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The wind howled against the windows of the precinct, snow flurries already piling thick against the glass. Inside, the team shook off coats and stamped melted ice from their boots, radios crackling as they regrouped.

At least, most of the team. Hotch stood at the operations table, eyes on the wall map strewn with markers of the unsub’s possible routes that had ultimately led to the unsub’s capture. Now, he just had to make sure everyone got back to the precinct alright, and then they would have to see if they could make it out of here tonight in the storm.

Hotch’s jaw ticked as he did a quick mental headcount. Two missing. He keyed his radio, his voice even but clipped.

“JJ, Reid. Status.”

Static filled the room for a beat until JJ’s voice cut through, faint under the storm.

“Almost back. The roads are a mess, but I can see the precinct lights. Five minutes.”

Hotch let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, shoulders easing slightly. “Copy. Come straight in, don’t wait for us outside.”

“Roger that.”

The line clicked off.

But there was still silence from the second channel. Hotch keyed his mic again.

“Reid? Status check.”

Nothing. Just the hiss of static.

His eyes flicked to the map again, then to the rest of the team filing in. Morgan was shrugging out of his jacket, glancing over with a frown.

“JJ?”

“On her way,” Hotch answered shortly. His thumb tapped the mic again, his voice slightly firmer. “Reid, give me something.”

Still nothing.

Emily’s brow furrowed, exchanging a look with Morgan. Rossi stepped closer, reading Hotch’s expression. The silence stretched, filled only by the storm battering against the windows.

Hotch finally set the radio down, his voice quieter but no less sharp. “He should’ve answered by now.”

And though he didn’t say it, the weight in his tone made the rest of them straighten, every one of them hearing what he was already calculating: in the middle of a blizzard, silence was never good.

Reid’s SUV

The engine had long since gone silent, the heater fading to nothing but a memory. Frost crept along the inside of the windshield, each breath Reid exhaled instantly fogging in front of him.

“Come on, come on…” Reid muttered again as he tried and failed to start the engine for what had to be the twentieth time in less than ten minutes. The car groaned, gave a hiss, and stuttered again, going silent.

Reid rubbed his hands together, but his gloves were already damp, and the movement only reminded him how numb his fingers were becoming. His coat, serviceable but not made for this weather, felt paper-thin against the bite of the cold.

He’d tried calling in twice with the radio Hotch had given him before he left. All of them had been given radios before leaving the precinct, in case the storm got too heavy. Static answered both times.

Ironic, Reid thought, that the machinery built to withstand this sort of weather died on him when he needed it for this type of weather. The storm was chewing up the signal, just like it was swallowing the roads.

Reid pulled his knees up closer, shivering hard. He closed his eyes and quickly ran the numbers because he couldn’t help himself.

Core temperature in freezing conditions without heat? Already dropping.

Probability of rescue if he stayed put? 40%. The car could get buried, visibility nearly zero.
Probability of survival if he left on foot? Only 33% if he miscalculated the distance, which was a real possibility with the poor visibility. 

But if he didn’t, if he aimed for the main road, the chances grew higher- up to 68%, and could be pushed up to 70% if the wind died down.

He swallowed, breath puffing unevenly. Neither option was good, but one meant certainty—slow decline until the car became a tomb. The other meant movement, and it seemed to give him a better chance.

His hand hovered over the door handle, trembling not just from the cold but from the weight of the decision. He knew the car would lose what little warmth it had left in under an hour. And he knew Hotch would be counting heads already.

“They’ll find me,” Reid muttered under his breath, his voice shaking slightly.

He pushed the door open, the storm immediately slamming into him like a wall of ice. Snow clawed at his legs, the wind tearing the breath from his lungs.

Still, he pulled his collar high, hunched against it, and stepped out into the blizzard, walking blind but calculating, hoping his odds were good enough.

Hotch stood at the precinct’s tech setup, his radio silent on the table in front of him. JJ had just come through the door, stamping snow from her boots, cheeks flushed with cold. That relief lasted only a second before his eyes went to the empty space behind her.

“Have you seen Reid?” Hotch asked, already knowing the answer.

JJ shook her head. “He wasn’t on my route. Last I saw him, he was heading back from the east grid.” She hesitated, seeing the tightness in Hotch’s jaw. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Hotch didn’t answer. He pulled out his phone instead, speed-dialing. “Garcia.”

The line clicked, her familiar rush of words spilling out. “Sir, do you know what time it is? Do you know how much caffeine I’ve had to stay awake? Please tell me you’re calling to say everyone’s safe and warm because—”

“Garcia,” Hotch’s tone cut through, low and steady, but there was something beneath it that made her falter.

“…Okay. What do you need?”

“I need a location ping on Reid’s Bureau vehicle.”

Keys clattered on Garcia’s end, screens booting up. “Sure thing. Give me one sec. Pulling GPS logs now.”

Hotch’s hand flexed against the edge of the table. Behind him, Rossi and Morgan exchanged a look.

“Got it,” Garcia said, her voice shifting serious. “Okay… his SUV’s on Route 6, about five miles out. Looks like it hasn’t moved in the last half an hour.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened. “Is he still inside the vehicle?”

Another pause, Garcia’s keyboard clattering louder through the phone. “…Negative. Engine’s off, no heat signature. Doors opened ten minutes ago. He’s not in the car anymore.”

The room went silent, the words landing like ice. Hotch closed his eyes for a beat, his voice quiet but iron-hard when he finally spoke. “He’s on foot in this storm.”

Morgan cursed under his breath.

Hotch straightened, already reaching for his coat. “Let’s get moving,” he said sharply.

JJ and Emily moved to the city map, clearing it of case markers and hastily highlighting nearby roads, routes, and storm sectors.

Once everyone hastily put their coats and gloves back on, they gathered around the table quickly, grabbing their radios.

“We have one ping on Reid’s vehicle,” Hotch said, his voice clipped. “If he left on foot around ten minutes ago, that puts him in a half-mile radius at most, factoring snowdrifts and visibility.”

Morgan swore quietly. “Out there, ten minutes might as well be a mile. You can’t see fifty feet ahead.”

“Exactly, which is why our priority right now is finding him,” Hotch said firmly. His gaze flicked across the map again, jaw set. “If he left the car, it’s because he calculated his odds. Which means he’s moving, and every minute puts him further from us.”

Rossi leaned in. “Then we do this smart. Last thing we need is another agent lost in the storm.”

Hotch’s eyes lifted, meeting his. The air between them was taut. For a moment, it was just the two of them—the unspoken father of the team and the anchor—measuring what had to be done against what it might cost them.

Finally, Hotch gave a short nod. “Pairs. No one goes out alone,” His sharp gaze cut around the table, unyielding. “Keep the radios on, even if reception’s patchy. Call in every five minutes. If a pair misses a check-in, we regroup immediately. No exceptions.”

JJ circled back from where she was standing at the map. “If the storm keeps building, visibility’s going to drop even more. If he’s moving, we need to cover both possible directions.”

“Agreed,” Rossi said, tapping the map. “One pair takes the main road and the wooded cut-through. Second stays on the perimeter near the precinct in case he doubles back.”

Hotch turned his attention back to Garcia, who was still connected over the phone. “Stay on his GPS,” Hotch instructed. “If there’s even a flicker of movement on that car, you tell me.”

“Already on it, sir,” she said, her voice steadier now, fingers flying across her keyboard.

Hotch straightened, buttoning his coat. His tone softened by a thread, though his expression didn’t. “Reid made the smartest call he could. Now it’s on us to get to him before the storm does.”

There were solemn nods all around. But as the team pulled on gear and grouped by twos, Hotch’s eyes lingered on the door, a storm all his own behind them.

He’d been right about Reid’s logic. He just wished he hadn’t been.

Reid’s POV

The world had vanished into white.

Snow whipped sideways, stinging his face, clinging to his lashes. Reid hunched low, his arms wrapped tight around his chest, scarf pulled high against the wind. Every breath burned cold in his lungs.

He’d been walking, he thought, for maybe fifteen minutes. It was hard to tell. Time was slipping in his mind, muffled by the storm. His legs already ached from pushing through knee-deep drifts, and each step felt heavier than the last.

He forced his mind to stay sharp, running calculations with each breath.

Average human walking speed: 3 miles an hour. Cut in half for snow depth. Halved again for wind resistance. That meant…
He stumbled, shook his head, tried again.
Less than a mile in fifteen minutes. Maybe less.

He glanced behind him, only to see the wind erase his footprints in seconds.

“Not helpful,” he muttered, voice lost to the storm.

His hands were numb despite his gloves, his toes burning in his boots. He knew the symptoms too well. Early hypothermia: shivering, clumsy fingers, slurred thoughts. His odds shrank with every minute.

But he knew stopping wasn’t an option. Stopping meant the same odds as staying in the car. Stopping meant freezing in the dark, alone.

He kept walking, eyes narrowed against the whiteout. He thought of Hotch—pacing, already knowing he was gone too long. Of JJ, hopefully already back safe. Of Morgan, Rossi, Emily, all of them.

He thought of how Hotch’s voice always cut through the noise, sharp and steady. The way he’d murmured, after a hundred close calls: “You’re okay, you’re gonna be alright.”

Reid latched onto that, the memory of it, repeating it silently with each step. They’ll find me. Just keep moving. They’ll find me.

His legs buckled once in the drift. He hit the snow hard, knocking the breath out of him. For a second—just a second—his body begged him to stay there, to let the storm cover him.

No, he thought stubbornly to himself.

He forced himself up, swaying, his head beginning to pound. He wrapped his arms tighter, shoved one foot forward, then another.

Keep moving. They’ll find me. They’ll find me…

The storm swallowed both sight and sound, but the Bureau SUVs crawled forward anyway, headlights reduced to hazy orbs in the swirling snow.

Inside the first vehicle, Hotch gripped the wheel, his jaw tight, eyes squinting to see through the windshield in the near-impossible visibility. Rossi sat in the passenger seat, map spread across his lap, flashlight bouncing off the paper.

“East road’s barely passable,” Rossi muttered. “If he went on foot, odds are he tried to follow it back.”

Hotch’s fingers flexed on the wheel. “Unless it was buried before he got the chance. He would’ve recalculated.”

Rossi’s eyes flicked over, measuring the sharp edge in Hotch’s tone. “Which means he’s still moving. He’s smart. He knows to keep moving.”

Hotch didn’t answer, but his knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

***

In the second SUV, Emily leaned forward in the passenger seat, radio in hand. Static crackled, words breaking in and out.

“—mily, Morgan, it’s Rossi. Visibility’s less than fifty feet here. Any sign?”

Morgan swore softly, peering through the blur of snow as he drove. “We’re crawling at ten miles an hour and can’t see squat,” he said, not bothering to hide the frustration and worry lining his voice. “Tell me again why boy genius thought walking out was the better idea?”

Emily’s lips pressed thin, though her voice stayed calm. “Because the car wasn’t safe either, and you know it. If anyone could run the odds, it’s Reid.”

Morgan’s jaw worked, but he had no real argument.

“Yeah, well. He'd better be right about his math.”

Back at the precinct, JJ paced in front of the radio table with the comms connected, one hand gripping her opposite arm so tightly that her knuckles blanched.

“Hotch, Rossi— how’re you doing?” she called, straining against the static.

Hotch’s voice crackled through, steady but clipped. “Still on Route 6. No visual.”

