Alright, we are finishing up here. Thank you for following me this far, and I hope I made you proud, even though I take God knows how long. Those who have followed me this far know what's shakin with the bacon, and those who are tuning in just now, I suggest you go to chapter one.

As always, this is chapter 17 in of Brotherly Love and Trauma! You are now tuned into the Spencer Reid channel of Epic!

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Day 3

8: 36 AM

Benson Hospital

The team waited patiently as most of them sat on cushioned yet uncomfortable chairs. Blake was standing, and pacing, her face scrunched up in deep thought. Hotchner was on the phone, away from the team as he spoke to the sheriff about the events the previous day. His face was in the usual mask of seriousness as he relayed some of his thoughts on how they should proceed given the current setbacks and situation. While he spoke, the rest of the team sat in silence, the only noise being made was the distant murmuring of Hotchner as he spoke into the phone, and the footsteps of Blake. Each of them was slightly tired, even though they had received a substantial amount of sleep.

After having found Morgan, the team had retired, and left Damien in a holding cell where he is planned to be interrogated later on that day. Rossi and Hotch had volunteered for interrogation, given that both Blake and JJ seemed unwilling to go near the monstrosity.

But that was hours ago, before the team had left the crime scene at three in the morning, and had slept uneasily in a hotel room. They all had woken up roughly at around six thirty in the morning, gotten dressed had eaten a quick breakfast, and gone to the station. There, they all had grouped in the largest meeting room, and had been updated on the status of the Damien. Then they were off to the hospital, where they now waited for Morgan's psych evaluation, and the preparation of Reid's body.

JJ had tried to visit Morgan earlier, but all that had come out of the visit was a prolonged scream and then various curse words condemning the team to an unsightly death. Morgan's situation escalated to a point where the doctor had come rushing in-accompanied by a nurse- and had her immediately administer a sedative. JJ was immediately ushered out of the room and informed that a psychologist would be interviewing Moran and evaluating his mental status.

The situation regarding Reid's dead body was much more frightening. The analysis had come in earlier that morning, and gave a basic depiction of what they were waiting to see when the coroner was to present the body and inform them of the various things found on, in and around the body at the time of discovery. Rossi's mind went back to when he was over viewing the papers that described the way that their youngest had died. The cause of death was gory at best, and painted of picture of blood loss, an opened rib cage, internal bleeding, broken bones, concussion, and collapsed lungs is what eventually killed him. Tears began to form as the mulling over of the earlier events came into his heart, and tore at Rossi's heart strings.

Upon recovery, the body had been attracting flies, and some eggs where laid within the back flaps that had been nailed open. The coroner made work of the slight decay, and had stitched the back together. Upon research, the team as well as the police force discovered earlier that morning that the ritual used was that of the bloody eagle. Used in Celtic times, by the Vikings, the bloody eagle was said to be usually performed on an unlikely victim by the ocean side. The victim was placed on an elevated rock or board where two people of higher status or religious affiliation to the Norse gods, would then slice open the back and pull away the muscles until the ribs were evident. Using something similar to a hatchet or ax, one of the men would then make work of the ribs, and slowly, agonizingly so, separate each and every rib from the spinal bones. The process was agonizing, and to keep the victim/sacrifice from blacking out, the other man would be splashing salt water onto the victims face, making sure that the sacrifice was awake at all times. The more pain the person felt, the happier Odin was. When all of the ribs were separated from the spine, the person would then move them away, causing the sacrifice more pain since the ribs would penetrate the lungs, which once exposed to the open air, would collapse. The lungs of the victim where the most vital part of the ceremony. Once the ribs where positioned in a way that they looked like the outlines of wings, the lungs would then be spread over the broken ribs, therefore, creating the wings that the God Odin would want. The body is then burned. That was the only difference; Reid's body was not burned. Damien was intent on causing more pain for the team by leaving the body intact.

