the eve of destruction

Summary: Hotch is in bad shape after his ordeal with Mr. Scratch, and while coming by his house to help out one day Spencer is faced with temptation. When he gives in, he has to find a way to fix it before it destroys everything he holds dear.

Words: 7.2k

Warnings: drug addiction (see the rest of the tags on AO3)

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Notes: This is for my love @domestikhighway58 <3 Be kind, I wrote this is a matter of hours so there are probably horrific errors.

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Spencer hesitated at the door. There was a key in his hand, a key to a door he’d never opened, never been through, never even faced before. Hotch’s apartment lay beyond the threshold, and it was silent. The last time he’d seen Hotch, he was sitting hunched over and bleeding in the back of an ambulance arguing with EMTs and Rossi about whether or not he needed to be taken to the hospital.

Rossi and the EMTs won in the end, when he tried to stand and suddenly couldn’t. It was frightening to watch from afar, from beside the police car that was revving its engine ready to take Peter Lewis to the nearest police station. Watching Hotch’s knees buckle beneath him, watching Rossi reach out to try and catch him before he hit the ground.

“Just go check on him for me please, kid?” Derek had asked, and how could he say no? He desperately wanted to say no, send someone else, send someone more qualified. Someone who has been here, who has been inside Hotch’s home. Someone who belonged, but no. Derek insisted. “I want it to be you, Reid.”

Putting the key in the lock felt wrong, but he had to do it. He couldn’t chicken out now no matter how big it felt. How wrong it felt. The worry he was riddled with over what he would find on the other side – a gun leveled at his face, if Hotch wasn’t prepared for his entry? Hotch passed out or worse on the floor? There were too many scenarios, each one shockingly worse than the last.

What he found was nothing like those quick twitch nightmares, and the sense of relief he felt as he surveyed the apartment was immediate. Hotch was sleeping on the couch, sleeping peacefully from the looks of the gentle rise and fall of the blankets over him.

His instructions were to check the place out, make sure everything was good, and to disturb Hotch as little as possible. “He just needs to rest,” Derek had pointed out. “No tv, no phone, no books. Not a lot of conversation.” They had no idea what had happened to him in the hours that he was alone with Peter Lewis, but his injuries were extensive enough to warrant a few days at home. Spencer suspected that was mostly to do with him wanting to hide them, not to mention what happened in any case files. He could get away with a bump on the head and a few days off, but if he showed up to work clearly out of sorts people would ask questions. This was about the only way to get Hotch to take time off.

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bleeding the hourglass

bleeding the hourglass (5738 words) by masterwords Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Derek Morgan

Characters: Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan (Criminal Minds), Jessica Brooks, Jack Hotchner

Additional Tags: Post-Episode: s10e21 Mr. Scratch, Nightmares, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Domestic Boyfriends, Complicated Relationships, Post-Episode: s10e20 A Place at the Table

Summary: You might think, after the events of Mr. Scratch that it would be Hotch having nightmares and maybe you'd be right…but Derek is having them too.

drown in my dreams

Summary: After dealing with Mr. Scratch, Derek just wants to put Hotch on his bike and get the hell out of town. So he does.

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Warnings: canon-typical bullshit based on 10x21, blood, head injury, vomit, hallucinations...and we have a fade to black bit of non-explicit (non-existent really) sex.

Notes: Written as a very last minute submission for @foxy-eva CM Writing Challenge using the prompt "Break the Stoic: Person A has never shown any weakness until they can’t hold back their tears anymore. Person B is there to wipe them away" because we all know that's my bread and butter. Writing has been a challenge this month so I decided to go purely self-indulgent here. Is it a groundbreaking take? No, absolutely not. But I would be lying if I said it didn't make me happy to write it.

Words: 9.3k

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“You don’t know what I did to him. I win.”

Those words would haunt Derek for the remainder of the night. Longer if he wasn’t careful. He had a way of becoming too focused when things rubbed him wrong, unable to let a situation go. There was little he hated more in the world than being taunted by serial killers, having his knowledge or understanding called into question. It got under his skin in ways he hated to admit, like it made him weak. When they got in there, they did win.

That this particular killer was the kind of coward that got other people to do his dirty work, that he took what he hated most in the world and turned it into his modus operandi made it worse. And to top it off, he was now using Derek’s husband in a way that rendered them both powerless.

He really fucking hated being powerless. More than he hated being taunted.

Derek could lift his gun, he could shoot Peter Lewis square between the eyes right now and he was relatively sure that given what happened to all of those other people...given what happened to Hotch...JJ would look away. She wouldn’t judge him. She was probably thinking about it herself.

And somehow Lewis seemed to grasp that when he looked in Derek’s eyes. He saw it, the rawness, the way he was willing to circumvent the system this one time and take justice into his own hands...and he used the one thing he had in his arsenal to holster that weapon. To still his trigger finger before Derek decided to indulge his inner vigilante.

There was some idea, some hint that if he took Lewis into custody...if he left him alive...he might be fortunate enough to be let in on the secret.

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a life spills into the flowers

Summary: After the events of "Mr. Scratch", Hotch can't find his keys. It's got him a little messed up.

