A/N: Hi everyone. It's been a mad long time since I've written any FanFic (I've done things on the side and whatnot, but I haven't been on this site in a while). I've tried extremely hard to make this as legit as it can be. The beginning at least. I needed a more-so introduction chapter and this is it. If I messed anything up please bear in mind I haven't written anything for Criminal Minds before and I tried to get my facts straight as much as possible - as much as identify the characters correctly. Enjoy and I'd appreciate reviews as to know whether or not I should write Chapter 2. Thank you in advance. :)

Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own Criminal Minds. Otherwise this would be an episode and not a FanFic.

Around the conference room, each agent could be found facing J.J. who was in front of the board with pictures mounted on it. Hotch stood relatively close to her and the rest seated around the table each with their own intent and tired expressions.

"He's calling himself the 60's Revenge Killer," J.J. began, her throat clearing as she pointed to the first victim. "In the past month, four bodies have been found in numerous alleys in Franklin, Tennessee. Each victim has been found with a slit throat, but not before they had been tortured. There were severe burns on each of the bodies and get this, forensics found traces of paraffin wax and carbon tetrachloride-"

"Most commonly found in your every day decorative lava lamp. Of course, you need water that often contains a glycerol derived additive to make it fully functional. It's quite obvious why that wouldn't be found on any of the victims though. " Reid simply butted in as he so easily recognized what the substances were used for. "Depending on whether or not it was a 25 or 40 watt bulb used to heat it up, it'd take about twenty to sixty minutes to melt and by that time if the substance actually made contact with anyone, it would no doubt in fact cause severe burns to any flesh it made contact with. Actually! In 2004, Phillip Quinn was killed during an attempt to heat up a lava lamp on his kitchen stove while closely observing it from just a few feet away-"

Hotch immediately cleared his throat and Reid noticed how amused, yet uncaring the faces of the rest of the team looked towards him. He tended to go off far too much when having information of any kind to share.

"I kind of want to know how he died," Prentiss added with a smirk. Reid immediately blushed lightly and cleared his throat.

"Oh, well, um the heat from the stove built up pressure in the lamp until it exploded. It ended up spraying shards of glass with enough force to pierce his chest - one shard piercing his heart and causing fatal injuries. My point was," he quickly followed before trailing off again, "our UnSub must be using the normal heating source if that truly is what he's using. It seems liable since he is calling himself the 60's Revenge Killer..." Reid suddenly drew a blank. Perhaps he should've allowed Hotch to continue explaining the rest of the murders before drawing any conclusions. "He gave himself that name?"

Hotch nodded immediately and pointed to bagged evidence on the board. It was a note. "He writes notes for people to find after he murders his victims. There is some good news though: we have one surviver; John Gracey. He was found yesterday and is in the hospital as we speak. He did manage to slit his throat though, but it was sloppy this time. He didn't hit the main artery. He's still having trouble speaking, but as far as we're concerned, he's conscious and remembers most of what happened to him."

"What's the note say?" asked Morgan, impatient for Hotch to get to that part on his own. Ignoring the man's eagerness, Hotch read it aloud:

"If we can't find ourselves, what more do we have left to grasp on to? Do not expect us to conform to what little talent is shown today. Speaking words of wisdom, let it be. Let it be.

-The 60's Revenge Killer"

There were a few curious and confused glances around the room before Reid opened his mouth to speak again. "Well, at the end it's quite obvious he's quoting The Beatles. All though, the entire letter seems quite contradictory. Firstly, he speaks of not being able to find 'ourselves'. Then he's trying to say 'we' are conforming to something. Lastly, he quotes The Beatles, but the lyrics contradict his statement. If he were to 'Let it be', he wouldn't have stated change in the previous sentence."

"The UnSub also uses the pronoun 'us' rather than 'I' or 'you'. Which most likely means psychologically, but don't think he might not have some sort of partner in all of us," Rossi added quickly.

"Do any of the victims have anything in common?" asked Prentiss.

"In fact they do. All of the victims were white males in their early to late 20's. The most important factor though is that they were all in local bands that played clubs and small venues around the surrounding cities," J.J. answered as she pointed to a few pictures on the board.

The team exchanged glances once more. For now, this was all they had. They had to build up a profile and go from there. It'd be much easier when they reviewed the case on the jet.

The air was crisp and cool. All the leaves had already turned having it been so late in the fall season. Each of the BAU agents filed off of their jet, Morgan following closely to Reid. He quickly caught up with the younger agent.

