The soft beep of machines cut through the silent hospital room.

"I still don't understand how this could have happened." JJ's father whispered as he held her hand protectively.

Dave looked away guiltily from his position in the corner of the room, hating every minute of this.

Morgan, standing next to Rossi, couldn't help but stare at the white bandages beginning to soak up the red bloodied mass of raw skin he knew was surrounding her neck.

"I—" Hotch spoke up, a barely audible crack the only indication of the raw emotion that churned inside of him. "I don't know."

Will who hadn't left JJ's side in days, his scruff having turned into a thick beard as he sat beside her, stirred slightly against the uncomfortable chair. He hadn't spoken to anyone, hadn't looked away.

Because the woman he loved was laying there, hooked up to machines, and they didn't know whether she'd wake up.

Clearing his throat, the broken Cajun spoke up for the first time in days, his voice thick, "How did this happen?" He asked, tearing his eyes away from his girlfriend's unconscious form to look at the three profilers with pleading eyes.

Before now, they had avoided looking at one another. But now, the three profilers shared a glance at Will's gaze that seemed to bore into their very souls.

Because how did you describe hell?

Hotch sighed, stepping forward as the leader. "It started with the raid…"