JJ exhaled sharply, tried again. “Emily and Morgan?”

Emily’s voice broke through this time. “Heading up the west side cut-through. Nothing yet.”

JJ’s hand pressed to her forehead as she tried to breathe steadily. Behind her, Garcia’s voice came through the speakerphone, gentle but urgent.

“I’ll keep triangulating,” she said shakily. “If Reid’s carrying his phone, we might catch a signal bounce, something…”

“Keep working your magic, Penelope,” JJ murmured, pacing in front of the table again, her hands coming up behind her head as she exhaled sharply.

They’re going to find him, she thought to herself, repeating it over and over again, like a mantra, like a prayer.

She willed herself to glance at the clock on the wall, and couldn’t hold back a wince.

It’d been thirty minutes since Reid went missing.

Reid’s POV

The storm had blurred into one endless wall of white, each step a battle against the cold gnawing at his bones. Reid’s legs shook with every move, and his breath came sharp and ragged, each one scraping his throat raw. He had to have been walking for at least forty minutes, maybe more. He’d lost track of time a little while ago.

Then, through the blur, he was just able to make out a structure.

A wooden post, nearly swallowed by the drifts. Faded paint clung to the remains of a trail marker, and behind it, the outline of a fence corner where snow piled higher, shielding a small pocket from the worst of the wind.

Reid stumbled toward it, half-falling against the post. His gloved fingers clutched rough wood, the solidness of it grounding him. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

His brain ran the numbers again, slow but stubborn.

Reduced windchill: survivability improves by 15–20%.
Visibility for a search party: higher chance of spotting a landmark than open snow.

Reid’s knees buckled, dropping him into the snow at the base of the post. The fence blocked just enough of the wind that it felt like relief, even if icy flakes still stung his skin.

Reid curled tighter into himself, his teeth chattering so hard it hurt. His mind kept whispering that this was dangerous, that sleep in the cold was the last thing he should allow.

But his body… his body was begging. His limbs were trembling so much he’d doubt he’d make it back to the precinct by this point, anyway. His lungs were aching, and the weight of exhaustion pressed heavily on him.

“Just… for a minute,” he whispered to no one. “Half a minute.”

The snow muffled everything as he slumped against the post, his eyes fluttering shut.

His last thought before darkness brushed the edges of his mind wasn’t of the storm or the cold. It was Hotch’s voice, steady and certain, echoing in memory: You’re going to be okay.

The SUV crawled forward through the storm, Rossi leaning forward in the passenger seat, flashlight beam cutting uselessly against the wall of white.

“Hold up—” Rossi’s hand shot out, bracing on the dash. “There. By the fencepost.”

Hotch squinted. Through the blur, half-buried in snow, he could just make out a shape, small and still.

He knew. Whether it was the way Reid curled in on himself, his hair sticking out from under his hood, or the simple fact that no one else would be out in this storm right now, he knew it was Reid.

Hotch’s chest constricted painfully. “God, no.”

Before Rossi could say a word, Hotch threw the SUV into park and was out the door, snow lashing against him instantly.

He barreled forward, boots sinking deep, vision narrowing until it was only that shape by the post. The storm seemed to mute, sound falling away until all he heard was the thunder of his own heart.

“Reid!” His voice was raw, sharp against the wind. No answer.

Hotch dropped to his knees beside his fallen agent, gloves clumsy as he brushed snow from Reid’s face and shoulders. His skin was icy, his hair crusted with frost, and his lips tinged blue.

“Reid—come on, come on,” Hotch urged, shaking him lightly. Nothing. Not even a groan.

Hotch’s heart slammed against his ribs. He bent closer, voice breaking despite the steadiness of his hands. “Don’t do this to me. Wake up.”

Nothing.

“Spencer—” Hotch’s voice cracked, but his hands were steady as he removed his glove and pressed two fingers against Reid’s neck. For one awful second there was nothing—then a faint, thready pulse fluttered under his fingertips.

Hotch’s chest heaved, eyes squeezing shut for one ragged second. “Thank God,” he breathed, the words catching in his throat.

Behind him, Rossi’s boots crunched through snow. “Aaron—”

“He’s alive,” Hotch said quickly, almost defensively, like he couldn’t let anyone think otherwise. He looked down again at Reid’s still form, his jaw tight. “But he’s freezing.”

He slid his arms under Reid carefully, almost afraid to move him, every instinct screaming not to hurt him further. His mind raced—protocols, risks—but the storm roared louder. Out here, seconds cost too much.

Rossi’s voice was steady, grounding. “We have to move him. We don’t have time.”

Hotch nodded sharply, swallowing down the panic. He gathered Reid up, cradling his head against his chest, tucking him close to shield him from the wind, though it hardly mattered anymore.

Reid’s weight was shockingly light, even limp in his arms. Hotch pulled him tighter, whispering reassurances to him, even if Reid couldn’t hear him. “I’ve got you. You hold on. Just a little longer.”

The wind tore at them as Hotch staggered upright with Reid pressed against him. He carried Reid toward the SUV, the promise that had kept him going since the storm began: We’ll find you. You’re going to be okay.

Rossi floored the gas as far as the snow allowed, the SUV’s headlights carving shaky tunnels through the whiteout. The windshield wipers thumped uselessly against sheets of ice.

In the backseat, Hotch had Reid wrapped tight against him, his own coat stripped off and pulled around them both. He pressed Reid’s icy hands between his own, willing warmth into them.

“His breathing’s shallow,” Hotch muttered, his voice rough. He shifted, pulling Reid closer. “Can you get that heater any warmer?”

“Working on it,” Rossi said, hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed on the treacherous road.

Hotch’s gaze kept darting between Reid’s pale face and the rise and fall of his chest. He pressed two fingers back against his throat.

“Stay with me,” Hotch murmured, words fierce but quiet. He rubbed Reid’s arms briskly through the layers of fabric, trying to coax circulation back. “You hear me? Just stay with me.”

Rossi’s voice cut in, calm but edged with urgency. “Aaron. We’re not getting an ambulance out here. Not in this.”

Hotch’s head snapped up. “Then we’ll drive him to the hospital ourselves.”

“The roads won’t hold. We’ll get stuck again before we’re halfway, just like Reid did.” Rossi’s eyes flicked to the rearview, meeting Hotch’s frantic stare for a beat. “Best shot’s the precinct. They’re a public safety facility; everyone’s merged. It’s closer, and we’ve got EMTs stationed there. It’s our best shot.”

Hotch’s jaw clenched, his mind racing through every possible scenario. He looked down at Reid again, saw the tremors still shaking his body, and felt the icy chill bleeding into his own clothes.

He didn’t like it. In fact, he hated it, but Rossi was right.

“Call ahead,” Hotch ordered finally, his voice breaking with tension. “Tell them to be ready. Blankets, heat packs, oxygen—anything.”

“Already on it,” Rossi said, flipping the comms. “JJ— yeah, listen, we got him. We need you to alert the others that this is way worse than we thought…”

Hotch tuned Rossi out, whispering as he pressed a hand protectively over Reid’s chest, like he had to feel Reid’s shallow breathing for himself or else it would slip away.

“Hold on, Spencer. We’re almost there.”

Reid felt something warm. Heavy. Wrapped around him like… like arms. The storm’s roar was muffled by a low hum. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were heavy. Blurred shapes swam with the effort, but he knew. He knew.

“Knew it,” he whispered, or maybe just thought it. His lips barely moved. He wanted to say more. You found me. I knew you would. I’m freezing… I think… but the hug helps. Hugs are warm… get me warm… Hotch is hugging me… never gonna let that down… But it came out jumbled, lost in the fog of his own breath.

He tried again, voice catching. “—hug…”

The words tangled, his chest aching with the effort. It was all he could make out.

***

“Spencer?” Hotch’s heart lurched as Reid’s head shifted against his chest, lips parting. He bent low, desperate to catch the sound. “We’re here, we found you. It’s okay.”

The words that came back were broken and slurred. Hotch strained to make them out, his brows drawn tight. Hug? Freezing? God, the kid was freezing.

“Shh, shh,” Hotch soothed quickly, pressing his chin to Reid’s damp hair. He rubbed circles along his arm, trying to coax the shivering back when he felt it stop. “Don’t try and talk, alright? Save your strength. We’ll figure it out later. Just stay with me.”

Reid made another faint sound, his muscles tightening painfully. Hotch tightened his grip, willing every ounce of his own warmth into Reid.

***

The words slipped away, jumbling themselves up in Reid’s mind, but the tone—that deep, steady voice—cut through the fog.

Save… strength. Stay with me.

It was enough. Enough to lean into, enough to stop fighting for one second. His body sagged heavier into the hold, comfort tucked around the dark edges of fear.

***

Hotch felt the weight shift, Reid slumping closer. His throat constricted, but his grip never wavered. “That’s it, I’ve got you. Just a little longer.”

He glanced at Rossi in the rearview, the older man’s eyes grim but steady. The precinct lights were still a blur in the distance, but closer now.

Closer wasn’t fast enough. Hotch held Reid tighter, whispering fiercely. “We’re not losing you. You’re gonna be okay, I promise.”

Whether Hotch believed his words for himself didn’t matter. What mattered is that Reid believed them.

The SUV skidded to a halt outside the precinct, tires crunching through slush. Rossi barely shifted into park before the doors were yanked open.

Two EMTs were waiting, kits already in hand. Behind them, a handful of officers—faces tight, some muttering amongst themselves—had cleared a path into the building. They’d been ready, thanks to Rossi’s call and JJ’s intervention.

Hotch pushed out of the SUV, Reid still cradled tight against him, his coat wrapped around the limp body. The frigid air bit at them both, but Hotch didn’t feel it—only the terrifying cold radiating off Reid.

“We’ve got to get him inside,” Hotch barked, his voice sharp and urgent. “Right now.”

They surged through the doors, warmth slamming against them like a wall. Someone shoved blankets into an EMT’s hands, and someone else was clearing out a corner to make space to lay Reid down.

Hotch carried Reid to the cleared corner, kneeling with him still wrapped in his arms. The EMTs dropped to their knees immediately, pulling equipment free.

“We’ll take him, sir—” one started.

“No,” The word was clipped, much more so than Hotch would normally allow himself to be. He shifted Reid tighter against his chest, as if the kid might vanish if he let go, and took a breath to steady himself. “I’ve got him. Just—can you help him while I hold him? Body heat will help…”

Hotch trailed off as he glanced down at Reid again. God, the kid was so pale.

The EMT hesitated, glancing at Rossi. Rossi gave the faintest nod, indicating they were going to have more of a fight than they had time for if they tried to get Reid out of Hotch’s grip.

“Alright, let’s move,” the lead EMT said sharply, sending everyone into action.

Blankets were piled on, an oxygen mask fitted, and warm packs were pressed to Reid’s sides and chest. Hotch didn’t move, his arms a protective barrier even as the EMTs and officers leaned in to work. His hand stayed at Reid’s pulse point, monitoring every flutter as the EMTs and officers talked around them.

“Get that mask fitted better on his face, Allen, pull it tight— there we go, much better…”

“Numbers aren’t looking good—”

“AED on standby for DFIB, just in case—”

“Allen, do you want to push a line in?”

Allen, who Hotch quickly deduced was the lead EMT, shook his head as he accepted another blanket from an officer and gently peeled back Reid’s wet layers to stick electrodes on his chest for monitoring.

