Chapter Text
1997
“Why do you keep doing this?”
Cecelia Valentine had a soft pout on her lips, refusing to look up to you as she knelt at your feet. Her fingers were feather light as she wiped the dirt from your scabbed knees ever so gently. You had gotten in another fight, or rather, you had gotten yourself another beating. That more accurately depicts what had occurred.
“Doing what?” You asked in feigned innocence, leading to the brunette to tilt her head and glare at you as glaringly as a girl as pure as her could. “Getting hurt. You know that antagonizing those guys only leads to them beating you.” She scolded as a smile slowly grew on your lips. She didn't seem to match your amusement. This was far from the first time she's found you littered in bruises and scrapes, and a part of her doubted it'd be the last. Yet despite her irritation, she patched you up every time.
“Maybe I just like having you take care of me” You shrugged, watching as the girl at your feet sighed softly in disappointment. She was silent for a moment, a soft furrow in her brows as she turned to grab a few bandages. Cecelia never understood why you had begun to do things like this. Ever since your parents had ████ ███ ██ ████ ████████████ ██ █████ ███ ███ ███████ ███ █████ ███ ██ ███ you had never been the same. You'd do things to purposefully get hurt, would be careless and almost inhumane with how you treated yourself. Either way, for whatever reason, Cecelia never left.
“If you want me to dote on you I can just do your hair.” She reasoned, carefully sanitizing your scrapes with rubbing alcohol. She'd done this numerous times, so many times she had gotten good at doing it as painlessly as possible, much to your displeasure. Her hand would gently grasp your leg to hold you still, her pale fingers nearly sending a shiver up your skin. She always ran warm, like she was the human embodiment of the sunlight. She shone through every room and was almost blinding to see, but you could never look away.
“You’d do my hair?” You questioned, head tilting to get a better view as she cleaned your other knee for you. Cecelia loved doing her own hair, the hair of her dolls, the hair of her long-haired Shih tzu, but she was always picky with who she tended to, and knowing she cared to tend to you warmed your heart. She nodded, sparing you a brief glance before looking right back down to what she was doing. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”
You felt yourself falter at her soft spoken words. She had always been so honest, raised honest and pure in every sense. She spoke her prayers, she sung her angelic hymns within the choir and the sun rose and fell for her everyday. Cecelia was alive, and she was at peace in her existence within this world. She could wake every morning with a smile in knowing she was present, that she was free. That was one of many things you had always admired about the girl, because it was a feeling you failed to understand. You felt as though you were a subhuman being, with nothing but feigned portrayals of feelings and care. You had lost your body the day that they ███████ ████, and to this day you were yet to regain it.
Maybe that was how it all began. You came to learn that there was an easy way to secure yourself, to ease your mind and give yourself a sick comfort in knowing you were human too. Harsh stings that would stain your skin with marks for days to come, deep red blood that dripped from your wounds becoming a warm reminder and reassurance that you weren’t the devil as your parents so shamefully demeaned you as being. Your blood was red not gray, you bled like those who came before you; you were alive.
But even despite that, you hated to see Cecelia so sad. Her lips would always quiver in hardly restrained anguish whenever she saw the older boys you antagonized beating on you. Her soft eyes would gleam over with tears and the sight hurt in a way that didn’t feel good. You always thought you enjoyed the pain, basking in it as long as you could. But seeing her tears in your suffering made a deep pain throb in your heart, a pain so disgusting it made you hate yourself. Which is why you concluded, you’d rather be a devil than make an angel like her cry.
“I won’t get hurt anymore.” Your hand clutched over hers, halting her movements as you slowly sunk down from the chair she had set you on. You ignored her warnings about your knees and the scrapes that bled them, kneeling to face her as your hands held onto her warm ones tightly. “I promise, I won’t get hurt anymore. I’ll be so careful you won’t ever have to patch me up again.”
You reassured her, meeting her glossy eyes as her fingers escaped yours to press over the gold cross that hung from around her neck. “Promise?” Her voice croaked in a low whisper, watching you press your hand over the cross that branded your heart in response. “I promise”
JULY, 2009.
