[He takes a drag and lets it out without ceremony. It's been a long time since he started smoking — back when he was about as young as Reid looks, when he was the new kid on the crime scene who hadn't yet built up his tolerance for the blood and the horror. Nobody handed out sympathy back then; that just wasn't how things were done in the unit. They'd handed him a pack instead.]

Cut that out. It wasn't you, it was the thing inside you. Don't start making it out like that was something you did of your own volition.

[A man sobbing on the wet tile floor — oh, god, I killed her. It wasn't him, and yet it's the same thing victims of possession always seem to say — I did it, I couldn't stop him, it made me hurt them.]