Devolution, a Spencer Reid/Criminal Minds Fanfic

Chapter 1. Collateral Damage

“It’s starting again.” Spencer Reid’s voice was a mere fraction above a whisper.

His eyes remained shut, but the muscles throughout his body tensed. Rossi, J.J., Morgan and Prentiss saw the changes they had come to expect. That is, they’d come to expect it when cases required jet travel long enough to allow for nap-time.

Rossi sighed. “Is it bad, Reid?”

“Gettin’ there.” When Reid finally opened his eyes and craned around for a better view of the far end of the cabin, Rossi knew it was time to do something. Again.

The team watched him make his way back to where their Unit Chief was stretched out on the only seating installation long enough to accommodate a tall man. Hotch’s nightmares were becoming a standard feature of group travel…a standard, cruel, self-perpetuating feature. The dreams kept him from restful slumber. He was always tired. After difficult cases, he was exhausted. He couldn’t stay awake, but neither could he attain and remain in a state of sleep deep enough to allow his troubled psyche to repair itself. It was a vicious cycle that punished the entire team when they were forced to witness Hotch engaged in battle with the demons that rose from his subconscious to tear at him.

Rossi stood over the lanky, suit-clad figure and watched. Hotch’s head rocked slightly from side to side, his lips moved, but didn’t form words. He wasn’t a screamer. The only cries he emitted were low moans. There was no mistaking them for the sounds of passion. They were clearly spawned by terror, horror, a desperate wish to escape some…thing. No one was sure what. Not even Hotch.

Every time Rossi would wake Hotch, the man would bolt upright with a strangled gasp. It sounded as though he was trying to muffle himself, trying not to show any chinks in his armor, in the strong façade he felt was necessary to lead his team. He would swing his legs around to a sitting position, bend over and bury his face in his hands, his breathing so labored it sounded asthmatic. When he would at last raise his head and look around, reassuring himself that he was in familiar surroundings, his eyes would fasten on Reid.

Inevitably.

Every time.

And they’d all know what he was thinking, because the same thought entered every team member’s mind: Why can’t you help, Reid? With your telepathic abilities and your special connection to Hotch, why won’t you help him?

Now, Rossi glanced back at the others. Four pairs of concerned eyes followed him, anticipating the now familiar routine. He leaned over, preparatory to shaking Hotch awake and hesitated. He was tired of the same old bird-dance that would accompany bringing the dreamer back to consciousness. Maybe a different approach? Maybe if we didn’t let him hide?... He rubbed his beard, aware the team was wondering why he was allowing Hotch to linger in a dark place that was slowly consuming his physical and mental wellbeing.

Rossi braced himself. Instead of grasping Hotch’s shoulders and shaking, he bent his knees, slid his arms under and around the Unit Chief’s upper body and pulled him up off the banquette, raising him to a standing position and simultaneously wrapping him in a tight hug. After a few seconds of gasping struggle, the younger agent realized where he was. Deprived of being able to hide his face in his hands, Hotch went for the closest available approximation of concealment. He buried his face in the angle between Rossi’s neck and shoulder.

But Rossi wouldn’t allow any more hiding. Getting a firm grip on Hotch’s upper arms, he pushed him back, forcing him to confront not only Rossi, but, over his shoulder, the rest of the team as well.

“This has gone far enough, Aaron.” Rossi tightened his hold, refusing to let his friend break away. But it also made him aware of something else. Good God, the man’s trembling! How can he not remember a dream that strikes that much terror into him? “You need help.”