Warning: mentions of self-harm/cutting | Requested by awesomepanda373

"Thank you all for coming in so early," Hotch says, walking into the briefing room. "We've been called in on a—" Hotch looks around the room, "where's y/n?"

The team looks around and shrugs.

Hotch sighs. "Can someone please call—"

"I'm on it," Morgan interrupts. He gets up and leaves the room, going into his office from some quiet.

Your phone vibrates on the counter next to you. You look over and see Morgan calling.

"What up, Superman?"

"You tell me, shorty." If you're not short then take it as an ironic nickname.

"What?"

"Where are you?"

You look up at the bathroom clock. "Damnit! Sorry, I- I'll be there in like 20."

"We'll be waiting."

You hang up and toss your phone back on the counter. Hastily, you rinse off the X-acto and grab some gauze, wrapping it carefully around your wrist and forearm.

You run into your room and throw on the first shirt and slacks you see, bolting out the door.

"Sorry! Sorry I'm late!" you yell, running into the briefing.

"It's alright," Hotch assures. "Uh, Reid, will you fill y/n in on the jet?"

"Sure."

"Good. Wheels up in 10."

Everyone gets up and goes to their desks to grab their go-bags. Everyone except Reid.

"What happened?"

"Hmm? Oh, I overslept and misread the clock... it's just been a rough morning."

"No, no. I meant to your arm," he corrects, pointing you the gauze.

Following his gaze, you realize that the first shirt you saw was not the wisest choice. "Nothing. Cooking mishap. I'll live," you assure.

"I know I'm not that kind of doctor, but can I look at it?"

"No!" you respond, too quickly to be casual. "Uh, no, no. It's okay," you cover up.

"Hey! Pretty boy, Shorty! Come on!"

"Coming!" you reply, dashing off toward Morgan.

Reid shakes his head before following.

On the plane, Reid explains to you the details of the case with intermittent questions about your arm. You dismiss each question smoothly. Frustrated, Reid seeks some help.

"Hey, Morgan? Can- can I ask you something?"

"Sure. What's on your mind?"

"Uh, can we talk over coffee?"

Morgan nods. "So what's up?" he asks once the two are at the back of the jet.

"Y/n's hurt but won't talk about it."

"Hurt? Hurt how?"

"You didn't see the gauze?"

Morgan thinks about it. "I did, actually. But you can't get anything on it?"

"Nothing! Y/n keeps trying to obfuscate me."

"Let me try." Morgan walks over to you and motions to the seat across you.

You nod.

"So," he begins. "Rough morning?"

"Yeah," you chuckle. "I gotta get a digital clock. I completely misread the time."

"Ah. So, did you burn yourself this morning making breakfast?"

"Hmm? Oh, this?" you ask, pointing to your non-dominant arm.

Morgan nods.

"Last night. Nothing serious though."

Morgan juts his lower lip out and nods, trying to mask his disbelief. "You know there's no use lying to me, right?"

"I know, Mr. Profiler," you tease.

"Just checking."

You and the team wrap up the case and head home a few days later.

"Thank god," you mumble, buckling yourself in. "I'm in dire need of a fix."

Hotch hears this and starts watching you very subtly.

When you land back in Quantico, Hotch keeps you back on the plane.

"Y/n is there something you want to tell me?" he presses.

"Uh, no?"

Hotch closes his eyes briefly. "I'm going to give you a chance to answer me honestly. What happened to your arm?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me? I'm clumsy, okay? I spilled some tea on myself, that's all." You shove past him, disembarking the plane.

Hotch sighs, following suit.

The next day Reid knocks on Hotch's office door.

"Come in. Hi, Reid. What's wrong?"

"I think y/n's hiding something."

Hotch puts down the file in his hands. "Is this about the bandages that are supposedly from a tea mishap?"

"Ye- wait tea?"

"Yeah, tea. Why?"

"Y/n told Morgan it was from the night before."

"Reid I agree y/n's lying, but what does time have to do with it?"

"Y/n only drinks black tea."

"Which is highly caffeinated," Hotch finishes.

Reid nods. "So something is wrong."

"Call Morgan in here, please."

Reid leaves the office and returns a minute later with Morgan.

"What's up, Hotch?"

"Do you think y/n could be on any type of injection-based drug?"

"What? No. I don't think so."

"Why?" Reid's eyes grow large. "Do you think y/n's on Dilaudid?"

"It has crossed my mind. I heard y/n say something about 'needing a fix'."

"What else can someone be hooked on?" Morgan asks.

"Alcohol?" Hotch offers.

"What would that have to do with an injury?" Morgan asks. "Cigarets? You could get a burn from one."

"But not a burn that large," Hotch reminds.

The two bounce a few more ideas off each other, eliminating each one almost immediately. Reid stood still, recalling any changes he may have noticed about you in the past few days.

Suddenly, it hits him.

"Y/n cuts," Reid states plainly.

"What?" Hotch and Morgan demand.

"Th- the gauze was covering up self-inflicted cuts!"

"You're sure?"

"Yes! Y/n's been wearing long-sleeved shirts but slipped up that one day—"

"Y/n was cutting that morning?" Morgan asks hesitantly.

"It fits," Hotch sadly acknowledges.

The three stand in a silence only broken by a knock on the door, which Morgan answers.

"Hotch I- oh, hi guys! Having a meeting without me?"

"Morgan close the door," Hotch requests. "Y/n sit down."

You obey. "What's going on."

"Y/n will you please roll up your sleeves?"

A wave of panic washes over you. "Wh- why?"

"Please," Reid begs. "Just do it."

"You- you can't make me."

Morgan walks up from behind you and gently grabs your left arm. Reid does the same on your right. They roll up your sleeves, revealing several scars of varying statuses.

Your eyes begin to water as the three men stand in a shocked silence.

"Y/n/n," Reid whispers, releasing your arm and wrapping his arms around you.

"I'm sorry," you mutter over and over. "I didn't mean to, I just—"

"Why?" Morgan asks, his voice on the verge of anger.

"Because I felt like I deserved it."

Morgan's expression instantly softens as he places a hand on your shoulder.

Hotch steps out from behind his desk and crouches in front of you. "We're going to help you."

"That's right," Morgan agrees.

"We all love you, every single one of us. Please let us in." Hotch keeps looking at you even though you refuse to make eye contact.

"I don't know how."

"That's okay," Reid assures. "We all have studied psychology. We know how."

You muster up the courage to look at each of the men before you. "Thank you."

"Promise us one thing," Hotch bargains.

"What?"

"Never again."

You sigh shakily. "I can't make that promise."

Hotch, Reid, and Morgan sigh with defeat.

"But I will try."

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Hey humans!

Just to let you know, May is mental health awareness month. Please be safe and know that you are loved, you are not alone, and you are enough. If you ever wanna talk, just message me.

Thanks,
Q