Notes: I am not entirely sure of the accuracy of the Der Großmann myth, whether it is an actual German myth or not, but for the purposes of this fic, it is.

Der Ritter
Act Two

"How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?"
- Sherlock Holmes

Before Dave and Reid can even get Hotch off the ground, the rest of the team shows up in their midst in a way that's too sudden and convenient to be coincidental - JJ and Garcia too, much to Dave's surprise.

Youngsters would call it an awkward silence. Dave would say it's too full of conflicting emotion to be labeled; in one brief moment in which they are all frozen, there's pure relief at seeing everyone mostly well and simultaneous dread upon discovering that their entire team is somehow out here.

Dave thinks that a mysterious entity drawing them all to this area for whatever reason is starting to become a very likely explanation.

"Reid," Prentiss says, exhaling his name in relief. "Oh, thank God."

"What happened, man?" Morgan asks, looking as if a huge weight has just been lifted off his shoulders.

"I'd like to know the same thing," Dave says calmly, his voice cutting clearly through the beginnings of his team's murmurs. And silence once again takes hold of them. Dave is sure they're experiencing the same thing he is - a sudden realization of just how strange this all is, how fast it's happened, how utterly odd the circumstances are.

"We need to get our stories straight now if we're even going to remotely understand this situation," Hotch says; where Dave is calm, Hotch's voice is iron. Their Unit Chief leans back against the tree Dave had propped him up against, looking exhausted but utterly focused. It takes more than a wound to put him out of commission. "Before we go anywhere or do anything. So far, our unsub hasn't bothered us here yet, and I for one feel safer in the woods for now. Just make it quick."

No one argues, though JJ gives him a curious and somewhat alarmed look. "Unsub?"

"It committed the murders," Reid tells them softly.

A ripple of unease passes through them. "You mean, it's..." Garcia begins, but then trails off, unable to give voice to the assumption that the thing has been purposefully playing with them before this.

"Let's just start from the beginning," Prentiss says, and in an unspoken agreement they move closer together, centered around Hotch; weapons are out and visible, and there's a watchfulness to them that means they are on high alert for the slightest change around them.

Prentiss summarizes it quickly - the crash and its cause, the figure's appearance and possession of Reid. Reid takes over, then, explaining how, after the other two had fled, he'd thrown off its control and come into the woods find Prentiss and Hotch... and had found Dave there, too.

"This is where I get confused," Dave says, "because when Morgan and I arrived at the crash site, there was nothing. And there's no way we could have been ahead of you, if we went in the same direction." He hasn't yet seen this mysterious figure, but this fact is the closest thing to proof of something playing a dangerous game with them... assuming they haven't all fallen victim to a subtle mass hysteria.

And Dave doesn't fail to notice the thoughtful, perturbed look that crosses Reid's face.

Morgan then takes over, explaining how he and Prentiss had found an empty road as well and had encountered the thing once more... only for JJ to hit it with her SUV. The four of them had come back into the woods, not daring to split up any more, with the intent of getting Rossi and Hotch... only to find Reid as well.

"And that's another thing that doesn't make sense," Prentiss says, "there's a more than likely chance that we would have run into Reid if he came back this way. So why didn't we?"

Garcia clears her throat. "Um... it's been about an hour since your cell signals disappeared," this is to Dave and Morgan, "but you guys' perception of it puts the time at barely thirty minutes since. Something is definitely off."

"It's warping reality."

All eyes turn to Reid, who's beginning to look almost agitated, his eyes fixed on the ground; he'd barely spoken above a mutter.

"What?" JJ asks.

"It's literally warping our reality!" Reid repeats, his eyes darting up, something approaching both awe and fear on his face.

Morgan shakes his head, though only half-heartedly. "That sounds like science fiction."

"What about this night seems realistic, though?" Reid asks, almost challengingly, gazing around at them. No one has an answer for him, so he continues. "It was in my head, which left it vulnerable to me. Not much, but... I learned things. It's connected to our minds, and that must be how it's manipulating our sense of reality. Who knows how long it's actually been? Who knows what thoughts it's been planting in our heads? Our actions up to this point may not even be entirely our own."

That, more than anything, is enough to chill them. Dave frowns. "Assuming that's true... what gives it that kind of power?" He fixes Reid with his frown. "Tell us everything you know, Reid. I know you've spent the last fifteen minutes absorbing it all."

