feet, determined to find their friend. 

Chapter Text

Spencer had lost consciousness soon after Jack had plunged the knife into his spine. He lay still and unmoving on the floor. Even if he wanted to, he was unable to move. His limbs were still tightly restrained, and he had no sensation from the waist down. His nose twitched, the foul stench of ammonia hitting his senses. He had voided his bladder and he'd had no awareness of it. His eyes burned with the tears that were desperate to break free, but he refused to cry. He pulled slightly against the tape around his wrists. There was no give. The tape around his mouth was suffocating. Each breath made a rough crackling sound. He settled his cheek down to the cold wooden floor and listened. Jack could be heard elsewhere in the house. Sam was completely silent, and there was no knowing where he was. 

He was startled by a barrage of noise. There was an extraordinary amount of yelling. Spencer recognised those voices anywhere, even when they were muffled from the other side of a locked door. He heard hurried footsteps thudding across the floor. The handle on the door rattled slightly. Spencer turned his face away as the door was kicked off its hinges, splinters of wood showering the genius. A pair of hands fumbled with the knot in the blindfold and pulled it away from his face. He blinked sluggishly, only able to make out a shape beside him. 

“Spence? Can you hear me? It's JJ.” JJ's hands hovered over him as she took stock of his injuries. There was a large patch of dried blood across the back of his shirt. Spencer mumbled in response. His head was pounding again. Luke knelt down beside Spencer and cut through the tape around his wrists and ankles, whilst JJ pried the tape away from his face. Luke carefully cut through the gag so that JJ could slowly peel it away from his skin. Spencer gasped once his mouth was free.

Spencer released a wet cough, agony raging through his collapsed lung. His eyes fluttered, his consciousness waning. A pair of paramedics joined the agents in the room and immediately noticed the stab wound in Spencer’s back. 

“Dr. Reid? I’m Steve and my partner is Eloise. We're paramedics. We need to try and move you so that we can do some checks.”

“I c-can't feel my legs… Can't feel them…”  

“Okay. I'm going to need a c-collar and backboard.” Eloise nodded in affirmation and dashed out of the room. “Can you tell me anything else, Dr. Reid?” 

“He poured antifreeze into my eyes. I can't see well. S-stabbed me. It's-it's hard to breathe.”

“Okay. You're doing great.” Steve tugged his scissors from the pouch on his tactical belt and cut up the back of Spencer’s shirt. His gloved fingers gently probed the wound. Satisfied that he didn't need to clamp off any major blood vessels, Steve tore open a gauze dressing and taped it over the wound. He dragged a clear plastic oxygen mask out of the bag beside his knee and placed it over Spencer’s nose and mouth, hooking the white elastic band around the back of his head. With a twist of the wrist, Steve started the flow of oxygen from the canister. 

Eloise returned with the spinal board under one arm and a cervical collar in her other hand. Steve accepted the collar from his partner and carefully wrapped it around Spencer’s neck to keep it still. Steve's bloodied hands clamped to either side of Spencer’s head whilst Eloise reached for his ankles. JJ and Luke also got into position from behind. 

“On my count- 1, 2, 3.” They moved as one, rolling Spencer onto his back. EKG leads were pressed to his bare chest and a pulse oximeter was clipped to the end of his finger. Everything suddenly felt too bright and too loud. The pain in his skull spiked. Spencer’s eyes rolled. 

“Um… It’s… Uh…” slurred Spencer, his words choppy and mumbled. “Fuzzy… Hmm…. D'n't feel… G-g'd…” There was a visible tick in his cheek. 

“Dr. Reid?” Steve's eyes widened in alarm and glanced at JJ and Luke. “Does he have a history of seizures?”

“He had one eleven years ago. Drug induced.”

“Okay, we need to keep his spine immobilised as much as possible. He's going into a seizure. It looks like he has at least two head injuries.” Spencer's hands balled into fists and his arms pulled towards his chest as his eyes rolled up into his skull. The collar and hands prevented his head from twisting. JJ noticed the large wet stain over Spencer’s trousers and shrugged off her FBI windbreaker. She draped it over Spencer’s hips. The doctor's mouth opened in a silent scream, his jaw writhing. Multiple hands held him in place as his limbs jerked violently, saliva bubbling up and trailing over his jaw. Loud grunting noises sounded from deep within his throat, his face crimson from lack of oxygen. 

The two minutes that Spencer seized for passed in a blur, yet felt like it lasted hours. His limbs twitched sporadically before settling. At first, he appeared to be in a deep sleep. Then it became clear that he wasn't breathing. There was no movement of his chest. Steve rubbed his knuckles roughly into Spencer’s sternum.

“Dr. Reid? Can you hear me? Open your eyes for me.” There was no response. Steve leaned in close to Spencer’s face and moved the oxygen mask away. No breaths misted his cheek. 

“He’s in respiratory arrest. He's going to go into cardiac arrest at any minute. We need to intubate immediately to restore his airways.” Steve grasped underneath Spencer’s stiffened jaw and thrust it towards him, forcing his mouth to fall open. The pair worked in tandem as Steve pressed a ventilation mask over Spencer’s face and squeezed the silicone bag as Eloise inserted a cannula into the back of Spencer’s bruised hand, and pushed through a syringe full of a milky white substance. 

“Propofol in,” said Eloise as she grabbed the intubation kit, tearing it open and setting it down on the ground next to her partner. Steve took the cold steel laryngoscope into his hands and pushed it onto Spencer’s open maw to move his tongue aside. 