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan (established, and it's only relevant at the very end because I live in a world where they're just together and that's that.)

Warnings: mind-controlling substances, panic, vomit, swearing, canon-typical stuff...if you've seen the Mr. Scratch episode you won't be surprised

Words: 2.5k

Notes: I don't know...I was going to save this for Whumptober or something but it's rambly and I sort of just wanted to post it now. I started thinking about how Peter Lewis took Hotch's weapons and he took his vest off, and Hotch was in that house for a long time semi-conscious...so of course his car keys would be missing and that might make him panic a bit. Anyway, I wrote this all in about an hour, it's just a rambly thing because I can't seem to write anything decent lately but I needed to do something with this idea.

Read on AO3: a life spills into the flowers

On knees that wobble like jello he wanders through the house. Wind is whipping through the trees, whistling strange hymns through well-maintained gutters and over the silken petals of bright pink roses. He is acutely aware of each breath of wind as it gusts over his sweaty brow, each fleck of red and blue light that flickers and screams silent fury into the night sky.

“I need to find my keys,” he mumbles to JJ who is following, hasn't stopped following him since he stepped out of the ambulance with a headache that pounds like a jackhammer with each throb of his pulse. She's right on his heels.

“We can have it towed, Hotch, figure it out in the morning. You need to get home.”

He won't listen, though. Everything is so out of control, the entire scene his fault, and the only thing he can grasp with any firmness is this: his SUV keys are missing. On the front seat, all of his papers have been rifled through, his wallet is right there with his ID front and center, and he's in no frame of mind to take inventory though he's fairly certain nothing is missing. Peter Lewis wouldn't take anything, he would simply record it. Write it down, take a photo, doesn't matter. If he took it, they would know and have a lead, have an idea. This way...there is no way to track what isn't gone.

Except his damn keys. “Maybe Peter Lewis had them,” she says, speeding up to keep pace with his wobbly off-kilter stumbling through the yard and up to the front door. “Hotch, I'll call Derek and see if they find your keys on Lewis when they book him.”

pictures of trickery

Summary: While perusing Madame Bouvier's shop, the smell of sage stirs up panic in Hotch. (Mr. Scratch aftermath, sort of.)

Warnings: panic attack, blood, memories, death (canon imagined), fear, food

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan

Words: 3.6k

Notes: 50 Type of Kisses Prompt #38 - Whispering “I love you” before a chaste, delicate kiss. This is @whump-town's fault. It's a lot of sweet but that always comes at a price with me.

Read on AO3: Pictures of Trickery

The sunlight made him feel almost euphoric, the way it seeped into his sinews and propelled him full of life down the crowded sidewalk. Jack's hand bumped against his every now and then, they moved close, in synch and he had to bite down the urge to grab the boy's hand in his...he was too old for that now, and his palm ached with the emptiness it left behind. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to this growing up business. Jack's proximity to him would have to be enough, and just as he was settling into the knowledge, Jack perked up at the sight of his favorite coffee shop and suddenly then he was grabbing Aaron's hand in his and dragging him inside.

“Jack,” Aaron had only a moment to complain before they were inside, and he couldn't fathom pulling him back out. “We're meeting Derek for lunch with Henry and his family. We don't need anything.”

“Just a drink, please dad?” He wanted an Italian soda; Aaron already knew exactly what he was going to order. He could never remember the silly name of it but the shocking electric blue would leave Jack's mouth the same color for hours after, his sugary breath smelling like coconut syrup and something vaguely fruity. He'd find the toothpaste in Jack's sink neon at bed time and shudder.

“A small one,” he agreed, finally. That was all it took before Jack was chirping his order at the barista followed by his dad's boring Earl Grey. No sugar, no milk, just hot leaf water as he and Derek liked to call it. He was nothing if not predictable, a man with simple but particular tastes. Emily had pulled him from his chamomile obsession recently with a package from London studded with new teas, and though he'd tested each of them prior, something in the Earl Gray struck him and became, for a time, all he would consider.

Her boxes of tea were the fulfillment of some strange love language the two of them shared, piquing the other's interest with just a taste and running away cunningly into the shadows knowing the madness that would consume them.

This was not something Derek enjoyed, but he'd come to realize he had no control over it.

shark infested waters

Summary:  Mr. Scratch did a real number on Hotch. (Jessica does her best with what she's got.)

Warnings: hospital, memory loss, seizure, blood, vomit

Pairings: none

Words: 4.7k

Notes: This story is pure chaos, like Hotch's poor scrambled brain after Scratch. It's not all mean, but it's definitely not nice. A lot of hurt with some very nice Queen Jessica Brooks comfort. I have so many different ideas for how the aftermath of Scratch might play out, this is just one of them.

Read on AO3: soon

They never warned her, not really.

She'd get a text from someone, Rossi or JJ usually drawing the short straw, but they never gave her much to go on. “Hotch got a little banged up on this case,” it'd say, and she would wonder if he was coming home with a black eye, stitches or post-op care instruction and a six-week medical leave. It was anyone's guess really. The last time it happened, he had a deep purple bruise on his jaw and a pleasant outcome to tell them about. But then, not long before that, there was him collapsing in the conference room and she couldn't remember the exact wording Rossi had used but it definitely did not convey the seriousness of the situation, she remembered that clear as day.