"You feeling alright, kid?" he asked, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as they continued to walk towards the SUV that would transport them to the city police station. Reid craned an eyebrow and shrugged nonchalantly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired," he stated with one of the more weaker smiles he was capable of conjuring up. He didn't know why he tried, quite frankly. Constantly, he was surrounded by profilers and the few people who knew him very best. Morgan's next expression was concerned.

"How many times do I have to tell you - you can talk to me. What is it? Having nightmares again or something?"

The manner in which Morgan spoke to him made Reid seem rather young and rather vulnerable. He seemed to get the constant feeling often when people expressed concern for him, though he was sure his friend meant well. He was also well aware that avoiding the subject matter would only be problematic on his behalf.

"No no, no nightmares. I haven't been getting much sleep at all, actually. I can't really seem to explain why." Contrary to the fact that calling Reid a genius would be an understatement, he seemed to be unable to put two and two together when it regarded himself. Had anyone else come up to him saying they were having sleeping problems, he would be the first to explain sleeping patterns and how sleeping disorders are identified. It was almost as if he were too careless to figure out what was actually wrong with himself. Realizing he had insomnia might make him feel physically flawed even more so than he already believed himself to be.

"Perhaps you should see a doctor then. They do have different sorts of treatments-"

Reid shook his head immediately. "I can handle it. It's probably just temporary." Morgan all but frowned.

"You and I both know-"

"I'm fine."

And Morgan did not push the matter.

As soon they had gone to the department and reviewed the case file again, Hotch inquired everyone of what they were to do next. Morgan, Reid, and Hotch were to go to the hospital to visit the victim that had survived while Rossi and Prentiss revisited the last crime scene.

When the three arrived at the hospital, Reid felt the same lack of excitement he got each time that he walked through the doors into the smell of bleach and sterile. It wasn't even due to bad personal experiences at the place, though he had quite a few. It didn't help that he killed someone for the first time in a hospital. If he had the choice, he'd never be forced to do so again. Twice was enough.

The three agents descended down the hallway once they got to the ICU. Once they identified themselves, a nurse escorted them to a small room. There lay a man, no older than twenty-five. His eyes nervously scanned over the agents, for he was well-aware of their presence. Hotch was the first to approach.

"Hello Mr. Gracey, I'm Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. These are Special Agents Derek Morgan and Dr. Spencer Reid," he said rather monotonously as he pointed to each of the agents. "We're with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. I was wondering if we could ask you a few questions?"

The boy seemed as if he were having trouble focusing on the three agents before him. Most likely from the sedatives and pain medication that were flowing through his IV into his veins. After blinking a few times, he began to speak in an extremely low voice that caused the agents to move forward in unison to hear him properly.

"Yeah.. sure. What do you want to know?" he asked, his voice obviously more strained with each passing syllable.

"Would you prefer to write it down?" Hotch asked with a slight hint of concern. The boy shook his head and attempted to clear his throat. "Okay. If you don't mind telling me what you remember from the night you were attacked?" The boy winced as if he saw images behind his eyelids.

"I remember I was playing a show. With my band," he began in a hoarse and low voice. "Every night we go out to sign and meet fans. Then we head off to our van. Well beforehand, we usually change in our cabby. My clothes were pretty dirty from sweat and whatnot. One second I was putting on a clean shirt and the next my head hurt like hell. Son of a bitch hit me from behind and after I fell down he hit me again. All I remember after that was black until I woke up in some crazy ass room. There were like strings of beads hanging over some tiny threshold. I swear to God it was like one of those hippie vans. Well it was really big and roomy too. Cold as hell though. There were lava lamps everywhere. And posters of like old bands from the 70's or some shit. Records everywhere. He was playing one I think. I was tied up to some chair I guess. Next shit I know he's got these big ass gloves on and he's holding one of those lava lamps! I think he used a bottle opener on the top of it. I tried to tell him to stop but he didn't listen, man. It was then I realized I was just in my boxers. Creepy, man. Then he started to pour it on me little at a time. Hurt so fucking bad. Burned like no shit I ever experienced before. Kept saying I was ruining the greater music of the 60's or something. Trying too hard to recreate something that would never be replaced. It was weird as hell. I was scared shitless. Then he got out a knife and that's the last thing I remember. Woke up here and I thought I was dead or something. It's all I know. It was a lot worse than it sounds..."

"What you went through was truly awful. We're not judging you on how bad it sounds," Morgan immediately said.

"Did you see your attacker's face?" Reid asked as he moved closer to the bed.

"No.. he wore a big hood over his head and the only light in the thing was those Goddamn lava lamps. It was like a shadow. Wish I could be of more help. I'd do anything to find that son of a bitch and strangle him."

"We'll find him," Morgan replied. "Don't worry about that. Thank you for being so helpful and cooperative."