“I've got a visual on the vocal cords. ET tube.” Steve held out a hand, his eyes fixed to Spencer’s mouth. Eloise placed the plastic tube into Steve's open palm. Steve skillfully slid the tube past the scope and down into Spencer’s throat. Eloise detached the bag from the ventilation mask and connected it to the tube, squeezing it periodically as Steve pressed the bell of his stethoscope against the bare, bloody chest in front of him. 

“I'm in.” Steve hooked his stethoscope back around his neck and inflated the cuff on the tube with the attached syringe. He grabbed some beige medical tape from his bag and wrapped it around the tube, securing it over Spencer’s jaw. 

JJ and Luke aided Steve in rolling Spencer onto his side to allow Eloise to slide the spinal board in behind him. With the spinal board in place, the straps were buckled firmly across his legs and chest to keep him still. The agents and the paramedics lifted the board onto the waiting gurney. Red foam blocks were positioned either side of Spencer’s head, and secured with straps over his forehead and chin. The EKG was placed beside Spencer’s leg on the gurney. Steve glanced at Luke. 

“You can come with us on the bus. I'll need help maintaining his breathing en route.” JJ didn't have time to get annoyed with the medics. The metal bed rails were tugged up with a click, and the gurney was whisked away in a blur of colour. 

…

Luke was grateful for his daily runs with Roxy when had to follow the gurney at a jog to keep squeezing the bag that provided his friend with artificial breaths. The ambulance bay doors slid open with a hiss. The paramedics had already rang ahead to alert the hospital of the incoming admission. As such, several staff members descended on the gurney. 

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid. 38 years old. He has two visible head injuries. Chemical burns noted to his face. He reported having antifreeze poured into his eyes. Possible fracture to the right clavicle. Left knee is likely fractured too. 

“There are three wounds consistent with a bladed weapon. One is to the left side of the chest between the third and fourth ribs with resulting pneumothorax. The second is below the sternum. The third is in the centre of his spine. He described having no feeling in his lower limbs. 

“Dr. Reid had a tonic clonic seizure lasting two minutes. No known history of epilepsy. He went into respiratory arrest on scene and had to be intubated. He's hypotensive at seventy systolic despite wide bore saline. We have his oxygen sats up to 88. Pulse is still thready.” 

“Let's get him straight onto a vent,” instructed the doctor who peeled open Spencer’s eyes and shone the light of his pen torch into the dilated pupils. A length of corrugated tubing was connected to the one down Spencer’s throat to replace the ventilation bag, and the machine was powered up, providing the genius with consistent, mechanical breaths. 

“Let's get him straight to the CT scanner. If you wait here, agent, someone will update you as soon as we have something.” Luke could watch helplessly as the gurney was wheeled away.

…

The team sat around the waiting room in a sombre silence as they waited for news. Every hour, on the hour, Emily hounded a passing doctor or nurse for an update. It had been almost six hours since Spencer had been rushed through the emergency room doors. Luke’s knee bounced anxiously as he stared at a tile on the floor in front of him. JJ was seated beside him nibbling absently on her thumbnail. Emily paced back and forth, her skin prickling with the need for information. Tara was soothing Penelope. Matt and David conversed quietly. 

Emily snapped her head sideways from the spot she had been staring at on the wall for the past five minutes to an older man who approached her. His dark green scrubs were creased. His surgical mask hung around his neck. The man looked exhausted, large bags under his eyes. He glanced down at the clipboard in his hands. 

“Family of Spencer Reid?” came the worn voice of the doctor. Emily stepped up to him and extended a hand.

“Yes. I'm SSA Emily Prentiss. I'm Dr. Reid’s medical proxy. How is he?” The doctor looked around at the people who closely flanked the unit chief. “You can speak freely in front of them.” The doctor released a deflated sigh. 

“Very well. You need to understand that Dr. Reid has been severely injured and quite frankly, he's lucky to be alive. He has some swelling around his brain from blunt force trauma to his head. We're managing this conservatively at the moment. This is what caused his seizure. 

“He was stabbed in the left lung which caused it to collapse. He's on a ventilator while his lung inflates. We expect him to remain on this for several days. He was also stabbed in the abdomen which pierced his liver. We drained the internal bleeding from his abdominal cavity, and repaired the damage. 

“There was a displaced extra-articular fracture to the right clavicle and a comminuted displaced fracture to the left patella with tendon avulsion. His collarbone will heal on its own with the support of a sling. Unfortunately, we had to do a total knee replacement. We flushed as much of the antifreeze out of his eyes as we were able. He has some swelling to the optic nerve on both sides and burns to his face. The swelling will reduce and his vision should return to normal.” The doctor cleared his throat as he mentally debated how to share the last of his findings. 

“Dr. Reid was stabbed in the back. The blade penetrated between the T12 and L1 vertebrae and severed his spinal cord. There's no easy way to say this. He is paralysed from the waist down. He will never walk again. He has had to be fitted with a colostomy and a long-term urethral catheter. He no longer has control of his bowels or bladder. I'm sorry.”

Emily’s tears burned crevices into her cheeks. She could usually keep a handle on her emotions, but the thought of her best friend being confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life destroyed her defenses. The sounds of everyone else swirled as though they were underwater. Emily had tunnel vision. She needed to see Spencer. She needed to be with him. 

“I… Uh… I need to see him. We need to see him,” gasped out Emily, her voice audibly wavering.

“Of course. He's in the ICU. Room 3. He's being taken care of by Dr. Crowe. It will be very difficult to see him as he is.” The surgeon gave them a firm, but saddened nod, and moved away.

