It took almost three years but here's the finale.

It smelled sharp. He couldn't quite feel. Something was sore. Light was too bright behind his eyelids. Beeping and voices echoed. His heart sunk. A hospital. He'd failed.

It took a few minutes for a nurse to notice he was awake. She said something but Reid's head felt like it was completely submerged. He barely managed to open his eyes. The woman stood in front of him, out of focus and fading in and out of darkness. She spoke again and started writing things down, then left. Reid tried to move his arms to find whatever was keeping him alive and pull it off. He was too numb, too heavy, to get very far. But at least he was alone.

The nurse came in with another woman who started reading equipment. She also spoke. It was only slightly clearer this time. Something about looking. He blinked dazedly. A small flashlight clicked on and was shone straight into his eyes. He flinched away and tried to go back to sleep. If he was gullible, he might believe this was hell.

He half expected the team to come rushing in to him. Maybe something this explicit would force their compassion. But the only people coming in and out were unfamiliar faces in hospital uniforms.

Unfortunately, the sound eventually came back, though it remained dull and quieter than he was used to. He answered questions, but he was so tired. Yes, he knew why he was here. No, he didn't want any water. No, he wasn't hearing voices. No, he didn't have a history.

"How long?" He eventually managed for himself. He didn't even try to sit himself up.

"You've been here for four days."

Ah. So he'd been close. Maybe just another couple minutes and it would have worked. She wrote something else down and finished it off with a scribble.

"I'm having you evaluated for any physical brain damage, then you'll be staying in our psychiatric extension for a little while, okay?"

"'m not crazy..."

She offered him a pitying smile and left with her notes.

The next few days, he was in and out of consciousness while they did tests. From what he gathered, quite a few parts of his brain had been injured from lack of oxygen when he hadn't had enough blood to carry it there. Probably from... everything else as well, but it wasn't his job to correct them.

At some point they started asking him to walk. He found it troublingly difficult. He didn't want to walk, he wanted to die. But legs were a pretty useful thing to have while he was alive. Something to do with his motor cortex... shit.

Then one day he woke up in a different bed. Someone came in with a wheelchair and helped him in. He could walk, he insisted. Just not very well. The man helping him seemed to know him, but Reid didn't think they'd met. Outside, he acted like it was routine. Gave him some pills- since when did Reid have medication?- and acted almost exasperated when Reid questioned it.

"They're the SSRI's? Your morning ones. It's morning, Spencer."

Reid frowned. He didn't like this, but what was the worst it could do? He took the pills.

Then he blinked, and he was sitting across from Morgan. He looked so upset. Reid was very confused.

"Is this a dream?" He noticed his own voice slurring. He didn't stay present for long enough to hear the answer.

One morning he woke up and found himself feeling odd. He managed to get up and used objects around the room to walk. It was strange, like his body recognized the room but he didn't. He found the bathroom, and then the mirror. A much older Reid stared back at him. He panicked and felt his face. The image matched up. His hand shook and he dropped it and examined them. He screamed and sank to the floor in a ball. He held himself and shook and sobbed until someone finally came in to soothe him.

It was routine for them, after so many years with him. The poor kid had had everything going for him, but it was all taken away by one mistake. He wouldn't remember most of his life, now, but it seemed like that was for the best. They'd take care of him until the dark finally did take him.