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masterwords · 3 years

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Like Falling Sand

Chapter Thirteen: The Debts I Have to Pay

Notes: Hotch spends some time in a mental health facility and Haley's family lays into him when he gets out. Things are not good. MIND THE WARNINGS. This one is a long one but it needed to stay as one piece, not broken up. The next chapter will see a little time jump, pick up the pace some, and we're going to start seeing more Spencer.

Warnings: Character death (Haley & Foyet), depression, grief, suicidal thoughts/intentions/mentions, inpatient stay in a mental health facility, violence, anger, abuse

Words: 6.5k

Previously On: Chapter List

“That's career suicide,” Emily muttered, shaking her head. Dave concurred, grumbling about security clearances and gun laws, all of which sent Derek into a tailspin. He hadn't even considered the ramifications to his career, he was only thinking about Jack, about the boy losing his mother and father all over the course of one horrific day. The team had gathered outside of the hospital to discuss Aaron's decision to admit himself for an inpatient stay, and everyone seemed to have an opinion. So far no one agreed with Aaron.

“Did I do this?” Penelope asked and Derek sighed. “By making you bring him? Is this my fault?”

“Well, actually,” Spencer, who had been all but silent the entire time, interjected. All eyes turned to him expectantly and he shrunk just a little, not realizing just how intimidating it could be to have all of them staring him down at once. “A 5150 is an involuntary hold and would most likely be a problem, but you said he was a voluntary admit? That's not the same thing. He's asking for help, he's asking to be evaluated and depending on what they decide at the end of his initial 3 day stay there is still hope. I can't believe there would be any reason he would lose his job or any of his clearances just because he admits he needs help handling a traumatic situation. It's Hotch.” His faith in Aaron was unwavering, but even more, he understood mental health struggles, he had more firsthand experience than any of them. “I'd like to think he's given this some thought and is doing what's best for he and Jack. We should trust him.”

“Kid...” Derek said, pulling Spencer aside for a moment, away from the rest of the team. Spencer followed, afraid there would be a confrontation, Derek's fear was palpable and that easily translated into anger but the look in his eyes wasn't angry, it was desperate and sad. “Honestly? You think it's a good thing?”

Spencer bit his lip and stared at Derek a moment, trying to read the concern in his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah I do. I think he'll be better there than at home after everything that happened. He probably doesn't trust himself around anyone right now," he paused, lowering his voice a little. "The way the brain deals with trauma is really fascinating, it shuts certain things down, protects us. It's likely he doesn't remember what he did to Foyet, it'll be fragmented at best but he knows what he feels like, he knows he held Haley and he knows he's injured but the rest isn't there and that's got to be awful.” It was unexpected, sudden, fierce but Derek pulled Spencer into a hug, wrapped himself around the other man's shoulders until he'd completely engulfed him and breathed him in.

“Thank you,” he whispered, face buried in Spencer's neck. He still wanted to talk to Aaron, make sure he knew what he was doing, put up a fight but he knew how it was going to go. Once Aaron made up his mind, that was it. The sudden outpouring of affection, the lack of a pet name, the ferocity of Derek's emotion was jarring.

“You sure about this?” Derek asked, leaning too close, like it might be the last time. The doctor's words stuck to his skin, made him itchy. Aaron's eyes were impossibly sad, he'd never seen him so lost, this man who was always so sure of himself, so ready to run toward danger to save a life was listless, so close already to being gone. The way he looked tired, barely awake but incapable of real sleep broke his heart.

“Yes,” he sighed, lips barely moving around the word. There was some peace in his features, the only part of him that remained familiar – a deeply ingrained sense that what he was doing was right.

“He's not a prisoner, Agent, this is a voluntary stay – he came to us, he asked the questions. You may drive him, if you wish, or we can escort him by ambulance if there isn't another way. It has been my experience that this sort of thing goes much smoother when a loved one checks the patient in. The outcomes far more positive. You would be amazed what support does for a person who is struggling against their own mind.”

“You want me to drive you?” He hadn't considered the possibility, didn't have much experience in this department. Probably should have asked Spencer more questions, he'd be sure to start tonight. He had about a hundred off of the top of his head and none he wanted to ask here.

“Please,” Aaron whispered, knowing the team was outside, they had to be by now. They always were. He didn't want them to come, couldn't have them around, couldn't look them in the eye. Dave and Emily would put up a fight if given the chance, try to force their way in – being on the outside was uncomfortable for them and they wouldn't approve of his decision no matter how he justified it. They would insist they could help, hole him up in his apartment and throw tough love at him. There was a chance with Derek, he could convince him he was making the right decision if he could keep Derek alone. So desperately needing just one person in his corner.

It was a half hour drive to the facility, an old fashioned brick building that looked more like an oversize elementary school than a hospital. Behind it sprawled a large courtyard, nothing fancy but deep emerald green and dotted with trees. It didn't look horrible, not like the horror movie compound Derek was picturing, not like some of the old asylums they'd traversed over the course of their years with the BAU. This was a hospital but it didn't look it from the outside, it almost looked nice, more Downton Abbey than Silent Hill. Derek still felt a shiver run up his spine knowing that he would leave Aaron here behind locked doors, one unable to enter, one unable to leave.

“It's okay, Derek,” Aaron whispered, trembling hands cradled against his thighs. If he didn't think about them they didn't hurt and that was about as much as he could hope for. They would pump him full of all sorts of sedatives and pain medications the minute he checked in, that much he remembered clearly – he was a rough around the edges barely teenager when he'd last stared down this building, he didn't know enough about the substances to be afraid of them and they were the first thing that helped calm the storm in his mind. Just had to make it that far. The look on Derek's face was concerning, frightening. “I'm not suicidal,” he whispered, as if it would help now. As if he could take away whatever the doctor might have said, whatever that feeling was that was eating at Derek as he stared at the building and tried not to imagine every movie he'd ever seen about mental health treatment centers that had scared him shitless.

“Then what is this for?”

“I'm afraid,” he said, sucking in as deep a breath as he could through the complaints of broken ribs. “I just...need help.” The swirling fog, blood soaked fragments of the day were settling, making it hard to breathe. Dusk settled on the horizon and he could feel the chill sinking into his bones. He couldn't think straight, all he'd wanted to do was get Derek alone and explain but he couldn't string words together. Staring straight at the building, knowing he was going in there and staying was waking something else up instead. Something long buried.