“No, he’s not stable enough. We need to bring his core temperature up, and quickly— he’s reading at 85.2.”

A few of the officers and the other paramedic cursed under their breath.

“Let’s get him out of these wet clothes, come on—”

“Presley, get that pulse ox on his finger… good, thank you…”

One officer hovered nearby, the one who had given Allen another blanket. He crouched down next to Hotch.

“We’ve got heaters going, sir. We’re keeping it as warm as we can.”

Hotch didn’t look up from Reid’s pale face, but he nodded.

“Thank you,” he said as sincerely as he could, exhaustion straining the edge of his voice.

His focus shifted back on the shallow rise and fall of Reid’s chest, the faint fog of Reid’s breath against his coat.

“How’s he doing?” Hotch dared to ask. Allen looked up from taking Reid’s pulse.

“He’s bradycardic. We’re at 42 BPM.” Allen said shortly. “What I’m most concerned about is his breathing, and we’ve got to get him shivering consistently. As long as we can get him shivering, everything should start to rise in numbers. Slowly.”

Rossi let himself exhale. He could see the way Hotch held Reid a little tighter than necessary, the tremor in his hand as he brushed damp hair away from Reid’s face. Hotch was holding on so tight because he had to; that image still ingrained in his mind for over twenty minutes straight: Reid still and silent in the snow. Letting go, even now, wasn’t an option.

After twenty minutes or so of willing Reid to hold on with a hope and a prayer, Allen’s voice cut through the soft beeping of the portable monitors surrounding Reid.

“We’ve got circulation coming back, but it’s slow. Let’s keep him warm, and let’s try to get him talking.”

Hotch adjusted the oxygen mask carefully, brushing damp curls off Reid’s forehead. “Spencer?” His voice was low, and he forced it steady in a way that he didn’t feel. “You’re safe. We got you inside, we’re warming you up now. Just listen to me.”

A faint groan answered him, muffled against the mask. Reid shifted weakly, his head pressing faintly against Hotch’s chest.

“That’s it,” Hotch whispered, tightening his hold. “There you go, I’ve got you. Just a little more.”

Reid’s lips moved under the mask, slurred, tangled syllables spilling out. Hotch bent closer, desperate to catch them.

“…knew you… find me…”

Hotch’s throat tightened. He smoothed his hand through Reid’s damp hair. “That’s right, we found you. You’re going to be alright.”

Katie, the other primary EMT, slid another warm pack under the blankets, nodding. “He’s trying, that’s good,” she affirmed. “Any type of engagement right now is good. Don’t push him too hard.”

Hotch nodded, but his eyes stayed locked on Reid. “Spencer, can you open your eyes for me?” he coaxed softly. “Hm? Just for a second.”

There was a pause, and Reid’s lashes fluttered, but they didn’t lift. His body sagged heavily against Hotch instead, exhaustion winning out.

Hotch swallowed hard, shifting to keep Reid supported slightly upright to aid his breathing. “Shh, it’s alright. We’ll try again later. Just breathe, it’s alright.”

Across the room, Hotch could see that Morgan, JJ, and Emily had crowded near the doorway and were talking with Rossi. He knew they saw how he was with Reid, how he was holding him, how his voice had gentled into something almost unrecognizable.

They saw the truth of it in every motion: Hotch wasn’t holding Reid just to keep him warm. He was holding him because he’d thought—just an hour ago—that he’d lost him. And he wasn’t about to let that go.

***

Team POV

The precinct doors slammed open again, wind rushing in with Morgan and Emily as they stumbled through, cheeks red from the cold. JJ was already rushing down the hall from another wing, breathless, Garcia still talking through the speakerphone she clutched like a lifeline.

They skidded to a halt at the entrance of the makeshift treatment corner.

Reid was bundled in layers of blankets, oxygen mask fitted, his thin frame shaking beneath the pile. EMTs knelt around him, voices clipped and urgent as they swapped packs and checked vitals. Officers hovered with more blankets and warm packs, seeing what they could do to help.

And in the middle of it all, Hotch was on the floor, his coat still wrapped around Reid, one arm locked protectively across Reid’s chest, his other hand steady at his neck. His voice was low and constant, carrying just enough across the room that they could hear him whispering to Reid.

“You’re okay. You’re gonna be alright, I promise, just breathe. Stay with me, now.”

JJ’s breath hitched. Morgan’s jaw clenched, his hands flexing uselessly. Emily pressed her lips tight, her eyes stinging.

It was Rossi who moved first, a hand lifted to bar them gently from surging forward. His voice was low, firm. “Give them space.”

“But—” JJ’s voice cracked.

Rossi turned to her, his own features grave but calm. “Listen to me. We found him curled up outside by an old fencepost. He’s alive, but definitely hypothermic. EMTs are doing everything they can.” He paused, lowering his voice even further. “Hotch hasn’t let go since we pulled him out of the snow.”

“Why isn’t he at the hospital?” Emily demanded, protectiveness breaking through her anger.

“We would have gotten caught in the storm before we made it, just like Reid did,” Rossi explained gently. “His best chance was getting him back here. As soon as this breaks, he’s going straight to the hospital.”

Morgan scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaling hard through his nose. Emily’s hand brushed against JJ’s, grounding.

“How long was he out there?” Morgan asked, his voice low like he didn’t really want to know the answer.

“We got back about twenty minutes ago,” Rossi answered. “So that means he was out in that storm for an hour, give or take.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Right now,” Rossi continued, eyes sweeping over them, “the best thing we can do is not crowd them. If you want to help, start warming some more of those packs up.” Rossi gestured to where some of the officers were cutting through to the EMT’s area of the building.

“Reid needs us to be calm. And Hotch…” Rossi’s gaze flicked toward their unit chief, bent protectively over Reid. “…Hotch needs to believe we trust him to keep the kid safe.”

The four of them lingered for a moment, hearts collectively pounding, watching the frantic, fragile scene play out just feet away.

One hour after Reid’s rescue

Time stretched thin.

The EMTs worked in relentless rhythm, swapping warmed blankets, shifting heat packs, and checking vitals every five to ten minutes. The storm outside howled on, shaking the precinct windows, but in the corner of the room, the world had narrowed to the steady, exhausting fight to keep Reid warm.

Hotch hadn’t moved from the floor. His arm remained braced around Reid’s chest, hand pressed over his sternum, feeling each shallow rise and fall. Every time Reid shivered, Hotch whispered encouragement; every time the tremors stilled too long, he urged him back.

“Stay with me, Spencer, okay? You’re warming up. You’re doing so well.”

Katie glanced at her monitor, brow furrowed. She leaned closer, fingers at Reid’s wrist.

Hotch followed suit, pressing again at the pulse point in Reid’s neck. For one frozen second, he braced for the same fragile flutter.

But, to his surprise, the beat beneath his fingers was stronger. Still faint, but steadier than before. A thrum, a rhythm with substance.

Hotch’s chest clenched with something sharp, like the first gasp of air after drowning. “He’s stronger,” he murmured, turning to Allen, who had been stationed at Reid’s side with him the whole time. “His pulse—he’s stronger.”

Allen confirmed quickly, nodding. “Heart rate’s coming up. He’s at 55 BPM now, which is a step in the right direction.”

Allen pressed the back of his hand to Reid’s forehead, and Katie handed him the thermometer.

“Alright, Spencer,” Allen addressed Reid gently as he stirred a little from the cool metal of the thermometer. “We’re just checking how you’re doing.”

Allen pulled his hand away at the thermometer’s beep and straightened up to show Hotch and Katie the numbers.

86.9

“His temperature’s coming up,” Allen said. “All good signs.”

Hotch closed his eyes briefly, relief pouring through him like fire and ice at once, his throat tightening.

Across the room, Rossi’s watchful gaze softened. He caught JJ and Morgan’s gazes, where they were helping the officers rotate warming packs so they could be switched out. He gave a subtle nod and gestured his head toward Reid.

It’s working.

JJ pressed trembling fingers to her lips, tears brimming. Morgan let out a low breath, tension easing in his shoulders.

When Emily made an appearance from down the hall with another stack of blankets, she hugged JJ when she heard Reid’s progress.

And all the while, Hotch kept his hold firm, whispering as though Reid could hear him.

“You’re coming back. You’re going to be okay.”

Two hours since Reid’s rescue

The EMTs swapped heat packs and jotted down vitals every twenty minutes or so now that Reid seemed to be holding his own, at least a little better.

“Pulse is holding steady,” Katie murmured, adjusting Reid’s mask. “Temperature’s rising slowly. He might start to rouse again soon, but don’t expect full clarity yet. His body’s still fighting.”

Hotch nodded, tightening his arm around Reid’s shoulders. “He’ll have me when he does.”

Just then, Reid stirred faintly, a weak groan catching under the oxygen mask. His head shifted against Hotch’s chest, lashes fluttering.

Hotch bent close, voice soft but firm. “Spencer, can you hear me? It’s Hotch. You’re safe. Just open your eyes for me.”

For a long moment, nothing. Then, slowly, those lashes lifted, hazel eyes half-lidded but open, squinting against the light.

“That’s it,” Hotch whispered, brushing his thumb gently across Reid’s temple. “There you go, you’re alright.”

A murmur slipped out, unintelligible but reaching, and Hotch leaned in further. “Don’t force it, just breathe. That’s all you need to do right now.”

From across the room, JJ’s breath hitched. She looked at Morgan and Emily, eyes wide.

The three of them moved closer, steps hesitant but drawn in. They needed to see him themselves. They stopped just at the edge of the circle of EMTs, eyes fixed on their friend in Hotch’s arms.

And then, for a moment, their gazes flicked to Hotch.

Hotch didn’t notice. His world had narrowed to the barely-there hazel eyes on him and the faint sound of Reid’s breath through the mask.

Morgan crouched down first, hesitating just for a moment. “Hotch…” His voice was rough, carrying more weight than the single word could hold.

Hotch glanced up, eyes sharp and tired all at once. “He’s going to be okay,” he said immediately. The words were firm, absolute—like if he said them enough, they’d carve themselves into truth. “We’re through the worst of it.”

Morgan exchanged a look with JJ and Emily. That wasn’t the question.

JJ folded down onto the floor next, her hand brushing Reid’s blanket-covered shoulder, her gaze fixed on Hotch. “We know,” she said softly. “Rossi told us.”

Emily eased down beside her, her expression gentler than her usual sharp edge. “How about you?” she asked carefully. “How are you holding up?”

Hotch didn’t answer right away. His eyes dropped back to Reid, his hand brushing absently over damp curls.

The silence stretched. The team waited, the circle closing tighter. At some point, Rossi joined behind them.

Finally, Hotch’s voice came low, rough around the edges. “He scared the hell out of me,” he admitted, his hand stilled over Reid’s temple, his jaw tightening. “I thought—” He cut himself off, shaking his head sharply. “I thought we were losing him.”

The raw honesty cracked something in the air.

JJ’s hand brushed his arm gently. “We’re not going to,” she whispered.

Morgan leaned in closer, steady as ever. “He’s tougher than he looks, man. Always has been.”

Emily’s smile was small and soft. “He’s got all of us.”

Hotch didn’t answer, but his shoulders eased just slightly under their presence.

Three hours since Reid’s rescue

The precinct buzzed with the quiet routine of assisting Reid for the last few hours. The EMTs stayed close, rotating shifts of vitals and equipment, their movements steady now instead of frantic. Officers filtered in and out, arms full of whatever they could scavenge—blankets warmed in front of space heaters, steaming mugs of water for hands stiff with cold, spare batteries for monitors.

The team folded seamlessly into the rhythm. JJ knelt near Reid’s side, one hand resting lightly over the blankets on his shoulder, murmuring soft encouragements even if he couldn’t fully hear her. Emily and Morgan worked silently with an officer at the heater, warming packs before carefully passing them along to the EMTs. Rossi stayed closest to Hotch, orbiting just behind him.

Hotch still hadn’t moved from the floor. Reid was still cradled against his chest, head tucked under his chin, layers of blankets and Hotch’s own coat cocooning them both. Hotch’s arm stayed firm across him, palm spread steady over his sternum, as though he could will Reid’s heartbeat stronger with sheer force.

People who had initially come to Reid’s aid when getting him inside and settled down were still checking in, and Hotch couldn’t say he minded having so many people close by and willing to help. It was the best they were going to get until they could get him out of here, and it could have been worse, even if the current circumstances were less than ideal.

“Sir, another blanket.” An officer crouched, offering it.

Hotch accepted carefully, unwrapping Reid carefully from the original blankets and tucking the new warmer one closer around Reid.

His voice was softer now, though still low. “Thank you.”

“Got another heat pack for him, ready to switch out when you are,” Emily murmured, sliding the warm pouch toward his hand. He placed it against Reid’s side with infinite care.

“Hotch,” JJ said quietly, leaning closer. “Do you need anything? You haven’t moved in hours.”

He shook his head, brushing damp curls from Reid’s forehead. “I’m okay. But… thank you.”

Hotch gestured Rossi over, lowering his voice.

“Once the storm breaks, we’ll—”

The faintest shift against his chest made him stop cold.

Hotch looked down at the bundle against his chest. Reid’s head turned weakly against his arm, a faint groan slipping past the oxygen mask. His lashes fluttered, and his lips were working, trying to form words.

“Spencer?” Hotch’s entire voice changed in an instant, soft and intent. He adjusted the mask carefully, leaning close. “We’re right here, it’s okay. Take your time.”

Allen’s eyes tracked one of the monitors, carefully reading the output, making sure Reid wasn’t pushing himself more than his body would allow.

Reid blinked blearily, eyes only half-open but searching. His lips moved again, a shaky sound muffled under the mask.

Hotch bent closer, practically holding his breath. “What is it?”

“…c-old…” The word was faint, broken, but clear.

Hotch’s throat tightened. He cupped Reid’s cheek gently, his voice catching. “I know. You’re warming up now. You’re doing so well, alright?”

JJ, crouched nearby, pressed her hand against her mouth, tears spilling freely. Emily’s gaze softened, her shoulders sagging with relief. Morgan let out a low, shaky laugh under his breath, almost disbelieving.

Allen checked Reid’s pulse at his wrist again, nodding when he gently pulled his hand away. “We’re at 64 BPM,” he informed them, even his voice sounding slightly relieved. “He’ll probably wake more frequently.”

Rossi’s voice was quiet but firm. “That’s the best sound we’ve heard all night.”

Hotch nodded faintly, eyes locked on Reid. “Yeah,” he whispered, thumb brushing against his temple. “Yeah, it is.”

Reid’s eyes drifted half-shut again, but his breathing stayed steady, his body less tense beneath the blankets.

Hotch held him tighter, whispering so softly it was barely audible. “Stay with me, kid. We’re almost through it.”

None of them mentioned that it was the first time they’d ever heard Hotch address Reid directly by that term since the first week he joined the team.

***

Another half-hour crawled by. The storm rattled the windows, howling against the walls of the precinct, but inside, the warmth built slowly.

Reid shivered violently beneath the layers piled on him, the tremors racking his thin frame nonstop. It was pitiful to watch, his teeth chattering, fingers twitching against Hotch’s coat, but Allen reassured them every few minutes.

“This is good, Agent Hotchner,” Allen murmured, coming over and checking the monitor clipped to Reid’s finger. “Shivering this much means his body’s regulating again. He’s holding steady at 88.1. Heart rate’s more consistent, too. That’s exactly what we want.”

“Thank you,” Hotch murmured, meeting Allen’s eyes and giving him a brisk nod. Hotch’s hand never left Reid’s chest, steady against the fabric of blankets. He swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on Reid’s pale face.

“As soon as this storm breaks,” he said again, his voice taking on a firmer tone, as though sheer conviction could bend the weather to his will, “we’re taking him straight to the hospital.”

Emily, crouching nearby with another warm pack, nodded softly. “Of course.”

JJ exchanged a glance with Rossi. “We’ll be ready the second it clears.”

Morgan leaned back against the wall, rubbing his hands over his face. “Storm better listen to you, Hotch.” His voice tried for humor, but his eyes were heavy with the same fear they all carried.

Rossi caught the undercurrent, his gaze steady. He understood. Hotch needed this. Needed the hope in his head that they would be able to get Reid out of here soon and to the hospital.

None of them had the heart to tell him what they all knew—the storm wasn’t ending anytime soon.

Instead, they let him talk, let him anchor himself in a plan he could cling to.

Hotch bent his head closer to Reid, murmuring low enough only the kid in his arms could hear, trying to coax some sort of reaction from him. “You hear that? We’ll get you to the hospital soon. Just hold on a little longer.”

Reid stirred faintly at Hotch’s voice and trembled harder against him, but his breathing stayed steady.

Hotch tightened his hold, his own chest aching with each shiver.

“Shh,” Hotch soothed. “Just keep breathing for me.”

Reid shifted weakly again in Hotch’s arms, his lashes fluttering as if each blink cost him more strength than it should. His lips parted, a breathy murmur slipping out.

“…t—team?”

Hotch leaned close, instantly tuned to the fragile thread of his voice.

“They’re safe, all of them. Everyone else came back alright.”

Reid’s eyes cracked open again, hazy and uncertain. Hotch’s chest tightened. He needed something—something to ground him, to keep those eyes open.

“Look,” Hotch whispered gently. He tilted Reid just enough that he could see across the room. “Emily’s right over there.”

Emily, kneeling by the heater with another warmed pack, turned at the sound of her name. Her eyes widened when she realized Reid was watching her. She offered the smallest smile, her voice soft but sure.

“Hi, Spencer,” she whispered, her voice gentle.

Hotch continued, steady and calm. “JJ’s beside you,” he narrated next, and JJ shifted a little so Reid could see her better.

Her hand, which was already resting on Reid’s blanket, squeezed lightly. “You’re okay, Spence. You made it.”

Reid’s gaze shifted slowly, following where Hotch pointed next.

“Morgan,” Hotch said, nodding toward the wall.

Morgan pushed off it immediately, stepping closer with a grin that was too shaky to hide.

“Tough kid. Knew you’d pull through. Scared the hell out of us, though.”

Finally, Hotch’s eyes flicked to Rossi, standing watch just behind him. “And Rossi. He’s been with us since we found you.”

Rossi nodded, his expression all steady reassurance.

“Good to see those eyes open, kid.”

Reid blinked sluggishly, but the faintest ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. His eyes drifted back up toward Hotch, dim but more focused than before.

“…good all… safe…” he whispered, voice frayed.

Hotch’s throat tightened, his hand smoothing across Reid’s hair. Leave it to Reid to be worried about everyone else when he was at death’s door not over four hours ago.

“Let’s just worry about you right now,” Hotch murmured, low enough only Reid could hear.

Reid’s eyes fluttered shut again, but his breathing held steady.

Five hours since Reid’s rescue

The hours dragged on. The storm outside refused to let up, rattling the doors. No one talked about transport anymore. They all knew it wasn’t possible until morning.

Inside their makeshift emergency corner, Reid slept in Hotch’s arms, cocooned in every blanket the precinct owned. Monitors beeped quietly, steady, but fragile. His body still trembled in fits, the shivers easing only when exhaustion dragged him too deep to keep fighting.

The team had fallen into a rhythm. Morgan and Emily kept rotating warming packs by the heater. JJ checked vitals and monitors alongside Hotch and the EMTs. Rossi kept watch over Hotch, intercepting any sign he might be wearing thin.

Hotch still refused to let go of the kid. His arm stayed wrapped around Reid’s chest, his hand pressed flat over his heart like he was daring it to keep beating.

It wasn’t until nearly an hour later that his voice broke the quiet.

“He’s still so cold,” Hotch whispered hoarsely, his thumb brushing against Reid’s temple. The words weren’t meant for anyone in particular, but the team heard. The raw crack in his voice landed heavy in the air.

“He’s shivering, Hotch,” Morgan assured quietly. “That means he’s fighting. That’s what Allen told us—the body fights when it wants to live.”

“His vitals are stronger than they were hours ago,” JJ added softly, squeezing Hotch’s arm. You’ve kept him steady this long. We’re doing everything we can. You know that.”

Emily shifted down beside him, sliding another warm pack under Reid’s blanket with careful hands.

“None of us are letting him slip,” she added. “He’s made it this long. We’ll get him to the hospital by daybreak, and then we’ll get him home before we know it.”

Rossi’s hand came to rest on Hotch’s shoulder.

“Aaron, take a breath. Look at him.”

Hotch dragged his eyes back to Reid, chest rising and falling in a fragile rhythm against his arm. Alive. Still here.

The team stayed close, their presence solid, steadying the cracks in his composure.

Hotch’s jaw tightened, his hand brushing over Reid’s damp curls again. “…thank you,” he murmured, voice breaking, though whether it was for Reid, or for them, no one asked.

***

Another hour blurred by as the precinct clock ticked past midnight. The storm outside was relentless, the snow piling higher, but inside the precinct, everyone was on top of checking Reid- checking vitals, rotating heat packs, and keeping him cocooned in warmth.

Katie came back with a younger paramedic, Presley, to take Allen’s place. Katie took Reid’s wrist carefully, her eyes on her watch.

“Heart rate’s better,” she assured. “Still low, but climbing. Temperature too. He’s stabilizing.”

Hotch exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that only came from holding everything in for too long. His hand smoothed over Reid’s curls again, grounding himself in the steady thump beneath his palm.

An officer came by with another stack of blankets, pausing to ask, “Need anything else, Agent Hotchner?”

Hotch shook his head automatically. “No, thank you. Just—thank you all, really, for everything you’ve done for him already.”

JJ exchanged a look with Emily, both of them reading the strain in his voice but not pushing. Instead, they busied themselves folding and warming more cloth, making themselves useful in the way they knew he’d accept.

It was Rossi who eased down beside him a little later. His hand rested on his knee for a moment before he spoke.

“You know,” Rossi started, voice soft, “that couch over there might do you both some good.”

Hotch’s eyes didn’t leave Reid’s pale face. “I’m not putting him down.” The words came raw, stripped down to the core of everything he felt.

Rossi nodded, unsurprised. “Didn’t think you would. Just… it might be easier on your back.” His gaze flicked toward Reid, then back to Hotch. “You’ve been holding him for hours.”

“He’s right,” Katie piped up nonchalantly from where she was adjusting Reid’s mask. Hotch swore he saw the corners of her mouth twitch up. She’d given up on the battle of getting him to move long ago.

Rossi’s voice was low, calm. “Aaron. Let us help you.”

Hotch shook his head immediately, jaw tight. “I can’t put him down. I just—” He cut himself off and took a breath. “I know it’s irrational. But I can’t.”

