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"Just a few more steps, kiddo. You're doing great."
Rossi really didn't know what had gone wrong. A simple witness questioning had turned a complete 180 and gone to hell in the blink of an eye. All he knew was that one moment their witness had been answering their standard questions as if nothing was amiss and the next, he was lying on the ground with a bullet through his skull.
Oh, and Reid had a knife shoved in his ribs.
Rossi glanced at Hotch over the top of the genius' head and the unit chief silently shifted the arm over his shoulder to take a little more of Reid's weight. Three strenuous steps later, and the two senior agents were carefully lowering Reid on to the couch in their Unsub's living room.
Their situation was less than ideal to say the least. While they had been interrogating the man who they now knew as their Unsub, the light flurries of snow that had preciously been falling had picked up into a full-blown blizzard. They had managed to call for emergency medical help using the SAT phone Hotch always kept in his glovebox, but the ambulance couldn't get through due to the storm and wouldn't be of any assistance until the storm died down and the roads were cleared.
Rossi still didn't know what Hotch had said to the poor dispatcher on the other end, but he could tell by the furious look on his face that it couldn't have been anything kind. The Italian didn't think he had ever seen Hotch so angry, but he knew seeing his team members injured always changed Hotch. Especially Reid, whom Rossi knew he secretly viewed as a surrogate son.
Rossi squatted down beside Reid, ignoring his aching joints as he did so. His face was pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his eyes half-mast and his breaths coming out in pained gasps.
"Hey kiddo, how ya holding up?" he asked with a gentle smile that didn't reach his eyes.
The right side of Reid's mouth quirked up in a small smirk. "Nev'r bett'r," he murmured, his voice slurred and tired. Rossi gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and stood once again. He watched Hotch as the other man gazed at the injured genius on the couch. Anyone who didn't know him would say Hotch's gaze was merely calculating, but the thinning of his lips and tightness around his eyebrows said otherwise. He was worried.
Rossi laid him with a worried look. "You okay?"
Hotch looked up with a brief "yeah" before moving away from the sensitive subject. "He's losing too much blood. If we don't try and staunch it, he'll bleed out before the storm even stops," he murmured to Rossi, low enough so Spencer couldn't hear though the kid had undoubtedly already figured that much out for himself.
"I'll go look for a first-aid kit and some towels. You stay here with him," Rossi said, discreetly patting Hotch on the back just hard enough to push him in Reid's direction.
Rossi half-ran, half-jogged to the bathroom down the hall where he was hoping he could at least find some gauze. After some rather frustrating searching, he finally came across a first-aid kit located under the sink while he tore through the small cabinet. Armed with it, a pile of rags he had found in the linen closet, a bottle of peroxide, and a bottle of ibuprofen for good measure, he headed back to the living room.
On his way through, he passed the corpse of their Unsub, still lying in a pool of his own blood dead on the floor. Although covered by a flowery sheet Hotch had found, Rossi knew exactly what he had done, not only to his victims, but to Reid too. If maybe he walked a little to close to the body and accidentally kicked him in the head on the way through, well, no one would ever know.
From the doorway, he could see that Hotch was kneeling beside the couch, his suit jacket being used as makeshift pressure bandage on Spencer's wound. The black cloth was already thoroughly soaked with the crimson liquid to the point that no amount of washing and dry cleaning could salvage the article. Not that Hotch would want to save the jacket after this experience.
"Here," Rossi said, handing Hotch a few of the rags he had found in the closet. The unit chief accepted them with a silently nod of thanks and silently swapped them out for the bloody jacket which he threw uncaringly over his shoulder. It landed with a wet thwap on the hard wood and made Rossi's stomach roll with sudden nausea.
Reid, who had been mostly silent up until that point, groaned at the sudden loss and immediate gain of the new pressure. Rossi sat on the edge of the couch by his head and wiped some of the sweat from the genius' brow with a cool cloth. His eyebrows furrowed as he laid the back of his hand against his forehead and found it uncomfortably warm.
"Hey bambino," he said softly, smiling when Reid's eyes cracked open to reveal two soft brown eyes.
"R'ssi," he murmured before letting his lids fall shut once again. Rossi gently tapped his cheek.
"Hey, none of that. You need to keep those eyes open."
"'m tired."
