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Time	By : cr8zymommy Category: 1 through F > Criminal Minds Views: 4585 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
The sun was shining when Morgan finally woke up in the morning. It came in through the windows, landing directly on his face. He barely managed to stifle a groan as his body woke and became aware of a few choice aches. Where the hell did I fall asleep? He wondered to himself. On his couch? Stretching, he gave a soft groan.
Something shifted against him and all of a sudden reality came crashing back in. With one blinding instant, the previous day’s events filled his mind. Finding Spencer, the station, the rescued girl, coming back to Spencer’s apartment, all of it. His eyes shot open to look down at the small framed body lying on the couch, head pillowed in his lap. He couldn’t resist bringing a hand up and stroking it down the soft hair. Absently he thought to himself that they needed to get the kid into a shower and get him all cleaned up. Why hadn’t anyone done it before now?
Morgan let out a gentle sigh. Now that he was actually awake, he felt wide awake. Thoughts of the night before were playing back to him, making him wince and wonder. How would Spencer be this morning? Would he be ok? Would he remember anything when he woke up? Would….would he still be him when he woke? He couldn’t help but be afraid that there would be lasting damage from the events of yesterday evening.
He could still clearly see Spencer on the ground in the hallway, curled into the fetal position. He could hear his words echoing around them, begging forgiveness for knocking something over. There had been hysteria in those words that was hard to listen to.
When they’d first come into the apartment, Morgan and Garcia had stayed back, watching as the young man had walked like he was in a daze. His eyes had been taking in everything around him, soaking it all in like a sponge. When he’d lifted a hand to the bookcase, Garcia had sucked in a breath. But Spencer had only stood there, one hand resting on a book, staring with this faraway look in his eyes. Then he’d moved on, bypassing the dining room and the kitchen.
It almost looked like the kid was in pain as he walked. Not physical pain, though. No, it was more than that. It was on his face, in his eyes that looked so haunted. He looked utterly terrified of what he was doing and yet seemed unable to stop. They’d followed at a close distance, watching and waiting. They’d seen him look at a picture on the wall and flinch. Then those haunted eyes had turned, apparently locking on dead ahead.
Morgan had felt like he was waiting for something to explode. There had been a tense feeling in the air, thick enough that it was almost smothering. When he’d watched his best friend lift a hand and press it, trembling, against the door handle to the bedroom, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from holding his breath. Why this seemed so important he didn’t know.
Then everything had gone to hell.
Spencer had suddenly backed up, mumbling “No, no. No. No!” His backing up took him into a small table, which jostled, knocking a few books down as he’d run into it. Then he’d stumbled forward and somehow both he and the table and books had all ended up on the floor.
Wincing, Morgan looked down at the head in his lap again. He’d been so terrified when Spencer had started screaming. What happened after that, though, scared him more than anything else. It had been like Spencer had suddenly shut down. Not his body, but on the inside. When Morgan had looked into his eyes it had been like Spencer hadn’t been looking back at him. Between the two of them, Morgan and Garcia had got Spencer up and out to the couch. There they’d sat, Spencer’s head in Morgan’s lap. The kid had never pulled back out. Eventually, after talking with Garcia for a while, Morgan had slipped into sleep.
He was afraid to look into the kid’s eyes this morning. Afraid that, when he did, Spencer would still be gone. That the blank look would be there. Had they pushed him too far? Expected too much out of him? His mind was so fragile at the moment. Of course it was, with what he’d been living with. Morgan couldn’t bear the thought that they might have pushed him over that last little edge.
“He’s going to be ok.”
The soft whisper had Morgan’s head snapping up. He looked over to see Garcia standing against the wall, a coffee cup in her hands. She tried to smile reassuringly at him. “It was just too much for him, all in one day. His mind was just shutting down to preserve some of his sanity.”
“What…” Morgan had to pause and clear out his throat. “What if it was too much for him? What if we pushed him too hard?”
Garcia sipped her coffee, her eyes traveling over the two men on the couch. “I don’t know. But he can’t hide from it. That’s what he’s been doing by forgetting us. He’s been hiding from reality. The sooner we push him back to it, the sooner he can heal.”
“The human mind can only take so much stress, baby girl. You saw him last night. He disappeared on us. I don’t know what he did, but he wasn’t there anymore. There was no life in his eyes. It was…it was almost like he was dead.”
“He’s got one of the strongest minds I’ve ever seen, honey pie. He’ll make it out of this ok. He’s got a whole family here to help him do it.”
He couldn’t help but look down at the sleeping boy again. “I hope to God you’re right, mama.” His hand stroked soothingly over Spencer’s hair again as he felt the boy twitch slightly in his sleep. Most likely having nightmares. Could they expect anything less? He wanted nothing more than to hold him close and chase away the demons for him but he knew that it wasn’t possible. No one would be able to take away the demons inside of Spencer Reid. But he swore to himself he was going to be here every step of the way, right alongside him. He would help him, whether the other man wanted it or not. He was not going to be alone.

Images, sounds, sensations, all of them were filling the boy’s mind. Like a movie, but broken down into bits and pieces. Things that were fragmented, weaving in and out of his consciousness, taunting him with what he saw or what he heard. A clip of Garcia, her face lit with an enormous smile, telling him that she loved him. A pretty, petite blond, her eyes full of anguish—why was she so upset? She shouldn’t be upset—hugging him and saying she was so sorry. The smell of a graveyard.