Reid doesn't quite meet his eyes, and Dave gets the feeling that, at least in this case, it's an intentional avoidance. "Ah... it's mind was particularly vast and not really meant for human understanding, but... I got the sense that it was operating under the basis of quantum mechanics, and that it's able to be present on multiple dimensional planes of existence. And to human knowledge, that is just esoterics, but... the thing was so advanced. It was pure science! That must be why my bullet didn't affect it. It would also explain the apparent knowledge and skill inherent in bending reality to such a degree."

He's met mostly by blankness; Dave is under the impression that it doesn't explain much unless one happens to be Reid and possess more than just a basic understanding of what quantum mechanics and dimensional existence constitute... if any understanding at all; theoretical quantum physics and psychology are two far-removed things and only fall under the general label of 'science'. Reid seems to realize this. "But... that isn't really important right now." He recounts what he'd already told Hotch and Dave, about the thing wanting them here, wanting them working on their most recent case. It's inhuman abilities are the reason for the sheer bafflement that the case presents.

Garcia suddenly gives a start and reaches into the pocket of her coat. She withdraws a crumpled piece of paper and unfolds it with shaking hands, and Dave recalls the moment in the bullpen when she'd first brought the strange photo up. It seems so long ago...

She passes it to Prentiss, Reid, and finally Hotch, talking all the while. "This... this came from a photo of the most recent crime scene," she explains. "I don't know why it caught my attention... it just did. I guess it w-wanted me to notice. It was there."

Hotch gazes intently at the picture for several moments, and something in his memory seems to awaken. With a groan, he leans back against the tree, closing his eyes; his face is drawn and suddenly seems that much older. "I was filming Jack's soccer game, a week ago," he says at last, "and... my camera started malfunctioning. That's when I started to feel... I don't know, unwell. And later, I uploaded the video to my computer, and I saw this thing. Right when the camera had started to act up; it went blurry, hazy. It was small, indistinct, and there for two seconds, so I brushed it off at the time. I didn't even realize it was a person... but now..." he sighs deeply, "I know it's the same. I'm certain of it." The next words seem more difficult for him, and he practically forces it out. "I've been... feeling unwell ever since then. It got worse tonight."

It isn't something Hotch would ever willingly admit to them under most circumstances.

After a moment of deep silence, Prentiss speaks up. "I've been feeling weird myself - jumping at everything, seeing shadows out the corner of my eye. I thought... I thought it was because of everything that happened with... with Doyle, but..."

It's clear from everyone's faces that this rings true with all of them. Dave can attest to his own experience; 'under the weather' would be the term he'd use, and he's not one to get sick very often.

"It's been in all of our lives," JJ says, sounding rather sick. "It planned this. But why?"

No one has an answer, not even Reid.

"We'll operate under the assumption that this is something we and no one else have ever dealt with before," Hotch says; it's clear from his expression that he's about ready to find this thing and kill it himself, whatever it takes, "that we are not collectively suffering from a delusion, and that this thing is very real and very dangerous. At least until we can get a better grasp on the situation." He looks up at Reid. "Explain what you meant earlier, about how it moves, how it works."

Reid gives a small nod. "It's operating under an advanced system of quantum mechanics - just like you can never exactly pinpoint an electron's position in an atom and therefore it can theoretically exist anywhere until it's location is estimated. This thing can appear anywhere at will by collapsing its own location into a certain area, and I think it's helped by another individual focusing on it, as well. That's why it doesn't move as we think of moving."

They get it, certainly, and so Reid seem a little disconcerted by their silence, until... "You got all of that from its head?" Morgan asks, at once disbelieving and highly impressed.

"I don't think it expected me to fight back like I did," Reid says sheepishly. "I think it was mostly an accident that I got as much information as I did... which proves it's not infallible."

That's the kind of information they need, and Dave can feel the tension thicken. "You mentioned earlier that your bullet didn't affect it," he says. "How?"

"It seems to exist both on this plane of reality and a higher one," Reid answers. "My bullet would have had to hit it in both planes to hurt it. Or else it would've had to have been concentrated in only one plane. So pure physical force won't do much against it."