"Do you think you could inform me when you find him?" asked John. The agents assured him they would and with only a few smaller questions, they exited the room. It seemed that this was getting rather easier with all the information he had helped with. As they descended back down the sterile hallway, Morgan spoke up before anyone else could.

"I'm going to call Garcia and see if she can find any owners of any Volkswagen transporters in the area. It's most likely the type 2 model if this guy is into the whole 60's era." After his colleagues nodded their approval, he walked outside of the hospital so he was able to use his cell phone.

"Garcia here, information analyst of anything and everything ever," spoke the voice on the other line of his phone after he dialed her.

"Baby girl, I need you to do a search for me."

"Anything for you, hot stuff."

"Alright I need you to find any Volkswagen transporter models in the area. Most likely a type 2." On the other end of the receiver, loud typing could be heard. Morgan leaned back against a pillar as he waited for his colleague to respond.

"I got five registered in the area. Crazy weird how there aren't more. Then again, the model came out in the 50's. I can send the names and addresses to your PDA."

"Can you do a background check on the owners?"

"You got it. I'll send that as soon as I get it."

"Have I ever told you you're the best?"

"Not nearly enough," she replied playfully, the line dying soon after. Before Morgan could walk back inside, Reid and Hotch walked out of the front doors.

"We just spoke to the doctor. His injuries are similar to the rest of the victims. We need to figure out why he got sloppy this time though. Get anything from Garcia?"

"She sent me the names and addresses of five registered vehicle owners in the area. I'm thinking Reid and I can go to the first one and you can meet up with Prentiss and Rossi about the other. We can go through the list seeing as they're all within thirty miles of the department."

Secretly, Reid hoped that Morgan didn't stick him with him just to interrogate him more about the matter they'd discussed that morning. The man could be persistent, but Reid could be just as stubborn. He forced a straight smile and nodded as Hotch got his phone out to call the others. Perhaps they had gathered more information from the crime scene.

Reid sat uncomfortably in the passenger seat of the SUV as Morgan and him had made their journey to the first house. With one legg crossed over the other, his foot began to shake subconsciously as he looked out of the window.

"The vehicle is registered to a 'Roger Priest'. I'm having Garcia run a background check on him as we speak."

"Do you think this guy is like some 60's prodigy? I mean, he attacks from behind which shows that he isn't physically fit most likely. I feel like building a profile for this guy should be easy, but honestly some of the small details don't add up."

"What do you mean?"

Reid shifted uncomfortably. "Well, okay. So he attacks at night after the concerts. He somehow manages to sneak into where band members go to change, but only if there's one in the area. He attacks from behind - cowardly. Then he proceeds to knock them out. How does he keep them stable once he manages to transfer them to his vehicle without being seen? I'm sure he's parked close, but think about it. If they are signing autographs there has to be a bunch of teenage girls. It's almost too simple, but what does he get out of it? It's just music."

"Obviously there are things we still need to figure out, Reid. Hopefully this will be it and he can tell us himself." The thought was nice, but even Morgan himself didn't think it would be that easy. It never was.

Much to Reid's appreciation, Morgan didn't mention the incident earlier. They quickly arrived at a small house. It was as ordinary as any of them ever were. There was a two car garage. The two agents stepped out of the vehicle, a squad car pulling up behind them on the curb. They arrived to the front stoop in unison and Morgan proceeded to ring the doorbell. Moments passed and there was no answer. Reid quickly lost his patience and began to wander to the nearest window. For some reason, he felt like getting Morgan to kick in the door even though they didn't have a warrant. Perhaps it was his lack of sleep getting to his head. The blinds were open, making it easy to peer through. The television was on. "Morgan, the television's on. I think he's here." In the distance, he could hear the man calling out that he was FBI as he knocked on the door. Without a thought of hesitation, Reid proceeded to move around to the back of the house. The VW was parked right under the deck. "I got the vehicle, Morgan! He's got to be here!" he shouted as he instinctively, cautiously moved down the steep hill, gun held out in front of him. He heard the door open from the front and two voices began to speak. He had ventured too far to understand them completely, but Morgan hadn't called out to warn him of anything so he continued on, maybe getting a glance of what was inside the vehicle. This could be the UnSub. He wasn't about to let anything happen.

Once the young agent approached the vehicle, he peered inside and saw the lava lamps. This had to be their guy. Just as he was about to get out his phone to call his colleague, it fell to the ground. Along with Reid from the blunt force that hit the back of his head. Not another thought could flow through it as another blow hit him and everything went black.

A/N: Again, I'd really like feedback as to if you like it or not. I promise the next chapter will be more intense; I just really needed to get all the information down!