“You don’t have to,” Rossi said gently. “You can take him with you. But the floor’s doing you both more harm than good. You’ve been holding him for six hours straight. Your arms are trembling. He needs you steady.”

The words finally hit, because Rossi wasn’t asking for Hotch’s sake. He was asking for Reid’s.

Hotch’s breath caught, and for the first time all night, the fight drained from his shoulders. He gave the smallest nod, voice rough. “…help me.”

Rossi moved immediately, bracing a hand under Hotch’s arm.

“Come on,” he muttered, Katie and Presley standing as well, Katie steadying Hotch’s other arm while Presley gathered Reid’s equipment to move over.

Together, they managed to get Hotch up, Reid never leaving his arms, and guided him to the couch. Hotch sank onto it, leaning back against the extra piled blankets, Reid still cradled tightly against his chest. Hotch’s body eased, no longer locked in tension against the hard floor. Reid stirred faintly at the shift, sighing weakly, but settled again against the warmth.

Hotch exhaled a shaky breath, one hand fixing the blanket caught around Reid.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

Rossi placed a hand on Hotch’s shoulder before moving back.

“Now you can keep him warm, and not collapse in the process,” Rossi said lightly.

Hotch didn’t answer, but the gratitude in his eyes when they flicked up for a second was enough. For the first time since they’d found Reid, Rossi saw a crack of relief cross Hotch’s face.

The storm outside roared on, but in their little corner of the precinct, the world had narrowed to the sound of Reid’s shallow breaths and the steady beeping of his pulse ox.

Around 1 am, Allen returned. “Let’s recheck him,” he said quietly to Katie and Presley.

Hotch adjusted his hold just enough for Presley to slip the thermometer under Reid’s arm, his hand never leaving Reid’s chest. He didn’t breathe until the soft beep cut through the air.

Allen glanced down at the screen and allowed himself a small smile at the results.

“91.4,” he read aloud, relief evident in his voice.

Hotch sighed, his throat tight. “Thank god,” he murmured.

“He’s a fighter,” Presley said quietly, adjusting the pulse ox on Reid’s finger. “That’s excellent, considering where he started.”

JJ let out a soft breath that might’ve been a laugh, hand covering her mouth. Emily’s shoulders dropped, tension easing from her frame.

“Finally,” Morgan muttered under his breath, though his grin betrayed the relief he felt.

Rossi’s hand landed on Hotch’s shoulder again, warm and grounding.

Hotch pressed his lips together, the weight of tears he wouldn’t let fall burning in his chest. His thumb brushed absently against Reid’s hairline, the smallest smile ghosting across his face. “Keep fighting, Spencer,” he murmured. “You’re doing so well.”

Katie tucked the thermometer back into the kit beside her.

“He’s not out of the woods yet,” she reminded them carefully. “But, if he keeps trending up like this, he’s got a good shot.”

For a brief, fragile moment, hope filled the room for the first time all night.

2 am- Eight hours since Reid’s rescue

The precinct was dark, except for the dim desk lamps the officers had dragged into their makeshift triage space. The storm still battered the windows, though quieter now, muffled under the weight of heavy snow.

Hotch sat slouched against the couch cushions, Reid a fragile weight curled against his chest. The kid’s breaths were steadier now, each rise and fall of his chest proof he was still with them. But Hotch’s arms, his mind, his heart—everything felt worn raw.

For hours, he’d been a machine, focused and controlled. The leader who couldn’t falter because his team—and Reid—needed him strong. But now, in the quieter hours, when the others slept in scattered chairs and on desks, the resolve cracked.

“You can’t do this to me again, Spencer,” Hotch whispered. His thumb traced a faint circle against Reid’s temple. He swallowed hard, eyes shutting briefly. “You scared me more than you’ll ever know.”

For a moment, it was only him and Reid, the weight of everything pressing down. Hotch bent his head against Reid’s hair, shoulders trembling as silent tears finally fell. He pressed his lips together hard, trying to choke it back, but the release came anyway. Fear, relief, exhaustion—all of it leaking out in quiet sobs that shook through him.

A warm presence shifted beside him.

Rossi didn’t say a word, but Hotch knew. He lowered himself onto the couch at Hotch’s side, their shoulders touching, and laid a hand steady on Hotch’s arm.

Hotch drew in a shaky breath, unable to speak, eyes shut tight. Rossi’s grip was firm, grounding, letting him know without a word: You’re not carrying this alone.

They sat there like that for who-knew how long with Reid cradled between them, Hotch’s silent tears dampening Reid’s curls.

When the storm inside Hotch finally settled down, Rossi gave his arm one last squeeze before standing.

Hotch pulled himself together as quickly as he had fallen apart, wiping his face dry and steadying his breathing. Rossi pressed a fresh bottle of water into his hand with a small nod, and Hotch managed a quiet, hoarse, “thank you.”

It was then that Reid stirred again. A faint shift, a flutter of fingers against Hotch’s sleeve, and then a weak attempt to move his shoulders.

Hotch immediately leaned forward, voice soft but firm. “Easy. Don’t try to move.”

Reid’s brow creased faintly, lips parting under the oxygen mask. His movements were clumsy, his body still too heavy with exhaustion, but the effort itself made Hotch’s chest ache.

“Spencer,” Hotch murmured, steadying him against his chest. “Just relax.”

Reid blinked sluggishly, eyes not quite opening, but the faintest hum left his throat—acknowledgment, fragile but present.

Hotch hesitated, thumb brushing Reid’s damp curls back from his forehead. He almost didn’t ask, didn’t want to push, but the question slipped out anyway, gentle as a whisper.

“What hurts? Hm?”

For a moment, he thought he’d asked too much. Then Reid’s lips moved, faint words catching against the mask. It took Hotch a second to piece them together.

“...c-cold.”

Hotch’s breath caught. Relief and heartbreak collided in his chest. Reid had answered. Sure, it was faint, barely there, but he did.

“I know,” Hotch murmured, voice trembling as he drew Reid closer, tucking the blankets tighter around him. “I know you are. We’re working on it. You’re warming up.”

Reid shifted again, weak and clumsy, but let himself sink against the warmth. Hotch cradled the back of his head, pressing his cheek briefly to his hair.

“You’re going to be okay,” Hotch promised quietly.

And though Reid didn’t respond again, Hotch felt the faintest sigh against his chest—proof enough that he’d heard.

Reid’s POV

The world was heavy. That was the first thing he knew.

Every inch of him weighed more than it should have, like his body had forgotten how to move.

But there was warmth. Something steady around him, holding him up when his muscles refused to. A heartbeat close by, strong and even, reminding him that he wasn’t alone.

He tried to shift, just a little. Just to see if his body still listened to him. The effort sent a wave of exhaustion and pain through him so fast it made his chest ache. His fingers twitched uselessly against fabric he couldn’t quite identify.

A voice, low and steady, cut through the fog.

“Easy. Don’t try to move.”

Hotch.

The thought came sluggishly, like wading through molasses, but it was enough to keep him from trying again. If Hotch was here, he was safe.

But the cold—it hadn’t left. It clung to his bones, deep and unshakable. He wanted to say it, to explain, though he wasn’t sure he could get the words out.

Then Hotch asked, softly, “What hurts? Hm?”

Reid’s throat felt raw, his lips stiff, but he pushed the air out anyway. “...c-cold.”

He wasn’t sure if it made sense—if Hotch even understood him. The fog pressed heavily on his chest, begging him to stop. But then warmth tightened around him, blankets tugged closer, a hand carding gently through his hair.

“I know, I know you are. We’re working on it. You’re warming up.”

Relief washed through him—not because the cold was gone, but because Hotch’s voice was there, anchoring him through haze.

He tried to move again, just enough to rest his head against that warmth. His body gave in quickly, surrendering to exhaustion. But before the darkness pulled him under again, he heard Hotch’s voice one more time:

“You’re going to be okay.”

And that, more than anything, kept him from being afraid.

4 am- Ten hours since Reid’s rescue

Hotch had gotten used to the rhythm of Reid’s stirring: brief moments of semi-awareness, followed by longer stretches where exhaustion won. But this time was different.

Reid shifted weakly, fingers brushing against Hotch’s sleeve again. Then, slowly, his eyes opened.

At first, they were glazed over and slightly unfocused. But then, after a long blink, Hotch saw something new in them. Awareness. Fragile and fleeting.

“Hey, there you are,” Hotch said softly, his voice steady, though his chest tightened. “Try and stay with me for a few minutes, alright?”

Reid’s gaze flicked toward Hotch’s voice, not quite steady, but found him. For the first time all night, Hotch saw recognition spark in those hazel eyes.

“Yeah,” Hotch breathed, his thumb brushing over Reid’s temple as if to keep him grounded. “That’s it. Good job.”

Reid’s lips parted under the oxygen mask, as if he wanted to speak. No sound came, but the effort alone nearly undid Hotch.

“Shh, you don’t have to talk,” Hotch soothed quickly. “Just keep your eyes on me. You’re doing so well.”

Reid blinked again, slower this time, but the connection didn’t falter. Hotch leaned closer, lowering his voice to that quiet tone again.

“You’re safe. We got to you in time. I know you feel awful, but you’ll feel better soon, I promise.”

The corners of Reid’s mouth twitched faintly, whether in response to his voice or just the strain of staying awake, Hotch couldn’t tell, but it was something.

Hotch swallowed hard, his eyes stinging again. “That’s it. That’s my boy.”

The endearment term slipped out, unfiltered, thanks to Hotch’s sleep-deprived and stressed state. More startlingly, he didn’t even have the heart to correct himself to keep up appearances. He figured no one on his team was awake yet, anyway, and if they were, well… these were extenuating circumstances.

Reid’s lashes fluttered, heavy with exhaustion, but Hotch gently tapped his cheek with two fingers. “Eyes open. Just a little longer.”

Against all odds, Reid was able to listen. He blinked slowly, but he kept his gaze, tethered by the anchor of Hotch’s voice.

“Good,” Hotch encouraged gently. “I know it’s hard. I’m so proud of you.”

Reid sighed, almost sounding content, before curling up closer to Hotch, another round of shivers wracking his frame. His eyes slipped shut again, and Hotch tried not to let his stomach drop.

“Okay, alright,” Hotch murmured. “Easy.”

Hotch’s hand came up to rest in Reid’s curls again, grounding himself as much as the kid in his arms, when he noticed one of the local officers step closer. The man’s voice was quiet, but it pulled Hotch’s tired eyes up.

“Agent Hotchner, we’ve been monitoring the storm,” he said. “If it keeps letting up like this, we think we can manage to get him to the hospital in two hours, give or take. The plows are working through the main road now.”

Relief swept through Hotch so quickly it almost made him dizzy. He nodded once, his voice low. “That’s great news. Thank you.”

The officer gave him a small smile before stepping back, leaving Hotch to tighten his hold around Reid just a fraction.

Two more hours. He just had to hold on for two more hours.

A little while later, movement stirred around the precinct. Officers who’d dozed in chairs stretched stiff limbs, and Hotch’s team gravitated closer again, quiet but watchful. Rossi returned with fresh coffee, handing cups around, while JJ and Emily whispered near the radio. The storm had forced them all to wait together, but the locals seemed used to it—something about their calm made the BAU’s presence feel less like outsiders and more like family for the night.

Allen and Presley returned around 4:30 am, moving briskly as they knelt in front of Hotch.