"Then how are we supposed to fight it?" Morgan asks. Their team operates under psychological principles, forensic and investigative work, and on many occasions the physical as well, in order to bring down those they hunt. But now they are being hunted by something that defies the scientific stage of advancement that humanity has reached, if all of this is to be believed; how, indeed.

Reid shakes his head and doesn't answer.

"But why?" Garcia asks, distressed. "Why us? What is it, and what does it want?"

This time, it's Prentiss who answers. "This reminds me of something, actually," she says, a little hesitantly. "An old German legend, mostly forgotten, really. Der Großmann - it's about a 'Tall Man' who would steal children, just like our case. It's basically the German boogeyman, and most accounts described it as looking somewhat like our unsub."

Reid is nodding emphatically, but Dave raises an eyebrow. "A legend, though?" he asks. "It's just a myth."

"Most legends and myths have a basis in fact and/or scientific mysteries that people were unable to explain at the time," Reid points out. "They don't just come from nowhere. And..." here his voice grows quieter, almost strained, "it is fixated on children. I said that it knows about us. More specifically, it knows about our childhoods. That was all over its mind - and not just that... the worst parts of our childhoods, too. As if it was feeding off of that and us." He's determinedly avoiding looking at any of them, as if he's learned information that they haven't ever told each other.

"Well, then," Dave says softly, "why now?" Assuming this is all true, and something tells him it is. "Why just a half-forgotten fairytale, and why not in Germany? Why here?"

Reid frowns. "I don't know."

A long silence falls; they're all running it through their minds, Dave knows, running it and processing it and trying to come to grips with this hellish night... and in Dave's own case, weighing the possibility of mass hysteria against the situation, against the lurking unease in the back of his mind warning him that it's not. Take it for what it is, that part tells him. You are all in danger.

"So we've got a legend stalking us," Morgan says, "that has greater scientific advancement than we do, with no known way to harm it, and we're supposed to kill this thing?"

"That about sums it up," Reid says grimly.

Prentiss sighs. "Well, since we have no way of fighting it, then we have to try to avoid it. We could go back to the road and try to drive out of here. If it shows up again, a few of us can stay behind to distract it or something."

Everyone knows the implications of this. No one brings them up.

"What it's endgame, Reid?" JJ asks.

"I'm not sure," Reid says with a frown. "Like I said, it's mind was far more complex than a human's and difficult to understand. It was definitely fixated on death in some manner, but... it seemed more focused on playing a sick game. It certainly likes chaos."

"I'll bet," Morgan says darkly. "We don't know what it ultimately wants, then. But if it wants all of us, then the least we can do is foil that and get some of us out." He throws a brief but significant glance in Hotch's direction, and Hotch scowls.

Dave frowns; it doesn't take a profiler to know why Prentiss and Morgan were the ones to bring that up. "If it comes down to that... Hotch, JJ, Garcia, Reid, you should all go, if you can."

"I'll stay behind, too," Reid says adamantly. He's faced almost at once by protest, but he shakes his head vehemently. "I understand this thing best! You may have a shot, with me!"

No one can really argue with that.

The fog is still swirling when they return to the road.

Moonlight reveals that the three SUVs are in the same position and that the road is silent and empty. No sign of the figure, and Derek, creeping forward first with Rossi, holds on to a thin hope that it won't appear. Maybe they're all just hallucinating the goddamn thing, though some part of him tells him that isn't true; it's real and it's a threat. At the very least, they'll treat it like it is.

The SUV that he and Rossi came in, parked on this side of the road, is nearest, and they try that, only to find that it won't start. Derek's stomach drops, but resolutely he turns to the one still in the middle of the road and beckons the others to follow.

And that's when his tentative hopes are dashed.

The figure is there, all of a sudden, several feet before them, and Derek hears Rossi's sharp breath. Unconsciously, the team moves into a tighter formation; Prentiss, who'd been guarding the rear, comes forward, and she, Rossi, and Derek form a semi-circle shield, weapons out, in front of JJ and Garcia, who are supporting Hotch, and Reid, who appears positively terrified but attempting to hide it.

The thing is gazing at them, or so Derek supposes. It has no eyes, no face, and it sends a shiver of revulsion down his spine. Beside him, Rossi has gone pale, but when the older man speaks, he is utterly calm.