…

Dr. Crowe was already awaiting the team's arrival when they reached the ICU. The unit was virtually silent, save for the beeping and hissing of machines. The intensive care consultant certainly lived up to her name with her jet black hair tied back into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, and piercing blue eyes that could chill anyone to the core with a single look. She waved the team over to where she stood at the nurse's station. She stiffly shook Emily’s outstretched, trembling hand. 

“Agent Prentiss. I'm Dr. Crowe. I'm overseeing Dr. Reid’s care whilst he is in the ICU.” The doctor’s tone was sharp and firm, with a British accent. “Dr. Reid is currently attached to a multitude of machines so it will be difficult to process. He is on a ventilator which is breathing for him. 

“He is connected to an EEG to monitor his brain function given the inflammation. He is laid flat and is still in a cervical collar. This at least keeps his spine straight and prevents him from moving his head. Most people will experience disorientation on waking up. Dr. Reid will likely experience an intense emotional outburst given his situation. For his safety, and the safety of everyone around him, he has been placed into restraints.” JJ narrowed her glassy eyes. 

“You've tied him down?” hissed JJ. 

“Yes.” Dr. Crowe's bluntness was startling. “You all may go in and see him. Just, don't touch any of the equipment.”

Despite being the ones who found Spencer, Luke and JJ struggled to process the sight in front of them. For the others, it was devastating. Spencer looked tiny amongst the starched white sheets on the bed. He was laid flat on the bed. A yellow and blue cervical collar remained fastened around his neck, sitting against his chin and collar bones. His right arm was encased in a blue sling that was strapped to his chest to prevent movement in any direction. A foam limb holder was tied around his wrist, hidden by the sling, and bound to the bed frame. His left arm was held down by his side by another. 

Large patches of gauze were taped over the stab wounds in his chest and abdomen. A beige coloured bag was attached to his stomach just above his hip bone. A fine mesh was placed over his eyes to soothe the blisters. A plastic box filled with yellow liquid hung on the bottom portion of the bed frame. It didn't take a medical professional to know that it was from his catheter. Spencer’s eyes were blackened from his broken nose that had a splint taped over it. A central venous line had been taped into his chest above his heart to feed medication directly into his battered body. Multiple wires and tubes crossed his bare torso. 

Emily dropped into the plush armchair to Spencer’s left and curled her fingers around his. His extremities were bitterly cold. Emily cradled his hand between hers in a hope that she could offer him some warmth. Spencer hated being cold. A hot tear rolled down her face and dripped onto the sheet. She leaned forward and brought his hand up to her lips as far as the restraints would allow, gently kissing his knuckles. 

“I'm so, so sorry, Spence. Jack will be brought to justice for his actions. We will make sure that he receives the maximum punishment. I just don't understand. I only ask that you let us help you. God knows, you're going to need it. Don't push us away. You're not alone.” The silence in the room was palpable, broken by the steady beeping from the EKG, and the gentle whooshing sound of the ventilator.

Chapter Text

Three days of watching Spencer in his comatose state had been torturous. The team stayed with him in shifts, each eagerly anticipating him waking up. The doctors had started to reduce Spencer’s sedation to assess his neurological state, though he continued to require support with his breathing. The effort the day before to wean him off the ventilator hadn't been successful, his oxygen levels tanking almost immediately after the machine had been switched off. 

Tara clasped Spencer’s left hand, rubbing her thumb back and forth across his knuckles, a glossy women's magazine balanced on her crossed legs as she thumbed through it. She felt a twitch beneath her palm. It seemed insignificant at first, but then it became more pronounced. Tara glanced at Spencer, her eyes wide. His brows were pinched together and his fingers weakly gripped hers. 

“Spencer? It's Tara. If you can hear me, I'd like you to open your eyes.” Spencer's eyes briefly fluttered. Tara discarded the magazine to the tiled floor and cradled his hand in both of hers. 

When he finally managed to open his hazy pools into narrow slits, the only thing he could see was the off white ceiling. He could taste something clinical in his mouth. Spencer attempted to lift his hand to remove the offensive tasting object, only to be met with resistance. He pulled against the restraints holding him to the bed. Once. Twice. There was no give. He tried to raise his head to peer down at what was preventing him from moving, only to find something hard wedged between his jaw and his collarbones that stopped him from moving his head in any direction. He attempted to shift his legs to shuffle into an upright position, but they would not respond to his commands. Tara leaned over the bed rail so that she appeared in Spencer’s line of sight. The EKG released a frantic wail as his heart rate soared.

“Reid? It's Tara. You're safe. You're in the hospital. Just relax. You have a breathing tube in. You need to let it do its job. You're not strong enough to breathe without it.” Spencer's eyes flicked across to hers, pupils blown wide with fear.

He looked far more gaunt than Tara had seen before. The blue tube holder that held the endotracheal tube in place and covered the lower half of his face, and the yellow nasogastric tube that snaked up his left nostril were a stark contrast to his pale skin. Spencer flinched as Tara lifted a hand to gently sweep some curls out of his face. 

“It's okay, Reid.” Tears brimmed on his lower lashes, his arm continuing to tug on the restraints. He couldn't move in any way and it was terrifying him. The tears broke free and rolled down his face. The shrill noise of the frenzied alarms on the monitors pierced his skull like ice picks. He writhed in place, trying to slam his head back against the pillow. His wrists twisted in the cuffs. Tara brushed her thumb across his cheek below the scabbed blisters. There were too many things touching him. There were too many sensations. Too much noise. 

