Archive of Our Own ^beta

There was no pain.

No sound.

Just… stillness.

The kind of stillness that felt too large to be silence. A space too vast to belong to anything living. Like the air itself was holding its breath.

Aaron Hotchner opened his eyes.

He was standing.

Not on ground, exactly. But in a place that felt like it had form. A horizon that curved in every direction, made of smoke and light and something that shimmered like memory.

And then—

A voice.

Dry. Amused. Infuriatingly casual.

“Well. About time.”

Aaron turned sharply.

A figure was seated on a crooked bench just ahead, legs crossed, dressed in what could only be described as theatrically dramatic black robes. Hood up. Boots kicked out in front. A comically massive tub of popcorn rested in their lap.

Aaron blinked. “You’re…?”

The figure gave a slow, sarcastic bow without standing. “Yes, yes. The robe, the vibe, the whole aesthetic—it’s me. Death. Or, you know, the In-Between’s most charming host.”

“…Right,” Aaron said flatly.

Death squinted at him. “You're very calm about this. Most people scream. Or cry. Or try to punch me.”

“I’ve seen worse lighting in FBI safehouses.”

Death burst into laughter. “Oh, you’re going to be fun.”

Aaron took a step closer, cautious but curious. “Where am I?”

“Nowhere,” Death said. “And everywhere. Limbo. The In-Between. The place between the last breath and the next possibility.”

Aaron frowned. “So… what happens now?”

Death shrugged. “That depends on you. But before we get into cosmic meaning and existential decisions, I figured we’d start with popcorn and a movie.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow. “A movie.”

Death patted the bench. “You might want to sit down for this one. It’s a family drama. Heavy on the grief, high on the legacy, and your kid? Absolute scene-stealer.”

Aaron hesitated.

Then, quietly, sat.

And as the screen—if it could be called that—began to open in the nothingness around them, Aaron saw it.

Haley. Jack. Atlas.

His team.

His family.

The scene sharpened—Garcia clutching JJ’s hand, Reid standing stiffly with glassy eyes. Rossi stepping up to the podium, fingers white against the wood.

Death sighed. “It’s never fun to see your own funeral. But… it’s necessary.”

Aaron didn’t speak.

He was watching Rossi now.

Listening to the words that tore through him.

“You are not alone. I will be here. For you. For these two boys that I consider my grandchildren.”

Aaron’s throat tightened.

Jack sat beside Haley, his jaw tight, every bit the son who refused to cry.

And behind them, Atlas—his Atlas—face empty, unmoving, hands clenched into fists.

Then Reid stood.

And Aaron couldn’t breathe.

“He was the closest thing I ever had to a father.”

Death didn’t interrupt. Not when Aaron’s hand drifted up to his mouth. Not when his eyes welled. Not when he took a slow, shaky step toward the vision, reaching out like he could touch them.

He couldn’t.

He tried anyway.

Then Jack’s voice filled the chapel.

“I just miss my dad.”

Aaron flinched.

Haley spoke next. Strong and shaking and grieving. He watched her, aching. He wanted to speak, to comfort her, to say something—

But then Death whispered, almost gently:

“Watch him.”

Aaron turned.

Atlas hadn’t moved.

But his silence said everything.

His grief wasn’t loud. It was buried. Controlled. Explosive under the surface.

Aaron knew that look. He’d worn it himself once.

And then Haley’s voice pierced the room:

“Atlas… would you like to say anything?”

The weight shifted. The air changed.

Atlas froze.

And Aaron’s hand went to his chest.

“Come on,” he whispered. “Come on, son.”

But Atlas didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just whispered “No.”

And Aaron broke.

Because he knew what that silence meant.

Death sat up slightly, eyes softer now. “He’s drowning in it.”

Aaron pressed a hand to his face, trying to compose himself. “He thinks it’s his fault.”

“Of course he does,” Death said. “Grief doesn’t follow logic. Especially not with Atlas.”

Aaron looked at him. “What happens now?”

Death’s smile faded. “That’s up to them. And eventually… up to you.”

Aaron blinked. “Me?”

“You’re not done yet, Hotchner. Not by a long shot.”

And as the vision faded, and the chapel dissolved back into silver mist, Aaron turned to face Death again.

“Then show me what comes next.”

The space around Aaron was silent.

It was the kind of quiet that screamed.

