#ps his eyes are blue bc some babies are born with blue eyes that darken overtime

[whump-town]

God’s Gonna Cut You Down

Hear me out: I have no idea what this is but I’ve got three thousand words of this shit and it just keeps coming so before I throw myself into this new project, I’m gonna let you guys dip your toes in and see if you guys like and then I’m going to keep going anyways but-- 

Anyways, stay tuned for my rendition of Hotch’s backstory:

November 2, 1971

Virginia in the fall finds itself choking on tourists ambling about wherever they can find a high spot to rest. Stopping to watch deer jump out from the underbrush or hear receding birds shrieking their discontent at being found. The mountains draw in lots of attention but they’re hard to miss from a distance and there’s something about woods that draw the curious dangerously close. Moths to the light, there’s something about hearing the woods call out that never makes people question things as much as they should. Never thinking to back away until it’s too late. 

In a 50s Crosley station wagon, Aaron Hotchner is born silently. His father’s large hand over his still, pale chest as he makes no move to draw in a breath. It’s the woods calling his unnamed body-- attempting to lure the baby away from the life that awaits him. In the woods, deep where there is no warmth or chills only comfort and ease. Where he’ll never know the sting of the palm urging his little lungs to work across his face. He’ll be safe from the monsters that await him in the future he doesn’t have to have if he just comes to the woods. To their safety and their love. 

Two blue eyes crack open and for a moment all that is shared in that car is silence. Stuck right between life and death, abated breath. A soft whimper leaves the newborn’s bluing lips, squirming his limbs as he struggles on in this life that he has chosen. His mother pulls herself up to look at her son and husband, fearful of both of their silences that seem to continue to stretch dangerously on. She’s meant only with fear and the sight of her baby’s struggling limbs falling limply as his little chest remains still.

“He’s not breathing, Mary.” 

Aaron Hotchner is born during heavy rainfall, a peculiar way to find Virginia in November. The chill of the outside air rests heavily over him and when he is placed on his mother’s chest she recoils from the feeling. Shocked and overcome with fear for the child she has felt grow within her. The baby who delivered such strong kicks to her ribs and bladder now still and unmoving on her chest. 

“We have to go to the hospital.”

Clutched to his mother’s breast, she makes whispered promises. Attempting to lure her baby closer, to be louder than the woods her husband speeds through. Come home. Come home. She brushes her finger through the mess on his face, wet and sticky. His little arms and legs are drawn tightly to his chest as he rocks back and forth as the car barrels down the road. 

“Just stay,” she pleads. “I’ll protect you.”

The hospital tears them three ways.

His father’s angered shout sounding out behind him, making him jump, and for the first time in all his life, he gives a lively jerk. Little eyes peeling back open and lips parting. “Did daddy scare you?” a nurse coos. She rubs her finger along his sternum, making him squirm away from her and the unpleasant feeling. “There you are, sweetie. Go ahead and cry for me. Let me hear those lungs.” They press a stethoscope to his chest, listening to his lungs and attaching wires onto him. Still nothing.

“He’s a little bluish, hands and feet too.” A nurse coos, trying to get some reaction out of the baby seemingly content on just staring back and allowing his limbs to be pulled and moved at their will. “Heart rate is good. Respirations low, no cry. He’s about a four on the Apgar.” Not good but it’s something.

A priest is called in the dead of the night. He comes down the long winding hall, seemingly floating along a breeze as his long coat snaps back from his waist as he walks. The night is unsettled, he can feel it where his ribs meet his sternum. Just over his heart. Death walks alongside him but it’s not a race, it is up to neither to see how tonight turns. 

The priest enters the room without a knock, the room’s occupants wait for him. He can feel their unease fill the room to its brim. What a way, he thinks, to greet a child into the world. No wonder the poor thing finds itself in such trouble so soon. Born to young parents, not the youngest he’s seen but they still carry that light in their eyes he only sees in the young anymore. He officiated their wedding, the first person to greet them into this new world as Mary and Richard Hotchner. Since that day nearly a decade ago, he has been called to their side many times. The Lord has not found this couple as fruitful as their peers. Much younger couples, in and out of wedlock, have conceived and brought babies to term. 

Today, the priest prepares to pray for another poor soul. To recite scripture and confirm that all in due time, Mary and Richard must have faith. God will give them their chance. Maybe not this time or the times before that but in time. Everyone has their time.

The old priest hovers over Aaron, wrinkled hand resting just over where Richard’s had willing life into his little chest. His palm is met with warmth and if there was a diving rod for the religious, he would know it. As he knows here the shaky breathes of the newborn awaiting the most important decisions of his short life. “He has a good heart,” the old priest croaks. He moves from the bassinet, smiling at Mary. 

She’s a beautiful woman, with or without the bruises marring her pale flesh. The old priest takes her hand, stroking the back of her knuckles while she watches him with fear. She already mourns the child, he feels it. “Born into the rain,” he whispers, with a hopeful smile. “A symbol of promising harvest, you know.” He glances at Richard, sees that distrust and anger that burns brightly in the tall, thin man. He speaks to Richard now, draws the young man in with a voice as old as time itself. “God,” the priest promises, “he’ll do right by your family, Richard. Have faith in him, in that boy.” 

Mary sniffles, shooting a glance at her husband before turning to the priest. “We’re going to name him Aaron,” she tells him, shivering as though feverish. With a shaky smile, she pulls her blanket over her arms, hiding them from view under the look of drawing her limbs closer to draw comfort.

The old priest forces a smile, “it’s a good name. Strong. The name of Moses’ older brother, as I’m sure you already know.” There was once a time when Mary was just a girl in his Sunday school classes with lopsided pigtails and a bright, eager smile. Smart as a whip, it’s what he thought would get her out of this suffocating town. She got herself stuck in Richard’s fence, wire cutting down to the bone, and she learned to stop moving. Now they wait for the flies or something bigger, something worse to come along and end her suffering. No farmer with his sawed-off shut gun. A slow, bleeding end.

Aaron, the priest repeats back to himself. Exalted. Enlightened. He looks over at the bassinet, to the little fist the baby has curled around one of the wires snaking in and around his body. 

Bearer of martyrs.

With a sad sigh, the priest already knows that boy’s fate.

#ps his eyes are blue bc some babies are born with blue eyes that darken overtime #don't overthink it #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction