AN: My first oneshot! So I wrote the first chapter to my new mini-fanfic and was listening to music when the song Sober by Tool came on.

Thus this little story was born :D Please comment, review, whatever pleases you.

Also, unlike most other songfics, I didn't put the lyrics of the song in here. It's not directly derived from the song, just inspired by it.

Disclaimer: Sober by Tool belongs to Tool, Criminal Minds belongs to its producers, and a $15 pair of headphones belong to me. My name only appears once in that list ;) I am not making money from this.

Warning: Drug Use and Angst. Even a mean comment towards Hotch, but that's it.

Experience enables you to recognize a mistake when you make it again.

Franklin P. Jones

Spencer Reid glanced at his watch for the hundredth time that day. He itched his face slightly, but quickly pulled his hand down. It was a common side effect of heroin. He didn't need anyone to notice.

He sighed to himself. That was a stupid thought; he worked with the best profilers in the country, they probably already knew.

A twinge of pain shot through Reid's stomach. He hadn't been able to divulge himself in awhile. He had run out of the clear liquid two days ago and had to go without. The first day was like coming down from the high; he just felt less. But today was horrid. It was as if one wave of pain would wash over him, only for another to come. He knew he still wasn't experiencing the worst of it… yet.

He sighed as the pain ebbed and looked at his watch again. Ten more minutes.

His eyes drifted to his bag.

He had barely made it to work on time. The dealer was late in meeting him, in fact he'd almost given up and left. Now he was glad he hadn't.

"Hey, pretty boy." Morgan said, walking up to his desk. Reid looked away from his bag and up to his teammate.

The word sounded odd; his entire childhood he was alone, bullied, and now he had a teammate.

He shook his head. Why did he have to think about the past like that? None of his memories used to haunt him like this until…

"Sorry, what did you say?" He asked Morgan, realizing he had zoned out while the other man asked him a question.

"Do you want to come over to my place?" Morgan asked, a frown on his face and an eyebrow raised just a little higher than the other.

"No... I'm not feeling well." Reid replied automatically. Four minutes; four minutes until he was walking home. Thirteen minutes and fourty one seconds to walk there, and another five minutes and twenty seven seconds to properly prepare. Then he could give in to temptation.

'Like the sinner you are,' he thought wryly.

"All right," Morgan shrugged and faked disregard. Spencer knew he was trying to figure something out, to find out what was wrong with him.

Why couldn't they leave him alone?

Didn't he want them to help him, though? Not when he was I pain like this.

As Reid argued with himself, the clock turned that magical number. That much closer to his release, Reid packed his things haphazardly. If he'd have paid attention, been a little bit cooler, feigned calmness, he would have noticed Hotch standing by the railing next to his office watching him.

He didn't, though. He wanted the agonizing spikes of pain to go away; that was only achieved with a latex tourniquet and a needle filled with the delicious calming liquid.

Reid tried running probabilities in his head along the way home. Any math equation that he could think of he ran scenarios for, but the pain was growing more intense and he couldn't focus. He nearly collapsed, but he knew that if he did, he wouldn't get up alone.

Alone was all he could do at this moment.

So until his head was swimming in fog, his body's pains numb and far away, and the used needle lay in his limp hand did peace finally come.

He closed his eyes, reveling in his slow euphoria. Why couldn't it always be like this, pleasant, without problems?

But the problems came back after the high wore off; Reid quietly cleaned the mess up off the bathroom floor. His hand was far steadier than before, and his mind calmer. He threw the needle away and wrapped his 'supplies' up, storing them behind the towels in the little cabinet in his bathroom. He closed the door, then turned to the sink. He turned the faucet on cold, splashing water onto his face.

As he dried his face, his paused to look in the mirror; the dark circles beneath his eyes were getting progressively worse.

Disgusted, he threw the towel onto the floor and hurried from the bathroom to his bedroom. He found a long sleeved shirt and changed into it, tossing the only t shirt he owned into the hamper.

He'd gotten the t-shirt as a gag gift from Morgan before the whole… cabin incident, and had fully thought to throw it away.

As stupid as it sounded, it was easier wearing that shirt while partaking in the illicit activity. It was almost like it wasn't really him doing it, because technically, Spencer Reid never wore t-shirts.

Spencer Reid never sat on the bathroom floor, shoving needles into veins, secretly wondering if he put just a little more, if he'd ever come back. No, that was someone else. Spencer Reid cleaned up after that person, and they both pretended not to know one another.

How ironic that the cause of his addiction was someone who literally suffered like that?

Reid sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his open hands in his lap.

Would he really get that bad, if he let it go very much further?

