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It was worse the second time.
Hotch woke to the sound of Reid's breath catching in short, panicked bursts, and this time there was no scream to announce it, just a low, wordless sound of distress, the kind that came from somewhere deep inside of a person. He was across the room before he'd fully processed being awake, kneeling by the bed, already reaching for the lamp so the dark wouldn't be part of what Reid was fighting.
"Spencer. Hey, I'm here."
Reid's eyes snapped open, wild, unseeing, his hands coming up defensively before his brain caught up to his body. He was breathing like he'd been running. Hotch didn't grab his wrists instead he held his own hands up, open, visible, and kept talking in that same low, level voice he'd used the previous time.
"You're okay. You're at the hotel. It's me."
It took longer this time for Reid to surface. When he finally did, his face crumpled in a way that had nothing to do with the dream anymore and everything to do with being caught in the wreckage of it, exposed and unsteady. He reached out before he seemed to decide to, fingers curling into the front of Hotch's t-shirt like he needed something solid to anchor to.
"I'm here," Hotch said again, and let himself be pulled forward, sitting fully on the edge of the bed now, one arm coming around Reid's shoulders while the other hand covered the one still fisted in his shirt. "There you're alright. Shh, I've got you."
Reid tipped forward, pressing his face into Hotch's shoulder, and his whole body seemed to fold inward, smaller, younger, like something in him had given up trying to hold its own shape. His breath was still uneven, hitching every few seconds like it might tip over into tears.
"It's alright," Hotch murmured, one hand moving in slow, steady circles against Reid's back. "Whatever it was, it's not real. You're safe. I'm not going anywhere."
"Don't leave," Reid said, muffled, barely audible. "Please, dad, don't…"
Reid broke off and completely froze. Hotch felt the word land, felt Reid's whole body go rigid an instant after it left him, like he'd heard it a half-second behind Hotch and was already recoiling from it.
"I, I I'm sorry, I didn't… that's not what I…" Reid pulled back enough to look at him, mortified, his face flushing even in the low lamplight. "I don't know why I said that. I'm sorry, Hotch, I wasn't… that was the dream, it wasn't… I know you're not…"
"Spencer." Hotch said his name gently but firmly enough to stop the spiral. He didn't let go of him. If anything, he drew him back in, one hand settling at the back of Reid's head, fingers threading lightly through his hair the way he did with Jack on nights when nothing else worked. "It's alright. You don't have to apologise for that."
Reid went still against him, like he wasn't sure it was safe to believe that.
"You've had almost no one look after you the way you deserved," Hotch said quietly, into the dark, into the space where it was easier to say things plainly. "That's not a criticism of you. It's just true. And if some part of you reached for that tonight, reached for someone steady, someone who wasn't going to disappear then I'm not going to make you feel ashamed of it."
Reid's breath hitched again, but differently now, not panic like earlier, it something closer to grief finally being allowed to surface. Hotch held him through it, one hand still moving slowly over his back, the other cradling the back of his head, and let him shake and breathe and come apart a little in the safety of not being judged for it.
"I've got you," Hotch said again, quieter this time, meant only for the two of them. "For as long as you need it. That's not going to change."
Slowly, Reid's grip on his shirt loosened, though he didn't pull away. He stayed curled into Hotch's side, breathing evening out slowly, his cheek resting against Hotch's shoulder like he'd finally let himself trust that the contact wouldn't be taken away.
"I didn't mean to make it weird," Reid mumbled eventually, voice thick with emotion.
"You didn't." Hotch pressed a hand flat and warm against his back, in what he hoped was grounding. "It's not weird to want to feel safe, Spencer. It's not weird to want someone in your corner unconditionally. You've earned that a hundred times over. You don't have to earn it again tonight."
Reid huffed a small, wet laugh against his shoulder. "Statistically speaking, most fathers wouldn't handle that so well."
"Most fathers," Hotch said, "aren't as lucky as I'd be."
That undid something in Reid all over again, but softer this time, the tears finally slipping free without the panic behind them, just pure release of pent-up emotion. Hotch held on to him, unhurried, and let him let him be, for a little while, exactly as young and unguarded as he needed to be, without cost, without consequence, without anything expected of him in return.
Eventually Reid's breathing slowed into something close to sleep, still tucked snugly against Hotch's side, and Hotch didn't have the heart to move him. He stayed there, back resting against the headboard, one arm tucked tight around Reid, watching the orange light shift faintly through the curtains, thinking that sometimes family weren’t always blood, they were the people who started off as friends and slowly became something far more important.