“You've been here before, haven't you?” He didn't know what made him say it, but the way Aaron's eyes flickered at the sight of the building gave him pause. There was familiarity in them, something like remembering a face from your past and it didn't look menacing, he didn't look scared. Still stuck in the moments before, Aaron admitting something so raw to him, he couldn't make himself open the car door, just wanted to keep Aaron there beside him where he could see him. If he was afraid, Derek could protect him, it was his most basic instinct and even after the course of events had proven that to be untrue, he couldn't move beyond it. His entire identity was wrapped up in protecting people.

Aaron didn't reply to Derek's question, couldn't pry his eyes away from the building. He'd been here before, had underestimated the feeling it would dredge up when he saw it again. Dropped off by his mother, partially in response to his frightening adolescent behavior and partially for his own protection. The deeper he fell into his depression, the more he hurt himself, the worse it got with his father. The cycle was bad during the school year but once he was out for the summer it became unbearable and he had nowhere to to get away from it. One way or another, Aaron was going to die if she didn't do something and this was the only thing she could think to do. Hide him away from himself and his father. Admitted for three weeks, most of his summer spent in a medicated stupor and he went right from the hospital to boarding school without a breather in between. Shuffled away again. For your own good, they'd said. He doubted that. “I'll be okay.”

“I know,” Derek's reply was genuine. He was scared, but not for Aaron, he could handle himself. He was scared of being kept away from him, scared of the fallout from what had happened, scared of the Aaron that would emerge from that front door in a few days, maybe even scared he wouldn't come out at all – he didn't have to, he could choose to stay longer, they could decide to force him to stay. Once he walked through those doors and all of this became solid there was too much uncertainty, too many variables. There was a certain amount of fear in just the idea that he had to show up to work and answer for this entire thing, look Chief Strauss in the eye and justify the actions of his team. It all rested squarely on his shoulders. He had no answers. “Can you make phone calls?”

“I'm not a prisoner,” he reiterated, a ghostly pale smile flashing briefly. “You could visit.” No one had visited him during his last stay, not once in three weeks. Or was it four? His memories were mostly good, quiet, but foggy. H'd learned how to play chess from an older man who was convinced he spoke directly to God, read about sixty books on everything from car mechanics to gardening to The Odyssey, but mostly he slept because he was an agitated youth prone to violence when he felt afraid and when he wasn't sedated enough, he felt nothing but fear. He would have liked to see his mother's face, for her to come and tell him it would be okay the same way she'd done when he was little and afraid of the monster in his closet, long before he learned that the real monster slept in the bed beside her. His mother had said it might adversely affect his care if she visited but it really just wouldn't look good for her to be making trips to the institution regularly and that was the end of it. Her love was constant and quiet but her cruelty knew no bounds. Sean was in first grade, he couldn't be exposed to such a thing – she had a list of excuses a mile long, none of them mattered to him. He was on his own always, hadn't expected any visitors anyway. He dared have hope this time, and hope was a scary thing.

“You sure?”

He just nodded. This was the hard part, the leaving, the walking in. Derek walked beside him, afraid to touch though all he wanted was to hold his hand – that time of easy touch between them felt worlds away now. A different life. Inside wasn't all bad, not what he was expecting anyway. Cream and beige and pale minty green, not exactly Aaron's color scheme but Derek wasn't appalled by it. He figured it was supposed to be calming, nothing loud, nothing wild to agitate people trying to heal. He didn't feel worried, the staff smiled and looked kind enough. In the TV room there was a man hollering about the second coming, about the devil but no one seemed to be paying him any mind and Aaron didn't even flinch. Check in didn't take long, not nearly long enough so far as Derek was concerned, and then they were leading Aaron away down a corridor and he couldn't follow.

Aaron didn't look back.

He visited once, after lunch on the second day. Thought it would be good for him to get a whole day under his belt first, settle in but he had to come. He couldn't stay away. In the car, Spencer waited – he'd insisted on coming, but wouldn't intrude on the inside, asked Derek not to mention that he'd come along. They ate lunch on the way and Spencer spent the car ride coaching Derek on how to behave, questions to ask or not to ask, things he could and could not have with him. Ways to be helpful and supportive, not overbearing.

“I'm not overbearing...” Derek grumbled, but the look on Spencer's face told him otherwise. “Okay, maybe a little, I just want what's best for people.”

“What's best for Hotch right now is for you to follow his lead. Trust him.” Derek huffed at that, as if he'd ever not followed Aaron, not trusted him. He may question him at times but he would always fall in line and offer his support. Downing the last gulp of soda, he shoved the garbage from his meal full of shame and regret into the paper bag – he had a tendency to eat his feelings, and this time he'd eaten an awful lot of them. Spencer was still nibbling at his fries, content to move slowly through his meal, he had nowhere to be except that vehicle for the next hour. The hospital was beautiful, he thought, looked full of history – he may poke around the grounds a bit, stretch his legs, pass the time with the birds and the squirrels and the trees.

“When did you get so wise, kid?” Derek ruffled Spencer's hair and with an indignant grunt, Spencer straightened it out again.

“I've always been wise, you just don't listen.”

Interrupting art therapy time, Derek reclined in a well cushioned beige damask chair and waited to see the familiar shape of Aaron coming down the hall. He could make himself comfortable anywhere, like he owned the place, and this was no exception. The visiting area was bright, big windows opening to the courtyard, small tables for cups of water, it was peaceful if you didn't look too close. If you really looked, you might notice that the tables were bolted to the floor, that there were no fluffy pillows in the chairs and the cushions were sewn in place. There were no curtains draped between the large picture windows, no blinds, nothing on which anyone could harm themselves or others with intent. He tried to draw his eyes from the little details, to focus on the hallway but found himself unable to do so until he heard a door open, airlocks clicking and popping. There was something soft and familiar about the man that came slowly toward him escorted by a nurse. Wearing the hospital provided gray sweatshirt and sweatpants, too bulky for his lean frame, and a pair of mint green gripper socks he was taken back to the time just after Foyet's attack. No harsh lines from the suit and the perpetual scowl, his eyes looked foggy and tired, the faint shadow of a beard already cast over his drawn features. They didn't greet with words, just a soft smile passed between them as Aaron eased himself slow and stiff into the chair opposite and folded his hands in his lap. One hand splinted, both still bearing the signs of broken and bruised skin, his fight with Foyet. The bright red blood scapped around his knuckles was jarring, a sick contrast to the muted neutral surroundings.