REPORT SIGNED BY AARON HOTCHNER
"I promise, I promise"
You groaned softly as you awoke, head instinctively pulling away as someone tried to dab the blood away from the wounds that tore your face open. Her hands weren’t half as gentle as Cecelia's nor were they very warm, but they were careful nonetheless. The woman gently turned your face towards her, a wet towel in her hands as she filed away at the blood that coated your forehead.
“You should of told Cyrus who you were, he’s a prophet. He predicted Satan’s armies would come and lay siege to us and they did.” A soft voice spoke as she noticed you waking, your eyes peering open to see none other than Jessica’s mother—Kathy Evanson. A part of you felt like she hardly believed the words that left her lips, but they were so engraved in her tongue that she had no choice but to preach them to you.
“A Prophet” You scoffed, pulling your face away from her grip as you met her concerned stare. She looked a twisted combination of frightful and worried, and you wondered whether all mothers who actually knew how to hold love shared that look. A look of care, of genuine emotion. When you'd first met her, you'd wanted to shame her for dragging her daughter to a place such as this from so young. But upon thinking of it now you realized she wasn't all that different from anyone you had preached to in the forest. She just wanted to live. And when you have nothing to live for you will find anything to cling onto, whether it be death's hand or the hand of a so called prophet.
“There’s no such thing as a prophet, trust me it's all bullshit."
Kathy just shook her head slightly as you spoke. She was caught between common sense and her morality, you knew so because you could always tell what it looked like. You had fought through that battle already, and it was impossible to win. “those men aren’t Satan’s armies, they're just men who know what he is." You added, slowly sitting up to look at her better as she pulled her eyes away from you. "You're lying, Cyrus he's—"
"Cyrus is a pedophile. I know it, and someone else does to. Someone who was brave, and smart enough to see through his brainwashing. And that kind of brainwashing needs a lot of love to see through.” You whispered, meeting her stare as she slowly let herself look to you. Kathy's eyes gleamed over with tears and she was quick to shake her head again. Whether she was denying it was her who'd made that call, or denying what you both knew, she didn't give you time to ask as she ran from the room quickly.
𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚
Spencer and Emily had to keep their heads, they knew that. Acting rashly wouldn’t get anyone out of here alive, so despite all their fear, they tried to act normal. They weren't sure where Cyrus had taken you, but the walls weren't very thick. If they strained their ears over the faint chatter they could have made out the sounds of slamming and shouts. Too muffled to make out, but to audible to ignore either.
Their eyes snapped up as Cyrus came down less than an hour after he had dragged you away and gone to sit in a room almost casually. The duo hesitated for a moment before they followed him inside, happening to walk in just to see him wiping blood off his fists. They both felt their breaths lodging in their throats at what that could mean. You couldn't be dead, Emily tried to reassure herself. Even the average sociopath would have more of a reaction than Cyrus had now should they have killed a person. So she settled with the knowledge that you were at least beaten hard enough to have blood drawn. Cyrus must have heard the wood creaking softly beneath their feet as they lingered by the door, watching him. He didn't glance up to them just yet, blowing over his slightly bruised knuckles as he spoke.
“Did you two know she was FBI?”, He interrogated in an almost terrifying calmness. His voice was cold, and far from comforting. The two shared a brief look, shaking their heads naturally. They knew this situation was bad, horrible even. Odds were already not tipped in their favor, and with your condition and location undetermined everything just got far more challenging.
“Nancy just told us that the woman was a child abuse interview expert from Denver” Spencer managed to force out, making his nerves come out as being for any reason other than the concern that hugged his heart. He tried to put you out of his mind for now, even if guilt made his hands want to tremble he knew he couldn't let anything show. It should have been him. Cyrus had held his gun right to Spencer's forehead, and had you not spoken up he likely wouldn't be the one standing in that room now. Had you not spoken up, you wouldn't be curled up somewhere with more wounds than you deserved.
Emily gave a slow nod in agreement, her eyes darting between Cyrus and his best tool of a man as she added. “We’d worked with Nancy for years, we had no idea she’d lie to us like that.” She tried to keep her tone from wavering as she spoke, hands clasped in front of her as she let her gaze settle on Benjamin Cyrus. They already knew he was a devil, but knowing something and experiencing the extent of it were two very different things.