"What do you want?" Rossi asks. "Why are you after us? Are you connected to us? Are we keeping you alive?" Reid had said it seemed to be feeding off of them and their experiences, Derek remembers. "If we are, then harming us wouldn't make much sense, would it?" As he speaks, he, Derek, and Prentiss are spreading out a bit, Reid coming forward with his own weapon half-drawn, while the others edge right.

Reasoning seems to have absolutely no effect on the figure; it only gazes at them sightlessly, its head slightly cocked, following their movements. Its attention is focused on the four who are closest, giving JJ, Garcia, and Hotch a little more room to edge closer to the SUV, and Derek holds on to the delirious hope that they will be able to get away, at least.

Then the thing lunges for Rossi.

All Derek sees is a blur, and he doesn't see Reid come up behind them, either. All he sees then is Reid shoving Rossi out of the way with a strength and quickness born of desperation, not athletic ability, and Derek wants to scream out in protest. But he doesn't have the time; the world has slowed, and he thinks he sees the thing actually recoil from Reid. But Reid is reaching for it as well, and suddenly the thing is gone, and Reid is doubling over, almost crouching down at the force of whatever's taken hold of him.

Rossi, who'd lost balance but not fallen, reaches forward in alarm. "Reid?"

Reid's hand whips out, holding his revolver. Rossi backs away, dumbfounded, as Reid rises, his movements stiff and jerky. He's fighting something, and Derek can hear a few of the others calling out his name, but Derek's mind is in too much panic, thinking too quickly, to speak.

Why would he do that? What's he planning? Oh, god, Reid... no.

Suddenly, Reid's head lifts in a moment of clarity, and he turns laboriously, facing them; the hand that holds his gun is trembling violently. His eyes are darting between them. "I've got it," he gasps. "The physical connection... the way... to kill this thing."

You can feel the shock coursing through them. "No!" Derek bellows, panic and fear and anger fueling him; he'd figured out exactly what Reid was planning a second before those words had left Reid's mouth.

"Please," Reid begs, pain arching through his voice. "Just shoot... someone. It's fighting, I c-... I can't hold it indefinitely."

"We can find another way!" Prentiss tells him, shaking her head, her gun hanging at her side.

"There isn't one," Reid says and bites back a cry. "I know, I'm in its head, and it's..." His gun swings towards JJ and Hotch and Garcia, and he struggles with it as Prentiss moves to block them from his aim. "Please." He's crying now, and so is Derek, in anger and frustration and complete helplessness. "It'll kill me anyway! I know what it wants to do to you, to us, now, and I can't let that happen, ever!"

He's losing his battle. His gun is on Prentiss, now, on Derek, and yet Derek can't bring himself to shoot. Let me die before I lay a finger on him, Derek thinks, but the team... the rest of the team... no...

"Please," Reid begs, his gaze sliding past Prentiss.

A shot rings out.

Reid jerks, and blood is staining the stomach area of his shirt front, and in numb horror Derek looks back to see Hotch lowering his gun, crying. As Reid slips to his knees, breaking the paralysis that had taken over all of them, Rossi is the first to reach him, catching his shoulders. Derek is next, and as he and Rossi ease Reid to the ground, frantically trying to stop the blood flow, some part of Derek that is trying not to devolve into sheer panic notes in a detached sort of way that the fog is dissipating. He can hear a siren, very close, and Prentiss is running towards an approaching cop car.

"Hold on," Morgan says, and it comes out as practically a sob. "Come on, Pretty Boy, you can't die on us after you save all our asses."

It's clear that Reid is still fighting something; his eyes are half-closed, darting underneath the lids, and he's fighting to stay awake. "Come on!" Derek says. You can do it, please tell me it's already dead, just don't you die on me too. "You stay with us, y'hear?"

Reid's hand, grasping, finds Derek's wrist and clings for dear life, and Derek didn't even know the kid had a grip that strong, and his eyes, panicking, meet Rossi's grim ones, and he wills with everything he has, bargains with God, prays to every force in the universe, that Reid will just live.

Aaron sits in the waiting room in the George Washington University Hospital. His head in his hands, his leg is in a cast, and his heart is heavier than it's been in a long time.

He doesn't see his team enter the room from the direction of the cafeteria or their looks of surprise when they catch sight of him. He hears their footsteps, though, but he doesn't look up, not until they all take seats around them and Rossi speaks.

"Did anyone approve you walking around the hospital yet?" Rossi asks gently.