He couldn't do it anymore…

Deciding to call it an early night, Reid lay down and fell asleep.

Reid sat at his station, wringing his hands together beneath his desk. The pain was back.

He hadn't succumbed to the sweet call of the vials once; instead he tried sleeping as much as possible while he was at home.

How much longer could he do this, though? He knew the approximate number of days it took before the pain would stop, but at the moment it escaped him.

"Reid," Hotch said from the balcony. "Come here please."

The young doctor pushed away from his desk and stood, looking at Morgan and Prentiss.

Why did they sit there pretending not to be paying attention when obviously Prentiss' pen wasn't moving and Morgan was flipping the pages too fast to actually read them?

He sighed; that was the addiction talking, the lack of sick substance in his blood.

Hotch closed the door behind them as Reid took a seat across from his boss' office chair.

He gripped his knees, fingers splayed against the loose fabric of his pants and digging into his bony legs.

God, he was sick; he needed to eat; but the nausea prevented him from even drinking coffee.

"I've noticed you are having problems…"

Reid tensed, not looking up.

"Does this have anything to do with Tobias?"

"No!" Reid nearly shouted. Why was saying the name such a problem for him? It was as if even the mention of anything directly was going to bring it back.

"I believe the stomach flu has been going around the office. It's actually quite common this time of year, so it's not surprising."

"And you're the only one who has it?"

"My immune system isn't as strong since… I haven't been sleeping well enough for my immune system to rebuild. It's occurs often among people who aren't sleeping regularly for their immune systems to diminish…"

"Do you need time off?"

"What? No, I just… I will be better soon."

Hotch looked at Reid, as if trying to size him up. Was he profiling him?

"Is it the nightmares?" Hotch finally said as he sat forward a little.

"NO!" Reid stood up, or jumped, rather. "Why can't you just leave me alone? I said I will be fine."

"Because we care about you, Reid." Hotch said, slowly standing as well.

Reid glared at the older profiler, the man he looked up to almost as much as Gideon.

Why was Hotch talking to him and not Gideon?

"Well, if you cared half as much about your family as you did your job, your son wouldn't be at home right now being raised by a pseudo-single mother."

He immediately regretted saying that; slapping Hotch in the face would have caused less effect than what he had just done.

Quickly, and without another word, Reid left the office and went to his desk.

Hotch didn't call him back. He didn't send him home, didn't talk to him; in fact he didn't even look at the young man the rest of the day.

Had Reid just cut one of the few friends he had out of his life? When the others found out, would they follow?

The last few hours flew by as Reid's worries increased tenfold.

He walked home in a daze, and put his things up without really paying attention.

It wasn't until he'd pulled his equipment out from behind the towels and had it neatly laying on the floor that Reid realized how counterproductive his next actions could be.

Shakily, the young doctor reached for his phone and dialed the last person he thought he should.

"Hotchner," came the curt reply, as if he were answering a stranger.

But Hotch had caller ID, and he must have known it was Reid.

"I'm sorry." Reid whispered.

"Reid?" The man on the other line asked, his voice softening.

"I'm sorry I said that."

"Are you all right?" Hotch asked, the tinge of anger gone from his voice only to be replaced by worry.

"I… I've been having nightmares that I'm with Tobias still, and instead of me shooting him, he kills me. He stabs me and every time, just as the team shows up, I die." He admitted, his voice cracking.

"Are you…" Hotch began, then paused. Reid waited for him to finish his sentence. "Are you using, Reid?"

The doctor took a shaky breath. "I'm addicted. I'm using drugs." He finally admitted, not only to Hotch, but to himself. "And I can't stop it."

"Are you using right now?" His boss asked.

Reid shook his head, then let out a small laugh when he realized Hotch couldn't see him. "I'm trying not to, so hard, but I'm just… weak."

Tobias' voice echoed through his head, the same words.

Weak.

"Reid, I'm on my way over." Hotch finally said. "I want you to wrap everything up and throw it in the trash can, then I want you to wait for me by the door."

"Ok." Reid whispered. The phone call ended, and Reid closed his phone. Like Hotch ordered, he wrapped the needles, the rubber tourniquet, and the vial up, then threw them in the trash can. He slowly walked to his front door, then sat beside it on the floor.

He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, and cried.

He, Spencer Reid, was a drug addict. He needed help.

And even though he'd said something horrible to Hotch, maybe he was still his friend.

There was hope after all.

My great concern is not whether you have failed, but whether you are content with your failure.

Abraham Lincoln

AN:I had to end this on a good note XP At first I actually intended to leave it hanging on a scene where Reid's high again, but I decided to actually give this an end.

Thanks to those who read this!