“He's a little out of it,”JJ's text read, and all Jessica could do was wait to see what that meant. Every so often she would read the words again, wondering when he'd come walking in or if he'd be carried in. “Keep an eye on him.”

Jack was already in bed by the time she heard his keys fumbling in the door while she lay curled up on the couch in her kitten pajamas with a new book. She let her book drop slightly, inclining her head toward the door to listen. The key scraped against the lock, metal on metal, until she couldn't stand it and got up to let him in. The sight of him there startled her, blood stains deep maroon against the stark white of his collar. “Aaron?”

He stared through her; his brows pinched together in pained confusion. Too long, he stared into space for too long and in the low light she could see how black his eyes were. All pupils. Concussion, and by the looks of it, completely untreated. Unsurprising; she could see the pain in his features. “Yeah,” he whispered, giving his head the smallest shake and almost appearing to snap out of some trance. He finally looked at her. “Sorry. Long day.”

Without Substance

Summary: Post-Scratch, Hotch deals with what he thinks is an intruder in the middle of the night.

Warnings: blood, trauma, concussion, hospital (takes place immediately after the events of Mr. Scratch)

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan

Notes: This is written for Whumptober 2021 with the prompt "blood-matted hair" (Day 21)

Words: 3.1k

Tag List: @84hotpockets, @genevievedarcygranger, @scuttling, @crimefiqhters, @bau-gremlin (comment/inbox to be added)

“Rossi, back off man,” Derek growls as Dave presses Aaron for information he simply cannot access. Not now. Maybe not ever. “He just experienced trauma, you know as well as I do that he's not in the right head space to sort out the details...” He's sitting in the back of an ambulance, starched white shirt splattered with blood, rumpled and damp, pressing his hands together to quiet the deep vibration shivering its way through his muscles.

“We don't know how these drugs work, Morgan,” Dave counters, and now they're arguing in front of Aaron who isn't even trying to catch up. They take a step away, try to lower their voices, to hash it out between just the two of them. The sounds of the scene swirl around him, nothing holds his attention long enough to put a name to it. “We may never know what happened if he doesn't give us something, anything, right now.” Red and white lights flash, blue lights up the trees, everything is either out of focus or too sharp, too much for his eyes. He can feel the tears pooling, ready to spill and he isn't really sure why. His head hurts, but that's not it. At least he doesn't think so.

“Dave,” he says in a voice that hardly breaks through their disagreement. “It doesn't make sense.” He's trying to cooperate, he knows Dave is right and he knows Derek is just trying to protect him, floating between them is uncomfortable. Blinking hard, he tries to be the Unit Chief, tries to get his mind in order there just isn't anything he can do. Pieces float around his head in a sticky jumbled mess, images that don't make sense and how can he be expected to form words around them when they look like nothing he recognizes? Alien lifeforms, holograms without substance, his fingertips graze them and they turn to dust. How does he say “He shot Reid, and then you, and then Derek, right in front of me, I felt his blood on my face...” if two of them are standing right before him? He reaches one finger up, touches the sticky blood on his face, the broken skin and closes his eyes. Not eager to sound like he's gone mad, to put himself in a holding cell while they try and sort out everything that happened (Would they suspect that he might have killed Dr. Ragan? Peter Lewis had convinced people to do far worse.) he keeps silent, chooses Derek's side with tears brimming his eyes.

The Cold Astounds Me

“It wasn't a heart attack,” Aaron complained, settling his weary bones into the couch. His couch, his soft worn couch with the heated blanket rumpled up and tossed over the arm waiting for him like an old friend. Derek and Jack shot one another exasperated looks and sighed before continuing their conversation right over his head as if he weren't there. If he wasn't so exhausted, if he'd not just spent six hours in the emergency room hooked up to heart monitors and being poked with needles like a pin cushion, lying his crumbling body on a mattress that made his hips ache, maybe he'd fight harder. Instead he just listened to the way they said the words heart attack repeatedly, like he wasn't even there.

“It wasn't,” he protested again and Jack rolled his eyes. The most solid display of pre-teen attitude he could muster while still being somewhat friendly.

“I know, it wasn't a heart attack...” he mumbled sarcastically. “Even though it basically was...” that was said under his breath, just loud enough that his father could hear it but quiet enough for plausible deniability. Derek was rubbing off on him, a bad influence. Between that and Dave teaching him how to work on cars (and consequently swear at them) he had his hands full just trying to make sure Jack remembered how to use manners.

Hold on I just thought of something.

So in 10x21 Hotch attempts to get a traumatized witness to talk by burning sage that he got from Garcia, so we can assume she burns sage in her office.

So imagine the angst that there would be in this scenario: one day after Scratch, Hotch happens to walk into her office while she was burning sage, aka the scent that he now associates with Scratch and seeing his team get killed in front of him. Maybe he panics and forgets where he is, and when Garcia tries to calm him down he lashes out and hurts her, I’d imagine he would never forgive himself for that.