"Dave, I really couldn't give a damn about what they do and do not approve of," Aaron mutters blackly.

"Did you eat something yet?" Garcia inquires, her tone like that of a concerned mother.

Aaron shakes his head. He can't. He doesn't think he could stomach anything right now, and he'd dumped the hospital meal into the trash when the nurse wasn't looking. Better to be a little hungry than to throw it up.

"You need to," Prentiss says quietly.

No one says anything after that - trying to find the words, maybe, or else just struggling to come to terms with the unreality of the night before. Finally, Aaron hears a shifting in the seat of someone near him - JJ.

"Hotch," she says softly. "You need to stop blaming yourself."

Aaron takes a deep breath. "I can't," he says. How could he? "Out of everything I've ever blamed myself for... this is the first time I've physically pulled the trigger." It's a confession full of raw emotion, something that normally would rarely leave him, but he's too exhausted, too guilt-ridden to care.

"You did what you had to," JJ says, her voice quavering.

"And you did it damn good, too," Rossi interjects, almost angrily. "You're the reason we're here and not in a morgue. And nothing's followed us here. Reid has every chance of pulling through, he's strong. We've almost won this night."

Aaron drops his eyes to floor. "We still might lose," he says, closing them.

They fall silent, then, grim and waiting.

It doesn't take much longer. A weary-looking doctor appears in the door that leads off to the emergency wing, and they recognize him. Almost immediately, he has a crowd of federal agents gathered around him, and he gives them a faint smile.

"He'll pull through," Dr. Hathaway says, and his words have a ripple effect. One can see the relief that overtakes them, each of them displaying it in their own way; Aaron nearly sags against his crutches, feeling the guilt temporarily sweetened by the news.

Hathaway shakes his head, sighing; he's tired, but pleased. "Even with the emergency surgery at the base, it was uncertain whether he'd survive the surgery here, but Dr. Reid is clearly a fighter."

"My man," Morgan murmurs proudly.

"However, we won't know the full extent of his condition until he wakes up; his brief death at the base may have adverse effects on his brain," Hathaway warns them, and they absorb this information quietly; whatever happens, they'll do everything in their power to help him through it - they owe him that much.

"When can we see him?" Garcia asks eagerly.

"Very soon," Hathaway answers. "Though one at a time, when you do. I don't want to overwhelm him too soon after he wakes up."

The doctor, with a few more assurances for them, soon retreats back into the emergency wing, and an aura of celebratory goodwill infects the team. Half of them are crying from relief, and Aaron drifts off to the side, seating himself in the nearest chair, shaking.

Morgan comes to him, taking a seat beside him, and Aaron gives him a glance. "Are you mad at me?"

Morgan considers this. "A little," he finally says, with no real anger behind his words; he seems too tired for that - they all are. "Rationally, I know that if you hadn't pulled the trigger, Reid probably would have died for sure and the rest of us, too." As he says this, his gaze drifts to the others, focusing on Garcia. "But..." He looks back at Aaron. "How did you do it?"

"Reid would never have forgiven me otherwise," Aaron says quietly. He remembers all too clearly the look Reid had given him in the throes of that thing's possession - as a last hope, someone who could break through the shock enough in order to rationally consider the desperate situation. "And... I couldn't just think of one member of my team... I had to think of all of you. That's my job, to look out for you and to carry what you shouldn't have to." He shakes his head; Reid is alive, but Aaron can't shake away the awful feeling that claims him. "But... it was the hardest thing I've ever done."

There's silence between them for several moments, until Aaron feels Morgan's hand on his shoulder, briefly. "You don't have to carry it alone," Morgan tells him, and as if to emphasize this, the rest of the team is taking seats around them, to settle in for another wait.

Spencer's return to consciousness is slow and sluggish, but it doesn't take him long to realize that there is a wall between himself and pain.

Morphine, he thinks, while his eyes are still closed. No...

He struggles to open his eyes, and eventually, the hospital room comes into focus. It's as generic as any hospital room, but Hotch is there, and Spencer focuses on him. "Hotch," he says, and he thinks the word comes out a little slurred.

His boss immediately looks in his direction, before standing rather awkwardly on a crutch and maneuvering his armchair a little closer. "They gave me morphine," Spencer tells him as Hotch again takes a seat. Don't they know that's wrong? He doesn't want that kind of pain medication, not ever.

