Title: Currency Exchange
By: Sam
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: FRAO
Warning: slash, torture, non-con
Pairing: Reid/Unsub (non-con), Hotchner/Reid (consensual)
Kink: Hurt/comfort, optional torture, non-con
Prompt: "The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary. Men alone are quite capable of every wickedness." ~ Joseph Conrad
Prompter: slashydutchie
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
Summary: When the BAU disrupts an Unsub's pattern, someone has to pay.

***

"The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary. Men alone are quite capable of every wickedness." ~ Joseph Conrad

 

Keeping up with the gurney as the paramedics wheeled Reid toward the automatic doors to the ER, Hotch ran a hand through his hair, realizing too late that it was smeared with Reid's blood. Shocked into stopping at the entrance just outside the hospital, a quick glance down showed him it wasn't the only thing covered in blood.

 

The double doors slide shut, leaving him outside.

 

Hotch was covered, his tie long gone, showing without mercy his white dress shirt smeared in red, some stains so dark as to be almost black; stiff and accusing. New blood and old, spilled by the early wounds inflicted on the pale body that had been reopened when Hotch had pulled him down from the rusted iron shackles himself, carrying him to the wailing ambulance just screeching its arrival on scene. It was his fault Reid was...

 

Stricken, his gaze shifted past the glass doors into the brightly lit lobby of the ER.

 

By depriving Fordman of his intended target - by saving Trevor Jacobs - Hotch had put Reid in the killer's path. Unbidden, Fordman's voice rang once more in his ear, the dark promise made even more foreboding for actually having being carried out.

 

*"Just think of it as a type of...currency exchange. You deprived me of my fun, so I'll just have to take it out on one of yours..."*

 

Taking a deep breath, Hotch closed his eyes, feeling Spencer's blood squelch oily and slick between his fingers, dripping to the pavement as his fists clenched at his side, wanting another shot at Fordman and knowing nothing more could be taken from a dead man.

 

Another breath and Hotch set his jaw, pushed the guilt and blame down thickly and walked unerringly into the ER.

 

--

 

White lights flashed into his eyes as the disconcerting feeling of movement increased...

 

...ER. He was being wheeled on a gurney into the ER. There had been an ambulance - hadn't there?

 

Too bright, too harsh, too knowing, revealing everything he couldn't remember; everything that the something buried deep inside his mind warned he didn't want to. That indefinable feeling of something grew closer, nearer and Spencer started to struggle, only to find that he couldn't. Movement sent fire arcing deep into his bones and down his spine but he had to...

 

He had to know. Had to move. Had to get away.

 

Looking down the thin white cotton blanket mottled with red found his body had been strapped to a table -

 

...gurney...it had to be a gurney...*if* there had been an ambulance...but Forman had teased him with rescue before...and always before Spencer found himself back in the basement...

 

...tight leather straps trapping him...keeping him in place...

 

Naked underneath...

 

...so he couldn't escape...

 

...so Fordman could play...with knives and jumper cables and electricity that had made him scream out against his will even as the lights flickered throughout the underground room...

 

Not a hospital after all then, just more flickering of lights...but where was the pain? It would come eventually, Spencer knew...no matter what he did, what he said or what he tried, it would always come...

 

Fordman would always come, to play with him, to hurt him. To press him down and make him scream.

 

A commotion to his left brought a harsh voice; angry, accusing and Spencer redoubled his efforts, feeling his breath coming in sharp, useless pants as the pain returned with his struggles and increased until the spots flashing above his eyes weren't white, they were red, blurred by the tears that leaked, futile, into the sparse pillow under his cheek. Fordman was right - they would never find him. Not in time...

 

*He* knew Spencer was trying to get away...

 

Thankfully the darkness claimed him before Forman could, sending Spencer down into an abyss of pain and blood. But at least he was alone.

 

--

 

"Get out of my way!"

 

"Sir, you *can't* go in there."

