Please excuse the medical inaccuracies. I'm not a doctor. This fanfiction is based on one I read that hadn't been updated since 2009. (I'm Fine, by 1RedGuitar) This is chapter one, new chapter coming soon, hopefully tomorrow :)

"Damn. That guy was like super-human. He threw me across the room like it was nothing. And did you see how hard he hit Hotch?" Morgan winced as the EMT's tended to his cuts and bruises.

"It's actually not that uncommon for drug users to display seemingly super-human strength. Studies have shown that PCP unexpectedly produces substantial cortical activation in humans, hence the rage. It's really interesting-"

"Reid, stop." Morgan chuckled. "Save the lecture on street drugs for the plane ride. Go check on Hotch."

Reid smiled, and walked over to the other ambulance. It had been a fairly easy case to solve. The unsub was suffering a psychotic break due to drug use, and had murdered three people. The team had been able to locate and subdue him before he could drop another body.

"How is he?" Reid asked the medic who was examining Hotch.

"I'm fine, Reid. Thanks for asking."

"Actually-"

"Actually nothing. We have a plane to catch." Hotch cut the Medic off.

"Hey, where's the fire?" Rossi overheard, and joined the conversation.

Hotch sighed. "I just want to get home to Jack."

"That's understandable, but let the man do his job. How is he, really?"

"He doesn't have any broken ribs, but that guy hit him pretty hard. I suggest a trip to the hospital to check for internal bleeding."

"You heard him." Rossi shrugged.

"No, please." Hotch shakily rose to his feet. "I'm okay. I've had worse. Can we please just get on the plane?" He limped away without waiting for an answer.

The EMT shrugged. "He's probably fine. I'll clear him to fly."

An hour later, they were boarding the plane. Rossi kept an eye on Hotch, knowing that their unit chief wouldn't voluntarily admit that he was in pain. Hotch seemed to be okay, just a little sore. He gingerly placed his bag on the ground and took his usual seat by the window.

"How are you doing, Morgan?" Hotch asked. "That unsub really tossed you around."

"I'm fine, just some scrapes and bruises."

"Yeah, the biggest blow was to his ego. It's not every day the great Derek Morgan gets knocked out by a scrawny drug addict." Prentiss smirked.

"Hey, the dude was basically the Hulk! Just ask Reid."

"Oh no. Did you really just-" Prentiss glared at Morgan as Reid began to explain in detail the effects of PCP and other street drugs on the adrenal glands.

Rossi chuckled. It was going to be a long flight.

*an hour later*

"Hotch, are you okay?" Rossi sat down next to him. He'd been even more quiet than usual, not saying more than ten words since the flight started.

"I'm fine."

As soon as Hotch spoke, Rossi could tell that something was off. His voice was short, and he was clearly in pain. He was sweating, and looked pale.

"You should know better than to lie to a profiler. What's going on?" Rossi asked quietly, knowing that Hotch wouldn't want attention drawn to him.

"Nothing. Just sore."

Rossi didn't push it, but the agent's body language told the truth about how Hotch was really feeling. His hands were gripping the arm rests tightly, knuckles white. His breathing was shallow, as if it hurt to draw a deep breath. "Please tell me if it gets worse."

Hotch nodded. "I think I just need to lie down." He gingerly rose from his seat, but immediately cried out in pain and fell to the ground.

"Aaron!" Rossi dropped to his knees beside his friend, and the rest of the team gathered around.

"What's going on?" JJ asked worriedly.

"Nothing, I'm fine." Hotch said through clenched teeth.

"Hotch, you just collapsed. That's not my definition of 'fine'." Reid frowned. "You need to tell us what's going on. What are your symptoms?"

Gripping Rossi's arm tightly, Hotch managed to pull himself up. "I just need to lie down."

They helped him to one of the couches. "How much longer til we're home?" Morgan asked JJ.

"Still another half hour." She said anxiously. "Think we need to make an emergency stop?"

"No stops."

"Hotch, you gotta help us out here. What are your symptoms?" Reid asked again.

"I know you're a doctor, but you're not that kind of doctor." Hotch smiled weakly.

"Hotch, please."

The unit chief looked up at the concerned faces surrounding him. He sighed. "Fine. But would you all stop looking at me like I'm dying?"

"For all we know, you could be dying." Prentiss pointed out.

"I'm just feeling a little weak. I have some nausea, but that's what happens when you get punched in the gut by a PCP-crazed serial killer."

"What else?"

"I'm a little lightheaded...and I feel like I can't get enough air."

Reid frowned. "I need to look at the bruise."

"What?"

"Is it a stabbing pain or more of an ache?"

"Kind of...both?"

"I need to see it." Reid knelt by the couch and as he lifted Hotch's shirt, he could feel the older man trembling slightly. "Hotch, you're shaking." He stated with concern as he saw the bruise, which was darkening to a nasty purple shade. He gently placed his fingers on the lower right quadrant and Hotch hissed in pain.

Reid stood shakily. "We need to get him to a hospital as soon as possible."

"Why? What's going on? Morgan asked with alarm.

"This is extremely serious. Abdominal guarding and distension indicates he's bleeding internally."

Internal bleeding? This wasn't good...