“Spencer, I need you to try and calm down for me. You're just in the hospital. These are medically necessary.” With Spencer not calming in any way, his panic rising by the second, Tara slammed her palm into the emergency call bell above the bed. She eyed him worriedly, her thumb continuing to caress his cheek soothingly.

Spencer’s eyelids flickered, his scleras visible as his eyes rolled up. His cheek twitched rhythmically. The EEG began to crescendo, the cacophony of sound becoming overwhelming. His fingers contorted into claws, arms pulling against his restraints. He couldn't react to the pain that flared through his shoulder. His spine arched against the mattress. Tara froze, unsure of what she could do to help. She wanted to lie him straight but his muscles were too contracted, and there were so many wires and tubes all over her friend to move him safely. 

Realising that no one was going to respond to the emergency, Tara bolted to the door and bellowed down the corridor for help. As she turned back to the room, Spencer began convulsing on the bed, the frame clanking with each jerk. It was alarming to see his legs remain completely unresponsive to the electrical storm that ravaged the rest of his body. Blood-stained mucus dribbled out of his nose with each loud snoring noise that he emitted. His face was crimson, veins bulging in his forehead and neck. Tara's blood boiled with rage at the fact no one attended to their patient. Spencer’s blood pressure was spiking. Any longer and he was going to stroke out. 

A junior doctor finally arrived with a nurse in tow, both instantly horrified by the sight of Spencer’s painfully contorted form as he seized. Tara balled her hands into fists, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from going into a furious tirade. 

“4 milligrams Ativan, please. I'm going to page neurology.” The doctor typed hurriedly on his pager as the nurse prepared a syringe of clear medication and clicked it into Spencer’s central line. “We'll need to send him for a CT scan once he stops fitting so we can check for further spinal damage.” Tara simply glared at the doctor. It took a minute for Spencer’s seizing to slow to a slight tremor and the snorting to stop. Tara grabbed some tissues and carefully wiped the mucus away from his nose. Eyes burning with red hot rage, Tara averted her attention to the doctor.

“There had better be a good fucking reason that you took so long to get here,” snarled Tara.

…

Spencer had been exceptionally lucky that there was no lasting damage to his spine, brain or heart after his seizure. Emily took over from Tara to allow her to grab some coffee and take a walk to clear her head. Emily had no qualms with berating the hospital staff, and threatened them with legal action for failing to attend an emergency which almost cost the agent his life. Emily eyed the monitors warily, watching the numbers blinking on the screen. Despite being back into a drug induced slumber, albeit a temporary one, the crease remained between Spencer’s furrowed brows as though he was full of thought. 

Spencer’s nose wrinkled as his consciousness slowly trickled its way back to him. He instantly recognised the typical antiseptic smell that came with hospitals. His eyes gradually opened, though his eyelids felt exceptionally heavy. He blinked to clear his blurred vision. For all his eyesight was abysmal, he was able to see more than he had been. He could feel the tube down his throat, the holder straps pulled tight into his cheeks. He was laid flat on his back. He never slept on his back. As he became more aware, he noticed the collar strapped around his neck, and the limb holders that bound his wrists to the bed. Emily leaned over so that he could see her and smiled warmly at him.

“Hi, Spence. It's Emily. You're still on the ventilator so we need to communicate differently for now. I want you to blink once for yes and twice for no. Can you do that?” 

Blink.

“Excellent. Can you see me?”

Blink. 

“Do you remember what happened?” Spencer curved a sarcastic, questioning eyebrow at her before blinking once. 

“Good. I know you probably want to know what happened to you. I'll tell you, but I need to know that you're going to stay calm.” Spencer reached his left hand up towards her as much as the restraints would allow. Emily grasped it firmly, hoping that it would ground her in some way. 

“Okay. You have some swelling around your brain from blunt force trauma. You've had two seizures from it, but the swelling is going down. You have a broken nose. Your collar bone was broken and you need to wear a sling for eight weeks until it heals. Your knee was completely smashed up. They did a full knee replacement.” Spencer gave Emily a reassuring squeeze and blinked for her to continue. 

“You were stabbed in the left lung. It collapsed and you haven't been able to maintain your breathing without the ventilator. You were also stabbed in your abdomen which pierced your liver. They drained the bleeding and repaired the damage. You had some swelling to your optic nerves from the antifreeze but that's settled now.” Spencer could tell by Emily’s distracted gaze and chewing of her bottom lip that she was trying to skirt her way around a difficult subject. He squeezed her hand again. Go on… Just say it… I know he paralysed me…

“When Jack stabbed you in the back, he severed your spinal cord between the T12 and L1. They had to give you a colostomy and a long-term catheter. Spence? I'm so sorry. You'll never walk again. You don't have any use of your body from the waist down.” 

Blink. I know… I understand… 

“Do you think we should get the doctor to check your lungs? We'll see if we can get you off the ventilator yet.” Emily gave him a gentle peck on the forehead and left the room to find the doctor. Spencer stared listlessly at the ceiling. He knew that Jack's actions had damaged him beyond repair. Yet, he didn't feel saddened by it. 

He was furious.

Furious that someone he loved and doted on could lash out at him so brutally for little more than a drunken tirade. Hotch would never forsake his son like that. Hotch would be livid that his son turned into a violent sociopath. 