“How are you?” Derek asked, and he peered up at the nurse who stood just a few feet away observing. Aaron shrugged. He looked impossibly sad and tired, black and blue beneath his eyes – bruising and a broken nose masking the fact that he wasn't sleeping. “Jack misses you.”

“I miss him too,” he whispered, eyes cast downward. Not the right thing to say, he could hear Spencer's voice in his head telling him to chill out. Reminding him that Aaron was still just Aaron, not to be nervous. The look on his face was almost unreadable, he thought for a moment about how other people interpreted his lack of expression and felt sudden empathy for them. He'd always been able to tell, there were little ticks, flickers, things he did that gave you all the clues you needed to decipher what was going on, how he was feeling, how to anticipate his next move but whatever cocktail of sedatives they had him on blurred all of it.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” Aaron replied, but he had nothing to say. He was lost to his grief, to the shock of what he'd done, working with a therapist one on one to make sense of what he couldn't remember. He'd hoped this stay would help, would give him answers his mind couldn't provide, unlock doors he knew he didn't have the courage to open on his own. They weren't forcing him into group therapy, the circumstances that brought him there might be too troubling to some of the other patients and he was grateful for that at least. The circumstances were too troubling for him, he couldn't imagine putting that out into a group setting. One man had called him a murderer over dinner, scooping his gray green beans into his mouth as he said it. “I can tell, I can see it...there's evil in your eyes...murderer...” and Aaron said nothing, didn't flinch, didn't defend himself. “He says that to everyone,” a young woman who couldn't have been more than twenty piped in, turning to the offending man and growling at him playfully. “Don't worry about him, he's harmless.”

He avoided group settings if at all possible – would have eaten alone in his room if they would let him, but he wasn't trying to stand out. Aside from his time with the therapist and grief counselor they mostly left him alone, he wandered the halls and sat on his bed, went out into the courtyard whenever they would allow him. Good behavior, always polite, never fought his meds – he wasn't there to cause problems, a model patient who just genuinely didn't think he could manage the depths of his trauma without some assistance. If that wasn't growth, he didn't know what was. There was more to it than that, of course, a knowledge that submitting himself voluntarily to this would help him in the long run – with Haleys' family, with Jack, with his job and the inevitable investigation into what happened. There were so many moving pieces and at the center, it all revolved around him and what he did with his time. His gut instinct was to hide it all, and if Derek hadn't taken him to the hospital he would have taken that route without a doubt. There was something in the way Derek cared for him that made him want to get better, to do the right thing. This was too big for him to handle on his own.

“So, what do they have you doing in here anyway?” He was genuinely curious - Spencer had mentioned art therapy and that was intriguing, tried to imagine what sort of art Aaron might produce to help work through his trauma, he'd seen it so many times in cases and the way the human mind translated to paper by way of paints and pencils was fascinating.

“Derek,” Aaron whispered, tears in his eyes. They'd been there the whole time, threatening, Derek just hadn't noticed. He didn't want to talk about any of it, he didn't want to talk about anything. In truth, he'd been talking endlessly, it felt like all he did was talk until he thought his throat might bleed – the doctors wanted to know everything, were making good use of every second they had him in there, bleeding him dry. Trying to help him put the pieces back together, get some clarity, but it came at a high cost. He just wanted to sit quietly and be with Derek, listen to him. “Not now, please. Tell me something good. How is your mother?”

All Derek wanted to do was reach out and touch him, to pull him close. The way he looked so lost, so sad and they had to maintain this distance.

“Can we walk?” he aimed the question at the nurse who nodded. Thinking walking would get him closer to Aaron, they would be side by side at least, shoulder to shoulder, not staring across a cream carpet sea. They wandered slowly, up and down the hallways, he tried not to let his eyes linger too long in any of the rooms filled with patients – watching television, sitting in circles for therapy, drawing and writing and playing board games. It was all quiet, Derek wanted to ask what he did, whether he joined anyone, wanted some snapshot of what Aaron's life was like in here. It was only a few days but it felt like so much longer. He hated mysteries, secrets. He could feel eyes on them from the ends of the hallway, security, nurses, making sure Derek didn't slip him any contraband as if he would. “Are you coming home tomorrow?”

“I...” Aaron started, shaking his head to clear the fog. He wasn't certain what day it was, whether he'd talked with the therapists about discharge yet. Must have, he figured, just couldn't remember. These drugs were a helluva thing. “Yeah. I think so.”

“I'll pick you up,” he offered, a desperate attempt to inject a little hope into Aaron's day. “Take you out to eat and bring you home.”

Home felt different. Again. Derek had picked him up, listened to them as they rattled off discharge instructions – he didn't seem to pose any danger to himself but there were signs to watch out for, new medications to pick up and work into the mix, numbers to call, appointments to schedule. Deja vu, hadn't they just been here? Only this one was on him, he couldn't put this on Jessica. The team would help if Aaron didn't mind but Jessica had to keep her focus on her own family, her own grief. Just a year ago he'd volunteered to drive Aaron home from New York, as a point of contention and a power play more than anything else and now...if he thought too hard about now, he didn't know how to reconcile it.

They hit a drive through for lunch because Aaron said he was starving, the food had been abhorrent and he was dreaming of a turkey sandwich with thick slices of tomato. An oddly specific request, but that was just how Aaron was and Derek did his best to provide, pulled to the side of the road and fiddled with his phone until he found a place he could get Aaron exactly what he was looking for. A sandwich, a soda, french fries dipped in a shared chocolate milkshake. Felt like an old BAU road trip as Derek rambled through a long story his mother had told him about his little sister getting into a car accident and, to his mother's horror and shame at the children she'd raised, they'd exchanged phone numbers instead of insurance information.

“She's been on two dates with this guy!” Derek announced, shoveling a bite into his mouth quickly before Aaron had a chance to tell him (again) to keep both hands on the wheel. As if he would.

“Don't tell me that's never happened to you...” Aaron replied softly and Derek threw his head back and laughed, really laughed. It felt good.