Death stood beside him, arms folded, eyes watching the scene below with something unreadable behind the usual sarcasm.

“Here we go,” Death muttered. “Brace yourself.”

The mist around them shimmered, and a house came into view.

Home.

Aaron recognized the kitchen, the living room. The dull afternoon light filtering in through the curtains. The tension in the air.

And then he heard the door slam.

Jack was already moving.

Aaron tensed as he watched his youngest son step into the hallway, jaw clenched, expression dark.

Atlas had just come home.

He looked exhausted. Worn down to nothing. The scent of whiskey—Aaron could almost imagine it himself—clung to the air like regret.

“Are you serious?” Jack’s voice was sharp, biting.

Atlas didn’t flinch. “Not now, Jack.”

Not now.

Aaron winced.

Jack’s laugh was humorless, brittle. “Not now? You come in here, drunk again, acting like you’re the only one who lost him—”

Atlas froze. Mid-step.

“Jack—” Haley’s voice tried to cut through the tension, but no one was listening.

Jack stepped forward. “You do this every night. Lock yourself in Dad’s study like some kind of ghost and expect the rest of us to pretend it’s normal.”

Aaron’s heart cracked.

Atlas turned slowly, unreadable. “You don’t get to tell me how to grieve.”

“Yeah? And what is this?” Jack demanded. “This isn’t grief. This is giving up.”

“You think I have a choice?” Atlas barked back.

“You do!” Jack’s voice cracked. “You could be here! With us! But instead, you drown yourself because you think no one else hurts!”

Aaron wanted to step forward. To reach them. But the In-Between didn’t allow that.

Atlas’s voice dropped. Low. Devastated.

“I felt him dying before he even did.”

Jack stilled.

Atlas’s eyes were glassy. “Every day, I watched his aura get weaker. I saw the brown disappear. And you want to stand there and tell me I don’t understand?”

Aaron sucked in a sharp breath. He knew that wasn’t metaphorical.

Jack’s hands shook. “That doesn’t mean you get to fall apart.”

Atlas let out a hollow laugh. “What do you want from me, Jack? Pretend I’m okay? Pretend Dad isn’t dead?”

Jack stepped closer. “I want you to act like you’re still a part of this family.”

“You didn’t even say anything at the funeral.”

Atlas looked away. “I didn’t have anything to say.”

Jack’s face twisted. “Because you were too busy feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Jack—” Haley warned.

But Jack didn’t stop.

“You act like you’re the only one who lost him. Like you’re the only one who deserves to grieve.”

Atlas’s fingers curled around the back of a chair.

“That’s not what I—”

“You weren’t even his real son.”

Silence.

Time stopped.

Aaron’s knees buckled, just slightly.

Atlas stilled.

And Death… even he looked shaken.

Haley whispered, horrified, “Jack.”

But it was too late.

Atlas slowly set his fork down. “Say that again.”

Jack stood straighter, trembling. “You weren’t his son. Not really. You act like you lost everything, but you didn’t. He was my dad.”

Aaron whispered, “Stop.”

Atlas didn’t blink. His voice was empty. “You think I don’t have the right to grieve.”

“I didn’t mean—” Jack tried.

“Yeah. You did.”

And then Atlas turned and walked out the door.

Slamming it behind him.

The mist returned.

The house dissolved.

Aaron stood frozen.

Death didn’t speak. For once, he gave the silence room to breathe.

Finally, Aaron whispered, “He thinks I didn’t love him enough.”

“He thinks he wasn’t enough,” Death corrected.

Aaron’s voice broke. “He was. He is. My son.”

“I know that.” Death tilted his head. “But he has to believe it on his own.”

Aaron stared at the place where his son had disappeared.

“Then how do I help him?”

Death sighed, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve. “You wait. And when the time is right… I’ll let you see him again.”

Aaron closed his eyes.

And prayed his son would survive long enough to hear him.

The In-Between curled around Aaron like mist. Cool and endless. He stood frozen, watching the living room shimmer into place.

Atlas was standing at the bottom of the stairs, wild-eyed, breathing hard, fists clenched.

Aaron had seen him like that before—but never like this. Never so close to unraveling.

“Where is it?”

His voice was sharp. Broken.

Haley looked up from the kitchen, startled. “What?”

Aaron flinched. Please no, he thought.

