*Virtual cupcakes for everyone! Oh, and I apologize for any errors in this because I haven't proof read it*

"Morgan." Morgan didn't respond. Hotch reached out and grabbed Morgan's shoulders, gently turning him away from Reid and the paramedics.

"Are you alright?" Hotch asked. Morgan swallowed nervously, then nodded.

"I'm riding with him," he said, his voice uncharacteristically hoarse.

Hotch stared at the scene as they lifted Reid up and carried him towards the ambulance; the boy was completely limp. Hotch's stomach dropped as he saw the amount of blood that he had left behind. Moments later, they lifted Tucker up, who left behind a slightly smaller pool of blood.

Morgan jogged after the stretcher, leaving Hotch alone in the alleyway. Trying not to breathe so as to avoid the smell of the blood, he started to follow after the ambulance; that was when he saw a watch lying on the ground.

He bent to pick it up. It was Reid's—he wore it on the outside of his sweater every day. Hotch had never asked him why he did that—he supposed it wasn't important—but he pocketed the watch and vowed to give it back to Reid.

Hotch followed after the paramedics; by the time he had made it out of the alleyway, Reid and Morgan had already left in the first ambulance. Hotch pushed past the sheriff, catching up to the second ambulance just as it was about to leave.

"I'd like to ride with Tucker, if you don't mind," he told the paramedic, then hopped into the ambulance.

"How is he?" he demanded as they took off, sirens blaring.

"The bullet went straight through," the paramedic said, still hunched over the young man, "But it's not life threatening. He'll survive." Tucker was moaning and mumbling to himself, his eyes squeezed shut.

"What about the other man?" Hotch asked, gripping his seat tightly as they went over a bump.

"I'm not sure, sir," the paramedic said shortly.

Tucker opened his eyes; they were hazy and unfocused. "Spencer?" he asked, his voice quivering.

"Tucker, this is Agent Aaron Hotchner. You're going to be alright," Hotch said.

Tucker's breathing sped up. "Where's my brother?" he demanded, "Why isn't he with me? We were supposed to end up—end up together…"

"Reid is in another ambulance," Hotch said, "You stabbed him."

"I need to see him," Tucker said; Hotch heard his heart rate increasing, "Agent Hotchner, I need to see my brother!"

"Well, you can't—"

"Can you shut up?" the paramedic snapped, "You're upsetting him."

Hotch frowned, but stayed silent—that was the last thing he wanted to do. Tucker started fighting with the paramedic, who eventually gave him some type of anesthesia that caused him to pass out.

When they arrived at the hospital, Hotch followed Tucker and the paramedic into the hospital. He saw Morgan standing in the middle of the waiting room, his hands clenched as fists at his sides as he watched Tucker pass by.

"How's Reid?" Hotch demanded, going over to him. For a moment, Hotch was a afraid that Morgan had his jaw clenched so tightly that he wouldn't be able to open it—but after a tense pause, he spoke.

"He kept flat-lining," Morgan hissed, "The paramedic had to give him blood in the ambulance. I swear to god, if I got the chance to shoot that son of a bitch again I wouldn't—"

"Morgan," Hotch interrupted, "You're drawing attention to yourself. Sit down." Several of the nurses had begun to eye Morgan fearfully.

With a huff, Morgan lowered himself into one of the seats. "Damnit," he muttered. Hotch raised his eyebrows and sat down across from him.

"You're acting childish," Hotch informed him, "Tucker had suffered a psychotic break. He wasn't in his right mind."

Morgan stared silently ahead. Eventually, he spoke. "If I hadn't let Reid wander off—"

So that's what this was about. "It could have happened to any of us," Hotch said politely. Although he personally believed that Morgan shouldhave done a better job watching Reid, it was no use blaming him now. Hotch glanced at his watch.

"Are you going to call the rest of the team?" Morgan asked dully.

Hotch shook his head. "I have to call Garcia," he said, "But the rest of them can wait till morning. Besides, we don't know yet whether or not Reid will…" he trailed off, not wanting to upset Morgan any more than he already was.

They waited there for what seemed like a lifetime, neither of them speaking. Finally, once it was well past midnight and Hotch was about to fall asleep in his seat, a nurse reemerged.

"Is there an Aaron Hotchner here?" she asked.

Hotch jumped up immediately. "Yes," he said. The doctor approached him.

"He's going to live," she said, "But if the stab wound had been a half inch to the right in would have punctured a major artery—he was lucky."

Hotch felt relief seeping into every bone in his body; he glanced at Morgan, who had a gigantic smile stretched across his face.

"Is he awake?" Hotch asked.

"Not yet," she replied, "We gave him a lot of painkillers."

Hotch was too relived to be annoyed about that. "Can we go see him?" he asked.