“I don't like what you're insinuating. I'm way too good a driver for that.”

He took Aaron right to bed, tried to make him comfortable in the silent apartment before calling JJ and asking her to bring Jack by. It was the only thing on his mind, getting Jack back. He was the thread that would keep Aaron holding on, would anchor him there.

“Are you sure that's a good idea? You just brought him home from...”

“I don't know...I don't know JJ, but that's his son, it's not our call...I'm staying here tonight, he won't be alone.”

Aaron wasn't the type to talk. He rarely voiced opinions, thoughts, fears, but that didn't mean he was unreadable. Derek, over the course of the years, became adept at reading other things that would give him clues to how he was feeling – the weight of his footsteps, the way his shoulders squared or slumped, the tick of his fingers. Now, as he lay in his bed, a mess of bruises and injuries, scarcely breathing through the deep ache in his chest, Derek knew his flame was flickering dangerously low. Near extinguished. This was too much for any person. His time in the hospital had helped but nothing could take away the simple fact that he would have to live with what happened for the rest of his days.

“You don't have to stay,” Aaron whispered and Derek smiled. How many times had they been here? How many times had Aaron told him he didn't have to do something?

“I know,” was his canned response. He did know. He had no obligations here, he stayed because he wanted to. “I think I should stay to make sure you're both okay.” At that Aaron cried. He wasn't okay, he couldn't even find the will to pretend he was okay, it was used up. Too many injuries stopped Derek from scooping him up into his arms and holding him tight. While he contemplated his options, there was a soft knock at the door and he knew JJ was there with Jack. Too fast. He would have to walk away while Aaron cried and both of them wondered if he shouldn't have stayed in the hospital a while longer. “I think Jack is here...you want me to bring him in?”

“No...” and Derek nodded, he'd anticipated that. Haley would have forced it, said they needed it but not Derek. Not now, so he leaned forward and kissed Aaron on the temple before closing the door behind him. JJ brought Jack in and Derek intercepted him before he could run to his dad's room, desperate to see him, to hug him. “Daddy needs a little quiet, how about you help me make some dinner huh?”

“Derek,” JJ said, squaring up. She wanted to ask questions, things she couldn't get out of her head, thins she couldn't make sense of, but the look on his face said to tread lightly and she changed her mind. “Call me if you need anything.”

It wasn't long before he and Jack were following the instructions on the box of mac n' cheese to the T, bopping around the kitchen to some old Sam Cooke. It was the fancy kind, the kind made with vegetables hidden in the sauce because it alleviated some of the parental guilt of an easy boxed dinner. For a few minutes, things almost felt normal – how many times had he and Jack made dinner? Just the two of them, kitchen buddies while Aaron worked in his office, listening and smelling and waiting. He could hear them from the bedroom, hear Derek's low gravelly voice singing along and Jack's chirpy little voice asking questions and telling him about staying with Henry. Keep movin' on, keep movin' on, life is this way...Sam Cooke singing over it all, filling the apartment with love and as badly as he wanted to be out there with them, to be a part of whatever healing they were doing, he couldn't force himself to move. The air felt too heavy, pressing him down and he couldn't fight it.

“Come eat with us,” Derek pleaded, entering the room some time later, as if it were just that simple. Jack was in his bedroom exploring like he'd never been there before, eyes catching on the pile of gifts in bright wrapping paper. He'd already asked at least twelve times if those were all for him, if he could open them, if they were toys. “I think Jack wants to open his birthday presents. He saw them in his room and can't stop talking about them.”

“Not tonight,” Aaron whispered, face buried in his pillow to stifle what felt like a never ending flow of tears. “It hurts.” He didn't say what it was, and Derek didn't need to ask – all of it, everything, his body, his heart, didn't need to specify. Take your pick. “You do it.”

“What if we bring the presents to you? Let him open them on the bed?” He was persistent. Aaron agreed, finally, inviting them in. He could only argue with Derek so long, glad that it wasn't often that Derek put up this much of a fight or he'd be losing battles constantly. It was glaringly obvious that Derek let him win more often than he won on the basis of any actual merit.

The bed ended up covered in scraps of wrapping paper and Jack was overjoyed at his gifts, at the fact that his daddy didn't forget his birthday even while he and mommy were on their trip. Aaron did his best to interact but it felt forced, like there was an invisible barrier between he and the others that he couldn't cross – they were there but he was not. He'd expected Jack to mention how bad he looked, ask if he was okay, but the real shock came when Jack didn't say a word about anything. Not Aaron's broken face or hand, not the way his dad was crying, not the fact that his mommy wasn't there. It really wasn't surprising to Jack that his dad was hurt, he'd looked just as bad when they left for their trip and he had such an infirm grasp of how time worked that it just made sense somehow, and in the same vein he didn't worry about his mom being gone – sometimes he just stayed over at friend's houses or with his dad. Time was too fluid, too wild and untamed - he hadn't considered the impossibility that his mother was gone forever and his dad was all he had left. Jack passed out on the bed happily in a pile of toys and Aaron let him stay, curled up beside him and listened to his little breaths, his tiny snores. Derek slept beside Jack, the boy smashed happily between the three of them, and Aaron stayed awake all night watching them and wondering what the hell he was going to do.

Handling Haley's family was a challenge that he wasn't up for, but it came anyway. Things like death had their own momentum and it wasn't often they paused for anyone to manage their grief. Aaron had all of Haley's paperwork, her will, her divorce papers and custody agreement in his office. They poured over all of it while Aaron made himself scarce, not eager to look at either of her parents. Or Jessica, who had come first as a buffer, to prepare Aaron for the storm that was about to barrel down on his home. Looking at her for the first time, their grief mirrored in each other's eyes, he broke first. He'd been crying non-stop since coming home anyway, it wasn't hard to imagine him being the first but he hadn't anticipated the hug she would pull him into, the way she squeezed him too hard and didn't let go even after his protest because he was there and he was solid and she'd lost so much but she still had him. Stupid stubborn man.

“You and me,” she said, reaching up and taking his face in her hands like an angry mother. “We talk later. Let's just get through this shit show.”