Spencer’s hands clenched into fists, rage burning in his eyes. Pain flared in his wounds. He liked the pain. Pain fuelled his anger. His fingers snaked down the side of the bed to fumble for the knot on his restraints, though it was slightly out of his reach. He brushed the cuff back and forth over the bed frame to try and loosen the strap that buckled it around his wrist. The constant tugging against the strap loosened the knot that tied it to the bed frame. 

Just as the doctor entered the room with Emily on her heels.

As Dr. Crowe leaned over slightly to shine the light of her pen torch into Spencer’s eyes, his newly freed hand shot up and latched onto the lapel of her white coat, dragging her in close. His eyes flashed dangerously, breaths leaving his nose slowly and deeply. The breathing tube prevented him from saying a word. 

“Dr. Reid. Let go of me this instant.” Spencer's eyes narrowed. 

“Spence! Release her! That is an order!” Spencer showed no attempt to release his crushing grip on the doctor’s coat. Emily stepped up to the side of the bed and wrestled his fingers away from the garment. It was as though he had developed superhuman strength. His arm strained against Emily’s hold, veins bulging under his skin. 

Emily quickly snatched the handcuffs from her belt and locked a cuff tightly around his wrist. She attached the other cuff around the bed frame near his head, holding his arm away from being able to reach anyone. Spencer pulled angrily against the cuff, metal clinking against metal. Sweat beaded his brow with the effort of trying to get free. Dr. Crowe had an impassive mask across her face, completely unperturbed by her patient's behaviour as she stood behind Emily.

“Spencer? What the fuck?” There was clearly a quickly gathering thunderstorm behind the hazel eyes that stared back at Emily, golden irises glinting in the low light of the room. 

Spencer’s attempts at speech were garbled, trapped by the bite guard on the tube holder that was wedged between his teeth to prevent him biting down on the breathing tube. Dr. Crowe stepped away to fill a syringe with a clear medication. Emily adjusted her position slightly so that the consultant was blocked from Spencer’s view.

“Spencer, please listen to me. I know you're angry about what happened. I get it. We need to get this tube out and then you can tell me what it is you're thinking.” 

“I'm leaving it in,” stated Dr. Crowe over her shoulder. Emily turned to her incredulously. 

“What?” 

“I'm leaving it in.”

“He's trying to speak to me. That tells me that he's breathing on his own.”

“It stays.”

“So, you're gagging him then?” Spencer frowned at Emily’s words, his heart rate spiking. He wanted to turn his head to look at the doctor but was restricted by the cervical collar. His eyes widened in fear at the thought of being tied down and gagged again. He writhed in place, desperate to be free. 

The handcuffs bit into his skin as he tugged harder against them. He urged his legs to kick out but they didn't react. Dr. Crowe appeared in his line of sight with the syringe in her hand. Spencer’s futile ministrations of speech were hindered by the clinical objects filling his mouth. She attached the syringe to his central line and pushed the medication through. Once the medication hit his bloodstream, Spencer knew that he had been given a lower dose than previously. It made his arms feel limp and useless, and his head felt fuzzy, yet he was still aware of what was happening around him. Emily removed the handcuff from around his pliable wrist, allowing Dr. Crowe to secure the limb holder back in place. She reduced the slack in the strap even more than before to prevent him from lifting his hand more than an inch from the mattress. Spencer still made muffled attempts to speak.

Emily noticed a crimson patch spreading steadily across the bed sheet beneath Spencer. Her brows knitted in concern. It was clearly blood, darkening the white material. Spencer grimaced at the sensation of wet cloth stuck to his bare skin.  

“Um, Dr. Crowe? I think he's bleeding from somewhere.”

“Agent, I'm not backtracking on my decision.”

“I'm not asking you to. I'm telling you that he's bleeding. There's blood on his sheets.” Dr. Crowe frowned as she looked over Emily’s shoulder at the growing spread of blood. She untied the limb holder from the right side of the bed and rolled Spencer over to his left, knotting the strap again on the opposite bed rail. Spencer’s eyes rolled sluggishly to see what was happening. Emily's mouth dropped open at the sight of the gaping stab wound in Spencer’s back, the stitches dangling loosely from where they had ripped apart. Blood dripped steadily onto the sheets. Emily hurried around to the other side of the bed so that Spencer could see her. She soothingly brushed his hair back out of his glassy eyes.

“Spence? You've opened the wound on your back. The doctor needs to stitch it up again. You're okay.” Spencer’s response was lost into the equipment forcing mechanical breaths into his lungs. 

Emily noticed that the genius’ face was scrunched in discomfort as Dr. Crowe worked silently behind him. His left hand batted weakly against the mattress.

“What is it, Spence? Are you in pain?” Spencer blinked once. Emily glanced over to see Dr. Crowe stitching the wound. There was no syringe indicating that local anaesthetic had been used.

“Did you numb that first?” asked Emily. Dr. Crowe kept her head down as she worked. 

“He's paralysed, agent. He can't feel it.” Spencer’s swatting at the mattress became more frantic. 

“He can feel that. You're hurting him.”

“Nonsense.” Hot tears formed at the corners of Spencer’s eyes and rolled down his face, becoming trapped by the tube holder straps. His knuckles rapped repeatedly against the bed rail. His heart rate soared, the machine alarming. 126… 140… 152… 165…

“He's going to have a heart attack!” The machine grew more frenzied, then became a solid, high pitched wail. Spencer’s eyes had fallen shut. Emily snapped her head around the look at the monitor. 

Spencer’s heart rate flashed as 0. His blood pressure was 0/0. 