“My bear. The one Dad gave me. It was in my room, and now it’s gone.”

Jack set down his drink. “Atlas—”

“Did you take it?”

The accusation snapped like a whip.

Aaron’s chest tightened.

Jack froze, hesitating.

That hesitation was all Atlas needed.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” His voice cracked. “Why would you take that? You don’t get to just—just take him from me, too!”

“Atlas, just—”

“Give it back!”

Atlas’s chest was heaving now, rage and heartbreak pouring off him in waves. Aaron could almost feel it—like thunder rolling off a cliff.

Jack didn’t fight. Just sighed and reached into his bag.

Pulled out the bear.

Atlas snatched it, clutched it to his chest like a lifeline, like oxygen.

“Press the paw,” Jack said.

Atlas’s hands were shaking.

“What?”

“Just do it.”

Aaron watched, barely breathing.

Atlas’s grip softened, and he reached out—

Pressed the paw.

And then Aaron’s voice—his real voice—filled the room.

“Atlas… Little one. I need you to know something. I need you to hear it and believe it. You are my son. You have always been my son. Not by blood, but by choice. My choice. And I would make it a thousand times over.”

Aaron’s hand flew to his mouth as his knees buckled.

Atlas let out a sharp, broken sob.

His body shook. His hands clenched the bear like he could fall through the earth if he let go.

Jack stood beside him, silent.

Waiting.

Atlas hit the button again.

“I am proud of you. I always have been. And I need you to keep going, even when it hurts. You are stronger than you know. And no matter what, I love you. Always.”

And then Atlas collapsed.

Aaron dropped to his knees in the mist with him.

Tears streamed down his face.

In the living room, Jack caught Atlas before he hit the floor.

Wrapped his arms around him.

Held him.

They stayed like that—brothers, finally healing.

In the In-Between, Aaron knelt with them.

Whispered words they couldn’t hear.

But maybe… maybe they could feel.

“You always were. You always will be.”

In the space between life and death, where time did not move and existence was neither here nor there, two figures sat side by side, watching the events unfold below them.

Death, draped in their usual dramatic black robes, leaned back in their chair, a massive bucket of popcorn resting in their lap. Beside them, Aaron Hotchner sat with his own, much smaller, portion of popcorn—because apparently, even in death, Death refused to share.

The two of them had been watching the scene unfold in the BAU bullpen, watching as Atlas walked into his new role, into his own legacy.

Death let out a loud, amused snort, popping a handful of popcorn into their mouth. “Look at him. All serious and broody, but secretly touched by all the love and admiration. It’s like watching a baby deer grow into a very competent but still emotionally repressed stag.”

Aaron shot them a look. “That’s your takeaway from this?”

Death grinned. “I mean, it’s either that or I start pointing out how your other son just steamrolled over any emotional hesitancy and made Atlas accept that he will, in fact, be loved forever.” They waved a hand. “Which, don’t get me wrong, is absolutely hilarious to watch.”

Aaron just shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him.

Death peered over at him, raising a brow. “You’re taking this all very well.”

Aaron didn’t respond right away.

He just watched.

Watched as his son stood in the heart of the team he had once called home. Watched as Spencer, JJ, Tara, and the rest of the team embraced him fully—not as Aaron Hotchner’s son, not as someone filling a void, but as Atlas.

His own man. His own leader.

Aaron had spent his life protecting the people he loved, carrying the weight of responsibility for so long that even in death, he had worried about leaving them behind.

But looking at them now?

Looking at his son, standing where he belonged?

Aaron smiled, something warm and unshakable in his chest.

“He’s going to be just fine.”

Death rolled their eyes. “Oh, absolutely. But where’s the drama in that?”

Aaron gave them a look.

Death sighed. “Fine, fine. You get your heartfelt moment.” They tossed another handful of popcorn into their mouth. “But I still say it would’ve been way funnier if he tripped walking in.”

Aaron chuckled softly. “I wouldn’t count on it. He’s always been steady on his feet.”

Death grinned. “So was Jack when he walked into that reunion hug at full force.”

Aaron laughed—a real, full laugh, shaking his head.

And for the first time since he had stepped into this in-between space, Aaron Hotchner felt something weightless settle over him.

His family was safe.

His son was home.

And no matter what came next—everything was exactly as it should be.