Trauma Pact

Stephie

Something about us BAU agents, I feel as though we're all connected on a deep level of trauma. Derek, who I thought was safe, wasn't. His trauma recently was revealed during his Chicago trip, which ended up turning into a case of course. His story breaks my heart, truly. I know JJs story about her sister, I'm one of few people who know. I knew Elle's, Spencer i'm working in and now Emily, I know she has it somewhere, same with Hotch. Gideons has to be when the six agents died because of him, well I don't mean to blame him but, that's what happened.

Besides that, The Auld Dubliner is buzzing with the energy of Super Bowl night, a perfect setting for the BAU team to unwind. The bar is filled with the lively sounds of cheers and laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the hum of conversations. The whole team is here, minus Gideon, but Hotch's wife, Hayley, has joined us, her presence adding a lightness to Hotch's usually stern demeanor.

Emily is fitting in well. She just returned to the table with a fresh round of drinks, effortlessly balancing the tray while Derek, ever the charmer, dances with random women who can't seem to resist his smooth moves. If I had his confidence and looks, I'd probably be doing the same thing.

"Cheers!" The sound of glasses clinking together rings out as we all take a sip. The taste of beer is cold and crisp on my tongue, a welcome distraction. Hayley leans in to ask Emily how she's finding the BAU, while Penelope and I share a look of amazement at Derek, who is practically gliding across the dance floor.

"Look at him move," Penelope mutters, her eyes locked on Derek. "He's like a cat,"

I turn at the sound of Emily scoffing playfully. "More like a dog!" she laughs, nudging me with her elbow. I chuckle, giving her a light push back.

"He didn't ask them to dance, they asked him," Penelope points out, returning to her own entertainment, completely engrossed in Derek's moves.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Hotch and Hayley heading to the dance floor, which catches me off guard.

"Is he dancing? Is he drunk?" I ask, wide-eyed, turning to Emily, who just shrugs with a laugh.

Penelope rises from her seat, handing her drink to me. "Watch this for me, will you? I'm off to the bathroom," she says, and I nod, taking her glass. JJ is nearby, engrossed in a game of darts with a couple of guys, her focus sharp.

Emily leans in closer, her eyes scanning the room. "Where's Reid tonight?" she asks, her voice curious.

I smile and nod toward a table a few feet away, where Spencer is in deep concentration. "He's playing a drinking game, but of course, he's not actually drinking. It's a memory game, almost like trivia. Everyone takes turns asking questions, usually about classic movie quotes or obscure facts. Spencer remembers everything, so he's pretty much unbeatable," I explain, watching as Reid effortlessly recalls another movie quote, much to the dismay of his opponents.

Emily grins, shaking her head. "He's weird," she says, but there's a hint of affection in her voice.

I laugh. "That's Reid for you."

Just then, the front door swings open, and JJ steps inside, a serious look on her face. I didn't even realize she'd left the bar. She walks over to us, her expression somber.

"Hey, we've got a case," she sighs, and I feel the weight of the night suddenly pressing down on me. With a groan, I drop my head onto the table, the festive mood of the evening evaporating in an instant.

"You know, it never fails. Just as I'm getting my groove on, bam—we're back at the BAU." Derek says, walking from the coffee machine to his seat at the round table. We're all inhaling coffee like it's air.

"Actually," Spencer chimes in as Emily giggles, "statistically, a case doesn't come in more frequently if you're at a party or a gathering. It's just a trick of the mind; we tend to remember those moments more vividly."

I pat his back, taking a seat next to him. "Not now, please. Not. Now." I emphasize each word so he gets the point.

"So, is it really that hard for you to get your groove 'thang' back?" Emily teases Derek. Just then, Gideon walks in and takes a seat at the table.

"Only when he's sleeping," Gideon mumbles, but no one really catches it. I smile.

"Where were you tonight?" I ask, and Gideon answers without turning around.

"I told you, I went to the Smithsonian."

"You missed a good time," Emily adds, but Gideon mutters something under his breath, likely something sassy.

"Well, that's definitely over," JJ announces, walking into the room and heading straight for the TV. None of us really want to be here right now; we were all having a good time, and now we're staring at a crime scene photo. "Georgia. Dennis and Lacy Kyles were murdered an hour ago in their suburban Atlanta home."

"An hour ago?" Hotch furrows his brow, and we all follow suit. That's quick for a discovery.

"One of the unsubs called the police, claiming the other was about to murder one of the victims," JJ continues. We're all shocked, to say the least.