"I know kid, but you can sleep later 'kay? We need you right now," Rossi said sternly, hoping that telling Reid that he was needed would be enough incentive to keep him awake, at least for the time being.
Rossi gazed at Hotch who was still steadily applying pressure to the knife wound with the now soaked rags. "I think he has a fever," the Italian whispered.
Hotch nodded thoughtfully. "Most likely. Infection's probably already setting in. Did you find anything to clean this with?"
Rossi picked up the bottle of peroxide and shook it to emphasize his point. "Still in date too. Not the best option, but a little tissue damage is better than sepsis any day."
Hotch took the bottle apprehensively as Rossi began to rifle through the first-aid kit. He pulled out an impressive wad of gauze and a roll of medical tape. Hotch was still eyeing the bottle of peroxide as if it had killed his best friend.
"What's wrong?"
"This is going to burn like hell Dave."
Rossi winced. He had already thought about that as soon as he found the bottle. He knew what peroxide felt like on a small cut on his hand, he couldn't even imagine what it was going to feel like in an inches deep stab wound.
"I know. But it's the best thing we have to work with if we want to keep the kid from dying from an infection before the paramedics can even get back here," he said quietly.
Hotch continued to glower at the bottle even as he unscrewed the cap and grabbed up what was left of the clean wash rags. "You should sit and hold him still. This is going to hurt, and I don't want him to make it worse by squirming around. Plus, this might be better for him if you're sitting with him."
Rossi gave a silent nod, but he didn't miss how Hotch had said it would be better if Rossi was sitting with him. It was clear the unit chief hadn't even considered them switching roles and allowing Rossi to do the cleaning, almost like he thought Reid wouldn't be comforted by his presence. Of course, Rossi knew he was wrong. Reid had looked up to Hotch almost more than he ever had Gideon and still did. Reid would take just as much comfort from Hotch in this situation as he would Rossi.
All the same, Rossi carefully lifted Spencer's head off the couch cushion and slid in behind him so his back was resting against Rossi's chest. Reid whimpered at the movement and allowed his eyes to flutter open momentarily.
"R'ssi, w'a's goin' on?"
Rossi gazed at him with sorrowful eyes, guilt pooling in his stomach. "Nothing kiddo. Go back to sleep."
Rossi knew he had just completely back tracked over his former admonishes for Reid falling asleep, but now all he hoped was that the kid would slip into an oblivion where he wouldn't be able to feel what was just about to happen.
Reid was clearly too far out of it to realize Rossi had contradicted what he had been telling the genius only moments before, so he settled for a small sigh and nuzzling his cheek into Rossi's shirt. It was such an un-Reid like thing to do that Rossi found himself smiling sadly.
Rossi gave Hotch a nod who in turn cut away what was left of Reid's blood-stained sweater vest with a pair of scissors from the first-aid kit. He then pulled up his button down to reveal the grotesque knife wound below. It was about two and a half inches long and probably just as deep. It had already poured out enough blood to cover all of Spencer's ribcage and was still leaking steadily. The edges were bright red and puffy even against the already blindingly red background. Rossi swallowed hard as he was assaulted by flashbacks of the knife landing in Reid's flesh. The Unsub had whipped the knife out of his sleeve and had stabbed Reid with it before either one of the older agents could blink. Hotch had been the first one to get his gun out and had thus shot and killed the man.
Rossi didn't think a bullet to the head was good enough for the man.
He watched Hotch fold a rag into a square and prepare to pour the liquid, bottle hovering just centimeters from the wound. His features turning hard and determined, Hotch easily slipped into unit chief mode and poured the cleansing chemical on to the stab wound without another moment of hesitation.
For a moment, Rossi actually believed Reid was deep enough asleep, or unconscious, that he wouldn't feel the burn. That is until Reid's eyes flew open, and he screamed in so much pain that Rossi wanted to scream himself.
As the young doctor began to desperately twist around in his steady grip, trying to do anything to get away from the agonizing pain, Hotch continued to steadily pour the liquid, methodically making sure it reached every part of the wound. His features were closed off and schooled in a way only Hotch's could be, but Rossi could tell Reid's pain was getting to him.
"Shh, shh, it's okay Spencer. You're okay," Rossi murmured in his ear while also working to keep Reid's arms pinned down over his chest. A heart wrenching sob tore out of Reid when Hotch poured the peroxide over a particularly tender spot and Reid kicked his leg against the end of the couch out of instinct.