It was exactly what she'd anticipated, but he was too raw to prepare himself for it. His walls had been broken down, were being rebuilt and he didn't have the strength or courage to take the kind of beating they were promising. The worst part was that they weren't wrong, he couldn't blame them but he couldn't stay in that room because the worse it got for him, the worse it would get for Jack who was playing quietly and just watching the way the adults he loved interacted with violent, grief soaked words. In Aaron's experience, words only carried you so far and the fists came next. Quietly he excused himself from the room, made his way to his bedroom and shut the door behind him, a move that infuriated Roy who so desperately needed a punching bag to settle the raging war inside of him. He'd loved that stupid man, saved his life, and now he was consumed by a hate that scalded him, ate away at his core.

“He's just like his father, what's to stop him from doing that to Jack? He can't be trusted to raise this boy on his own...”

“He would never...” Jessica sputtered, glancing desperately at Jack and back at her father. She'd known it would get ugly but not like this, not to this extent, not right there in front of Jack. Roy growled something almost incomprehensible about genetics through gritted teeth and Jessica shrank back in her chair. Things had been challenging between she and her parents since protective custody, since the stabbing, her father agitated and angry. She'd fought him tooth and nail just to keep him away from Aaron's apartment, from finishing what Foyet had started and that was while Haley was still breathing. Stalking down the hall, he pounded his meaty fist against Aaron's bedroom door, called him a coward before Jessica managed to haul him back into the living room. “Dad, Jack is watching...”

“He beat that man to death with his bare hands, Jessie!” Tears were streaming angry down his cheeks and she was beside herself, pleading with her mother to try and help but she kept to herself, silently egging Roy on with sinister looks and nods of her head. She wouldn't say a word but it didn't mean she wasn't right there with him. Aaron was sitting in his bedroom listening to everything, perched on the edge of his bed lost somewhere between the desire to hurl all of his rage right back at Roy and an itchy, confined feeling that made him consider throwing himself out the window just to see if he could fly. Derek was trying to run some kind of interference in tandem with Jessica, keeping an eye on Jack, trying to help keep everyone calm, remind them why they were there in the first place.

"We all loved Haley," he said softly, looking to Jessica for assurance. "I know this is hard for you, no one should have to bury a child but we gotta focus and get through this." Diplomatic as it were, he was forcing it out, trying to channel what he thought it would sound like if Aaron had his wits about him. It took everything he had inside of him to play it cool as Roy seethed, spitting out vile lies about Hotchner blood, genetics, how they were nothing but a waste and he wished his family had never gotten all tangled up in their mess. Wished Haley hadn't been so blind to the temptation of trying to fix someone who wasn't broken, just a truly bad egg.

“His father...” Jessica began, her voice eerie and calm, and her dad rolled his eyes dramatically and stalked to the couch without waiting to hear her out.

“Was a monster, I saw it with my own eyes, Jessie, you think I don't remember? You think I forgot? But you tell me what the difference is now, huh? He's shown his true colors and they're just as ugly, he just dresses them up in more expensive suits. He could hang himself with one of his fancy Chanel ties and the world would be better for it...”

Derek lifted Jack into his arms at that, unable to let him sit by one more moment and absorb any of these words he didn't understand now but might put together later and hauled him out of the room, down to his own bedroom and asked him to please stay there, to play with his new toys.

All Aaron could do was stare at the floor as he listened to his secrets oozing out all over his front room while they should have been planning a funeral. Flower arrangements and an invitation list, piecing together bits of her life for an obituary, deciding who would do the eulogy...none of these things had entered the conversation yet and Aaron thought with some grim satisfaction that maybe they'd take it all home with them and do it themselves, expend all of their energy beating him to a pulp and let him off the hook for the rest.

He wasn't sure how to look Derek in the eye when he entered the room to check, to make sure Aaron was still there, as if he had anywhere to go. The discussion in the front room had gone hushed, quiet, secretive and winding down.

“Hey,” Derek said, crouching before Aaron and resting his hands on the other man's knees. “Listen. You've kept my secret for a long time...” Aaron met his eyes slowly, more than a little ashamed at the way things had transpired. It wasn't even about his father, he would have shared if Derek ever asked, he was certain of that now and it wasn't as if Derek couldn't have put it together anyway – but this show, this insanity, the heightened emotions and the yelling was humiliating. “I know you and Gideon never said a word to anyone, it's been on your shoulders for years now. And I know you think about it every time there's a case with kids like that, I can see it. Time for me to return the favor, huh?”

“You don't have to do that,” Aaron replied softly, broken. No fight left in him. “I can't ask you to do that.”

“You're not. I'm tellin' you I will.”

Next Chapter ->

#aaron hotchner #derek morgan #spencer reid #hotchgan #mortch

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reidology · 3 years

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WIP tag: tagged by @thefandomlesbian thank you ily!!!!

this was so funny to me bc i haven’t touched these in... over a month. don’t expect anything soon lol

Runway AU - Penelope get’s the whole team to join an FBI charity event - a fashion competition show! Lot’s of sexy outfits, sexy people, and sexy times. Here’s a preview. Yes I’ve been working on this for months, no it won’t be done soon.

Hamilton AU - They meet at the Winter’s Ball, Aaron saddles up to Spencer standing in the corner reading. They hit it off but Spencer panics and introduces Aaron to Haley, his sister and best friend. Aaron and Spencer’s fondness for each other grows exponentially; if Aaron marries Haley he could keep Spencer in his life. As Aaron climbs the ranks of the government his marriage begins to crumble, and he recognizes his feelings for Spencer. Unfortunately, during this time Spencer had moved to London to pursue an academic career, their longing for each other grows and the letters they exchange get more desperate. Spencer comes back home to visit Aaron, he doesn’t tell Haley. Aaron goes on a ‘business trip’. They stay at the Inn. Mood-board

Dying in a bathtub - Aaron get’s horrible nightmares. It’s nothing new, but now he’s waking up in the bathtub each night. There’s a reason why but Aaron isn’t ready to admit it to himself, much less Spencer. So instead of pressuring him, Spencer begins to put pillows and blankets in the tub before they go to bed, so that Aaron doesn’t get hurt. They end up cuddling in the bathtub fort <3 Preview Mood-board

God I wish that was me - After a long case, the team is living it up at a bar. Hotch and Spencer, exhausted and not ones for dirty dancing and alcohol poisoning, stay at the booth and ogle a gay couple being cutesy in a bar. After sighing wistfully they both go ‘God I wish that was me’ and have a whole ‘what did you just say?’ intense eye contact moment. Needless to say they do not go home alone that night :)

Did you hang up? - Just smut. Hotch and Spencer are getting it on in bed, full on rough moaning scratching ‘daddy’ fucking when Spencer’s phone rings super loudly! It’s really annoying and ruining the mood so Spencer reaches to hang up but unbeknownst to him... he accidentally answers it.