As we go over the case, it's clear—this one is brutal. And of course, the unsubs have to bring God into it, leaving Bible quotes at the crime scene.

I grew up Catholic, wore a saintly gold cross necklace every day until I was seventeen. After everything with my father, I guess I lost my faith. I still believe, but not as strongly as I used to.

In the jet, Emily and Derek are discussing the case quietly when Garcia calls with the 911 recording. It's eerie.

"We have a mission-driven killing team in rural Georgia. We know what that means," Hotch says, eyes locked on the computer.

"They won't stop until they complete their mission," Derek sighs, and I nod in agreement.

"We need to hit the ground running. JJ, I need a comprehensive picture of the victims. Victimology can be crucial in a mission-based spree," Hotch directs. JJ nods and leaves to get what she needs.

"Prentiss, head to where the bodies are. Examine the wounds—they managed to kill two victims in four and a half minutes. We need to understand how."

"You got it," Emily nods at Hotch.

"I'll set up at the Atlanta field office and go over case files from the state. It would be highly unusual for a first kill to be this efficient," Hotch says, pulling out his phone. I glance at Gideon, who looks up just as I do.

"You, Reid, and Morgan, come with me to the crime scene," Gideon orders, eyes back on his papers.

"We land in less than an hour; everyone try to get some rest," Hotch says, heading off to his makeshift office on the jet.

I hate going to crime scenes. Yet, I always end up here."Does Gideon seem off to you?" Spencer whispers as we walk upstairs to the bedroom. I glance ahead at Gideon.

"Are any of us truly happy to be here?" I reply, looking at Spencer. He furrows his brow. "I mean, here on the case," I clarify, realizing how bad my previous words sounded.

We reach the room, and I follow Derek while Spencer goes to Gideon. He can't help but ask if Gideon's okay. We talk to the local cops, and Derek heads to the other side of the room.

"Okay, I know my partner called 911," Derek says, facing all of us. I exchange a glance with Spencer, both of us sharing a 'what is he doing' look.

"The police are on the way, so I don't have much time. Now, assuming Unsub One didn't actively participate, I have to believe he entered the bedroom from here." Derek walks to the door and continues guiding us through the unsub's actions.

So many things don't make sense—nothing adds up.

"What do you make of all this?" I ask Spencer and Gideon as Derek answers his ringing phone.

"Garcia, are you saying there's a murder all over the internet?" Derek's words make us lose focus, and we all turn to look at him in shock. Derek slowly walks over to a small stand behind us, staring at the computer.

"We're being watched?" I say quietly, and Derek nods, closing the laptop screen.

Back at the station, we're all watching the video of the murders, trying to figure out why the unsub is filming them. Spencer and I are glued to a computer screen as the team discusses the video. Suddenly, Spencer stands up, and I look up at him.

"What are you doing?" I ask, grabbing his chair. He widens his eyes at me, and I stand up too.

"Agent Franks, does this building have wireless internet?" Spencer whispers, and I cross my arms behind him.

"Yeah, why?" Franks answers, and Spencer tenses up.

"That camera's on right now," Spencer whispers, looking at the laptop. "The computer has connected itself to the internet. It's streaming a video feed somehow," Spencer explains to the team.

"Can we trace the stream to the destination?" Hotch asks. I nod.

"Just open it. Garcia might be able to—" The computer starts beeping, and Spencer sits down. I back up as the team gathers around to see what's happening.

The screen flashes some words, spelling out, 'The armies of Satan shall not prevail,' before shutting off. Great.

Hotch stands by the whiteboard, his expression unreadable as he surveys the sparse evidence displayed before the team. "What do we have so far?" His voice is steady, but there's an undercurrent of urgency. The silence that follows is almost palpable, a testament to how little they've managed to uncover.

Emily steps forward, eyes fixed on the images and notes pinned to the board. "The killings are clinically efficient," she begins, her tone professional but tinged with concern. "They bear the marks of a slaughter, like an animal was killed rather than a person." Her observation hangs in the air, heavy with implication. Derek mumbles something under his breath, frustration evident in the way he crosses his arms.

Hotch sighs, the weight of the case already pressing down on him. "I haven't found anything in federal or state databases that suggests similar crimes. As far as I can tell, this is the first in what could be a series."

Before the silence can settle in again, Spencer chimes in, his voice cutting through the tension. "At least one member of the team may believe they're killing in the name of God," he says, stepping out from the shadows at the back of the room. His words are precise, as always. "This suggests a psychopathy that should display extreme levels of disorganization." He moves toward the front, joining Emily by the board, his mind racing through the details.

