This work contains themes of assault/abuse, addiction and mental illness. If you feel that you may be affected by these themes, I would advise you to skip this one.

x o x

Aaron Hotchner gets the call at almost exactly 3:57 in the morning.

At first, he thinks it's work; sighing heavily, he blinks his eyes open and hopes the ringtone didn't wake his son in the next room. He fumbles for his cellphone on the cabinet beside him, his fingers making contact with a pair of sunglasses, his sidearm, and his sleeping pill prescription before he reaches his phone. Glancing at the screen through bleary eyes, he sees that he has one voicemail from Spencer Reid, having been logged at 1:12 in the morning.

He'd slept through it.

But there's no time for Reid now - he clears his throat and goes to answer the new call.

"SSA Aaron Hotchner," he says, even though it's from an unrecognised number and it might not be work-related at all (but at this point of his career he knows that would be too good to be true).

"Sorry to disturb you so late at night, sir," a brisk-voiced woman on the other end of the line replies. "I'm calling on behalf of Devon Memorial Hospital."

If Aaron wasn't awake before, this forces him to be. Who does he know that could be in that hospital? Who does he have power of attorney over? "I see," he says evenly, waiting for the woman to elaborate for him.

"A Spencer Reid was admitted," she carries on, "just around an hour ago."

Aaron's heart begins to race. "What happened?" he asks, getting out of bed and gathering his clothes.

"He's quite fine, sir," she assures him, though Aaron won't believe Spencer Reid is alive and well until he sees the damn kid with his own two eyes. "There was an incident earlier this morning, he was hit by a car and sustained several injuries. There's no danger right now though."

"And the driver?" Aaron almost splutters. He can't find his tie, just a dress shirt, but he supposes it will have to do.

"Minor injuries," the woman says much more calmly than Aaron feels, "but it wasn't a hit and run. She's distraught, actually."

"Was she drunk?

"No traces of alcohol in the tests," the woman confirms. "One less person you'll have to arrest."

Aaron wants to tell the woman that it doesn't quite work like that, that FBI agents aren't usually the ones arresting drunk drivers since they're usually doing more important jobs like tracking down serial killers, investigating white collar fraud or apparently even wandering around at one in the morning and getting hit by cars, but he takes a small second to pause and hold his tongue. "I'll be right there," he assures her, stepping into one pant leg and holding his phone awkwardly between his ear and shoulder. "Thank you for informing me."

"My pleasure," the woman says, which is a bit of a weird thing for her to say in Aaron's eyes considering the subject matter of the call, but he utters another quick thank you under his breath and ends the call once he's gotten both pant legs on. After doing his belt and shoes, he picks up his phone again and calls Jessica.

She doesn't pick up his first call and he can barely hold back from swearing in frustration; he doesn't particularly want to take Jack along to see a banged-up Spencer, nor does he think Jack would take kindly to being dragged out of bed on a school night. She answers his second call almost immediately though, with an obviously tired, "...Aaron?"

"Jessica, I need you to take Jack for the rest of the night," Aaron says, slipping one arm through the first jacket he sees.

"...Good morning," Jessica mutters. "I'll be happy to, what happened?"

He doesn't miss the trace of anxiety in her voice. "One of my agents got hit by a car," Aaron explains, swapping his phone-hand and slipping his other arm through the jacket. "I'll probably be there the rest of the morning until work."

"Oh god," Jessica says, and Aaron can easily picture the hand that slips up over her mouth. "Who was it…?"

"Reid," he answers, "the tall skinny one."

"Oh," Jessica says, swallowing loudly. "I like him...Anyway, I'll be happy to take Jack for you. Tell Reid I'm keeping him in my thoughts," she says.

"Thank you, I'll drop him off soon-"

"Aaron?"

Jessica's voice makes Aaron stop in his track for the first time tonight. "Yes?" he asks, keenly aware that he's wasting time.

"Make sure you get some sleep," she says, before hanging up. Aaron is left with the dial tone buzzing in his ear. Swallowing, he grabs his car keys and heads for Jack's room.

"Jack?" he says, turning on the lights in his son's room.