Cyrus watched them for a moment, studying them, before he slowly stood to prey towards them. “As far as you know, their law says that a fifteen year old girl is a child. Fifty years ago, that same law said a fourteen year old was an adult. Have children changed so much in fifty years?” He questioned almost rhetorically, a slight tilt to his head as he watched every twitch of their expressions. His words were a poison, and they were sickening to hear.
Emily had to physically bite her tongue to stop herself from making a face, and she could see Spencer doing the same. It took every part of her to not vomit at his words, spoken in a calmed murmur as though it wasn’t an admission of a disgraceful outlook on the worlds children. Children had changed over fifty years, and so have morals, but now wasn’t the time to preach that to him. Cyrus already had his answer to that question, he practiced it every day when he'd move to lay behind the freshly bred teenagers.
Spencer glanced to Emily unconsciously as a silent thought coursed through them both. They knew the only way to make it out of this alive was to play into his fantasies, as disgusting as they may be. Spencer looked back to Cyrus with a look of forced civility even if it hurt to feign so naturally, “I can’t tell you the number of times we’ve investigated abuse charges against small religious groups. Almost all of them turn out to be false.”
Spencer was trying to build rapport, to rebuild the trust that had been severed after someone leaked to Cyrus that there was an FBI agent amongst them. Emily nodded in agreement, her hands clasped in front of her as her eyes occasionally darted towards the man stood by the door; the one who'd been keeping an eye on them since the moment they entered. It was hard to feel comfortable in their position, to not act out of emotion knowing this man had just beat one of their own.
“What do you think of that?” Cyrus asked, holding Spencer’s stare intensely. Spencer interested him, that much was provident.
“It doesn’t really matter what I think” Spencer dejected, eyes darting briefly to Emily who matched his tension before he quickly looked back to Cyrus who didn't seem too rejected by his answer.
“It matters to me.”
“Why?” Emily chipped in, meeting Cyrus’ stare as he slowly shifted to lookl between her and Spencer. His demeanor was beyond chilling. How could a man of God stand so calmly after beating a woman down? After assaulting so many children, killing so many men. They knew why, anyone could tell that there was no emotion behind that man.
“Because God wants to save you. I mean, that’s why he sent you here. That’s the reason.” He muttered to them.
Spencer and Emily shared a look at those words. It was clear to the two of them that Cyrus didn't trust them anymore. Even if he felt he had his confirmation that they weren't the secret agents, he was more cautious now. Too cautious. Spencer glanced back towards Cyrus, holding his stare for a moment. He had to get that trust back, both him and Emily were certain of that. Because if they couldn't, then they were all going to die there.
“On the next call, you should test them. Make them prove to you that they’re not liars like Nancy was.” Spencer suggested, watching Cyrus slowly lean back slightly as his arms crossed over his chest. Emily was quick enough to catch onto what Spencer was trying to do, nodding her head in agreement at what he suggested as she looked to the 'prophet' now. Cyrus seemed unsure, but it was hard to tell how he felt at all with how eased his expression was. “How would you suggest I do that?”
“Ask for the identity of the FBI agent.” Emily offered, raising her brows for emphasis until Cyrus’ right hand man stepped forward from the doorway in annoyance. “No, we already know her identity.”
“They don’t know that” Cyrus cut him off lowly, his head tilting in contemplation. Christopher scoffed, irritation slipping off his every word as he continued to argue “Yeah, but the FBI would never tell us that."
Spencer knew they were close, they just needed to keep pushing and then they'd have him. “They want you to release people, just tell them you will release a kid and won’t harm the agent.” Spencer offered, glancing between the two men as his hands slipped into his pockets to hide the tremors that shook them. Cyrus was on the edge, and Christopher was only growing more irked the longer this went on. “If they really care about the kids like they claim they do they’ll tell you. And, you’ll know whether or not you can trust them not to lie to you. If they don't tell you, you'll know they can't be trusted and that they're not here for the children like they claim.” Emily added, staring at Cyrus as he glanced to her briefly.
