A/N: Sooooo… Here's something different. (smirks sheepishly and sweatdrops)

A while ago a dear reader sent me the following fic-request.

'can you please write me a story. something MORGANxREID . not to much fluff. an interesting, maybe slightly scary plot and something that will make me cry.'

In the end it crashed on me that heck, Reid's been having nightmares almost throughout the series. Perhaps that's why this odd ball crashed on me. Don't know for sure, though. I don't even bother trying to understand the ticks of my mind anymore. (rolls eyes at oneself)

WARNINGS: A LOT of oddness, some questions left unanswered, SLASH… (sweatdrops again) Uh… Anyone out there…?

DISCLAIMER: The day there's a six-figure number on my bank account, I'll seriously buy a slice of the juicy 'CM' cake. That day isn't today. (pouts)

So… I suppose it's time for a takeoff, huh? (gulps nervously) I REALLY hope you guys will enjoy the ride!

SONG RECOMMENDATION: 'Sweet Dreams' from Marilyn Manson struck me like a sledgehammer when I wrote this. Seriously creepy! (shudders)

Sweet Dreams

'This has got to be a nightmare… I haven't woken up yet.'

(Curtis Sliwa)

Spencer Reid couldn't even remember how long he'd been having nightmares. But he did know that they intensified at the around same time the headaches began.

In the silent, lonely hours of the night those hands were all over him. Always. Every single night, no matter where he was.

There was always that scarlet blade.

And there was always that voice, whispering in his ear. 'Don't make a sound, little one. No one's coming to help you – it's just you and me. Just relax. Savour it."

Spencer couldn't feel the tears leaking to his cheeks, but he did feel the cool metal that was pressed against his bare skin.

Against the voice's request he did scream, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. "Derek!" He howled at the top of his lungs, but somehow nothing but a wheeze came out. He began to tremble when the blade cut through skin, making its way hungrily into his flesh. He'd never experienced such pain before, and he screamed again, this time of pure agony. His cry for help echoed on deaf ears, and despair wrapped around him like a wet, heavy and ice cold blanket.

He hollered again, and again, until the little voice he'd had died away.

"Derek!"

But he was all alone in the darkness of his mind.

Droplets of dark red blood turned black in the dark.

It was a distant, seemingly harmless sound that made Derek Morgan wake up in the middle of the night, his eyes wide open and alert in seconds.

A door had been closed.

Alarm filling him instantly he turned his gaze quickly, only to notice that the other side of the bed was empty. His entire body turned impossibly cold.

Long before he and Spencer started dating over seven months earlier he'd known that the young genius had nightmares. Such that could become very intense. He could've never even imagined how bad they could get until they moved in together exactly two months ago.

Spencer wasn't granted even a single night of decent rest. At first Derek had found it mildly amusing when he'd found his lover sleeping in the strangest of places, once even from the bathroom floor.

'So you do sleepwalking, huh?' he inquired back then.

'Medical reports show that about 18 percent of the population worldwide suffers from sleepwalking disorders', Spencer fired back.

It hadn't taken long before Derek had realized that there was nothing amusing about Spencer's problem. That became clear when he first started noticing the injuries the genius desperately attempted to hide.

Small cuts and bruises that didn't seem to have any kind of a reasonable explanation.

He asked, quite openly, if Spencer inflicted the damage on himself, trying to disguise how horrified he was by the entire situation. Just one look from the younger man was enough to convince him that the answer was 'no', but he could tell they were both left wondering.

It was a huge struggle, but eventually Derek managed to coax Spencer to see a doctor. What looked like a hundred tests and all too much poking later the disheartened woman was forced to announce that there was nothing wrong with Spencer – physically. It was then she made the mistake of mentioning the psychological side.

'I'm not crazy', Spencer spat out immediately, and wasted no time in leaving the doctor's office. It was clear that the man was not planning on going back.

All Spencer got from the said doctor was prescription for sleeping pills to help him rest, but they only made his situation worse. One particularly bad night the young man took one pill, so that he could have at least one hour of sleep. When one pill didn't help he took another. That sent him into a condition where a horrified Derek had to watch over him for over twenty-four hours to make sure the brunet wouldn't get himself hurt. As soon as Spencer was coherent enough the man threw away the rest of the pills. They were back in square one.

Clooney's anxious barking pulled Derek sharply to the present, and he frowned when his ears sharpened to pinpoint the sounds of breaking dishes. All warmth faded from his body and he was almost sure his heart skipped a beat.

What the hell was going on?

Leaving the bed as fast as humanly possible Derek practically dashed to the bedroom's door and into the hallway. A few long steps carried him to where Clooney was scratching the kitchen's closed door frantically, emitting barks and desperate whining sounds. When spotting him the canine gave him a helpless, scared look and barked once more.

Behind the door more dishes were smashed to pieces. Derek's blood turned into ice.

He patted the dog's head absentmindedly. "I know. I know, boy." He knocked on the door far more loudly than would've been appropriate in such a late hour. "Spencer! Can you hear me? What the hell is going on there?" There was no response apart from even more glass breaking. Derek tried the door, only to discover that it wouldn't budge. That was strange, considering that the door couldn't be locked. He grit his teeth, cold sweat rising to his skin. "I'm coming in, right now."

Without waiting for a response he kicked the door once, twice, thrice, until it finally gave way with a loud groan of objection. What he found inside paralyzed him to the spot.

Almost half of their dish collection had been smashed to pieces, and the mess was unbelievable. That wasn't what caught his attention, though.

In the middle of it all Spencer had slumped to the floor with only his boxers on, his head buried into his hands and shivering like a leaf. Derek was relieved to discover that there were no physical wounds he could've spotted immediately. Not that it would've made the situation any less horrific.

Moving hesitantly, almost fearfully, he approached the younger man. "Spence?" He kneeled, placing one hand to the brunet's shoulder. He didn't like the way the man jumped at his touch. "Are you okay?"

It was around then he noticed the way Spencer was shuddering. The man was crying.

"I'm not crazy, Derek." It took a mighty while before he realized that the barely audible voice came from Spencer. "I'm not crazy."

"I know", Derek whispered hoarsely, feeling like crying himself while wrapping the younger man into a tight, protective hug. Suddenly he noticed that his fingers brushed something that felt out of place. A shudder crossed him when he saw it. There were long, deep scratch marks all over Spencer's lower back, and the blood now covered his fingertips.

Derek swallowed, tightening his hold on the younger man still while running his unstained hand through his beloved's hair. He couldn't help noticing that the hair by Spencer's neck was wet with sweat. Derek closed his eyes, focusing on breathing for a moment to keep his voice steady. "I know you're not crazy."

Derek had absolutely no idea how long they stayed like that until Spencer finally quieted down and stopped trembling, and he himself felt stable enough to glance towards the clock on their microwave. It was five in the morning.

In a couple of hours he'd call Aaron Hotchner and announce that they were both sick.

And when the dark would fall he'd hold on to Spencer and hope – pray – that the night would be better than the previous one.

Because… Things couldn't stay this way forever.

Right?

'Those with the greatest awareness have the greatest nightmares.'

(Mahatma Gandhi)

End.

A/N: Now here's the question of the day; Was Reid really doing all this, or is there something supernatural going on? (shudders) Poor thing. This entire things has got to be his worst nightmare. (winces)

BUT, now… Was that odd lil' thing any good, at all? Or should I just throw this into a trashcan? PLEASE leave a review to let me know! Awww, c'mon guys. That lil' button down below must be calling out to you like crazy. (gives puppy's eyes)

Thank you so much for reading this!

Who knows, maybe you'll be stopping by on my fics again one day. (glances hopefully)

Take care!