"Not much," Hotch says. "I told them you wouldn't want it, but... well, I shot you in the stomach. They considered it necessary, at least a little."

The memories swirl in Spencer's head and enable him to push out of the morphine-induced fog and into a little more clarity. The true realization that he's alive crashes through him with sweet warmth, because he'd expected to die. He'd been scared nearly out of his wits, but he'd been ready to die. And he hadn't. That's more important than pain meds, right now.

"Thank you," he says, smiling weakly at Hotch.

He can tell that Hotch is trying to be stern, but his boss smiles back a little, anyway, utter relief showing through his eyes for a few moments. "Don't thank me for that," Hotch mutters. Then he fixes a grave look on Spencer. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Spencer's eyes drop, looking anywhere but Hotch. "I couldn't," he says. "None of you would have agreed to it... or one of you would have tried instead." They would never have let him do it, even though he'd had the best chance. And he hadn't been sure of his ability to resist their arguments; he'd been scared enough, as it was.

"Don't you trust us at all?" Hotch asks.

"Of course!" Spencer says. "With my life. I just... I was in its head before. That's how I knew I could succeed; I couldn't have done it the first time. And I trusted you to do the right thing. Besides, I-" he trails off uncertainly, "well, I have a strong brain." That was his best asset; he wasn't much of a physical fighter, and he didn't like shooting a gun if he didn't have to, but when it came to his mind... he could win. He could fight.

"Yes, we know," Hotch says dryly. "But that isn't the point. You lied to us and hid things from us and put us into an impossible situation. That's not how a team works. I would've thought that all of these years with us would have taught you that."

Spencer can't even bring himself to look at Hotch, because it's true. He'd realized before how much of a lie he would have to get into in order to carry out his plan, how angry he'd probably make his team with it. But he'd do it again, if it meant their safety. Even if it meant his death.

And then Hotch continues. "But... you did it to protect us. You did it out of love. It was one of the bravest and most selfless things I've ever seen an agent do. And the worst part is, you were probably entirely right. Looking back, I can't see another alternative, and I don't even have your knowledge."

There's undeniable pride in Hotch's voice, and Spencer can hardly speak for surprise. Inordinately touched, he opens his mouth and finds that words are useless.

The professionalism seems to leave Hotch all at once; his shoulders droop, and he's staring at the floor, now. "I'm sorry," he says heavily, and Spencer can hear the absolute guilt in his voice. It's eating away at him, and Spencer wants nothing more than to stop that.

"No, don't apologize," Spencer says, trying to make his own voice as convincing as possible. "You did what I asked, and you managed to save my life in the process. I was convinced I was going to die. I'd accepted it. But I'm awake, and it's because of you. Nice shooting."

Hotch doesn't seem to appreciate his lame attempt at humor all that much, and Spencer decides to close his mouth now. Hotch leans back in his chair. "You're in D.C. now," he tells Spencer. "You were brought here from the Marine base medical center. You died there, for a few minutes."

"I did, didn't I?" Spencer says quietly. "Doesn't feel like it." He reaches up to touch his head, absently. The morphine means that his brain isn't running at full capacity, yet, but as far as he can tell, his mental faculties seem to be in working order. "What did you tell the cops?"

"That the unsub planned to draw us out, attacked our team, shot you, and got away," Hotch replies. "It's almost the truth."

Spencer knows that the lie doesn't sit well with Hotch; it won't sit well with any of them. But they have little choice in the matter - the thing had been focused on them alone, to the exclusion of everyone else save its victims. Spencer wonders what they'll do with the case - how they'll wrap it up, if it'll go down as one of their unsolved ones. It'll have to, he thinks. They'll never catch the unsub, because its dead. It has to be dead; he'd felt it die, with him, in his head.

Spencer is beginning to wonder just what effect this will have on his psyche. He can't even begin to predict the consequences of such an intense battle in his own mind, if any at all, and there's still so much unease lurking in the back of his mind - probably pent-up emotion from having that thing in his head.

He shudders and looks at Hotch again. "How's your leg?" he asks in concern.

"It's fine," Hotch tells him. "I got off easy."

"Hotch," Spencer begins, wishing he could easily convey in words just how much he wants his boss to not feel guilty, but Hotch shakes his head. He reaches for his crutches and stands.