"But," he continues, "there are countermeasures in place, and someone in this group is in control enough to carry out complex computer work. We're looking at a dynamic where one member of the team is highly organized, while the other is extremely disorganized." Spencer glances around the room, noting the puzzled expressions on his colleagues' faces. He sighs, realizing he needs to break it down further. "What's odd is that the one we'd consider most in control—the one who made the phone call—can't seem to stop the other from killing."

The room falls into a contemplative silence. Derek nods in agreement, the pieces of the puzzle slowly clicking into place. They continue to discuss the points of the case, tossing around potential theories, but the breakthrough they need remains just out of reach.

"Reid," Hotch finally says, his gaze shifting to Spencer. He pauses for a moment before turning to me. "Foster." The way he says my name, with a hint of reluctance, doesn't go unnoticed. "Work on this." He gestures at the board before the team begins to disperse, leaving me and Spencer alone in the room.

We've been staring at the board for an hour now, the silence only broken by the sound of Spencer unwrapping yet another Rice Krispies treat. "You've had like three of those," I remark, holding out my hand for a piece. I'm desperate for something—anything—to break the monotony.

Spencer rolls his eyes, reluctantly handing over the treat. "You won't even eat the whole thing," he complains, his voice laced with the kind of exasperation that only comes from long hours and no progress. "You always leave things half-eaten, just like everything else."

I narrow my eyes at him, mock indignation in my voice. "Reid, do not make me hurt you." I wave the treat at him in a playful threat, and he makes a face, clearly unconvinced.

Just as I'm about to take a bite, JJ and Hotch walk in, deep in conversation about some old case files from a few months back.

"Is there a name and address for the witness?" Hotch asks and I shoot my head to Spencer. A witness? For what?

"Tobias Hankle. Lives about an hour from here." JJ reads and Hotch nods slowly.

"It's a long shot but he might be able to give us a description, Foster and Reid, why don't you go out there and see if you can find Mr. Hankle, see if he remembers something." Hotch turns to us and we stand up to head out. Something just doesn't feel right about this, I have a bad feeling, but I always have bad feelings. Just as Spencer predicted, I sit down my half eaten rice krispy treat before we leave.

"You seem more on edge than usual," Spencer notes as we approach Tobias Hankle's front door. I take a deep breath, trying to push down the anxiety clawing at me, and shake my head.

"Just hoping he knows something we don't," I reply, forcing a thin smile. Spending long hours around Spencer makes my stomach twist—not in a bad way, but in that 'I miss him' kind of way.

The door creaks open, and a man pokes his head out, eyeing us warily.

"Hi, Mr. Hankle?" I greet him with a polite smile. He looks at Spencer first before responding with a curt, "Yeah."

"We're FBI. I'm Agent Foster, and this is Agent Reid," I say, flashing my badge.

"FBI?" Tobias tilts his head, confused. Spencer steps forward and asks if we can come inside.

"Um..." Tobias glances at the ground, his voice trembling. "I actually don't let anyone in the house." His nervousness is palpable.

Spencer suddenly shifts, feigning discomfort. "Actually, I really need to, uh... you know, go?" He makes a face, and it takes everything in me not to burst out laughing. But I manage to keep a straight face, focusing on Tobias instead.

"Sorry, my father doesn't like it," Tobias mutters, shaking his head as he refuses to let us in.

"Your father? You're like, 30," Spencer says in a very bratty tone, still pretending he's about to pee his pants. Tobias gives him a strange look.

"At what age does one start disregarding their parents' wishes?" Spencer continues.

My thoughts drift momentarily. Maybe when you find out your dad killed your mom and countless other innocent people.

I clear my throat and refocus. "You witnessed something a few months ago," I start, the unease in me growing. "It might be very helpful to us."

"I did?" Tobias looks genuinely puzzled.

I smile, trying to jog his memory. "You saw someone climb over a wall into a yard and called the police?"

"Me?" he repeats, his confusion deepening.

"You didn't?" I exchange a glance with Spencer, both of us growing suspicious.

"Sorry..." Tobias shrugs, looking sad and distant.

"Is there another Tobias Hankle here?" I ask, grasping at straws.

"No, it's just me and my father, Charles," he replies, shaking his head.

"There's a report on file that lists you as calling 911. You were walking a dog..." I try to remind him, but nothing seems to register.

"No, that's wrong. I don't even have a dog," Tobias insists.