“Let’s see how he’s doing,” Allen said kindly.

Hotch adjusted slightly, keeping Reid cradled steady in his arms while giving them room to work. His voice came out low and tired, but carrying a spark of hope. “He’s been waking up more. He even answered me, said he was cold.”

Presley glanced up, a gentle smile on her face. “Good,” she said warmly. “Keeping up with engagement, no matter how small, tells us a lot.”

They moved carefully, taking Reid’s vitals. The numbers weren’t perfect, but they were steadier and more consistent than they were hours ago. His temperature, though still low, had crept upward, closer to safe ground.

“93.7,” Allen announced after gently swiping the thermometer across Reid’s forehead. “Still going up. That’s what I like to see.”

Hotch let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“We’ve just got to keep doing what we’re doing until we can get him out of here,” Allen said warmly. “He’s responding. He might respond well to a warm saline line now, help get him up those last few degrees.”

Hotch nodded to Allen’s request, smoothing Reid’s hair back again. “Hear that? You’re getting better, Spencer.”

Reid stirred faintly at his name, the smallest noise escaping him. It was almost nothing, but to Hotch, it was everything.

“Yeah, there you go,” Hotch encouraged gently. “That’s it. Can you open your eyes for me?”

Reid blinked sluggishly, lashes fluttering before his hazel eyes cracked open. They were clouded and glassy, but they found Hotch, then darted toward Presley and Allen, kneeling beside him.

“Hi, Spencer,” Allen encouraged softly. “It’s good to see you awake.”

This time, when Reid’s eyes cracked open, they stayed open. He squinted faintly, unfocused at first, then seemed to adjust to the dim lights overhead. His gaze wandered a little before returning to Hotch.

Reid blinked slowly, his mouth moving under the mask. He managed the faintest rasp of sound.

“...h-h…”

“Don’t force it,” Hotch soothed instantly, leaning closer. “It’s alright if you can’t talk yet.”

Reid swallowed weakly, his throat working. Hotch should have known better— even in this state, if Reid wanted to talk, he was going to figure out a way to talk.

“Say it again. Slowly,” Hotch guided.

Reid’s brows knit as he tried again.

“…ho—ome…”

Hotch’s throat tightened. He couldn’t be sure Reid even knew what he was saying, but he answered softly anyway.

“We’re going home soon. Once you’re cleared, we’ll all go home. You’ve been fighting hard, and you’re staying awake longer now. That’s a good sign.”

Reid blinked drowsily, his lips twitching as though he meant to smile. His eyes lingered on Hotch’s face, searching, then drifted toward the edge of the room. Hotch followed his gaze. JJ and Rossi were in quiet conversation nearby, and Hotch realized Reid was trying, in his own way, to engage.

“Yeah, we’re all still here,” Hotch added, trying to gauge what Reid was thinking. “We’ll all go home together.” Then, so soft that even Reid might not have heard, he added, “We’re not leaving you alone.”

Reid’s lids fluttered, but they still didn’t close. Hotch angled him slightly, his hand steady against the back of Reid’s head.

Allen glanced up at Presley, some sort of unspoken agreement passing between them.

“Alright, let’s see how much we can get from him now that he’s conscious,” Allen said. “Spencer?” He called Reid’s name again to get his attention. Reid’s eyes flickered towards him.

“Good,” Allen coaxed gently. “You’re doing really well. Now, Spencer, I’m going to ask you a few questions, alright? It’s okay if you can’t do them right now. I just want you to try.”

Allen held up his middle and pointer fingers a few inches away from Reid’s face.

“Follow this for me?” he instructed.

Reid’s eyes tracked the finger movement slowly, his gaze uneven but steady enough to make Hotch’s chest loosen just a fraction.

“Good,” Allen said, dropping his hand down and untangling Reid’s arm a little way out of the blankets. “Try and squeeze my hand.”

Hotch shifted Reid’s arm gently, guiding his fingers into Allen’s palm. For a moment, they barely moved, then tightened weakly.

“There you go,” Allen praised.

Hotch’s heart swelled with relief, his thumb stroking Reid’s hair back. “That’s good, Spencer. That’s really good.”

Presley, who had been watching Reid’s vital readouts, glanced at Hotch with a small smile. “He’s responding better. He’s still tiring fast, as expected, but he didn’t spike. That’s a green light for cautious optimism.”

Hotch's chest swelled, his eyes fixed on Reid. “Hear that? You’re getting better.”

Allen straightened from where he was tucking Reid’s arm back under the layers of blankets.

“We’ll keep the mask on for now, but he’s responding well. If he continues warming like this, we can try removing it in a little while. That’ll let us start transitioning him to warm liquids like tea and broth, if he can handle it. It’ll help from the inside.”

Hotch nodded quickly, relief washing over him. His thumb traced soothing circles against Reid’s temple. “You hear that? Tea soon. You like tea, and it’ll help.”

Reid’s lashes fluttered, and he mumbled something indistinct again. Hotch leaned in, catching fragments of a sound that might’ve been, “…with…sugar…”

For the first time all night, a ripple of quiet laughter passed through the small circle of Hotch and the EMTs. Hotch huffed out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sob.

“Right. Can’t forget your sugar,” he murmured fondly.

Reid made a faint sound, again, squirming a little in discomfort. Hotch leaned down immediately, his voice dropping soft again.

“Easy, easy, I’m right here. You’re safe. We’ve got you.”

For a fleeting second, Reid’s lips twitched faintly under the oxygen mask. Then his eyes slid shut again, his body surrendering back into Hotch’s arms.

5 am- One hour until roads are cleared

Reid’s fingers twitched again under the blankets. Hotch, ever attuned, caught the movement and gently shifted his hand until Reid’s cold ones brushed against his palm. Reid latched on clumsily, weak but deliberate, his grip tremulous as if afraid Hotch might slip away.

Hotch squeezed back, steady. “I’ve got you.”

Reid’s lips moved under the mask, a faint sound pushing past. Hotch bent closer.

“…feel…wrong…”

“I know,” Hotch reassured softly. “But you’re warming up now, so much better than you were. Think we can try that tea soon?”

Hotch didn’t expect Reid to answer. If anything, the question was just a way for Hotch to try to get Reid to stay engaged a little longer. He was surprised, yet grateful, when Reid gave a small shake of his head against his chest.

Allen crouched down again. “Agent Hotchner, if he can follow some simple cognitive checks, we’ll know if he’s ready to come off the mask for a few minutes. It’ll help us transition him safely.”

Hotch nodded, then refocused entirely on Reid. He kept his tone slow and steady, gentle as if he were speaking to Jack after a nightmare. “Spencer, I need you to listen carefully, all right? Just answer me as best you can.”

Reid’s hazy eyes blinked at him.

“Where does it hurt?”

Reid swallowed, his brow furrowing. “…e-everywhere…” His voice was muffled slightly by the mask.

Hotch’s lips pressed tight. “I know. That’s okay. Can you point?”

A shaky hand lifted halfway before faltering, shaking too badly to get them anywhere. Hotch steadied his hand and guided it lightly back down.

“Good. That’s enough, that’s okay.” Hotch tried a different approach. “Do you know where you are?”

Reid blinked at him, then around the room, his gaze catching on Rossi’s silhouette and the faint outlines of desks and radios. “…s-still…station.”

“That’s right. Good job.” Hotch’s voice wavered just slightly, relief sliding through. Allen nodded as well, pleased with the results.

“That’s good. He’s orienting, even if he’s still weak. That’s to be expected. Agent Hotchner, talk him through what’s next.”

Hotch nodded quickly, then returned his gaze to Reid. His voice gentled even further.

“Spencer, listen to me. We’re going to try taking that mask off, just for a little while. It’ll feel strange at first, but it means you’re doing better.”

Reid blinked slowly, his grip tightening faintly on Hotch’s hand.

“You’ll still have oxygen close by, and I won’t let them push you too far. Do you understand?”

There was a pause, then the smallest nod.

Hotch exhaled. “Good,” he whispered to Reid. Then, turning his gaze to Allen, he added, “Let’s try this.”

Allen gave Hotch a nod, then beckoned Katie over.

“Alright, let’s do this slowly,” he instructed the group at large. “We’ll lift the mask—just a little—see how he tolerates it. If he struggles, we put it right back on. Agreed?”

Hotch tightened his hand around Reid’s, his other palm bracing gently on his chest.

“Agreed.”

Katie’s gloved fingers shifted the mask, loosening the straps.

“Okay, Spencer, deep breath for me, honey,” she guided soothingly.

Reid’s chest rose shakily under Hotch’s hand. His eyes fluttered, but he quickly found Hotch’s gaze again.

“That’s it,” Hotch murmured, his voice low and steady. “With me. In… and out. Good.”

The mask was eased away. Reid sucked in a breath on his own, shaky and uneven. For one terrifying second, his chest hitched, his throat working like he couldn’t quite draw in a full breath.

Look at me,” Hotch guided calmly, seeing a flash of panic rise behind Reid’s eyes. “Shh, look at me. You’re breathing. You’re doing just fine. Try it again. In…”

Reid blinked at him, lips parted, then forced another inhale. It caught, but it came. Another followed, then another.

“There you go,” Hotch whispered, relief breaking through in the tremor of his voice. His thumb traced circles into Reid’s knuckles. “That’s it. You’re okay.”

Allen crouched low, listening intently to Reid’s lungs. He watched the oxygen saturation monitor climb steadily.

“Much better,” Allen confirmed. “Slower than I’d like, but steady.”

Behind them, the others had started to gather around at the mention of Reid possibly coming off oxygen support. Rossi let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. JJ and Emily had their hands around each other’s shoulders.

Reid's eyes fluttered shut again, but his breathing settled into a weak rhythm, every inhale rattly but present. Hotch’s gaze softened as he grasped Reid’s hand in his own.

“See? You’re doing it on your own now.”

Reid’s lips twitched faintly, as if he wanted to say something but didn’t have the strength. Instead, his fingers curled tighter around Hotch’s.

“There we go, you’re okay. You’re doing fine.”

Allen glanced up at Hotch. “We’ll keep the mask close in case he needs it, but for now, he’s stable without it. That’s a very good sign.”

Hotch closed his eyes for a second, exhaling slowly. He opened them again to find Reid’s tired gaze still on him, heavy but trusting.

“You’re safe,” Hotch whispered again. “I’ve got you.”

***

The storm still howled outside, but inside the makeshift corner of the precinct, things had shifted over the last twenty minutes. Reid was breathing on his own now, and while it was hesitant and shaky, it was steady. That was enough to give everyone a little hope.

JJ approached quietly, holding a steaming mug with a spoon.

“It’s just warm broth,” she said softly, setting it on the table near Hotch. “It’s not much, but if he can manage a little, it’ll help.”

Hotch nodded, gratitude flickering across his worn face. “Thank you.”

He turned back to Reid, brushing a hand across his clammy forehead. Reid’s eyes cracked open, glassy and tired.

“Spencer,” Hotch murmured, keeping his tone low and coaxing. “We’re going to try something. Just a little broth, all right? Warm you from the inside out.”

Reid’s brow furrowed faintly, lips parting. “…d-don’t want to.”

Hotch’s mouth twitched—half a smile, half a sigh. “I know you don’t. But you need it.”

Reid blinked sluggishly, then let his eyes fall closed again.