 

"I'm Agent Reid's Supervisor - "

 

"You're also covered in his blood. " Head nurse Amelia Bernstein told him briskly in a no-nonsense tone that any of her staff would have immediately recognized and hastened to obey, moving bodily to block his way when it looked as if Agent Hotchner was about to ignore her and follow the gurney that held their latest trauma victim down into Surgery anyway. She suspected only the fact that she was a woman had kept the man currently covered in blood staring off at the retreating gurney through the panes of glass in the doors that barred his way instead of bowling her over in an effort to follow.

 

"You don't understand."

 

Dark brown eyes that shown almost black with guilt and worry fell on her and for a moment the intensity of emotion stunned her almost speechless. But only almost. She was used to dealing with the friends and family that got pulled in on the wake of severely traumatized patients after all, and it would seem as if she didn't have one patient, but two...

 

"I'm sure that I don't, " she told him gently, taking one arm and leading him away from the main area of the building and toward one of the private waiting rooms off to the side in the back. There were washrooms there and with any luck, Sally would have already directed his friends there. "But you can't do a thing back there but get in the way, and we don't want that. One step at a time, so let's deal with something we can handle, all right? Do you have an extra set of clothes, Agent Hotchner?"

 

"It's Hotch," he answered almost absently, his attention still caught by the forbidden corridor, resisting only slightly her light yet firm pressure on his arm tugging him gently away from his young colleague. "And I have a bag in my truck..."

 

"Good." She smiled encouragingly up at him as he blinked, suddenly finding himself in the waiting room being towed around by a 5'1" grandmother of nine. And the center of a semi-circle of concern, handed out by the rest of his colleagues. She had seen it all too often before whenever someone who was injured was out of reach, friends and family generally latched onto the other, less injured, if only to feel as if they had something constructive they could do.

 

That would do.

 

Turning her attention to the group at large, she released his arm, asking, "Is there anyone here who could retrieve Hotch's clothing? There is a washroom there in the corner and I'm sure you all will feel better without the reminder of your friend - ?" she paused, feeling horrible that she didn't even know the young man's name.

 

"Reid."

 

Looking up into another set of equally dark eyes full of sadness and regret, she saw a small flicker of gratitude flare briefly before once again getting swallowed up by the shared pain. "His name is Reid."

 

She found herself offering the young man - an Agent Morgan - a soft smile, nodding. "Of course. I'll let you know personally once Agent Reid is out of surgery. He's in the best of hands," she told them sincerely. "Doctor Callaghan is one of the best trauma specialists in the country."

 

"Thank you."

 

Amelia nodded once more and saw herself out, leaving Agent Hotchner in the capable hands of his friends.

 

--

 

Morgan took over from the nurse, steering Hotch inward until he all but collapsed on one of the few chairs in the tiny waiting room. "Come on, man," he coaxed quietly. "I'll go get your bag so you can clean up."

 

It was only when Hotch took a look at his hands, shaking and stained dark with mostly dried blood, and handed him the SUVs keys without a word that Morgan realized they were all running on autopilot; the adrenaline of the chase and finding Reid alive having long since run out. Probably at the exact moment Hotch had pulled the trigger.

 

One hand on the older man's shoulder squeezing gently, Morgan traded a knowing look with Rossi, JJ and Prentiss over the bent head. Only after receiving nods all around did Morgan move to leave the room.

 

With any luck, Strauss would actually know what was good for her - and this time choose to let sleeping demons lie.

 

--

 

Pain and fear and cold and more pain.

 

"Your little friend Hotchner isn't going to find you in time, you know," Fordman taunts, circling around his shivering body, whispering in his ear; a dirty hand brushing through his hair before gripping tightly. All that pent up anger and frustration just looking for an outlet.

 

Too drained to do more than leak tears at the sharp sting and hang limply in the chains that held him upright, Spencer can't help the small flinch as a wet tongue swipes a broad trail over the tendon in his neck. Even though he knows that very type of reaction is what a sadistic rapist like Fordman wants, he can't help the way his skin crawls as the larger man's hands touch him, pulling on his body and taking what they want.

 

The hands are joined by more body parts and Spencer cries out with a voice scraped raw and hoarse from screaming out with that very same pain. After days of this, like Spencer himself, it's broken and useless and left to drop off into the darkness as Fordman uses his body before topping off his fun with the knife already darkened and stained with Spencer's blood.