“You’re trying to get us to release a child.” Christopher argued, glaring between the two of them as Spencer stammered out his counter. “It’s one kid. And if they don’t hold out on their end then you’ll know they can’t be trusted.” He repeated, but when he looked back towards Cyrus he knew they'd already won. Cyrus was a lot easier to convince than Spencer thought he’d be. In all truth, he seemed far more hard headed. But stress could do that to a man, it weakens him to the manipulations of others. “They have a point.” he admitted before he looked towards Christopher who had a firm wrinkle between his brows.
“What is it, Christopher?”
The man hesitated a moment, his eyes trailing off as his voice weakened. “Some…have been talking about leaving.” He muttered, voice lowering instinctively as he saw Cyrus’ gaze change. His stare was cold, almost disappointed as he repeated the word back. “Leaving?”
Christopher nodded, “yeah”. He whispered, eyes falling briefly before he looked back up to see Cyrus had made up his mind. “Wake the baby. Let them meet the orphan that they’ve made.”
Spencer and Emily couldn’t celebrate this victory externally, or let the relief they felt show. It was a small win, a pitiful one if anything, but it was something. They already lost one of them, they had to take their luck where they could find it and they knew that.
𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚
When Spencer saw you, he felt his heart fall to his stomach. He didn’t hate many people, he wasn’t a hateful person. But he couldn’t help the feeling that brewed when he saw what Cyrus had done to you. Whether that disgust aimed towards Cyrus for doing it, or towards himself for letting it happen, he wasn’t sure.
Your eye was bruised in shades of red and yellow, your jaw was already beginning to turn shades of purple and your skin had noticeable scratches and cuts along your face. He could tell by your walk that those weren’t the only wounds, and his feet were rooted in horror for a moment before Emily sneakily pulled him over to where you were leant against the doorway.
Cyrus had called everyone down into the Chapel, and you only hoped he wasn’t planning on giving another sermon; because you were certain you’d rather get beaten again rather than have to hear him preach. It had been a long while since your last beating, and you weren't sure whether you felt disgusted or comforted by how 'home' the pain made you feel. You had kept that promise you made to Cecelia over twelve years ago now, and hadn't allowed yourself to get beat on anymore than you could help. But pleasure had made root in your bones. A disgusting pleasure at knowing you had gotten what you deserved for all you've done in your life.
Your eyes peeled across the room, until you felt a soft hand feather over your elbow and you instinctively yanked it away before realizing it was just Emily with a mortified Spencer Reid in tow. Your eyes met Emily’s as she asked you if you were okay, her eyes peering across every scrape left. "Please tell me it's not as bad as it looks" She whispered to you, waiting for you to give a small nod of assurance as she gave your arm a reassuring squeeze before she pulled away to avoid suspicion. You were fine, you repeated to both her and yourself. You had been so certain you were, until you saw up close the look Spencer had on his face.
He had the same look she used to carry. Big brown eyes that were wide in a mix of horror and phantom pain, lips slightly parted with words that choked him and an ever so slight tilt of the brows. Your own words were heavy on your tongue, shoulders growing slack in an almost instinctual grief. Spencer looked so much like her it made everything sting, like someone had thrown salt water over your torn body as a final 'fuck you'.
“I’m fine, I’ve been worse.” You tried to assure in a low whisper, voice slightly strained. You couldn’t face him much longer, not if he kept looking at you like that. “I’m so sorry” He mumbled, unable to restrain the tremble in his voice as his eyes scanned you over and over in hopes that his eyes were playing games with him.
“I’m fine, I promise.” Your fingers unconsciously hovered over the cross that hung from your neck as you repeated your promises, before you forced yourself to look away from him. Your fingers snapped away from the gold emblem to instead rest tensely at your sides, looking forward to Cyrus as he read the list of those he'd free.
“Hey, look at who he’s releasing” Emily muttered, catching the two of you to change the subject as the realization dawned on her. Her brows furrowed unconsciously, eyes darting across the people who stood from their seats.