Chapter Text

Emily had already untied the restraints from the bed and rolled Spencer onto his back before Dr. Crowe had processed what had happened. Her patient had literally gone into cardiac arrest in front of her. Emily began chest compressions whilst the doctor finally jumped into action and disconnected the ventilator. She attached a ventilation bag to the endotracheal tube and began squeezing. She pulled her personal alarm, triggering a series of warnings around the hospital. A number of staff bustled into the room and descended on the trio. The straps holding the sling in place were released to allow his chest to be fully exposed. A pair of orange conduction pads were slapped onto Spencer’s chest, one over his sternum, and the other over his ribs on the left side. Defibrillator paddles were pressed to the pads by one of the other doctors.

“Charging to 360. Oxygen away?” The ventilation bag was disconnected. “Stand clear. Shocking.” Spencer’s body jerked as the triggers were pressed on the paddles. The bag was reattached to force breaths into the patient.

“Going again. Charging 360. Oxygen away.” The bag was disconnected again. “Stand clear. Shocking.” On the second shock, Spencer's eyes fluttered open and a small groan sounded behind the breathing tube. 

“He's back. Get him back on the vent. Push fluids and sedate.” 

The older man turned to Emily and Dr. Crowe as the rest of the nurses reconnected the ventilator and tied the restraints down to the bed with no room to move. He narrowed his eyes on the two women.

“I'm Professor Scott. I'm the chief of medicine here. What happened?” Emily fired a glare at Dr. Crowe. 

“Your colleague here refused to remove the ventilator when Dr. Reid was clearly trying to breathe on his own and communicate with us. Yes, he became combative, but he's just been put through an extremely traumatic experience. She then failed to fully sedate him. In a final straw, she didn't anaesthetise his wound before suturing, in which he felt everything, then refused to acknowledge the fact. She ignored his spiking heart rate.” Professor Scott focussed his stare on Dr. Crowe. 

“My office. Now. And you are?” Professor Scott extended a hand to Emily.

“SSA Emily Prentiss from the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI. Dr. Reid is part of my team.”

“Agent Prentiss. I will see to it personally that this situation is dealt with appropriately, and I will oversee your colleague's care from hereon in.”

“I appreciate it, professor.” Professor Scott addressed the nurses in the room.

“Page me the minute Dr. Reid wakes up. I need to complete a full neuro and respiratory work up when he's conscious. The sedative is a short-acting one. Dr. Crowe, I want to see you in my office immediately.” Professor Scott stalked away with Dr. Crowe close on his heels.

Emily made her way back to Spencer’s bedside, wringing her hands anxiously. He would look peaceful if it weren't for the tear tracks down his face. She perched on the chair beside the bed and grasped his cold hand. The defibrillator pads remained stuck to his chest. The bruising on his broken collarbone was dark and angry. Just as she suspected his mood would be when he came to. 

“I'm so sorry, Spence. We're going to file a malpractice suit against her. You can bet your ass we will,” sighed Emily. 

“Make that a malpractice suit against the hospital,” came Tara's voice from behind Emily. She held a cup of coffee out to the unit chief who accepted it gratefully. 

“Thanks, Tara.” 

“What the hell happened here?”

“He lost it and grabbed Dr. Crowe's coat. He was trying to talk to me but she refused to remove the ventilator. He was clearly breathing on his own. She didn't fully sedate him. She, uh, started stitching his wound without numbing it first. He could feel it. She ignored me, ignored his heart rate going through the roof. He went into cardiac arrest.”

“I hope you threw that bitch under the bus,” responded Tara with a tilt of her head and her eyebrows curved upwards as she sipped her coffee. 

“Damn right. To the chief of medicine, too.” Tara let out a stiff laugh. She eyed the sedated doctor sadly.

“What are we going to do about him?”

“He can't be a field agent anymore. He can work from the office though. At a push, he could travel with us and consult from the police stations. I suspect the brass will want to terminate him and bring in someone capable.”

“We'll never find another mind like Reid’s. He sees patterns that no one else can. Yes, he's had a rocky time lately, but they can't argue with his results. This team needs him. The bureau needs him.”

“They will say we managed perfectly fine while he was in prison. I hate how true that is.”

“Yes, and the cases could have been solved faster if we had Reid. You know that.”

“I know. I just hope I can get the brass to see that.” 

“Emily, you fought tooth and nail for him in prison. You would fight for any one of us, but you're different when it's Reid. You're more protective of him.” Emily shrugged and sipped her coffee, gazing sadly at Spencer. 

“I've always thought of him as my little brother. I didn't have siblings growing up, but he's exactly how I pictured an annoying brother.” Tara laughed again, this time it was more genuine. 

“As someone with a brother, I can attest to that.”

“He's going to be so angry when he wakes up. He loved Jack. He saw Hotch as a father figure. Knowing that someone he loved did this will be destroying him.” 

“Then we help him through it.” Emily glanced at Tara with uncharacteristic tears pooling in her dark eyes. 

“I'm scared of what Reid will do.”

“What do you mean?”

“He's either going to snap and hurt someone, or he's going to hurt himself. The way his mental health is going right now, he's going to end up in prison again, or he's going to try to end his life.”

“Then we need to do whatever it takes to help him.”

…

Spencer felt the haze melting from his mind, sensation trickling down his fingers. He could feel the crisp sheets beneath him. The cuffs around his wrists. The tube that was situated in his throat. His head was pounding as though a hammer was repeatedly slamming into his skull. He could only hear the sounds of the monitors beeping and the hissing of the ventilator. He cracked his eyes open and glanced to his left. He craned his neck slightly to see that he was alone. He twisted his right hand, fingers fumbling for the buckle binding the cuff around his wrist. 