 

The sharp tip presses into his stomach just above his groin slicing an angry red line into the flat plane of his skin and Spencer can't help but draw in a breath to try and scream again, only nothing breaks the silence except a rusty squeak and the sound of dark, evil laughter...

 

--

 

Consciousness returned slowly, which wasn't anything new, though it returned without pain, which *was*. Or without much pain, and for the first time in days Spencer was able to move more than an inch without the restrictions of shackles or restraints.

 

His eyes blinked open, tearing slightly even in the muted lighting of what was obviously a hospital room. The first thing they focused on was the chipped and dry-tiled ceiling, divided into large, rectangular panels that crawled across the surface as his brain took its time coming back online. Beyond the ceiling and further down there were the sounds of multiple machines warring with each other, their alternating beeps and whines sharp in the subdued quiet of the room.

 

Other than his chest rising in a controlled rhythm up and down from the ventilator, the room was still. Too still.

 

Before he could panic, Hotch was there, one warm hand gently gripping his in deference to the tubes and patches of tape glued to his skin.

 

--

 

Casefiles that he hadn't been doing more than staring blearily at anyway forgotten at the first signs of consciousness and the immediate distress that followed were thrown carelessly across the slick polyester chair Nurse Bernstein had insisted an orderly drag in from the waiting room as Hotch shot up and across the room to take Spencer's hand.

 

"Hey, hey it's all right," Hotch murmured gently, seeing the panic flaring in the hazel eyes above the white tape holding the tube in place. He wiped away the tears leaking from them, rushing to reassure the young man. "You're in the hospital, you're safe, Reid, I promise. Morgan and Prentiss are just down the hall. If you want I could get them, let them know you're awake."

 

A glance down at the tube had Hotch reaching for the button to call the nurse.

 

--

 

"There you are, Spencer, dear," the nurse that bustled around his head assured him cheerfully. "All set. There's water and ice chips on the cart," she told him, adding for Hotch who stood hovering just out of the way, "And I'm depending on your handsome friend not to let you drink too much."

 

"Right." Hotch nodded to the ample woman as she left the room much as she had entered it; charging past him and on to her next destination.

 

Once she was gone he watched Spencer as the panic retreated a little. Never one good with overbearing strangers outside of work, Reid was clearly relieved to have the tube gone and be breathing again on his own.

 

"Better?"

 

Spencer nodded.

 

"Ready for the rest of the gang?"

 

A voice that was little more than a rusty croak started to answer before Reid gave up and just shook his head again in that careful way that bespoke a headache pounding right around the corner. "Ok, not quite up for company, got it."

 

With nothing more to talk about that wasn't loaded with things Spencer didn't need to be thinking about until he was stronger, Hotch settled in beside his bed with the standard, "So how are you feeling?"

 

And was immediately rewarded with a roll of the hazel eyes that said quite clearly just what a lame question that actually was.

 

Hotch couldn't help the chuckle that was mostly relief that Reid was back with them, awake and somewhat whole. "Right. Stupid question. I'll just...I'll let you get some sleep."

 

He had turned to go before he heard the quiet rasp. If not for the desperation in the one word, he may have pretended he hadn't heard it.

 

"stay?"

 

Hotch thought about it for a moment before nodding. He would stay for as long as Spencer needed him and until he came to his senses and threw him out.

 

He picked up the hand resting listless on the pale blue blanket and gave it an encouraging squeeze. He could do no less.

 

"Spencer..."

 

"no." was the croak and Hotch had no difficulty in knowing what 'no' Spencer meant by the sudden stubborn tightening of the hand in his grip.

 

But Elle had been right, all those months ago. It *was* his fault...

 

Standing up to pace, Hotch didn't have to know Spencer was doing his best to glare at him from where he lay. Knowing Spencer, he was just waiting until Hotch wore himself out before once more broaching his argument.

 

He should have protected him. Should have made sure that no one had gone out alone once the threat had been made. Should have...he should have...

 

Spencer had been hurt and it was his fault.

 

Dropping down into the chair by the foot of his hospital bed when he was too tired to keep running in circles, Hotch told him, "I'm sorry."