“It’s the ones who failed the loyalty test” Spencer added, clearing his throat slightly before he met Cyrus’ gaze for a split second. “We can’t talk for long.”he whispered to the two of you, his gut pooling with discomfort. Emily nodded in agreement, her jaw clenching before she looked to you again. “We’ll get word to the team. Just wait for a sign from outside to indicate what time the raid will come.” She whispered quickly, before they walked off.
You were left to watch as they went to Cyrus, whispering an excuse for their speaking to you as you lingered against the wall. The pain in your ribs made it hard to breathe, but that wasn’t what had your breath caught in your throat. It was that you had broken your promise. You told her you’d never let yourself get hurt again, would never push someone to harm you just so you could feel something, but you broke that.
“You used to get into fights often?” Dr. Finley questioned, watching as a small almost fond smile grew on your lips at the question. Not because they were necessarily good memories, but rather because of what always came with them. It was the after that were good memories, the memories of sweet Cecelia tending to you, doting on you like your own personal savior.
“When my parents first got me all…drugged up, I felt like I lost a part of myself. But then I learned that pain kind of woke me up, and I became kind of… addicted to it I guess.” You explained softly, your smile faltering at the mention of your parents. Dr. Finley hummed softly in response, her head tilting. “Why do you think that was?”
You paused for a moment at that, letting her question cycle through your mind as you reconciled on those days. “I guess because pain is the one thing that everyone can feel. And feeling it made me feel almost…united, with other people. It’s weird.” Your fingers fidgeted with the cross that hung over your chest, the gold gleaming under the light of Dr. Finley’s office as she hummed softly at your reply.
“It’s not weird. A bit outlandish maybe, but I’m not one to judge.” She shrugged, watching the slight nod you gave her. That was why you liked her. You had admitted the most devillish things you had ever done, yet she never judged you. She never looked at you any differently, she just kept moving forward.
“Tell me about the raid. How did you manage to get the women and children out in time?”
Kathy had a soft smile on her lips as she gently brushed the hair out of your face, holding a glass of water for you to sip from. It reminded you of how mothers would tend to their sick children in the movies, and a part of you had always kind of thought that mothers like that didn’t exist. Your own mother wasn't one to fawn. She was a cold and cynical woman who believed in preaching the lords will rather than preaching her love.
Your eyes glanced up from the glass of water to meet her eyes, if anyone could help you it would be her. You were sure of it. You let the water sooth the back of your throat before you spoke, holding her stare. “Cyrus is planning a mass suicide. Now look, I know it was you who made that 911 call, no need to hide it. ”
Kathy’s expression fall at your words, her lips parting silently before a soft whisper escaped her lips. “This is all my fault. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t made that call.” She muttered, eyes glossed over in guilt. She couldn’t win, every choice she made would leave her feeling empty and that was something you could understand. If she hadn't made the call, she'd spend the rest of her life watching her daughter suffer at the hands of a man like Benjamin Cyrus. But even after the call she wasn't free, she had brought hell straight to their doorstep.
“You didn’t do anything you shouldn’t have done. You were trying to protect your daughter.” You reassured, your brows slightly tilted upwards as she continued.
“There were other girls before Jesse. He—…He would marry them in secret and after awhile he’d take another and we weren’t permitted to speak of it. And so when she asked for my consent, I wanted to just take her and run but I was afraid she wouldn’t leave him.” She explained quietly, a nauseating level of disgust and guilt hanging off every word she spoke. Kathy just wanted what was best for her daughter, she just wanted her to be safe and happy. But that could never happen here. She knew that.
“So you wanted us to take her” You had realized her intentions from the moment you realized she was the caller. Cyrus wasn’t the kind of man to just let someone leave, which is why Kathy would have needed to resort to having her taken physically against her will. It was a cruel twist of almost Stockholm syndrome, that or just pure nativity. Jessica had no idea that what Cyrus felt wasn't true love, it was something more sinful than anything she had every prayed against.
“I just wanted to save her from Cyrus” She whispered, dejection hanging off every word.
“It’s not too late, you can still save her.” You assured, voice lowering as you glanced to the door briefly before back to her. “The FBI is coming at three AM. I need you to get Jessica, the kids, the women, get them to the basement before then and you can save them all. You can save Jessica." You whispered to her carefully, biting back a plead.
