Bullet From A Gun (Criminal Minds)

Fight

Chapter Ten

‘I've been roaming around always looking down at all I see; painted faces fill the spaces I can't reach. You know that I could use somebody; you know that I could use somebody. Someone like you and all you know and how you speak.’ - Use Somebody by Kings of Leon

Jumping out of the black FBI issued SUVs, the BAU team all ran in a strategic manner to the front door of the run down house. They were perfectly planned out: Morgan in front, the others following quickly behind, splitting themselves on either side of the dark wood door. Hotch and JJ on one side, Prentiss, Morgan and Rossi on the other. The only sound was the wind rustling the dead leaves that scattered the small porch and the sound of their shallow breathing. Everyone was scared, for the first time in a while. They all had a shared fear: a fear that Spencer Reid was dead. 

Suddenly, a crash split through the eerie silence.

Derek Morgan had kicked the door down.

“Logan Branson?” Aaron Hotchner's voice was cold, and emotionless. He wanted this son of bitch on his knees, begging for mercy. The shouts of his team saying ‘clear’ echoed through the building. 

How is this place still standing? Hotch thought, as he stared at the living room. The smell of damp exploded in his nostrils. The room was small and grimy, litter dropped carelessly on the floor. Noticing a door at the far left of the room, he made his way towards it.

Gently, he eased it open. The smell was worse in there. The moulded walls that he could see through the semi-open door showed that Branson didn't care about how he appeared to anyone. Then Aaron saw a man, not much bigger than himself, sitting on the floor, whispering to himself repeatedly: “Shut up, I did it.” 

Murmuring into the microphone attached to his vest, that linked him to the other members of his team, he said, “I've got him.”


The mass of brown hair - which was the UnSub's head - jolted towards Hotch. Blood was splattered all over his plain white t-shirt. His brown eyes stared at Hotch, yet not completely focused on him. As the rest of his team filed in, guns at the ready, JJ hesitantly stepped forward. “Branson, where is Spencer?”

“Don't!” The man's dissociative eyes suddenly hardened; he was aware that the FBI were there now. “Don't you dare come any closer Blondie, because I swear, I will do it.” 

JJ's face furrowed in confusion, what is he on about? But it all became clear when he raised one of his hands. A knife - an old, rusted knife, splattered in blood - came into view. The team all caught their breath; the blood had to belong to Reid. Expecting the worse, their hearts dropped. Then they heard a scream of pain coming from below them. A scream that was high pitched. 

Spencer.

“Morgan! JJ! With me,” Hotch shouted as Rossi and Prentiss managed to battle the knife away from Logan.

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Every return to consciousness was blinding with pain and himself screaming, willing his body to return to the blissful euphoria of darkness. Letting out a scream, he lost his grip on reality and slipped back into the darkness again. He was going to die. 

The darkness was everywhere around him, yet he wasn't afraid as he would usually be. It was serene; no noises, no people, just him. Looking around, he could see nothing. And he was thankful. Then, as though someone had hit a switch, a light appeared. It felt welcoming and safe. Pulling himself up, he began to cautiously walk towards it. The closer he got, he realized the light was coming from a room. Picking up his pace, he ran, bursting into the room. 

The room itself was an interrogation room. The one way glass was at one end, the table was in the middle. Yet, unlike the interrogation rooms at the BAU building, this one had photos everywhere. On the floors, on the ceiling, on the walls… even scattered on the table. The only place deprived of photos was the one way glass. 
“What the...?” 
Bending down, he picked a random one up and turned it over, meeting the face of his godson, Henry. His long blond hair was scraped back and he was smiling into the camera. Spencer had this photo on his mantle. A stark realization hit him: he would never see Henry again. He would never show him another magic trick or be there to see him start school. With tears burning behind his eyes, he set the photo down. Striding over to the table, he looked at the ones laid out in neat rows. Gideon, JJ, Morgan, Hotch, Rossi, Elle, Prentiss, Garcia, his Mom...Everyone who had ever meant something to him, he could spot at least one photo of them in the room.


His tears where beginning to fall like tsunami waves. Rubbing his cheek with his palm, he took another glance around the room, seeing something he hadn't noticed before stuck onto the glass. Making his way over to it, he tore off a folded page of paper that had Spencer scrawled on the front of it. Opening it up, he read the three simple words. 

Fight for them.


And he was torn from the room, from the darkness, into reality.

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“Reid? C'mon man, come back to me!” 

Propping his best friend up slightly, Morgan was careful not to touch his knife wound, yet he had blood all over him. His voice was cracked and uneven as he begged Spencer to return from unconsciousness. His mind was flashing back to that night in an abandoned warehouse when he held Emily as she faded. The next seven months he had spent in pain, until she returned to him. Snapping himself out of his thoughts, he tried again to get a response from Reid. 

“Spencer?”
Suddenly, he coughed. It was a weak cough, and it sounded painful, but Morgan was happy that Reid had made some form of response. 
“Hey kid,” Morgan said quietly.
“M...Morgan?” Reid rasped, too weak to speak louder. Morgan smiled, being the strength his friend needed. A few tears fell out of his happiness, a new hope surfacing that his friend would power through. “Spencer, yeah man it's me, I'm right here okay? I'm not leaving you.” 

Reid sighed painfully. “I'm sorry.” 

And then the darkness claimed him once more.