She nodded. "One of you," she replied.

"Morgan, you go," Hotch told the younger man. Morgan nodded vigorously and got to his feet.

"He's in room 207," she informed him, and seconds later he was gone.

"Do you have Tucker Davies as a patient?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "Dr. Werner has him," she said.

"I'm like to talk to him, please," Hotch said, and with a nod she pointed towards a doctor at the far end of the room. When Hotch recognized Reid's doctor from last time, he wanted to groan aloud.

"You again?" the doctor said, raising his eyebrows. "What do you want?"

"Tucker Davies," Hotch muttered.

"Oh, you can't see him right now," Dr. Werner said dismissively.

"Why not?" Hotch demanded. "The paramedic said he'd recover."

"Yes, he's in recovery now. You still can't see him. I don't want you to upset him." Then the doctor turned back to his paperwork.

"Did you know that he stabbed six teenage boys to death?" Hotch asked suddenly.

The doctor froze. "I k-knew he was under arrest," he muttered.

Hotch showed him his badge. "I'd like to see him." The doctor nodded mutely, and Hotch smirked as he was led into Tucker's room—technically, the fact that he was an FBI agent didn't give him access to whichever patient he wanted—but the doctor seemed too intimidated to care.

Tucker was awake, to Hotch's surprise; the anesthetic he'd been given earlier had apparently worn off.

"Agent Hotchner?" he muttered, as Hotch entered the room.

Hotch sat down next to his bed. "Feeling better?" he asked.

Tucker looked around anxiously. "Why am I handcuffed?" he asked, "Did I do something wrong?"

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "You tried to kill Spencer Reid." Not to mention stabbing six teenage boys and abducting ten other men.

Tucker let out a pitiful whimper; he sounded frightened, childlike. "What's going to happen to me?" he asked. "Am I g-going to be p-punished?"

Hotch shook his head; he reached out and put a hand on the young man's arm. "No one is going to hurt you again," he promised.

Morgan sat with his head in his hands, his foot bouncing up and down in nervous anticipation. Every few seconds, he would glance at Reid's limp form—the boy was so pale and so still that Morgan had an irrational fear that the doctors were lying to him, and that he really was dead after all.

Waiting in here was almost as bad as the waiting room—and where was Hotch? Probably with Tucker, he thought bitterly, answering his own question. Hotch seemed to think that he deserved some kind of pity.

Morgan lifted his head up as Reid's doctor came in. "When is he going to wake up?" Morgan demanded angrily.

"Anytime, now," she said. "We lessened the dosage of morphine a half hour ago. It should be almost completely out of his system." She checked the stab wounds and the heart monitor and exited the room, leaving Morgan alone with Reid.

Morgan had a sudden desire to get to his feet and shake his friend awake—but he restrained himself. Instead, he reached forward and took Reid's hand in his. He glanced out the door to make sure no one was coming in—if Hotch or Garcia or Rossi saw him like this, he'd never hear the end of it.

"Reid," he muttered, "I'm sorry I let you wander off. I was supposed to keep track of you and keep you safe, but the second I looked away, you…" he trailed off, realizing that he was not phrasing his apology very well.

"S'okay…" the response was so soft that Morgan was sure he had imagined it.

"Reid?" he asked eagerly, letting go of the boy's hand and getting to his feet.

"I hate your music…" Reid mumbled, not opening his eyes.

"What?" Morgan asked, wondering if Reid was having some sort of dream. However, moments later Reid opened his eyes.

"Your music," he muttered, "It sucks."

Morgan laughed with relief, at once realizing what he was talking about. "Oh," he said, "Well, sorry about that. I guess I won't make that mistake again."

Reid grinned groggily. "I should hope not," he muttered. There was a silence. "Is Tucker okay?" he asked suddenly. "I heard someone get shot…"

Morgan swallowed. "I shot him," he said, "But he'll live." They both turned around as they heard someone—Hotch enter the room.

"How are you feeling?" Hotch asked immediately.

Reid shrugged. "A bit like I've been stabbed twice, then given a bunch of morphine."

Hotch allowed a small smile to grace his features. The Morgan saw Hotch reach into his pocket and pull out a watch.

"This is yours," he said, "I think you dropped it."

Reid grinned, then laughed. "I was trying to use it to bribe a homeless man."

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "You what?"

A peculiar look came over Reid's face; then he yawned. "I was…lost…then, I wanted to get some directions…" he yawned again. "I'm going to pass out," he muttered; he seemed suddenly exhausted from the small encounter.

"No problem, Reid," Hotch said, "You've kind of had a long day."

And so, the two of them stood there and watched as Reid once again drifted into a peaceful sleep.

*Ok! So it's almost over, but I'm going to write an epilogue "one year later" type of thing. Reviews would make me super duper happy!*