“Did you hang up?”

“Yeah”, Reid's voice hitched on a moan.

“God I wish you could see yourself like this, you look so pretty with my hand around your throat.”

He nips at his jaw, eliciting a broken moan from the man below him, “you’re so good for me baby boy.”

Basically Hotch says and does anything that could scar Derek for life. Derek can’t look Reid in the eye for weeks.

Hotch... left? - Spencer is in prison, high out of his mind. He keeps hallucinating Hotch because he needs him to be here right now. He needs Hotch. Even after he comes down, he keeps begging for Hotch to come back, he just wants to see him one more time, just to say goodbye. Luke is there for him, helps him through everything from getting him back to the States to protecting him in prison. Ends in Ralvez.

Sean/Spencer/Aaron - Hotch and Haley separate and he has nowhere to go but his brother’s place. He’s shocked to find out that Spencer and Sean were practically living together. He had known about a hookup and an awkward coffee date, but Spencer and his little brother in a relationship? Doesn’t feel right. Hotch is at his wit’s end, having to endure hearing them fuck almost every night. Loudly. Maybe this is all part of Reid’s cunning plan to make Hotch jealous. Lot’s of credit goes to @xogublerxo for this one

Shipwreck - After Hankel, Spencer is agoraphobic. It affects every moment of his life. Aaron helps him get back on his feet.

Spencer has always been somewhat of an anxious guy. Overthinking ‘simple’ interactions, having to know each step and each possible outcome of a situation before it happens, fearing meeting new people, fearing being seen. Growing up, he was no stranger to panic attacks, but he learned to manage it in his own way. He didn’t get help, he didn’t really think he needed it anyway, afterall, he takes care of his schizophrenic mother day in and day out, he can take care of himself. Others just see him as odd, standoffish maybe, but that’s just a part of who he is. So, Spencer adapted, learned to navigate a stranger’s ship with his own, homemade sails. They’d been ripped apart and stitched back together more times than he cares to count, but regardless, Spencer managed.

He managed and he improvised his way to the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, where he quickly learned that he could have a purpose. But most importantly, this is where he found what he’d always been looking for, a support system. A team he didn’t feel judged by, who valued his contributions and never put him down for his quirks or his unique mannerisms. The BAU lifted a dark cloud from his head and opened up new horizons, Spencer could finally breathe. Plank by plank, Spencer began to build his own ship. Walking into a police station, surrounded by new people, competitive authority, monsters, and more had never felt so natural. Yes, Spencer still had days where he needed to psych himself up to deliver a profile, to ask a detective about the crime scene, to interrogate a witness, or even just to get up in the morning. But overall, life was looking up. Friends, job, purpose; he was starting to have it all.

Then Tobias Hankel happened. And Spencer’s ship crashed.

Therapy - Reid and Hotch meet at a formal FBI function. When Gideon introduces them, their reactions were practically instantaneous, Hotch thought Reid was too young and pretentious, using his genius as his only personality. He wasn’t impressed, so the kid has a good memory? That doesn’t equal skill or intelligence. Spencer’s first thought was alpha male. Also known as competitive and arrogant. Hotchner did not smile once during their conversation and sneered when he turned down a handshake. The way he spoke was curt and dry, he was a hardass. One month later Spencer found himself standing in a bullpen, surrounded by his new coworkers. Looking through the slats of his office window was Aaron Hotchner, livid that Gideon had let this kid join the team. Their interactions are strained, both emanating hatred for the other. Then, they meet each other all over again at group therapy, where they’re forced to learn each other’s darkest secrets. Hate-fucking ensues.

Secret Admirer - Hotch starts getting anonymous letters on his desk. Some are mundane, talking about their day, telling Hotch to drink more water. Some are more desperate ‘you could never see me the way I see you’. Hotch has a pretty good idea of who it is, but he’s scared shitless of what it would mean in he reciprocated.

Secret Admirer 2.0 - Inspired by a Peterick fic I read once. Spencer is broken. He searches for purpose at a bdsm club where he gets blindfolded and displayed for everyone to see. Hotch finds him kneeling in a showroom and can’t resist... He masks his voice and makes Reid keep the blindfold on. It was only meant to be one time, but Spencer needs more and Hotch is weak. Spencer never knows that it’s Hotch and Hotch hopes he never finds out.

I kind of want to see this with roles reversed, but I’ll never write this bc it’s too advanced for me lol.

Quiet Cuddles part ?? - It’s a relaxed rainy evening, Hotch’s head is in Spencer’s lap, arms wrapped around the younger’s midsection, knees bent up and nose pressed to Spencer’s tummy. Lots of head kissing and gently fingers running through unkempt hair.

Night at JJ’s - Spencer spends the night at JJ’s with a huge tub of ice cream and 5 blankets. He confesses about who Ethan really was to him, from high school to college to New Orleans. He cries about Hotch leaving him because of Foyet. Sad and feelings.

What the BAU does in the shadows - What we do in the shadows but BAU edition. Self-explanatory. Vampires. Haven’t really started it yet. Think about it all the time.

The one where Spencer fakes his death instead of Emily - Every one thinks Spencer is dead, including Hotch and JJ. The only one who knows the truth is Strauss, and she’ll take that secret to her grave, no matter how hard Spencer tries to come back.

i tag: @xogublerxo (plsssss talk about it 🥺) @hotchreidd @garcias-bitch @goobzoop @tobias-hankel and anyone else who wants to do it, no pressure at all guys! (except mia, lots of pressure)

#tag #wip #look at me not writing any of these how very nice #yeah it's almost all exclusively hotchreid with side ralvez #and ethan #i rly wanna write some penelope

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sodone-withlife · 3 years

Text

i lost a friend (i lost my mind)

Criminal Minds Fic Part Three

| PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 |

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: character death, canon-typical violence, mental instability (I’m reluctant to name a specific disorder or condition)

Notes: cross-posted on Ao3, and this was my first whumpfic in this fandom so forgive me if it sucks. this is canon-compliant until after 12.01 The Crimson King

“What do I regret? I regret that we just took it as it was, that we didn’t look harder.”