 

--

 

Spencer watched Hotch pace, knowing the older profiler needed the movement to work out his demons; to think without being distracted by a body with nothing to do. He knew what was running through that stubborn brain and, though he wanted nothing more than to be able to shout and shake some sense into him, his injuries gave Spencer no choice but to bide his time; rest in his hospital bed and wait for the energy to run out.

 

He had a good feeling the nervous energy that had kept Hotch going would run out before the self-recriminations would. But Spencer had had a lot of time to think and the only one to blame for his...for Fordman was Fordman himself.

 

Damned martyr complex.

 

He was right. Hotch had just made the far turn of his circuit, small as it was between the bed, the all but non-existent bathroom, and the wall, when he crashed, all but dropping into the other chair. Head hanging, he ran one hand through his hair, making the dark strands stand on end. "I'm sorry. After what happened to Elle - I should have known. I should have done - something."

 

Carefully now.

 

Spencer shook his head weakly, careful not to upset it into another killer headache. "couldn't." He rasped.

 

Hotch brought his head back up and Spencer felt his heart beating faster at the dark look of regret and anger in the dark eyes spearing him. "I should have. He came after one of mine - he came after you. He - " But Hotch couldn't say the rest and Spencer couldn't move any closer without dislodging an entire forest of cables and tubing and annoying a whole host of electrical devices that would scream out his 'distress'.

 

And Spencer was trying very hard at the moment not to think too closely about how many electrical outlets he was hooked to. He was too close to screaming himself as it was; Hotch's self-blame was giving his babbling brain something else to focus on at the moment, a fact for which he was very grateful.

 

He promised himself a nice long soak and scream later. Preferably somewhere more private like his apartment or Hotch's - somewhere the older man could hold him and chase away all of his suddenly Fordman-shaped monsters in the dark. Because he was too damned tired to fight what they both wanted anymore. Like was too short. Right now though...

 

Screw it. So the entire world knew he moved two inches away from the center of his bed.

 

Holding a hand out to Hotch - so the hand shook but it remained aloft so, not bad - Spencer willed him to take it, needing a bit of that instant comfort that came with someone holding your hand after a nightmare himself.

 

He wasn't sure which relieved him more - the fact that Hotch took it or that his guardians weren't screaming out their shrill protests.

 

"not. your. fault." He managed once Hotch was at his side again. Barely above a whisper, but he managed, taking one word at a time and turning it into a command. With any luck, Hotch would believe him; but he doubted it. "time. think. not. your. fault."

 

Hotch brooded.

 

Spencer glowered.

 

Finally...

 

"Yes. It is." Hotch said firmly, holding onto his hand. "But if you can forgive me, then...I'll try to do the same. Deal?" Hotch asked, sitting once more beside the bed with a look of stubborn resolve making its way past the tears shimmering in his eyes.

 

"deal. love. you." Spencer told him and "stubborn."

 

"Hello, kettle," Hotch raised his brow and threw back at the younger man who just raised his to match. Or tried to before they crashed back down into a frown and an irritated 'ow' face. "Sorry. My fault."

 

"morgan. smack you," Reid promised.

 

"Later," Hotch agreed easily. "Right now, you need to rest and I - "

 

"rest." Reid told him firmly.

 

"- I'll just curl up in this very comfortable chair and join you."

 

Spencer had to bite back a laugh before it hurt too much at the swift and obvious change in direction. Though Hotch *did* suit actions to words as he settled a little further into the chair and closed his eyes without ever releasing Reid's hand. Those eyes opened up one more time to regard him with a mild glare to find his eyes still open. "Good night, Reid."

 

Spencer huffed a silent laugh and obediently closed his eyes. "night."

 

That hand squeezed his again and Spencer had begun to drift off when he could have sworn he heard Hotch say softly, "I love you too, Spencer," making him smile into his pillow, his head turned toward the older man as he burrowed into the bed trying to get comfortable.

 

The last, fuzzy thought as he dozed off was he wondered what it would be like when Hotch was no longer beside his bed but in it. He had no worries that nightmares of Fordman would disturb his sleep with a fierce protector like Hotch by his bedside. They wouldn't dare.

 

 

 

End