You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but when she stood up to walk away you felt a hole in your chest. It was too much for her, you could tell. “Why are you telling me this?” She had failed once, and it was painfully evident that one failure was enough for her to lose just about all hope she had.
“Because you were brave enough to risk everything to save Jessica once, and when you love someone you never give up on them.”
Kathy stared at you dejectedly for a moment, her eyes glossing over before she walked out. Leaving you with nothing but a lump in your gut as you flopped backwards with a grunt. “Dammit. Why me?” You groaned softly to yourself, brows furrowing in discomfort. Of all places you could be in the world, you were tied up in a cult's ranch about to die. Maybe that was always how this was going to end for you, sacrificed to a God you gave up on years ago. What a cruel twist of fate.
“You wanna start praying yet?”
A low voice droned through the room with a sharp ring in your ears, and you nearly winced at the sound. Your mother had taken the seat of where Kathy once sat, her presence noticeably less warm, less loving. When you didn’t reply, she scoffed in something akin to disgust.
“you were always cursed, you’re lucky God blessed you with the mercy of at least letting you die in a chapel. Not that you deserve it.” She degraded, pulling a cigarette from her clutch and slipping it between her lips. She was an older woman, hair combed neatly and clad in a long dress that hid her ankles. Ever the nun she was, blowing her smoke to your face before she stood with disappointment hanging off her bones. You could hear them all creaking together as she stood, like she was a walking skeleton ready to fall apart.
“and here I was hoping I would have another funeral to go to. You really do have the devil protecting you.” She scoffed out just as Kathy raced through her figure, causing your eyes to widen up at her in surprise. “Kathy—“
“You were right. They’re rigging this place to blow up.” Her fingers fumbled over the rope that tied you, letting you loose as your wide eyes could do nothing but peer up at her. She wore a dress not that far off from your mother, but she had one thing your mother’s wealth could never afford. Love. That’s all it was. Where your mothers eyes held a loathing so intense it could kill a puppy, Kathy's held a love so pure it made your head spin.
“I told Jesse that Cyrus wanted her to gather all the women and children downstairs.” You turned to her as she spoke, forcing words out as your hands were finally free. “Where are the two people I came in with? Did you see them?”
Kathy stammered for a moment in thought as she tried to remember, her hand on yours as she looked to you. “Uh—They’re in the chapel with Cyrus, it’s 2:45 though. We’ve got to hurry!” Panic was heavy in her words as she pulled you out of the room towards where Jessica was gathering all of the children quietly. The young teen was confused, but the adhering to her husband led to her submission.
Gasoline and dynamite lined the halls as you began to lead the women and children, checking around every corner before ushering them quietly. Adrenaline made your hands more jittery than you’d like, and the only reassurance you had was knowing it would all be over soon. Whether that end was in freedom or in death, an end was an end.
By the time you managed to get them all down into the basement SWAT was already stationed on every wall and Morgan practically ran to you. “Caelia, are you alright? Can you walk?” His hand reached for you, eyes darting across your torn skin in visible concern. “I’m fine, but you guys have to hurry they’ve got explosives everywhere.” You mutter to him as he helped you down from the steps.
Your heart was racing, eyes darting across each of the children as they were ushered down. Somehow, an evacuation was more stressful than talking down an unsub was. Maybe it was because you were trying to save dozens of victims instead of just one. That and you had been completely alone in guiding them to safety. You didn't have Hotch's calm demeanor to rub off on you, Rossi's confidence or Spencer's statistics on how likely you were to survive if Cyrus caught you. Your mind trailed back to Spencer, to Emily, they were still in the devils hands. And the thought of that made you nauseous.
“Hey, Hey,” Morgan gripped your arm, placing you between him and Rossi almost protectively as he looked to you. “Where are Reid and Emily?” His question was one of urgency and concern, for you, for them. He watched your lips part in thought as your eyes darted towards the stairs unconsciously.
“They’re upstairs in the chapel with Cyrus” You recited through soft pants as your racing heart was slowly starting to catch up to you. It had been awhile since you felt this way, so close to losing it all. Your life, your mind. You were sure the two men at your sides could feel the racing in your heart, and as much as you wanted to hate the feeling you couldn't. Because you had never felt so alive before. Your hands couldn't stop trembling, and you were sure you were buzzing with enough adrenaline to shatter all of your nerves.