"Hold still Spencer. Almost done, almost over bambino."
Tears leaked out of Spencer's syrup-colored eyes. Rossi gently brushed them away with more whispered reassurances as Spencer continues to writhe and mewl in pain. Through it all, Hotch remained stoic, only focusing on the task in front of him.
Spencer was gripping on to his hand so tightly that Rossi himself was grimacing in pain. He could see the tips of his fingers turning red with circulation cut-off and the small bones in his hand felt like they were moments away from snapping. Rossi never would have guessed Spencer was so strong, but he supposed pain made people do strange things. Still, he never loosened his grip on the poor boy throughout the entire process, nor did he try and move his hand.
Finally, freaking finally, Hotch finished up the bottle and threw it to the side, taking the rag he had folded up and pressing it firmly to the wound. A sharp cry escaped Spencer's lips and he gazed up at Rossi in what could only be described as pure agony.
"All done with that now, kiddo. We're just going to get you bandaged up and then you can sleep for a while alright?" Whether Reid actually understood him or not, Rossi didn't know, but the kid muttered something under his breath anyhow and relaxed once again.
Rossi watched as Hotch carefully layered gauze onto the injury and secured it on all side with the roll of medical tape. He then sat back with a sigh and reached up to tug his tie off. Rossi reached for the ibuprofen on the end table as Hotch got up to retrieve a glass of water.
He took the glass from the younger man when he returned moments later and gently shook Reid awake again.
"Here, I need you to take this Spencer. Don't worry it's not a very high dose," he said quietly as an afterthought. Reid weakly took the offered pill and popped it in his mouth without a word of protest, much to both agent's surprise, and allowed Rossi to hold the glass while he took a few small sips to wash the medicine down.
Rossi then carefully extracted himself from behind the genius and looked at Hotch who had blood clear up to his elbows and splattered all over his shirt. "You need to go wash off. I'm going to go find some blankets and things. It looks like we're going to be staying the night."
Hotch visibly swallowed as he finally looked down at all the blood, Reid's blood, that covered him and nodded. He disappeared into the kitchen and Rossi heard the sink turn on while he rifled through the same linen closet he had found the rags in.
A few moments he returned to the room with a pile of blankets in his arms to see Hotch sitting in a chair next to the couch, keeping silent vigil over his hurt team member. His hurt family member really. Rossi checked the thermostat to make sure it would remain warm enough in the small house throughout the coming night before covering Reid with two thick blankets, handing some to Hotch, and then settling down himself on the other couch in the room.
"You should get some sleep Dave. I'll stay up for a while and make sure he's okay," Hotch said quietly over his shoulder. Rossi bit his lip but refrained from saying anything about how Hotch obviously felt responsible for everything that had happened. He laid down fully expecting to be wide awake for hours to come, but apparently the last few hours' events had taken quite a lot out of him, and he soon found himself drifting off to sleep.
0000
Rossi slowly woke up the next morning with an aching back. Immediately, he realized he was not in his own bed, nor was he even in his own house. He quickly looked around and his eyes landed on the bloody jacket lying in the corner of the room and everything that had happened the previous day came rushing back to him.
His head whipped towards the other couch so quickly he actually got a bit dizzy. The sight that greeted him made a true, genuine smile break across his face for the first time since the previous morning. Reid was curled up under the blankets sound asleep, much like he did on the jet home from cases. But what really had Rossi grinning was Hotch. The unit chief was bent over top of the couch, head resting on the edge and right hand lying protectively on Reid's stomach.
Hearing sirens in the distance, Rossi gazed out the large bay window over the couch where he had slept. The snow had stopped in the night and the ambulance could now get through. Hotch's head shot up as the sound got closer and looked around the room in surprise much how Rossi had when he had first awoken. When he caught Rossi watching him, he blushed.
Yes, Aaron Hotchner actually blushed.
And Rossi just shook his head. He laughed even harder when the noise woke up the sleeping doctor on the couch who gazed around with fear-filled, fever-glazed eyes and Hotch leaned over, whispered something, and the boy immediately calmed.
Hotch shot him a look, but the slightest hint of a smile pulled at his lips. If Hotch was smiling, Rossi knew everything would be alright.