Rossi thought about how he ended up in this situation, bulletproof vest on as he faced the one person he never expected to be at the other end of his gun, that he might have to take down.

He met the kid nearly twenty years ago on the Womb Raider case and immediately recognized raw potential when the kid told him about what he gathered from the dumpsite. They kept in contact even after Rossi went back to Quantico, and he spent the next year trying to get him to apply to become a profiler. The kid did eventually join them in Quantico, and he quickly proved to be a quick study with an incredible intuitive ability.

He ended up retiring a few months after the kid joined, but he kept in contact and they met for dinner a few times. While he wrote books, the kid became unit chief, all the while expanding the BAU to involve more than just a few profilers in a cramped cave that had been their office.

When he rejoined the team, he watched as the kid—he’ll always be ‘the kid’ to him, no matter how good his glare got over the years—struggled to reconcile the failure of his marriage and his own feelings of being a failure as a father.

He watched as the kid obsessively hunted the Boston Reaper, turned to self-blame when seven people were found shot dead in a bus, as the kid realized the killer was in front of them the whole time, as he reacted to the news of Foyet’s escape.

He worried as the kid didn’t turn up when called, as they found him in the hospital after getting stabbed nine times, as his family were put into protective custody, as he walked into a confrontation unarmed and managed to save a child the day he returned from medical leave.

He watched as the kid obsessed and worked himself to the bone over the Reaper, as he stepped down and put Morgan in charge, as the team raced to find Foyet before he could get to the kid’s family.

He watched as he found the kid savagely hitting a dead body, as he found him later clinging onto the body of the woman he had loved, as the kid turned into a shell of himself while trying to be a good father for his son.

He watched as the kid tried to remain the unwavering pillar of strength for the team, as he was sent to the other side of the world away from his family for half a year, as he came back from Pakistan looking much too thin for a man his size and faced a wall of anger and betrayal.

He watched as the kid slowly found love again, as he tried to help Reid get through what he himself went through just over two years ago, as he tried to help his estranged brother get out of a mess of drugs and spikings.

He watched as the kid collapsed on the conference room floor and had to be rushed to the hospital, as George Foyet managed to kill him twice as he flatlined in the ambulance and in the operating room.

He watched as the kid tried to help solve Gideon’s murder, as he ended things with his new love.

He watched as the kid ended up on the other end of a serial killer’s obsession, as he hallucinated the whole team getting killed in front of him, as he nearly shot and killed Reid as he came in through the door.

He watched as the kid struggled to hide his terrors, as he tried to eliminate the threat against two of his teammates, as he tried to stop Morgan from doing what he had done six years ago in a frenzy that only resulted in the love of his life getting killed, as he was arrested at gunpoint in front of his son.

He watched as the kid tried not to let seeing the victim with his name carved into her forehead get to him, as he tried not to go out of his mind in worry about his son while he was stuck in a snowstorm, as he tried to keep everything inside in the months that followed, as he went through his daily life without really living.

Now, a memory of a conversation he had with Gideon rose to the forefront of his mind. Rossi hadn’t questioned it then, but now he wondered if Gideon saw this outcome, all those years ago.

He wondered if Gideon saw this when the kid came in all those years ago, absolutely smitten with his wife and yet hiding darkness deep inside him, when the kid easily slipped in and out of the minds of the worst humanity has to offer.

A year ago, just a day after Hotch was admitted into the hospital after being subjected to whatever torture Peter Lewis managed came up with, Prentiss had returned to the BAU. Hotch was going to be on leave for quite some time, given the nature of the drugs he had inhaled and what had happened when the team rescued him.

He remembered confessing his worries to her, that Hotch wouldn’t make it through to the other side with this one, that Hotch’s too-brilliant mind (brilliant not in the way that Reid was, but in the way that a prosecutor turned SWAT turned profiler’s brain was) would figure out a way to end it all, even though he was on suicide watch.

He remembered one early morning, a few weeks after Hotch had been discharged, when Prentiss was suddenly called into a meeting with the Director. He remembered seeing her sprinting back into the office, abandoning all professionalism as she stormed into the office next to his.

He remembered freezing at the doorway. It was bare of any signs of the previous owner: the heavy law books, the pictures, the awards, the small mementos from the team—they were all gone.

He missed the others’ reactions as they read the last words the—now former—unit chief left for them as he left the office and drove to Hotch’s apartment, only to find it completely bare with an envelope left on the door with Rossi’s name on it.

He remembered the days that followed, as Garcia and Reid desperately tried to search for the man who had completely dropped off the face of the earth, as Prentiss tried to fill Hotch’s shoes for the team.

He remembered JJ asking him about Jack and the pure, unfettered sadness that he let show on his face.

He remembered the horror saw in the others when he quietly told them that the ten-year-old had collapsed at school six months ago, soon after the DOJ fiasco, while Hotch was stuck in a blizzard in the middle of a case in Colorado, that Hotch didn’t make it to the hospital in time to see Jack awake one more time.

That Jack’s heart gave out on him while he was breaking every speed limit while driving Hotch to the hospital.

That Hotch was too late, just like he was too late with Haley seven years ago.

That Hotch spent the last six months hiding his grief and desolation, throwing himself entirely into work and doing the bare minimum in regards to his health.

That after a man, the husband of a murdered victim and father of a child who died of cancer just a few days later, committed suicide, he had forced Hotch to live at his place for two weeks so he could make sure the still-grieving father would wake up every day, alive and breathing.

He remembered hating that the straw that broke the camel’s back was of the Mr. Scratch nature.

He remembered wondering, not for the first time, how damaged affected Hotch’s psyche was.

Today, nine months to the day Hotch resigned from the bureau, he got his answer: incredibly damaged.