It took several attempts before he managed to slide the strap out of the buckle, and his bruised wrist came free. He reached over to his left hand, his shoulder screaming at him, and freed his left wrist. With his hands free, Spencer reached up to the collar around his neck, fingers snaking towards the straps holding it in place. The tearing of the Velcro was deafening as he ripped the straps apart and removed the suffocating collar. He moved on to the IVs connected to the crook of his elbow and his chest. With a sharp tug, he pulled them out. Blood trickled over his chest and arm. The EKG alarmed as the electrodes were plucked off his skin. He grasped the strap on the tube holder and pulled it apart. Removing the breathing tube without the correct procedure was going to be painful, but he needed to get away. With the tube tightly clenched in his fist, Spencer tugged on it. It didn't seem to want to budge. He gave it another sharp yank and felt the tube shift slightly. With all the strength he could muster, Spencer tore the tube out of his throat. He coughed harshly, blood peppering his lips. 

Spencer pushed himself up into a seated position, his arms trembling and the broken parts of his collarbone grinding against each other. He threw back the blankets to find himself completely nude. There was a pouch attached to his stomach. Colostomy, he supplied. A catheter snaked out of his member. He gave the catheter a tug, pulling it out with a slight pop. He grabbed his numb legs under his thighs, and swung them over the edge of the bed. He shuffled himself forward on his arms until he could see his toes touching the linoleum. There was nothing to catch him as he attempted to stand. He grunted as his naked body collided with the floor. Blood dripped from his arm, chest and lips. He lifted his head to look at his surroundings, his tousled locks hanging over his sweaty face. His wounds were throbbing, but he needed to get away. 

Using his arms, Spencer dragged himself across the floor, his dead legs following behind him. He spotted a wheelchair near the bathroom. He grasped the frame of the wheelchair and pulled himself up. His entire body felt like it was on fire as he managed to manoeuvre himself into the wheelchair. He panted heavily with exertion. He lifted each foot onto the footplates and released the brakes. He wheeled himself back to the bed and pulled the blankets away from the mattress. He draped it over his legs to partially hide his naked form. Spencer glanced over at the labelled plastic drawers containing medical equipment. He took the opportunity to ensure that he was still alone and moved over to the drawers. 

Spencer rifled through each drawer until he found something, anything that he could use. His spidery fingers landed on a sterile scalpel. He felt a wave of adrenaline as he retrieved it, eyes wide. He couldn’t tear the packaging open quick enough. The blade glinted in the light as he raised it up in front of his face. The sound of male voices grew nearer to the room. He narrowed his eyes at the door, scalpel tightly clutched in his fist. Even with his distorted vision, he was able to make out the sight of Matt and Luke approaching. Spencer shakily held the scalpel blade to his pulse point. His pulse bounded in his ears. 

Matt and Luke had been jovially discussing their relationships as they made their way to see Spencer. As they entered the room, they didn't anticipate seeing him half naked and out of bed. The EKG continued to alarm. Wires and tubes littered the bed. The restraints hung loosely from the frame. Even more horrifying was the fact that Spencer had a murderous glint in his eyes, a scalpel pressed to his neck. The skin beneath the blade turned white with pressure.

“Reid? What's going on?” asked Luke cautiously.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” screeched Spencer, spittle flying from his lips. It was unnatural to hear Spencer cursing. 

“Reid, we aren't here to hurt you. It's Matt and Luke. You're safe with us,” answered Matt soothingly. 

“No! I can't trust anyone! I was kidnapped and assaulted by someone I loved! I've been abused here by doctors. How do I know you won't?”

“Reid, we understand that was traumatic for you, but I can assure you you're safe with us. We're your friends.” The blade pushed down harder into his skin, blood beading up against it and trickling down his lithe neck. Luke approached slowly, his palms facing outwards to placate the irate genius. 

“I told you to stay away! Back the fuck off!” 

“We can't do that, Spencer,” said Matt. Spencer glanced between the pair, his eyes blown wide with adrenaline, fear, and anger. His chest wheezed. He was visibly simmering, an active volcano ready to erupt at any given moment. 

When Matt and Luke neglected to back up, Spencer lunged at Luke with the scalpel. Luke managed to dodge a well aimed strike to the leg. The pair nodded to each other in mutual understanding. Luke grasped Spencer’s right wrist and twisted it, forcing his hand to open and the scalpel to drop the floor with a clatter. Spencer released an agonised scream. His arm was wrenched up his back, aggravating his broken collarbone which elicited a yelp from the doctor. 

“Let go! Get your hands off me!” screamed Spencer. Luke and Matt easily pushed Spencer out of the wheelchair and face down onto the floor. Spencer’s left hand swept aimlessly, determined to hit out at something, anything.

“Get the fuck off me!” Matt pulled Spencer’s flailing arm behind his back. Luke yanked his right arm down and retrieved the handcuffs from the back of his belt. Spencer writhed underneath them. 

As Luke tightened the tough steel cuffs around Spencer’s wrists and locked them, Spencer began to slam his head into the floor. He had become acutely aware that the blanket had fallen away, leaving him completely naked on the cold linoleum floor which made him fight harder against the cuffs and their hold on his arms. His buttocks were bared to the world and he was unable to see the two men restraining him. His screams were too painful to bear. He heard the sound of a buckle coming undone. Spencer’s screams turned to wracked sobs. 