Rossi shivered slightly as he recollected what he found in the basement of the theater. His mind wandering over to the broken form of Derek Morgan. The man who could withstand the loss of a father, and the pain of having dealt with a child molester. Those together would be enough to cause someone countless years of therapy, yet Derek survived it and lived a productive happy life. But something happened, something horrific occurred in that basement. It had left a strong man weakened and mentally broken. Rossi could only imagine what he had seen, and begged that somehow, the world would rectify itself and everything could be how it used to be. But it was all an illusion. The world would never go back to how it used to be. At best, Morgan would need to step down and take months, if not, years of therapy for the three days that he spent with the serial killer. They would need to replace two profilers, one mentally incapable of performing the job any longer, and another deceased. Rossi ran a hand through his hair and sighed. How could so much chaos occur in such little of a time frame?

Rossi placed his head in his hands and tried to relax. He had been sitting there for forty five minutes at best, yet it felt like hours as he watched Blake pace, and Hotch speak through the phone. An empty feeling, more like an aching hole, now filled some of his being as the loss of the youngster now took hold. The kid had been through hell, and now, they had to relive the pain as they would have to inform the parents of their deceased son.

Hotch came back from where he had been standing and took a seat next to Rossi. Blake continued pacing, and a few minutes later, the doctor in charge of Morgan came into view as he turned a corner.

"Derek Morgan?" He called, even though he knew who they were. Immediately, they all stood simultaneously. Hotch went to the doctor and everyone else stood some feet behind him. "Well, we were able to calm him. He's currently sleeping due to the sedative we gave him after his analysis. The results are...not good. She detected early signs of depression and withdrawal. There may be some sleeping problems, but it's too early to tell. At the moment, we're specifically looking for PTSD, and to assist with our search, we are asking..." The doctor flipped a page on his clipboard and read, "An Aaron Hotchner for permission to place his in the psych ward."

The tension in the room seemed to escalate as the option was voiced out loud. Hotchner looked behind him to his team before he turned back to the doctor.

"Was there anyone else listed that could also make the decision?" Hotch asked. The doctor flipped the page again and read another name. "We have a Fran Morgan, but any type of contact that the hospital has made has failed. You're the only one left." Hotch sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger before saying something very un-Hotch like.

"Yes, where do I have to sign?" The doctor gave Hotchner the clipboard and pointed to a line. Hotch signed off, but before giving the clipboard back, he looked up at the doctor and stared into his eyes.

"But, if I hear one single complaint from my agent, I myself will drive so many lawsuits up your ass that you'll be shitting them out for a week." With that, he gave the doctor the clipboard, and walked out of the hospital. Rossi and the team watched as he left. Everyone stood silent, scared of what might come next, but Garcia was the one to break the silence.

"When can we see him?" She asked.

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The Tombstone Grand Hotel

580 W Randolph Way

Tombstone, AZ 85638

Hotch poured himself another glass of pure whiskey and downed it with a shot of tequila. He had checked in earlier and had gone immediately to his room where he had gone directly to the liquor cabinet. Since arrival, Hotch had emptied an entire bottle of whiskey and was now working on his second. He sat on the bed, his jacket gone and tie loosened. His shirt now shown wrinkles in various places. He sipped his whiskey and thought about the day. How he was unlucky to lose so many people in such a short time span. Everything hurt; his heart was tearing and was only being held together by strands. But if he drank, yes, if he drank enough, it'll all be fine. He won't feel anything anymore, just numb. Glorious oblivion of an alcohol induced sleep. His fingers were loosening on the glass of ice and liquor. His eyes drooped slightly, and the glass dropped to the floor. It spilled its contents onto the carpet floor. Hotch twisted and leaned over the side of the bed. He clung on to the bedding as he gagged and finally, expelled the contents of his stomach onto the floor below. With whatever energy he had left, he pushed himself up a little and let his body fall onto the bed. He looked up to the ceiling and lazily counted to ten. His eyes slid shut as he continued to count, but he grew tired, and his voice became softer until there was no more counting; and he now slept.