“want… tea…”

Hotch huffed at that, his voice gentling even further. “I know. But we’ve got to get something in you, too. You haven’t eaten in hours. Just a few sips, come on. I’ll help you. Then we’ll think about that tea, okay?”

Reid’s eyes opened again, his hand weakly shifting against Hotch’s. Hotch covered it with his own, rubbing small circles with his thumb over Reid’s knuckles.

JJ knelt next to them. “Hey,” she murmured, prompting Reid to look up at her. She smiled when his eyes flickered open and met her gaze. “Hi, Spence,” JJ smiled softly. “Hotch is right, just try a little. It’ll help.”

That earned the faintest sound from him, almost a sigh. He complied by keeping his eyes open.

“Good,” Hotch murmured. He carefully slid an arm behind Reid, easing the younger man up just enough to get him sitting slightly upright against Hotch’s chest. Hotch guided the mug close, spoon in hand. “Small sips. Here we go.”

Hotch pressed the spoon lightly to Reid’s lips. After a beat of hesitation, Reid let the broth slip past.

“There you go,” Hotch said softly, pride hidden in the warmth of his tone. “That’s it. Let’s try  a little more.”

Reid’s face scrunched faintly at the effort, but he swallowed. The warmth spread almost instantly, a visible shiver running through him once he got a few small spoonfuls down.

“Good job,” Hotch whispered, still holding Reid’s hand in his. Once Reid started to cough a little, Hotch retracted and decided to give him a break.

“Alright, that’s all for now,” he murmured. “You did good. I’m proud of you.”

Reid sagged against him without replying, his eyes drifting shut again.

Across the room, JJ wiped at her eyes quickly, pretending it was the steam.

Not even ten minutes later, Reid stirred from his little nap against Hotch’s chest again.

“…warm,” he slurred quietly.

Hotch’s attention snapped back to Reid. “Spencer?”

Reid’s eyes were half-open, still cloudy with exhaustion. His lips shaped the word again, softer this time.

“Warm.”

Hotch frowned gently, trying to untangle it. “You’re cold?”

A faint shake of Reid’s head. “Warm…” His fingers twitched against Hotch’s arm, clumsy and pleading.

“You’re warming up,” Hotch reassured gently. “I promise. I can get you another blanket if you need.”

That suggestion only seemed to further Reid’s frustration, as well as his attempts to talk.

Hotch’s chest tightened. He smoothed Reid’s hair back in an attempt to settle him down. Reid wasn’t physically warm, that was for sure. Hotch had offered him another blanket, which was something to keep him warm. Did he want something else warm?

Warm… warm, come on, Aaron, think…

It hit him in an instant.

“Do you mean the broth? From earlier? It made you nice and warm?”

Reid blinked sluggishly, and for a moment, Hotch thought he’d lost him to sleep again until the tiniest nod followed.

Hotch exhaled, the edge of a smile breaking through his worry. “All right. You want more? We can do that.”

He glanced up, and Rossi, who’d been quietly watching from a nearby chair, wordlessly passed him the mug JJ had kept on the side table.

Hotch adjusted Reid carefully, murmuring low and steady. “Just like before. Slow sips. I’ll help you.”

He lifted the spoon, waiting for Reid to part his lips. This time, there was less hesitation. Reid took the broth in with a shaky swallow, a soft sigh escaping after.

“That’s it,” Hotch said quietly, pride threading through his voice. “Good job, Spencer. Just another sip.”

Reid leaned against him, weak but compliant, managing three more spoonfuls before he sagged again, his eyelids drooping.

Hotch set the mug aside. “Warm enough now?” he asked softly.

A faint, content sound rumbled in Reid’s throat. “…mm.”

Hotch’s jaw clenched with relief. He brushed a thumb over Reid’s temple, murmuring, “Good. Rest, then. We’ll keep you warm.”

Allen came over a few minutes later to check Reid’s temperature again, as he had been doing every half hour or so.

“Temp’s at exactly 94, that’s a good jump,” Allen confirmed with relief. “His body’s responding to what we’ve been able to give him, which is the best we can ask for.”

Hotch nodded, letting out a breath that trembled more than he wanted. He glanced down at Reid, who was shivering hard but breathing steadily against him.

From the doorway, an officer leaned in. “Storm’s breaking up. Roads’ll be passable soon. We’ve got a call in—an ambulance’ll be here in half an hour from the next town over.”

Relief cracked through Hotch’s chest. He gave a small nod. “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

Around him, the team stirred to life. Morgan and Emily gathered blankets to keep Reid bundled for transport. JJ checked the supplies the EMTs asked for.

Hotch looked down again, brushing his thumb lightly over Reid’s temple. “Hear that, Spencer?” he whispered. “Almost time to get you out of here. Just hold on a little longer.”

Reid’s lashes fluttered at the sound of his voice, a faint sound escaping—half a sigh, half acknowledgment.

6 am- Hospital Transfer

Hotch had never been happier to hear the sound of sirens in his entire life.

Allen, Katie, and Presley guided the new set of EMTs to where Reid was, explaining what they needed as the team helped.

Morgan and Emily steadied the stretcher. JJ tucked extra blankets along the edges to keep the draft off. Rossi quietly placed a hand on Hotch’s shoulder in passing, wordless, but grounding.

Through it all, Hotch stayed anchored where he’d been all night: with Reid in his arms.

When they finally coaxed Reid into shifting onto the stretcher, Hotch moved with him, keeping a hand on his shoulder and murmuring reassurance with every small adjustment.

Reid blinked sluggishly, the sudden movement pulling him closer to the surface.

“Where…we going?” Reid’s voice was still faint and weak, but Hotch was able to make out most of it. He leaned closer, answering gently.

“To the hospital, finally. You’re safe. They’ll take care of you there.”

Reid made a small sound—half acknowledgment, half confusion—and his eyes slipped closed again.

A few minutes later, as the EMTs checked straps and settled monitors around him, Reid stirred again, fingers twitching weakly toward Hotch’s sleeve. His lips parted, the same question spilling out again, slurred.

“Where’re we…going?”

Hotch’s throat tightened. Apparently, the disorientation was a lot stronger now than it had been all night. Then again, Hotch reasoned, this was the first time Reid was being moved from him all night, so it could have been that, too. He took Reid’s hand, brushing his thumb lightly across the cold knuckles.

“The hospital, Spencer. Just a little longer and you’ll feel better.”

Reid’s brow furrowed faintly as though working to hold onto the words. But by the time Hotch smoothed his hair back, his eyes had shut again.

And once more, as they began rolling him toward the waiting ambulance, Reid forced them open just enough to whisper. “Where…”

Hotch bent down, voice steady even as his chest ached. “The hospital. With me. Always with me.”

That seemed to settle Reid at last. His hand relaxed against Hotch’s, and this time, he didn’t fight the sleep pulling him under.

Snow crunched under boots as the stretcher was loaded into the back. Hotch climbed in right after, sliding onto the bench seat, his hand instantly finding Reid’s even as the EMTs settled in.

Rossi gave him a small nod as the doors shut.

***

Allen, bless him, had come on the pretense that being with Reid all night would help the EMTs and hospital staff know what they were up against. He sat nearest to the head of the stretcher and gave Hotch a quick nod.

“We’ve been monitoring him every thirty minutes, kept him on warm IV fluids when we could, and rotated packs. Temp’s climbing, slowly but steadily.”

Hotch’s jaw unclenched just a fraction as he squeezed Reid’s hand.

“Thank you,” he murmured to Allen.

The paramedics in the ambulance started peeling back the blankets layer by layer, careful but efficient. Hotch tensed instinctively, ready to protest, until one of them explained.

“We just need to check his vitals for ourselves, sir. We’ll get him bundled back up right after.”

Reid flinched faintly at the cold air on his skin. His lips parted, voice still hoarse but clearer than it had been hours before. “C…cold.”

Hotch bent close, voice soft but firm. “I know. Just for a moment. They’ll cover you back up.”

The monitor beeped to life as sticky pads were pressed gently to Reid’s chest. His heart rate was much stronger now- still a little slow, but steady. His oxygen saturation blinked reassuringly on the screen.

True to their word, the paramedics quickly wrapped him up again in his layers and a heated blanket. Reid sighed, a tired sound, but then, against all odds, his lips twitched faintly upward.

“Burrito,” he murmured.

Hotch blinked at him, startled for a heartbeat before his lips tugged into the smallest, tightest smile. “Yeah. You’re wrapped up like a burrito.”

Allen chuckled softly. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard him say all night.”

Hotch smoothed Reid’s curls back from his forehead, his thumb lingering there. “Keep talking like that,” he murmured. “Let them know you’re still in here.”

Reid’s eyes drifted shut again, but this time the hand in Hotch’s tightened ever so slightly.

Hotch bowed his head briefly, trying not to let his shoulders shake with relief. For the first time since the blizzard had started, he let himself believe Reid was really going to be okay.

Hotch’s hand never left Reid’s, his thumb tracing absently over cold knuckles while Reid drifted between shallow dozes and half-wakefulness.

Hotch’s eyes kept flicking to the monitor, to Reid’s pale face, and to the EMT adjusting Reid’s IV line. His voice finally cut through the quiet.

“How much damage could the exposure have done? He’s now gone nearly twelve hours without proper treatment—” His voice snagged before he forced it steady. “—even with what we managed, is there anything we should expect long-term?”

The paramedic glanced up, professional but not dismissive. “He’s young. That helps. The biggest risks were hypothermia and frostbite, but you got him out before it was irreversible. His core temp is climbing, he’s responsive, and we haven’t seen signs of severe tissue damage in his hands or feet. As long as he stays in a good state cognitively, his prognosis is good.”

Hotch let out a breath, the sound more like a shudder. He gave Reid’s hand a firmer squeeze, grounding himself in the pulse he could feel there.

“But there could be complications?” he asked. He needed to know everything they had the potential to be walking into.

“Possibly,” the EMT admitted, adjusting the oxygen cannula that had replaced the mask. “His lungs might stay irritated for a while. The immune system takes a hit. He’ll be exhausted. But you got to him in time.”

Hotch’s jaw clenched. He leaned closer to Reid, voice pitched low. “Did you hear that? You’re going to be okay.”

Reid stirred faintly at the sound, his lashes fluttering. His lips moved, but it was too quiet to catch.

Hotch bent even closer. “What is it?”

“...cold burrito,” Reid rasped, words barely formed, but just enough.

For the first time in hours, Hotch huffed a soft, incredulous laugh, pressing his forehead briefly to Reid’s temple. “We’ll warm you up. I promise.”

***

A short ten minutes later, the ambulance doors banged open to a rush of frigid air, the storm finally calming to a steady fall. Fluorescent lights spilled out from the hospital bay as the paramedics wheeled Reid inside, Hotch moving in at his side.

A small team of ER doctors and nurses was already waiting, alerted by radio. Allen clapped Hotch on the shoulder once the ER team had Reid and turned away to discuss Reid’s prognosis with one of the doctors.

The stretcher rolled to a stop, and voices overlapped in sharp, practiced rhythm.

“Hypothermia, exposure estimated several hours—”
“Core temp at last check, 94.2—”
“Oxygen saturation stable, but watch for irregular breathing—”

Hotch kept pace as they pushed Reid down the corridor, answering questions with clipped precision.

“He walked out of a stranded vehicle in the storm. He was unconscious when we found him. We’ve been giving him warmed IV fluids and liquids, and he managed to come off oxygen support a few hours ago.”