“Please! Don't do this!” A folded belt was shoved between his teeth to silence him as Matt exited the room to find a doctor. Spencer continued to squirm, his teeth biting crevices into the belt. He twisted his wrists in the cuffs but couldn't slip them free. He desperately wanted to run. There were too many things touching him. He was tied up again. They were going to hurt him. A male doctor barrelled into the room with a prepared hypodermic needle. Spencer’s eyes widened further at the sight of another man. His pleas were lost into the leather. He cried out at the pinch in his bicep as the doctor jabbed him with the needle. 

The effects of the sedative quickly took over. Spencer felt his limbs tingling. His eyes rolled sluggishly behind fluttering lids. The belt was removed, leaving a trail of saliva down Spencer’s chin. 

“‘m s'ry… pl’s… don’...” slurred Spencer, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth. The doctor removed the restraints from the bed and set up a new six point restraint system on the mattress. Luke unlocked the handcuffs and stuffed them back into the pouch on his belt. He and Matt gathered Spencer’s pliable form up into a hammock carry and deposited him onto the bed. The doctor pulled the straps under Spencer’s arms and over his shoulders before connecting them at the head of the bed. They worked quickly, binding his wrists in the cuffs and strapping them down to the bed. Another strap was buckled around his waist, then the cuffs attached so that he could not move his arms in any direction. He needed to be recatheterised, so the doctor opted to wrap straps around Spencer’s thighs, binding them to the bed. Finally, his ankles were secured to the foot of the bed. 

Spencer shook his head, his glazed eyes wandering. An oxygen mask was placed over his nose and mouth and secured around his head. The EKG was reapplied to his clammy chest. The oxygen monitor was clipped onto his finger. New IVs were inserted into his arms. Spencer’s mouth bobbed behind the mask, trying to form words, but no sound came out. 

“He was given a hefty dose of Midazolam. He won't remember any of this,” reported the doctor as he finished attaching the relevant monitors to his patient. “I need to insert a new catheter. I strongly advise that you leave the room.” The doctor moved over to the cupboards, gathering a large box, and carrying it back to the bed. He dragged over a rolling table and set the box down. 

He set out the equipment needed and squeezed some lubricating gel onto the sterile field. He snapped on the nitrile gloves and reached for the gauze swabs. He gently cleaned Spencer’s penis which made the genius’ breaths stutter. The doctor tore open the syringe of water for inflating the balloon on the catheter, then opened the packaging on the long, thin tube. He dragged the catheter through the gel and grasped Spencer’s member. He angled the pink flesh slightly and slowly slid the catheter inside. Spencer grimaced at the sensation and squirmed in place. Once there was a flashback of urine in the tube, the doctor took the syringe and inflated the balloon to hold it in place. He attached the tube for the urine output box to the catheter. He glanced up as he removed his gloves with a snap to see that Matt and Luke had watched the whole procedure. 

“Dr. Reid needs his rest. I suggest you both leave.” Spencer's eyes eventually slipped shut, exhaustion taking over, and his breaths evened out. The doctor draped the blanket back over Spencer’s legs and applied a butterfly strip to the nick in his neck. Matt and Luke shared a glance at one another before leaving the room.

…

Emily, Tara, JJ, and Penelope relished being alone in the conference room. David had gone to a nearby cafe for lunch. The ladies each had a Starbucks in front of them, discussing the lawsuit they were going to bring against the hospital. Penelope had quickly gone from hysterical sobbing to pure rage, a rare emotion for her. 

“It's seriously brutal seeing him in that kind of state. He's just so scared and angry. I just want to take it all away from him,” sighed Emily, her chin in her cupped hand and her hair dangling down her wrist. 

“I just can't believe that Jack would do all of this. He looked up to Spence. I mean, do you really think Hotch was like that?” asked JJ, eyeing her frappuccino, her lips pulled to the side in thought. 

“Hotch was abused as a child by his alcoholic father. It's entirely possible,” answered Tara, sipping her latte. 

“Poor Spence. He must be devastated,” said JJ. 

“We will take care of our boy wonder,” answered Penelope confidently.

The four women turned to the door as it clicked open, not expecting anyone to intrude. Matt and Luke stepped into the room, their shoulders slumped, heavy with the weight of the events at the hospital. 

“What are you two doing here? You're supposed to be with Reid,” said Emily, her brows pulled together. Matt rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. 

“Yeah. About that…” began Matt. 

“Reid had managed to get free of his restraints. He had pulled of his tubes and wires out. When we got there, he was half naked in a wheelchair with a scalpel to his neck,” responded Luke. Emily's gaze darkened. 

“What happened?” Emily’s voice was low and dangerous. 

“He was screaming at us. He went for Alvez with the scalpel. We didn't have a choice.”

“What did you do?” 

“We had to take him to the floor and restrain him. He was smashing his head into the floor and trying to hit us. We cuffed him,” answered Luke.

“What?” 

“A doctor came in and sedated him. They've put him in a six point restraint system on the bed,” responded Matt. Emily narrowed her eyes suspiciously. 

“Is that all?” 

“His screams. They were absolutely agony to hear. I put my belt in his mouth to quieten him.” Emily’s nostrils flared. The pair had restrained and gagged their friend with no thought for his recent trauma. Emily rose to her feet, her hands balled into fists. In a split second, Emily landed a right hook to Luke’s jaw which thudded loudly, snapping his head to the right. Another slapping noise sounded as she backhanded Matt across the face. 

“You two better get out of my sight,” panted Emily, her knuckles reddened. “You're not to go near him again. Is that understood?” Matt and Luke swiftly exited the room. Emily’s message was clear.