1 Hour Later

Rossi entered the room he shared with Aaron. He had asked at the reference desk if another agent had come, and he was given a yes. From the moment he began to ascend the stairs, Rossi couldn't help but have an ominous feeling at what he would find upon opening that door. To be frank, he wasn't sure what he would find. Ever since losing his wife, Hotch had been trying to control himself and his already deteriorating nerves. Last night's discovery only added to the fraying of his nerves, and the decision making had been the last straw. Rossi had seen something in Hotch's eyes change. The secured authority seemed to have trickled away, and was replaced by insecurity. It's something that he had never seen in someone that had intimidated those around him with just a look.

But now, as Rossi opened the door, he could hear the loud snores. As he entered the room, he caught a whiff of the vomit that stained the carpet. Quickly, he placed his stuff down and went to check on the slumbering drunk. He shook his boss, but he only got a moan and a weak attempt to slap his hand away. Realizing that any and all attempts to wake his boss were futile, he just placed his boss in a comfier position, and covered him in a blanket. Rossi then called maintenance and waited on his bed as they came in and cleaned up the obvious vomit that lay on the floor next to his sleeping boss. They seemed fairly annoyed as they cleaned up the mess, but it was understandable.

Rossi's phone rang, and he answered it just as the last maid left the room.

"Rossi" He stood and paced in front of his bed, ignoring Hotchner's drunken snores.

"Hey" It was Blake. "We were wondering if you've found Hotch." Rossi turned to look at Hotch and his upper lip twitched slightly.

"Yeah...yeah, I found him." He stood in one spot, and looked over Aaron.

"Oh...okay, um...do we have a plan after this? I mean, what are we gunna do after..."

"I don't know Alex, we'll inform Reid's family, and help Morgan through recovery, but that's all we can do at the moment." There was silence at the other end, and exasperated sigh as Blake tried to calm herself.

"It's just... all this. It doesn't feel real. None of it does. All this, it seems like a dream. As if I'll wake up and see Reid and Morgan bickering again like an old married couple." Blake let out a dry laugh before falling silent. There was a whimper as Blake tried to hold onto her emotions, which were only held together with the thinnest of strings.

"Listen, Blake. I cannot assure you that everything will be as it was. In fact, it may never be the same. But what we need to do right now is stay strong and get by, day by day. If you want to cry, and then cry, we won't look at you with shame. We'll be here for you," Rossi paused and looked at the sleeping Aaron, "even after a drinking binge. We'll be here for you. We just need to get through this and everything else will fall into place." Rossi sat down as the past few days events took their toll on him. Blake's tired voice came over the phones speaker.

"I'll try."

"Alright, bye Alex."

"Bye." Rossi ended the conversation with the touch of a button and ran a hand over his face. He took a quick peek over his shoulder to make sure Hotch was still breathing before looking at the wall and waited till he was called, or Hotch woke up. Whichever came first.

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4 hours later

Rossi looked up from the file as his phone rang. Hotchner was still out cold on his bed. He answered.

"Rossi"

"Hey," JJ called through the phone. "We need you and Hotch here. Garcia and I stayed at the hospital with Morgan, but we need you guys to go with Blake and interrogate the unsub." Rossi stood and grabbed his jacket; he stopped at the door and looked at Hotch.

"Hotch isn't 'available' right now. I'll phone him later and make sure he meets us when we go and view the body."

"Alright. Blake will meet you at the station." With that, the conversation ended and Rossi walked out of the door, ready to face the monster who killed a beloved friend.

At the station

Rossi entered the busy building and headed to the rear of the building. He spotted Blake near a double sided window where he could see Damien sitting by the metal table. He was clearly handcuffed to the table. Blake looked at Rossi and then turned to the window where an officer could be seen talking to the unsub. She nodded to him and then entered the room. The officer looked up to see the two agents as they entered and signaled for the cop to retreat to the safety beyond the door. The cop left, and the agents were left with a serial killer to question. Rossi stood as Blake sat down and opened the file. She took out some photos and placed them in different piles.