“We’ll get them, we’ve got to get you out of here.” Rossi instructed, causing your head to snap up at him. “No, we’ve got to get Spencer and Emily—they’re in ten times more danger than I am right now!” You argued as Morgan tried ushering you back when you stepped forward. Morgan's arm gently curled around your waist to pull you back, gaze firm.
“I don’t think either of them are about to pass out on their feet, you’re all busted up. I’ll go get them, you just need to get out of here to somewhere safe.” Morgan ordered, causing you to take a few dejected steps back until you heard the shrill yell of Jessica Evanson.
“He’s my husband!” She screeched, already running back up the stairs as Kathy desperately tried to chase her. Your hand unconsciously reached to help Morgan stop her, “Kathy!— You can’t go back up there, they’ll get her, okay?” She looked to you with her eyes full of unshed tears, trying to look behind you as Rossi led you all outside.
"Do you regret not doing things differently?"
Your gaze shifted to Dr. Finley in slight confusion at her question. "What?"
The red head shifted in her seat at your loss, pen tapping against her notepad as her eyes honed on you almost intensely. "You liked Kathy. So do you wish you could have stopped Jessica from what she did next?" She questioned, watching your gaze slowly drift away from her and rather towards anything else. A part of you felt like she already knew what you believed in regards to that, and that's why she asked.
"I don't think anyone could have stopped Jessica from what she did next. Not even God."
You followed behind the group as Rossi led you all out, and you flinched as a loud bang resounded. You didn't have to turn around to know what had happened, someone had detonated the bomb. When you did allow yourself to turn you saw the Chapel up in flames, God’s palace burning to the ground and taking those inside with it. Spencer, Emily, Morgan, who were all inside.
“No…” You whispered, lips parting in shock as the flames screamed loudly in a way so painfully familiar it made your skin ache. “Caelia!” A voice barely raptures your attention, and before you knew it you felt Aaron’s hand on your elbow as he tried to tug you away.
“Caelia, you have to get back” He ushered, concern weighing down his words as his eyes darted across every scrape and bruise they could find. He wasn’t surprised by their severity, he had heard you gain each one. Yet seeing it only made it hurt so much worse. His gaze fitted up to your face to see the look of pure horror that twisted as you tried to pull away from him.
“We have to— Spencer, and Emily and Derek they’re still in there. We can't leave them, they're burning!” You stumbled forward as Aaron caught you, his eyes darting towards to fuming flames as you came to hold onto him. Your hands were trembling as you gripped his arms for balance, but in that mind numbing anxiety rather than pleasure. “It’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be fine!" He tried to reassure you, to reassure himself. They'd be fine.
It was cold, it felt cold all over again. Like that day in the early winter when you saw her on her knees, in deaths hand because you were too late. You wondered if maybe your mother was right, you were cursed to lose everyone you ever came to care for. Your blood was a curse, and anyone you spilled it for would die.
Your mother wasn't a prophet, nor was she wise. She spoke of fate like it was something destined to come true, but you came to learn now that wasn't always the case. Fate wasn't predestined, and today wasn't their time to succumb to your curse.
“We’re okay!” Morgan called out between coughs as he stumbled into your sights with Emily and Spencer in tow. And you felt your knees almost buckle beneath you as you forced yourself away from Hotch to scramble up the steps to where they were escaping hells flames.
Before you knew it, your arms were tight around the two of them. Soft pants left your lips in the wake of exhaustion and relief as you all hung off one another. The adrenaline was beginning to dissipate from your body and you began to feel the true extent of how badly your ribs hurt. Every move you made shot pain up your sides, yet when your eyes fell to Kathy you knew that her pain was double yours.
A parent should never out live their children. It’s a law rewritten by the dictionary not a God, because what do you call a mother who carries her daughters casket?
You call a child who’s lost their parents an orphan, a person who’s lost their lover a widow, but their cease's to be a word for when a mother loses a child. All you could do was hug her as her tears stained your shoulder.