A man with an angry face, holding a little canister and smiling at him, telling him he was really starting to get some distance on these things. But what things? And what was his name? Another man, his face warm and lined, staring intently at a chess board. Another, the pretty lady, smiling at him over a desk. Morgan, ruffling his hair and laughing at him.
All of these little clips were playing in his brain, hurting him, slicing him to shreds with the sheer happiness in them. The box in the back of his mind felt broken, shattered—would he ever be able to repair it again? He’d delved deep into his mind to escape the pain, but sleep had brought it all out. Like an avalanche, it swarmed over him in his dreams. No, no, no more! He couldn’t take any more. He couldn’t do this.
A woman sitting on a bed, arms around her waist, rocking back and forth as she muttered to something that wasn’t there. A fiery woman with dark hair, tell him he might have saved her life. People coming, people going. Pain, always. Someone hurting him, hitting him. Not Master, no, someone else. Telling him to confess his sins. What sins? I have so many sins. Such a bad, bad boy. A gun in his hands, the metal cold, almost slippery.
And bodies. So many dead bodies. Not just dead; mutilated. Blood everywhere. Dismembered, cut, eviscerated, raped, decapitated, burned. The list was endless. They flashed into his mind, one right after the other, unable to stop them from coming. He didn’t want to see this anymore. Didn’t want these thoughts. Were they memories? Were they things of his life that he’d forgotten? If so, he didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to think about it.
Cries of children, echoing in his ears. People begging to be saved. Families sobbing as they were told that their son, daughter, husband, wife, parent, were gone, never coming back, murdered so cruelly.
God, make it stop. Make it stop!
Was this all his life was? One wave of pain after another? He felt like he would explode with the thoughts that were filling him. How could one person hold so much? How could there be enough room in one mind for so much horror? Hadn’t he lived enough? Seen enough? But it wasn’t stopping. It was unending. He was stuck in the current, unable to swim for shore.
Standing before a woman as two men in white suits carried her crying from the room. A man with a suitcase walking to his car as a child watched from a window with tears in his eyes. A goal post, cold against his naked skin, voices laughing around him. A small child on the ground before him, blood pouring from the wounds on his body, murdered by someone they didn’t yet know.
A needle, sliding into his skin, giving him things he didn’t want…
NO!
With a muffled gasp, the boy pulled up from the dreams, forcefully yanking his mind back to wakefulness. His hands grasped against material, clinging tightly to it while his body seemed to vibrate with the force of his trembling. His tears were wet, though he didn’t remember crying. But he remembered so much more.
Names, faces, sensations. All of it mixed like his memories had been tossed into a blender and spun around. Nothing made sense. What was real and what wasn’t? He knew faces, but not names. Actions, but not what had caused them. Bodies—crime scenes—but why had he been there? He didn’t want to remember this!
His eyes darted around the room, taking in the area, searching for danger. No one was in the room with him. A living room. That’s where he was. A living room that was so familiar it hurt. He didn’t want to remember! Why had they brought him here? Why were they making him try to remember? Those memories only hurt! He fought them, but they were relentless.
So much pain. How could he withstand it? Was this what his life was? Was this what he had always lived? Pain, pain, and more pain. Losing people here, someone dying there, someone always trying to hurt him. He couldn’t take the hurt anymore. He couldn’t handle it. Didn’t anyone understand? His heart, his soul, was going to break apart and explode. There was going to be nothing left of him.
The boy brought his hands up, cradling his head, which felt as if it was made of glass.
No, none of this was true. It was all a lie. A vicious, horrible lie. He was boy and Master was Master. Master loved him, right? That was why he hurt him, to help him. Master had been right. Always, always right. He was a bad boy. These fragmented memories showed that. What kind of man had he been to have these painful memories? Obviously he was just as bad as Master always said.
Master said that, if it wasn’t for him, the boy would be hopeless. Helpless. Only Master knew how to take care of him. To stop him from being bad.
But they had taken Master away from him. These people were going to keep them apart and Master would never be able to help him again. Master would never be able to save him. What was left?
The boy looked around the room, his eyes drawing to an end table right beside the couch he was lying on. All of a sudden the thoughts in his mind seemed to freeze. He knew what he had to do. He knew what was right.
His body felt numb as he moved toward that table. One memory was clear in his mind, leading him toward his goal. One that he prayed was real. If he was right, he would find what he needed. His hand slid out, pulling on the drawer, looking inside. There, at the back, he found what he was looking for. What he needed.
He knew what he had to do now.
There was too much pain. Too many things, all at once. He remembered too much. They couldn’t expect him to live with this. They just couldn’t.
Surprisingly, his hands didn’t tremble. They were steady as a rock when he reached into that drawer and pulled out his salvation. They were steady as he turned the gun in his hands, staring at it. The pain of his memories was calmed now. They were pushed back for this one moment of clarity. In that moment, he knew.
His name was Spencer Reid.
And now, it was time for the moment that had been coming for so long. It was time for Spencer Reid to die.
He saw nothing, heard nothing, as he turned the gun in his hands, placing the point underneath his jaw. The world shut off around him. His hand moved, finger going to the trigger. His lips curved in a small smile. Finally, he would find peace. Finally, it would be done.
He would be free.
- 11
- 12
- 13
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