"Oh, well... sorry to bother you then, sir." I start to turn away, but Spencer, ever persistent, asks to quickly use the restroom. Tobias doesn't respond; instead, he slams the door in our faces, and the porch light clicks off.

As we walk away, I can't shake the feeling that something is off. "That's weird," I say, voicing my thoughts. Spencer nods in agreement. "Why would he call the police and then deny it?"

"To gauge the response time..." Spencer's eyes widen as the realization hits him, and I feel a cold chill run down my spine.

"If you were planning to kill someone but wanted to call the police first, what would you need?" Spencer continues.

"To know how long it takes them to get there... Oh, fuck." The pieces fall into place, and without a second thought, we sprint toward the side of the house, racing as fast as we can.

"Spencer, what is this?" I whisper urgently as we peer into a window, our eyes meeting the eerie glow of dozens of computer screens displaying live feeds of people in their homes.

"Spencer!" I shout, startled by the sight of Tobias staring directly at us from inside.

"Shit," Spencer curses as Tobias bolts, and we take off after him, heading toward the back of the house. My heart pounds in my chest. Tobias is the unsub—he has to be.

"He's in here," Spencer whispers as we crouch outside a barn. I nod, adrenaline pumping through my veins. "Call Hotch."

"Reid, we're in the middle of nowhere—we have no cell service," I remind him, my voice tense. Spencer sighs and starts rambling about how Tobias must be inside the barn. Thanks, genius, I had no idea.

"I'll go around front; you cover the back. Hotch knows we came here—he'll come looking for us," Spencer says, running on pure adrenaline. His behavior is erratic, but there's no stopping him as he rushes in. This is such a bad idea.

After a few minutes of tense silence, I cautiously enter the barn. It's dark, the air thick with an unsettling stillness. "Spencer?" I call out, but there's no response. Panic flares in my chest as I step forward and feel something wet beneath my feet. Blood. My heart races, and just as I'm about to call out again, a low growl fills the air.

Three dogs emerge from the shadows, their eyes locked on me. I barely have time to react before they lunge. I scream and pull the trigger, refusing to go down like this. It's moments like these that make me wish I'd just become a lawyer instead. I thought he said he didn't even have a dog, let alone three rapid, evil, murderous dogs.

I'm able to crawl into a dark corner and sit down, I have no idea where Spencer went and for all I know he could be dead, I sit in the silence. After some time passes I see lights on the ground, I reach for my gun, it's probably Tobias coming back to finish the job. Imagine the bragging rights sickos get by saying "Oh, I killed two of the smartest FBI agent."

"Stephie?" Morgan points his gun at me and jump up screaming at him to put his gun down, screaming that i'm fbi and he needs to drop his gun. I didn't realize it was him at first.

"Tobias Hankle is the unsub." I mumble when I come back to reality and Emily appears beside me.

"Yeah, we know." Morgan looks to Emily.

"We," I pause and look at the dead dogs behind them. "I had to kill them,"

"Where's Reid?" Morgan looks at me and i shake my head.

"They just complete tore her apart...there's nothing even left." Emily grabs my shoulders.

"Look at me, look at me Stepheni." My gaze travels to her, everything is moving in slow motion. Spencer is dead, he's dead and he thinks I hate him, he doesn't know I love him more than anything. And now he never will.

"Where is Reid?" Emily asks me, relating Morgan's question from earlier.

"We split up, he said he was gonna go around back. Uh," I feel myself start to tear up but before I can finish the story Morgan is racing away.

"They'll find Reid, don't worry. Let's you get you out of here," Emily pats my back as we walk to the ambulance out front.

They sit me down and shine lights in my eyes and ask me questions I don't feel like answering. It starts to rain too, it's cold.

"Hey is there any sign of him yet?" Emily comes up to the sheriff who is standing behind the paramedic checking me. "We got every one of our units on the road. He won't get far."

My heart skips a beat, he's not here? He's alive at least but he's gone?

"You can't find Reid?" I look at Emily and she shakes her head, looking around like she shouldn't be telling me that.

Morgan comes up and then the talking goes far enough away that I can't hear it anymore. My head spinning, this can't be real.

This can't be real.

I think I'm going to pass out. Or be sick. No, I'm going to pass out.

———————————AN: Drug Reid has entered the chat.

guys i need to spoil something. bcuz i need you to prepare yourselves for this.

Stephie is going to do something silly during spencer's drug era, as if that poor guy doesn't have enough going on already.