A/N: I really don't even know what the point of creating this is other than to make my favorite character suffer, which, come on, we all love. And I'm bored. And have writer's block. Whatever. I've embarrassed myself with my other stories, I figured why not further it by showing how sadistic I am. I promise I'm a good person somewhere inside. Probably.

I've got a few scenes already written out/in mind, but if YOU have an episode/scene you would have liked something to happen to Reid and it didn't, I shall take/write out your request!

3x14

'Damaged'

There were always going to be times in the field where an agent was going to be afraid. It's always been a dangerous line of work. But 99 times out of 100, that agent has a way to defend themselves, to have a fighting chance; a weapon, a bulletproof vest, and the likes.

This was, quite unfortunately, not one of those times.

Reid's hands, grabbing onto his messenger bag as if it were his lifeline, were actually trembling as he retreated from the growing tension between Hotch and the death-row inmate Chester. After realizing what the inmate planned to do, he had mostly tuned out what they were saying to each other—only knew that someone was going to be killed if he didn't do something, do something fast, and that, if he wasn't careful, someone was going to kill him.

Hotch threw down his tie with his jacket, loosening his collar, prepared to defend them after the threats they'd come under. Chester had begun to circle, like a predator and its prey, when Hotch recognized what he was planning to do, calling Reid's name out two seconds before Chester lunged towards the younger, grabbing him and forcing him in front as a shield, his arm wrapped tightly around Reid's throat. Hotch took a threatening step forward, scowling, and Chester clicked his tongue. "Not so tough now, are you? God, he's a toothpick. I could snap him in half."

"Let him go, or you won't need to be executed next week."

"Oh, I don't plan to be. Not if I kill you two, right here. Now."

Hotch tensed, his fists clenched. Reid wheezed and reached up to scratch at the inmate's arm, uselessly, and then, able to think of nothing else he could do, managed to hoarsely force out, "Chester, do you wanna know why you killed those women?"

Immediately, the inmate's posture relaxed a bit, though his grip did not. "What?"

Reid hardly had enough air left in his lungs to continue, but he pushed through. He had to. "I-I can tell you...why you killed them. Why you are...what you are."

Chester was interested; there was no hiding it. But he tried anyway, of course. "Or I could just kill you."

It was all Reid could to do stay conscious, and even that was terribly difficult, draining strength he already didn't have. "Th-then you wouldn't know. Earlier you..." he desperately fought to get even a fraction of a breath, "you said you wish...you had...been different..."

Chester set his jaw, thinking. Reid's eyes had begun to roll back before Chester finally dropped him, and he collapsed in a heap, coughing, heaving, gagging, hands clutching at his aching neck. Chester saw Hotch take a step towards them, and he got in front of Reid, claiming him for the time being. "Get up," the inmate ordered, and instantly, albeit so very weakly, Reid got to his feet, placing a hand out to the wall in order to keep his balance. "Go on."

And so Reid did go on, and on, and on, only pausing to breathe for several moments when he felt himself getting lightheaded again. Chester had gone back to the table between the two agents, resting his hands upon it, caught up in Reid's words, and Reid was sure time was against them before finally, finally, the door buzzed open and three guards came in, looking a bit panicked like they'd only just realized their mistake.

"Everything alright in here?" one asked, and Hotch turned to them. "Yes. We're done." He waited until Reid slid away from the man and the guards had gone to restrain Chester again before he stepped out the door.

"Was that really true?" Chester began as Reid hurried past them. "I never had a chance?"

"I dunno, maybe," Reid said absentmindedly, because hell if he hadn't been simply saying anything that came to his head, rushing out to meet Hotch in the hall, retrieve their guns, and get outside. Once there, he took a deep breath, trying to ground himself, but he wobbled a bit anyway, blinking hard. He needed to sit down, now, he had to—

Hotch placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from doing anything. "Are you alright?"

"No," Reid said, very honestly, and then fainted.

He opened his eyes a while later in the passenger seat of their vehicle, sort of slumped against the window. He straightened himself up after a moment of collecting his thoughts and rubbed his neck. He didn't think it would bruise, but it would certainly be sore for a few days.

"Feeling better?"

"A little."

"That was smart to get Hardwick to focus on himself long enough for the guards to come back."

"I find that I do some of my best work under intense terror," Reid replied; and intense terror it certainly was.

"I'm sorry."

Reid frowned and glanced over at him. "For what?

"I antagonized the situation."

"No, you didn't."

"Well, I certainly didn't help."

Reid tilted his head and shrugged a bit. "I-I guess you really didn't help."

Hotch took a deep breath, which Reid unknowingly mirrored. "Either way, it may be best that the rest of the team doesn't know about this."

Reid nodded in agreement. "An ultimately uneventful trip," he said, and Hotch gave him a half sympathetic gaze and nodded.

Uneventful indeed.