Reid stirred faintly at the commotion, his eyes slitting open against the bright lights. A weak sound escaped him, almost a question.

Hotch bent close, brushing damp curls back from his forehead. “Hospital. You’re safe. They’re just going to help, Spencer.”

Reid blinked slowly, trying to focus. His lips moved again, too soft, but Hotch caught the faint shape of the word: okay?

Hotch squeezed his hand, firm and steady. “You’re going to be okay.”

The ER team moved with efficient urgency—monitor leads applied, warmed air circulated over his body, vitals called out. The beeping of machines filled the air, and every number that ticked higher—heart rate, oxygen, temperature—made Hotch’s chest ache with fragile relief.

One of the doctors glanced up briefly. “He’s stabilizing. The warming protocols did their job. He’ll need to be heavily monitored for a while, but you all did impressively well with what you had.”

Hotch finally exhaled, shoulders sagging, his hand still wrapped around Reid’s as if he’d never let go.

Soon enough, hours seemed to blur together in the fluorescent-lit chaos of the ER, but at last, once all the tests were done, Reid was moved upstairs, still bundled in layers of warmed blankets. The machines that surrounded him beeped in calmer, steadier rhythms now.

Hotch followed the gurney into a small room, and when the nurses finished settling Reid in, one paused by his side.

“He’s stable, Agent. He’ll need rest, fluids, and to stay warm for awhile, but he’s improving. You got him here in time. Someone will be in to check on him regularly.”

Hotch nodded, his throat tight, but he didn’t speak until the room emptied. Only then did he allow himself to sit in the chair at Reid’s bedside, elbows braced on his knees. The adrenaline that had carried him this far drained out in a rush, leaving him utterly spent.

Reid stirred slightly, lashes fluttering against his pale cheeks. His eyes opened just enough to find Hotch sitting there. “…’s it over?” he whispered, voice raw.

Hotch leaned in immediately, soft but firm.

“It’s over,” Hotch confirmed gently. “You’re safe.” He adjusted the blankets higher around Reid’s shoulders, smoothing them carefully. “You don’t have to fight anymore. Just rest.”

Reid gave a faint, crooked smile—half-delirious, half-genuine—and let his eyes slip shut again. His breathing evened out, calm in sleep.

Hotch stayed exactly where he was, his hand still wrapped gently around Reid’s wrist, monitoring the slow, steady pulse beneath his fingers. His own eyes burned with exhaustion, but he allowed himself to lean back in the chair.

In the silence of the hospital room, with Reid finally safe beside him, Hotch let out a long, trembling breath.

It was mid-morning by the time the rest of the team finally made it to the hospital. The roads had cleared enough for them to caravan in, exhausted themselves, but restless until they saw Reid with their own eyes.

The nurse at the front desk gave them directions, and together they padded down the hall. JJ was the first to peek into the room, pushing the door open just enough to see inside.

Reid was asleep, pale but peaceful, cocooned in a mountain of blankets. The monitor beside him hummed its steady reassurance.

And in the chair at his bedside—head tipped slightly forward, suit jacket draped over his lap—sat Hotch, sound asleep for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours. His hand still rested on the edge of Reid’s bed, fingertips brushing the blanket like he hadn’t been able to let go, even in sleep.

JJ smiled fondly. Morgan let out a low exhale, his shoulders easing. Emily shook her head softly, whispering, “About time he let himself rest.”

Rossi lingered a step behind, his expression a quiet mix of pride and sorrow. He finally murmured, just loud enough for the others to hear, “Leave them be.”

One by one, they nodded, pulling the door half shut. The worry that had been knotted tight in their chests all night finally began to loosen.

***

Hotch startled awake to a faint sound, his head jerking up from where it had fallen against his hand. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what had pulled him from sleep until he realized Reid was watching him, his eyes still slightly hazed over but clear in a way they hadn’t been before.

“…think I need… more broth,” Reid mumbled, his voice soft but so much stronger than it had been.

Hotch blinked at him, disoriented for half a second before a wave of relief hit him so hard it nearly took his breath away.

“Broth?” he repeated, and despite everything, the corners of his mouth tugged upward. “That’s what you wake me up for?”

Reid gave a faint shrug, lips twitching. “It was warm.”

Hotch leaned forward, pressing the back of his hand gently to Reid’s forehead, then brushing across his cheek. His skin was still cooler than it should’ve been, but nowhere near the frightening chill of last night.

“You’re warmer,” Hotch murmured, more to himself than to Reid, though Reid caught it and managed a ghost of a smile.

“See? Broth worked.”

Hotch huffed out the quietest laugh, the sound edged with exhaustion and relief. “We’ll make sure you get more broth.”

Before Reid could try to say anything else, a doctor stepped in with a nurse, checking Reid’s vitals. “Temperature’s up to 96.4,” the doctor said, sounding satisfied. “He should feel much better with proper rest and warmth.”

Hotch let out a long, shaky exhale and sat back in the chair, the tension finally loosening from his shoulders. His hand remained near Reid’s on the blanket, just within reach.

Reid let his eyes drift half-closed again, more from comfort than exhaustion this time, and whispered, “Will I be okay?”

Hotch’s voice was quiet but certain. “You will be.”

2 pm- 20 hours since Reid’s exposure & rescue

The storm had broken by the time they were cleared to leave. Hotch took a long moment in the precinct lobby, shaking the sheriff’s hand and offering a quiet, heartfelt thank you to the officers and EMTs who had worked through the night with them.

“You saved one of ours,” Hotch said, his voice low with sincerity. “I won’t forget that.”

Then, it was finally time to go home.

Reid was still under strict orders from the doctors to be bundled in layers, but he was steady on his feet with Morgan on one side and JJ hovering on the other, just in case. It was a short, slow walk across the tarmac, with the bitter wind tugging at their coats. By the time they reached the jet’s steps, Reid looked exhausted.

Hotch was already there. He lightly braced a hand at Reid’s back as though he could keep him upright with just that touch. “Take it slow,” he murmured.

The team settled Reid into one of the long couches near the back of the jet, tucking a blanket over him before he could protest.

“Don’t fight it, Reid, you earned the royal treatment,” she teased lightly. JJ smoothed his hair back once, like she couldn’t help herself. Rossi pressed a coffee into Hotch’s hand before taking a seat across from him, watching with the kind of quiet understanding that didn’t need words.

Reid leaned back, already looking like the walk up to the jet had drained him. Hotch sat beside him on the other end of the couch. If it weren’t for the fact that his team was trained to read human behavior for a living, to anyone else, Hotch’s face was unreadable. The way his hand rested lightly near Reid’s arm also gave him away, ready if Reid so much as wavered.

“Hey,” Reid murmured after a minute, his voice still soft but clearer than it had been in days. “I heard the… whole story.” His eyes flicked up to Hotch’s, tired but glinting with awareness. “Thank you. For not letting me go. Literally,” he added as an afterthought.

Hotch’s jaw flexed, his expression shifting as he cleared his throat to compose himself. His voice was steady when he answered. “There was never a chance of that.”

Reid gave the faintest smile. His eyelids were already heavy, and within a few more breaths, he let his head tip gently sideways until it came to rest against Hotch’s shoulder.

Hotch froze for half a second, then relaxed, so subtly that only Rossi caught it. He adjusted the blanket over Reid’s shoulder and stayed perfectly still, letting the younger man’s weight settle against him.

Morgan smirked across the aisle, his voice pitched low so Reid wouldn’t stir. “Guess body heat’s still the best source of warmth for him, huh, Hotch?”

JJ elbowed Morgan lightly, but her smile was soft. Hotch didn’t rise to the bait. He simply sat, steady as stone, letting Reid sleep against him.

***

The jet touched down just as the sun was setting, the faint glow painting the horizon in muted gold and gray. The team moved slowly, gathering their bags and pulling on coats, but their eyes kept drifting back to the couch where Reid was still half-asleep against Hotch’s shoulder.

“C’mon, kid,” Morgan said softly, crouching down. “Time to move. We’ll get you home.”

Reid stirred, blinking groggily, but he didn’t make much of an effort to sit up. Hotch shifted carefully, steadying him with one hand on his arm. “I’ve got him,” he said quietly.

The walk down the jet stairs was cautious but steady. Reid was wrapped in his coat and blanket with Hotch’s hand firm at his back the entire way. A Bureau SUV was waiting on the tarmac for them.

The ride into the city was quiet. Reid leaned against the window, eyes fluttering closed, while JJ kept up soft conversation with Garcia over the phone to let her know they’d landed. When the car finally pulled up outside Reid’s apartment, Hotch was the first out, circling quickly to Reid’s side.

“Hotch, I can walk,” Reid protested weakly when Hotch slid an arm around his shoulders to steady him.

“I know,” Hotch said, and the gentleness in his tone left no room for argument.

The team trailed behind them as Hotch guided Reid up the steps and into his apartment. Once inside, Hotch helped Reid settle onto the couch, layering another blanket over him. JJ got Reid some water, Emily turned up the thermostat, and Morgan put Reid’s go-bag down on the floor beside the couch. Rossi unfolded a blanket and helped settle it around Reid once he sank onto the couch.

“Got everything you need?” Emily asked softly, smoothing a fold of the blanket.

Reid nodded, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. Thanks.”

There was a round of goodnights—Morgan’s warm clap to his shoulder, JJ’s soft kiss to his temple, Emily’s encouraging squeeze of his hand. Rossi murmured something about resting, really resting, before ushering the others toward the door.

The team lingered in the hall, exchanging knowing looks. None of them missed the way Hotch hovered, still crouched by Reid’s side, fingers fussing with the edge of the blanket as though making sure it wouldn’t slip.

Back inside, Reid watched Hotch for a long moment, half amused, half touched. Finally, he whispered, “Hotch… I’m okay. Really.”

Hotch glanced up, his jaw tightening like he wanted to argue but couldn’t. He exhaled slowly. “I know,” he said quietly. Still, he smoothed the blanket one more time.

Reid’s eyelids were heavy, his voice drowsy. “Go home. Sleep.”

Hotch hesitated, caught between exhaustion and the instinct to keep watch. Reid offered the tiniest smile, eyes fluttering shut. “I’ll still be here in the morning.”

Something in those words finally let Hotch breathe.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “If you need anything, anything at all-”

“I’ll reach out to one of you,” Reid confirmed, that amused smile still lingering. “I promise.”

With that promise, Hotch rose reluctantly, giving Reid one last gentle look before he followed the team out.

***

Hotch finally met the team in the hallway, tugging Reid’s door shut with a quiet click. For a second, he just stood there, his shoulders sagging as if the act of leaving had cost him something.

The team was waiting, leaning against the wall, coats on, silent but watching him. Rossi arched his brow first.

“Took you long enough,” he said, but his tone was both worried and teasing.

JJ gave a small smile, her voice gentler. “He’s okay, Aaron.”

Morgan clapped him lightly on the back. “The kid’s tougher than we give him credit for. He’ll be fine.”

Emily nodded, her eyes soft. “And so will you. Finally.”

Hotch let out a quiet breath that sounded almost like a laugh, shaking his head. He didn’t argue, didn’t deflect. He just nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching toward something that could almost be a smile.

Together, they headed for the stairs.

And though Hotch was still going to worry—because that’s who he was—he let himself believe, finally, that Reid truly was safe, and that they could all take a breath.