The figure tucked in the bed groans and starts to move. "Dad..?" comes a confused moan.

"Get dressed, Jack," he says, tugging at the sheets to peel them away from his son's face. Jack cringes when the bright light hits his eyes. "I'm taking you to Aunt Jessica's."

x o x

It's half-past four in the morning by the time Aaron makes it to the hospital. He's never much cared for them; the anxiety over the possibility of losing a family member and the number of strangers pretending to be your friends make for an uncomfortable and clinical environment. In fact, he thinks he'd prefer it tonight if he was the one being visited.

There's a number of colourful characters in the waiting room this morning; another reason he feels uncomfortable in hospitals is the amount of other people, all with their own stories and losses (and they're all so disgustingly easy to profile). There's a woman sitting with red-rimmed eyes, arms around her two sons as they sleep against her body. Her partner is nowhere to be found, except probably in the operating theatres, or maybe in a body bag by now. A teenage girl is sitting dejectedly on the opposite side of the room, with some fingers in casts and a large bandage on her forehead. Every five or so seconds, Aaron sees her reach up and wipe her eyes gently with a soaked-through tissue. The last person is a young man, around twenty-five, with what look like meth sores running down his arms and face. His foot is tapping out an impatient rhythm, and every so often his face twitches. Aaron puts them out of his mind and continues to the front desk

"I'm here for Spencer Reid," he starts, before the receptionist can say anything to him.

"Spencer Reid…" she says to herself, typing his name out. Judging by her voice, she's not the same woman who called him before. "He's not ready for visitors just yet, but his doctor should be out any moment to talk to you."

"I'm an FBI agent," he says as he pulls out his badge, hoping it will give him some pull.

Unfortunately, the woman doesn't so much glance at it. "I'm sorry sir, but we have to follow protocol," she says, and does sound genuinely sorry (or at least she would, if her eyes weren't glued to her computer screen). Aaron dips his head and begins to take a seat when he sees a doctor come through the hallway.

"Spencer Reid?" the doctor questions.

"Here," Aaron says, raising a hand and walking over. The two shake hands, and continue a little bit up the hallway, away from the others in the waiting area.

"I'm Doctor Lee," the doctor introduces himself. "What relation do you have to Mr Reid?"

"I'm Doctor Reid's boss," Aaron replies. "He has no family in the area. How is he?"

"He'll be just fine in a month or two," the doctor replies, with a faint, humourless smile. "He sustained two broken ribs, his right wrist is broken, and he has the mildest of concussions. Plus a few cuts and scrapes, but they're superficial at worst, nothing to worry about."

"What about his knee?" Aaron asks. "He's been shot there before, it's left it weaker than it should be-"

"It'll probably be sore for a while, but there shouldn't be any lasting damage," Doctor Lee replies. "Aside from getting hit by a car, he's a pretty lucky man."

Aaron nods, feeling relieved that his agent will (eventually) be fine. "Has he said anything about why he was out in the middle of the night?"

Doctor Lee shakes his head. "To tell the truth, he hasn't said much at all...probably due to the concussion. But don't worry, that's standard for car accidents," he assures Aaron, seeing the agent's concerned face. "He did have one request though, something that I thought it was a bit odd."

"What was it?" Aaron asks, perhaps even more concerned now.

"He asked for me to tell you not to tell his mother what had happened."

Aaron mulls this over. It seems wise, to him; his mother being ill the way she is, she might react badly to learning her son had been injured. Then again, he hadn't said not to tell her any other times he'd been hurt on the job. "Thank you, Doctor Lee. I won't tell her, then."

"Perhaps it was just the concussion talking," Doctor Lee suggests. "Would you like to see him? He didn't seem that receptive to the idea of visitors at first, but he eventually said you could see him."

"Thank you, I would like to," Aaron nods. Doctor Lee nods back, and the two move further down the hallway.

x o x

A/N: I love feedback. Feedback is great. Feedback is what feeds my children. That's why it's called feedback. Sort of. In all seriousness, I appreciate any forms of feedback in a review, even if it's just one letter. What do you think Reid was doing when he got hit by that car?

Thank you for reading!