"So," Rossi began, "I know you probably want to tell us about the fun you had with your victims. But we want to talk to Damien. Not Michael." The unsub smiled and looked at them both, sizing them up before laughing at their sad attempt to anger him.

"I'm sorry, but zat can't be dun at zee moment. He is...beesy." Rossi walked behind Blake, and chuckled a little.

"Then clear his schedule, we need to talk to the brains of the operation." Damien's brow furrowed.

"Vat makes joo think zat he is dee von in charge?"

"Well, he is educated, has the ability to be a leader...and he's sane, which is a bonus." Damien snorted and crossed his arms across his torso.

"He may be sane, for the most part, but I am zee vun zat is zee most creative." Rossi lifts an eye brow and Blake's look darkens as she stares at the murderer.

"Is that right. Well, unless he comes out to play, you're going to jail for his actions, not yours. But, if we can get him to confess, you'll go scot free."

"Don't think I'm stupid, vee share zee same body, his actions vill condemn me, but I'll be happy to let him share his little slice before vee both hit zee slammer." Damien closed his eyes and shuddered before opening his eyes again. Rossi could see something different in those crisp green eyes that stared back at him. The eyes were slightly softer, scared and still held the same demonic wanting of that of a blood thirsty serial killer. Rossi stood behind Blake who sat directly in front of the unsub.

"Micheal, am I correct?" Rossi inquired. Micheal looked up at him and nodded.

"Yes sir," He said in his southern accent.

"Great, as you may of heard, you have been charged with murder in the first degree, is that correct?" Micheal looked at the table top in front of him, as if ashamed of his actions, but Blake could very well see the small smirk that hid itself slightly.

"Yes sir, I've been told."

"Will you confess to these crimes Micheal?" Micheal shook his head slightly. Blake intervened.

"You know we can't help you if your not truthful." Rossi moved over to Blakes left side and looked at Micheal long and hard. Micheal kept his gaze on the table top, but could feel Rossi's stare.

"But I didn't murder them. They were a sacrifice." Micheal looked up and looked at Blake

"To who?" Rossi leaned forward. "Because that wasn't you was it? That was Damien. What you did was wrongfully accuse and murder multiple teens!" Micheal's brow furrowed, anger beginning to rise in his eyes.

"You're wrong!" He tried to stand, but his hands were chained to the table, jarring it slightly. "They deserved to die! They killed my mother!" Micheal stood, shaking slightly as he met Rossi's gaze.

"No, Austin Fritzner killed your mother. And he is currently serving time in prison. All those people that you killed were innocent!" Micheal sat back down slowly, his gaze now lowered back down to the table top. Un-shed tears glistened in his eyes, and Blake almost felt bad as she sat in front of him. She stood up and leaned on the wall.

"They were innocent, so why did you kill all of them? They did nothing to deserve death." Blake spoke calmly and collected as Rossi moved slightly closer to Micheal.

"They deserved it! Every last one of them! They could have killed someone, I saved people by exterminating them!"

"You did nothing," Blake began, "All you did was kill and cause pain. They killed no one, but you did, and for that, you'll face your own charges."

"Shut up." Micheal's hands tightened into fists.

"You're not as strong as Damien, I'll give you that. Tell me, how does it feel knowing that you are exactly what your father hated? Did he beat you, I bet he did." Rossi moved away and leaned against the wall next to Blake.

"I said SHUT UP!" It was Blake's turn.

"We will when you take responsibility for the teenagers that you murdered."Now, Micheal looked up and all that was evident was the pure hatred and burning fire that could only come from hell itself.

"He told you sons of bitches to shut up! Now look vat you've done." Damien wiped away the stray tears that had bled from Micheals eyes. "Now he von't come out. You see, he doesn't have zee same tough skin zat I got." Damien stood up straighter and looked them both in the eye, smirking as he did so.

They all remained silent before Damien broke the silence. "Yes, vee confess to zee 'murders' of those people. Are you happy?"

