Disclaimer: I own nothing Criminal Minds related and the base of this story belongs to RoseLaurel.

You know, I type that disclaimer a lot. XD Both the not owning Criminal Minds and the base idea belonging to RoseLaurel. I wish there was some way to just automatically add the disclaimer or something. Anyways, thank you to everyone who reviewed, alerted, favorited and all that other wonderful junk that makes my day. Really, it does. I always look forward to hearing from people even if I don't always have a chance to reply.

For some reason, Hotch found it rather startling to see the words, 'Reid, Spencer' flash across the caller ID of his cell phone at one-something in the morning. He wouldn't have worried so much if it weren't for the fact that only a few days prior he had told Reid to call him if he ever needed help. Without wasting any time, Hotch flipped open the phone and stated a simple, easy, "Hotchner." There was a pause with no response, just long enough for the fear to gnaw all the more at Hotch. The male immediately sat up, kicking off the blankets. His mind raced to the worst, spun around all the possible scenarios and none of them were favorable.

"Reid? Are you there?" he demanded, trying not to allow his panic show through; his voice instead coming out gruff and aggressive. Perhaps not the best when dealing with a meek person like Reid who was probably already skittish enough about having to call Hotch in the first place. The unit chief could practically see Reid flinching back in response. Composing himself, he tried again, "Reid?"

Another moment passed before there was a soft, almost missed, "Hotch?"

Reid sounded awful to be perfectly honest. His voice was raspy and strained; it cracked with just that simple utterance of his name. Desperation, panic, all mixed into Hotch's name in a way that he had never encountered before. The raw, dire need...

But it allotted Hotch just a faint glimmer of hope, as fragile as it may have been. At least Reid was there, at least Reid was calling him.

"Yes, I'm here," Hotch tried a bit more gently this time, the male already shedding his pajamas and reaching for what could pass as decent clothing at this time of night. He didn't bother asking Reid if he was alright when everything screamed that Reid was anything but. Instead, he asked a, "Reid, do you need medical attention?" It was a logical question, one that Hotch feared the answer and wished he would never have to ask, but he needed to know if he needed to call an ambulance as well.

Reid didn't reply once more and Hotch let out a soft growl, becoming frustrated as he yanked on a pair of discarded slacks from the previous day. This was too important for Reid to not answer. "Reid?" he prompted again, a bit more of a bite to his voice this time around to encourage the other male to supply him with an answer. He couldn't coddle Reid if he was lying in a puddle of his own blood or overdosing or…

God Hotch really didn't want to think about all of those possibilities. They were fools, all of them, to leave Reid alone like this.

"No… I-I don't," Reid finally managed to stammer out, his voice trembling. "H-Hotch, please, I'm sorry. So sorry… I want to stop. I have to stop, I know, I need to—"

Reid was sobbing and Hotch cursed himself as he fumbled with the holster of his gun and searched for his keys in the dark of his room.

"I want to stop, but I can't. I want it so much. I can't think about anything else. God, Tobias… and, Hotch, please—"

"Don't you touch that vial," Hotch snarled, praying that he could use Reid's almost omega-like personality to buy him some time. It didn't need to be much time, just enough for him to get there. "Where are you?" A beat was skipped before Hotch added a sharp, "Reid!"

"My apartment," Reid finally whispered with clear hesitance. "My apartment."

"I will be there in a few minutes," Hotch replied as he slid into his car and pushed his key into the ignition. "Stay on the phone with me, Reid. Are you hurt at all?"

Reid let out a hallow laugh that treaded too close to the edge of insanity for Hotch's taste. He swallowed and stepped all the more on the gas, taking a corner just a bit more sharply than he probably should have, but Hotch didn't let up. "Reid?"

"Yeah, yeah I am. Just a bit though. Not bad. I thought that maybe, maybe if I could trigger a large enough release of endorphins that maybe… maybe I wouldn't need it."

"But it's not enough to require medical attention? If you're worried about the repercussions, we can admit you to a hospital under a false—"

"No, no it's alright. It's almost stopped bleeding. I didn't… didn't cut too deep. I don't want to die Hotch," and the last part was whispered, laced with fear.

"You're not going to. I'm turning onto your street right now. Are you applying pressure to the bleeding?"

"Yes."

"Where are you in the apartment?"

"Bathroom."

"Is the door to the apartment unlocked?" Hotch really hoped that he wasn't going to have to break down the door. It was a hassle that would only make the situation worse, he was sure, but he wasn't quite sure whether or not he wanted Reid actually moving from his position in the bathroom to get up to unlock the door.

"Yeah, I think I left it unlocked. I don't really remember."

"Alright. Don't hang up on me," Hotch ordered as he moved out of his car and practically sprinted towards the building and up the flight of stairs, not even bothering to lock up his car or anything else as trivial as that. Under any other circumstance, the vision of SSA Aaron Hotchner taking the steps two or three at a time might have been comical, but now… now there was nothing but fear and worry etched onto the male's face. He came to a halt in front of a plain door with no other markings than the ninety-seven.

Still clutching the phone, Hotch wondered why it was that he was just standing there, why he suddenly couldn't bring himself to open and charge into the apartment. Reid needed him. Desperately. And he was just standing in the hallway. Why?

Hotch swallowed.

Because it was all too real.

Because this was Reid, the kid he had already failed to protect once and was now miserably failing to protect again. What if there wasn't anything he could actually do? What if he only made it worse?

For a terrible, fleeting moment, Hotch actually considered not going inside. Considered calling Gideon instead but as Reid whispered a soft, "Hotch?" the unit chief was reminded once more how Gideon had told him after they had left New Orleans that he had handled the situation. That he had taken care of Reid, that Reid would be fine. This wasn't fine.

With that, Hotch turned the doorknob and let out a breath of relief when it gave way and he was granted entry into the apartment. On the surface, it was everything that Hotch would expect from someone like Reid: tidy, comfortable, with more books than any library Hotch had ever seen tucked into seemingly almost every nook and cranny. Hotch didn't give himself a chance to profile the room, however, instead hurriedly moving in the direction he hoped was the bathroom.

It was only when he stood in the doorway of the white tiled room that Hotch finally closed his phone and tucked it away in his pocket. The sight that he was greeted with was one that made him nauseated: blood. He knew that it was only a trick of his mind, that there really wasn't as much as it seemed, that it was only spread out as if Reid had attempted to clean it up and managed to track it everywhere… but it was everywhere.

"Hotch," Reid whispered softly, drawing the unit chief attention away from the thick, congealing liquid. For the first time, Hotch noticed that Reid was huddled in the bathtub, curled up on himself, shaking violently.

And Hotch had thought that Reid had sounded bad on the phone. It didn't even come close to how the younger male before him looked.

"Reid," he stated softly, slowly moving into the room, hating how the blood made the soles of his shoes stick ever so slightly, releasing the boots with disgusting noises that reminded Hotch that he was walking on Reid's blood. "It's going to be okay, it's all going to be okay."

And Reid was crying again, reaching for Hotch as he sobbed desperately. Hotch didn't know what else to do but to pull the younger male partially into his arms before he climbed into the bathtub as well. He couldn't bring himself to care that his slacks would be stained with Reid's blood, far too focused on Reid whom he pulled into his lap. Reid instinctively curled against Hotch's form, burying his face into the crook of the older male's neck. Long arms wrapped around his unit chief.

"I'm sorry, so sorry," Reid whispered, repeating the words over and over.

And Hotch couldn't do anything but lay his head on top of the other's, gently running his hands through the brown locks and whisper over and over, "It's alright, Spencer, it's alright. You were right to call me."