"Morgan and Garcia have probably already had a rock-paper-scissors fight over who gets to visit next," Hotch says as he limps toward the door. "I won't keep them any longer."

"Can't you all visit at once?" Spencer asks. He wants to see his team, all of them, to reassure himself that they're alive and that the nightmare is over. He'd thought he'd never see them again, and the need to see them now overpowers almost everything else.

Hotch looks back, smiling a little. "You'll have to argue with the doctor on that one."

Dr. Hathaway is a decent man and begrudgingly gives the team ten minutes, threatening them with the pain of injection if they rile Reid up in any way. Reid's smile is enough to light the whole room, and the doctor doesn't regret it in the least.

Happiness is conducive to healing, after all.

To be safe, Garcia destroys the one picture with evidence of that thing, because leaving any record of it feels too close to keeping it alive; she hacks into the Bristow PD's databases to be extra sure.

Hotch does the same with the video.

And later, much later, one is able to observe Reid sitting in an official-looking office - a medical office, it would seem. He is entirely recovered, but he waits with clear anxiety, and eventually a man in a coat comes to him - medical personnel, one can assume.

They converse at some length, and with each word, one can observe that the color begins to drain from Reid's face.

"No idea can succeed except at the expense of sacrifice; no one ever escapes without enduring strain from the struggle of life."
- Ernest Renan

Notes: That was intentionally ambiguous, so please don't ask.

There is actually a ton of background information and thought that went into this fic; it isn't necessary to understand the fic, but I found it interesting, so if anyone else does too, here it is:

Slender Man does not exist as an Internet creation in this fic. I toyed with that idea, but it didn't work well with the ideas I had in mind, and I didn't have the time to explore it in full. So I went with a shorter option.

The Slender Man wiki proposes two theories for Slender Man's hypothetical existence: the Tulpa theory and the quantum physics theory. Tulpas are thought-creatures, brought into being by a collective focus of the consciousness of multiple individuals; hence the "he only exists when you're thinking about him" assumption. The quantum physics theory likens Slender Man and his existence/ability to teleport to particle theory and the basics of quantum mechanics - the movement of electrons/particles is inherently random and cannot be exactly pinned down, only predicted based on the wavefunction equation. Therefore, they can theoretically exist anywhere until their position is narrowed down to a specific locale. According to this theory, Slender Man operates within similar parameters; he does not technically exist anywhere until he is brought into focus, and even then, he is impossibly difficult to pin down. He can also seemingly teleport at will because of this ability.

I used Slender Man as a multi-dimensional being who takes physical form and becomes trans-dimensional only from a source of great human evil; therefore, he is an ancient creature, but constantly takes different forms throughout the years as he manifests again and again thanks to various events. His "Slender Man" form as we know it (dark suit, preying on children, etc.) manifests as centered on the BAU - they are practically the antithesis of evil, but their job is intrinsically tied to evil. They're steeped in some of the worst horrors that North America has to offer, and that is going to be deeply imprinted on anyone's mind. Slender Man manifests as a tulpa that draws life from their minds. His habit of preying on children goes back to the fact that all of them had something shitty happy to them as kids (all of that confirmed canon or hinted at a la Hotch, except for Rossi; I think his childhood was alluded to, but never expressly stated as being particularly crappy - never explicitly happy though, so headcanon, boo-yah). Slender Man is basically their nightmares come to life. And because I enjoy the quantum physics theory, it also applies; it's Slender Man's adapted method of moving as he wills, learned from Reid's mind and knowledge of particle theory.

Or who knows... maybe it is just a case of mass hysteria, and I am, in fact, shitting you.

(In a side note, the fic's title, "Der Ritter" [which means 'the knight' in German], comes from one of the supposed inspirations for Slender Man, a rather erroneously interpreted early German woodcutting that nevertheless features a strange death-like creature battling a knight. The name has been used to refer to Slender Man before. For the fic itself, it has a dual meaning; 'the knight' also refers to the BAU, as they have been described as modern day Knights of the Round Table before.)

Also, I didn't mean to make this a 'bad things happen to Reid fic', but a) I didn't want to kill everyone off (character death is becoming a cheap and uncreative trope), and Reid's a very convenient exposition character and useful for particularly cerebral situations, and b) this fic was chiefly written for my mother, who loves Reid and Hotch very much. So it just kind of happened that way. Oops.