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1 Week Later

Hotch ran a hand through his hair before putting on the black suit jacket. He turned around and kneeled before Jack. The child stood still as his father adjusted his collar, his face was somber as he remembered why they were dressed in black. Jack placed a hand on his father's arm as Hotch continued to position his collar.

"Dad? Is he... is he in a better place?" Hotch sighed and enveloped his son in a hug.

"Yes...yes he is. He's okay, and safe." Jack grabbed onto his father's jacket and let the first fresh tears fall. Hotch heard the choked sob come from his son, and only held the crying boy as he to pursed his lips and tried to force back tears of grief.

Cemetary, Location: Unknown

Polished shoes stepped out of cars and onto the fresh grass below. The sky swirled with gray rain clouds as the remaining team made their way to Reid's plot. A very depressed Derek Morgan was led through the graveyard by a nurse. After having been declared clinically depressed and mentally broken; he had been admitted into a nearby hospital for the mentally unstable. It wasn't a nuthouse, no, the first time the option had been brought to Hotchner's attention, and he had threatened to shut down the hospital. He had been placed in a place similar to that of where Diana Reid resided. He was comfortable, and treated on a daily basis. Slowly, but surely, he had begun to regain some of his wits.

In the beginning, the biggest worry was the silence. After the outburst, before he was drugged, Morgan stopped talking. When asked questions, he would nod, shake his head, or just choose to ignore whomever was questioning him. That was before he was treated, and in a weeks' time, he had begun to speak. Short phrases at first, enough to answer question. Then he was able to hold a conversation. The progression required enough patience and energy to make any person mad. But the team was too dedicated and determined to lose another member.

Yet, as Derek walked through the graveyard, he retained the same behavior that he displayed earlier in treatment. Almost as if he had regressed to the shell of a person of who he once was. His eyes were glued to the ground, mouth shut and shoulders hunched slightly. The only reason he was there was because the doctors deemed him stable enough to attend the funeral.

It took about a half hour for everyone to arrive at the plot that was deemed to be Spencer Reid's resting place. Only the closest people came, but somehow, his father had managed to attend. He had been notified once, and that was via voice mail. No one had expected the man to care, let alone, attend the funeral; but there he was. The team looked at him coldly, and Reid's 'father' tried not to take notice, but that was quit difficult given the fact that over four people were boring holes into his head.

No one made a sound as the priest said his final words and stepped down. Sniffles could be heard as those gathered around took one last look at the coffin that encased their beloved brother, co-worker, friend, and son. Each member of the team, Morgan included, plucked a rose from the white basket that laid at their feet. They let the roses fall onto the coffin, the white color of each flower declaring the innocent soul that was now being laid to rest in an early grave. Men began to shovel dirt into the grave, and people began to disperse. William Reid was the first to leave, followed by other woman and children, and finally, the team reluctantly left the sight.

Morgan was the only one left standing as the grave was filled to the top with dirt. He knelt down, and pulled out a pocket watch. He opened it and looked at what was inside. There, tucked away safely, was a picture of the team. They were all happy, smiles glowing, and... in the past. Morgan closed the pocket watch and held it in one hand as he began to dig a shallow hole. He kissed the pocket watch lightly before placing it in the hole and covering it up with the freshly lain dirt. He then placed another white flower on top of where he had buried the watch.

The men in white waited far off to the side, as a sign of respect, and waited. Morgan stood, and patted the grave lovingly.

"Good-bye brother. I'll see you soon."

AND THERE IT IS! THE FINALE FOR OF BROTHERLY LOVE AND TRAUMA! I'M VERY SORRY FOR THIS BEING TO LATE, MENTALLY, I'M LOSING IT, ALONG WITH THE FACT THAT SCHOOL GETS IN THE WAY, IT'S CHAOS. ANYWAYS, PLEASE LEAVE ANY LOVE, COMMENTS, AND CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM BELOW. I LOVE TO HEAR BACK FROM YOU GUYS!

This marks the end for Of Brotherly Love and Trauma, may you have a supercalifragilisticexpialidotious day!