Rossi thought back to the profile they had given the Boston PD.

~~~

“The man we’re looking for is in his mid 30s to mid 40s and exhibits traits of both an organized and disorganized killer,” Rossi started, looking out into the Boston PD bullpen. “It is also highly likely that he fathered a son who is around 4-5 years old. He has recently suffered a personal tragedy, likely one that involved losing his son and wife in a way he feels responsible for.”

“The crime scenes itself demonstrate a high level of intelligence and control, but that control is shattered when it comes to the men,” JJ added. “We tracked their last movements, and it seems that these men all frequented BDSM clubs.” Everyone in the room got the unsaid message: the men were cheating on the wives.

“He may be using the men’s infidelity as justification for his actions,” she finished the thought.

“When we talked to the children, they said they remembered the unsub being very angry at the fathers,” Luke picked up from where Tara left off. “This, in addition to the level of overkill he exhibited and the smashed mirrors at every house, may be a manifestation of the unsub’s own self-hatred and of his desire to make others feel his pain and guilt.”

“The children also said that the unsub was incredibly nice to them and the wife and that he apologized before he knocked the kids out,” Reid interjected from where he was sitting at the side of the room. “This man has a fractured psyche: he’s able to exhibit care and consideration one moment, shoot a person in three vital regions the next, and then destroy a face post-mortem in a fit of angry self loathing. This will show in his day to day life.”

“We’d like for your officers to canvas bars and clubs in the area,” Prentiss instructed, “ and ask the workers if they know anyone who may fit the profile: again, male, 30s to 40s, may have recently suffered a tragedy, and may be acting erratically—asked for time off, mood swings, anything out of the ordinary.”

~~~

They had gotten it completely right, but, looking at the man playing with the child in front of him, Rossi still felt like they had completely missed the mark.

“Let the kid go,” Rossi ordered quietly.

“Dave, why are you calling him that?” came the quiet baritone, the dearly-missed voice inciting within Rossi a strange rush of familiarity and fear. “You know his name.”

It can’t be the kid’s actual name that he wants, look at the body language, it’s so protective. So what—Rossi briefly closed his eyes as a flash of grief overtook him.

“Hotch, please,” he finally said, placing his gun away and slowly moving around the man so that he could see the child. “Let Jack go, he doesn’t need to see this.”

That got a reaction out of the man, who looked up and shocked Rossi with the sheer depth of broken protectiveness that was in his expression. “He needs me,” Hotch insisted, his next words sending a bolt of shock through Rossi’s system. “He just lost his mother.”

Rossi kneeled down cautiously, mind racing. “Hotch, do you know what day it is?”

Hotch sent him a confused look. “It was Haley’s funeral yesterday,” he answered, breath hitching at the end as he looked away. His eyes locked onto the ballistics vest Rossi was wearing, noticing it for the first time. “Why are you wearing a ballistics vest? Is everything alright?”

Rossi’s eyes began to burn as he realized what was going on. “Hold on, I’m going to go get something, and then I’ll explain everything, alright?” he said, standing up and feeling relief at the responding nod. He quickly walked back into the living room where the others were waiting, only stopping to tell them to stay there before grabbing the case file they had brought with them.

“Come here,” he beckoned Hotch over, placing the file on the desk in front of the window in the sparsely decorated bedroom.

Hotch left the child on the ground and walked over, still confused. “A case?” he asked absently as he flipped through the reports with a focus that hadn’t been since eighteen months ago, when he was still with the bureau, before that fateful day.

Unseen, Rossi went to the child and quickly ushered him out of the bedroom, making sure that he got to one of the others before going back inside, making it back to Hotch before he looked up from the file.

“What do you make of it?” Rossi indicated the folder, tone even as he successfully hid the turmoil within. He watched with a pang as Hotch easily slipped back into old habits, verbalizing his observations and yet remaining utterly oblivious to the significance they hold to him.

Hotch paused, looking around. “Where’s Jack?” he asked Rossi, panic seeping into his voice when he realized the child was gone. He backed away from Rossi, who had stepped carefully towards him, hands up placatingly. “Dave, what’s going on? Where’s Jack?”

The situation was all too painfully familiar.

“Hotch, you know that isn’t Jack,” Rossi said carefully. “His name is Charlie Summers. Yesterday wasn’t Haley’s funeral. It’s November 2020, and you’re in Boston, not in Virginia.”

“What are you talking about?” Hotch looked at him as if he were crazy.

Rossi pressed forward. “Do you remember what happened eighteen months ago, when you were taken by Peter Lewis?” he asked as Hotch froze in his place. “He had you for a day. He had taken you to your childhood home in Manassas, do you remember that? He drugged and tortured you. We found you just in time, but you almost killed yourself.”

He watched as blood leached out of the man’s face, as he started rapidly shaking his head. “You were discharged from the hospital a week later,” Rossi pushed, hating every second that passed while he tried to pull Hotch out of the delusion. “And while you were still on medical leave, you sent in your resignation and asked that Emily Prentiss, who had come back while you were in the hospital—”

“Take my place as unit chief,” Hotch finished in a whisper, staring at the floor and shaking like a leaf. Rossi rushed forward, flashing back to the day Hotch got that devastating phone call as he caught the man and lowered him to the ground—holding and comforting him, despite the circumstances, just as he had done back in that hotel room.

A few minutes passed, filled with harsh breathing as reality set in.

“Why?” Rossi finally asked the once stoic and unmovable unit chief, now reduced to just another unsub—only he wasn’t just another unsub. He was the man who held the elite profiling team together as they went through hell and back, the man who had reignited Rossi’s dormant paternal instincts.

He wondered if it had been a good idea to ask that question when Hotch remained silent, placing his head between his knees and still shaking as reality continued to seep back in.

“His voice,” Hotch finally muttered, “He wouldn’t stop. Taunting, laughing, talking, talking about how people are ungrateful and should be taught to be thankful for what they have that the children don’t deserve—” he broke off with a whimper covering his ears with his hands.

“Hotch?” He didn’t answer, even as Rossi forcefully brought his head back up. His eyes were squeezed shut and he had bit deep into his lip, drawing blood. “Aaron,” Rossi tried, raising his voice only to get knocked onto his back when the aforementioned man reflexively shoved him away, causing him to hit the bed then fall to the ground.

Hearing the crash, the team fell back onto instincts and rushed into the bedroom with their guns out and ready, only to see Rossi staring helplessly at the once-proud man curling into himself in the corner and letting out painful, guttural cries as the last pieces of his mind finally shattered under the weight of the demons he spent his entire life fighting.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #dave rossi #aaron hotchner whump #tw character death #bau #sodone i lost a friend i lost my mind

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