Spencer Reid was sprawled across his living room floor, shattered glass dispersed around him. He clutched at his head in severe pain and anger. He could feel wet tears on his cheeks, but didn't have any strength to wipe them away. All of his focus was directed to the blinding pain shooting through his eyes into the back of his head. The migraines he'd experienced before this had been terrible, yes, but not enough to bring him to his knees or water to his eyes.

A small shadow began to cloud his vision, and he was so relieved for an escape from the pain that he gave into it quickly. His thoughts travelled backwards in time…

He had begun to notice his headaches almost two years ago. They started out irregular, and he thought they had been brought on by stress or from the increasing lack of food at the time. However, they gradually grew into deeper migraines targeting him for hours on end. Lights had begun to make him sick with pain, even feel a little faint at times. Even loud noises shot right into his head like needles piercing a balloon. He feared for a short while that the team had become suspicious of his migraines.

Then his head started getting insanely painful, and it didn't go away for about two days before he gave in and went to the doctor. His CAT scan had made him almost late for work, which had drawn attention from the team. The case in sunny Florida seemed to make Reid's headache skyrocket. The sunshine, the UNSUB, the slight delusions…all of it soaking deep into his mind and intensifying the pain. One of the suspects had even guessed what was wrong with him, and told him his job was killing him. He hadn't believed him fully, especially with his team breathing down his neck about the whole thing.

The migraines had calmed down once out of the bright state, but they still resided. His doctor told him it may have been psychosomatic. Reid went home that night with the doctor's words in his head, and ended up breaking a few dishes in fear and anger. Other doctors even agreed with the first, so Reid turned to books on migraines, determined to find a more solid, physical reason for his headaches. Eventually he told Emily and Derek about the headaches. They consoled him, but it didn't help much.

Over time, the headaches became almost mild, but after Emily's "funeral," they returned at full intensity. The pain, combined with the deep loss of one of his best friends and the fact that issues were occurring with his mother's health, he was drawn several times to the small bottle of Dilaudid in his closet. However, sickened with himself, he threw the bottle out to resist any more temptations.

The headaches did not disappear when Emily and J.J. returned, however. Instead, they seemed to become even more painful. He thought it had been because of all the drama with J.J. Perhaps that was actually the reason why he had snapped at J.J…. A few weeks later, though, the headaches had retreated, almost completely gone. His relief lasted for a few months, where he didn't worry about the pain anymore. Things had been resolved with J.J. and the rest of the team. Although there were still some issues with his mother's most recent memory, everything else had taken a turn for the better.

Then the migraines attacked again. Only this time, they brought along a new curse: amnesia. The first time he noticed this was on the jet one day to a case in New Mexico where multiple women and men were being tortured and then hanged publicly. Morgan and Hotch were talking about a basic profile for the UNSUB, but Reid was barely listening.

His head had begun to pulse and the brilliant sunlight shining through the jet windows stabbed at Reid's eyes. He tried to keep them closed, but he was working on memorizing the map of New Mexico they were visiting, since he and Morgan were to see the victims' houses. Reid memorized the addresses and the layout rather quickly and spent the rest of the flight avoiding looking up.

However, when they landed and divided, the car ride had its own special brutalities, such as bright lights, glares of sunlight from other cars and windows, and the blinding sunlight that covered the state. He pulled out his sunglasses and was grateful Morgan had done the same. Everything seemed all right until Morgan had asked where to go.

Reid looked at the green street sign to see where they were, but froze as he tried to remember where it was on the map. By that point, the entire image of the map had actually drifted out of his head. He could not remember seeing the street names or numbers, nor could he remember where the victims' houses had been marked.

Panic set in rather quickly as he told Morgan he didn't know. Morgan, at first, did not believe him.

"Come on, kid, I know that brilliant mind of yours knows where we're at. You stared at that map for about twenty minutes."

Sure, Reid had stared at it, but did he actually process it?

"I know, but I just can't think of it right now," said Reid somewhat tartly, pulling the map out of his messenger bag. "Turn right," he added after looking at it. What scared him most was that he almost had no recollection of looking at the map he held in his hands.

"You okay, kid?" Morgan asked, concern in his voice.

"Fine." Reid looked away from him. "Just tired."

But that was not the only scenario. He had forgotten two of the victims' names while talking to their families, and was overly humiliated. When they returned home, Reid fell asleep with the thought that maybe it had just been an off week. Yet, not more than a couple days later did his incredible memory fail him. He had forgotten some facts to previous cases when filling out the paperwork for them. He even had to ask Emily some of the details of the crime scene they had investigated.

Then more things started fading from his mind. Images of artwork he had seen in museums, excerpts from his favorite novels, lines from Star Trek, for goodness sake! The migraines had lapsed into their daily routine, but they did not worry him nearly as much as the amnesia he was experiencing. He even considered returning to the hospital, but he was profoundly horrified at the obvious diagnosis they would give him.

Many times he considered calling his mother to ask about it, but the past three times he went to visit her recently and every time he did call her, she had had no clue who Spencer Reid was, or often times thought him to be a spy or a different dead relative. This only made him panic more, however.

Crazy thoughts kept him up for nights on end. What if he was slowly losing his mind, slowly turning into his mother? Would he soon forget everything like she had? Would he not be able to recognize the very faces of his family he saw all the time? Would he lose his credibility as an agent if they knew he was developing mental disorders? Would he be sent into a clinic like his mother? Would his friends turn their backs on him the same way his father did his mother?

These thoughts taunted him constantly, and kept him up for three nights straight. By the fourth day without sleep and his thirty-fourth cup of coffee in that time, his team had become seriously concerned. Twice Morgan had asked him if he was having nightmares again.

"You have to sleep to have dreams, Morgan," Reid had told him, yawning, and walked away.

Hotch had asked him about going to a movie once in a private meeting, but Reid told him that was not the case, and that construction for the road outside his house was being done mostly at night and had kept him up.

With the lack of sleep and the lack of food, his migraines had strengthened and peaked. He thought at any moment that day he might just snap and break. He was run down and had developed a cough which got worse as the day lazily dragged on. His eyes moved slowly over the words of the case files on his desk, blurring slightly.

"Reid," said Morgan, over the small barrier between their desks. Reid looked up. "What's up with you? It's taken you thirty minutes on that one file, and you aren't even done."

"I'll pick up the speed," mumbled Reid, almost too tired to sound sarcastic.

Morgan got up and walked over. "That's not what I meant. Kid, look at yourself. You look like you just got hit by a truck."

"Are you kidding me?" came Prentiss's hearty voice from behind them. "He looks worse than when I actually got hit by a truck. Reid, what's up?"

"Tired," he muttered, trying to get his focus back to the papers in front of him.

He could feel the two of them glance at each other, disbelieving. "And you look it," said Morgan. "But what has been keeping you up, kiddo?"

"I don't know, Morgan." Reid glared up at him. It literally felt like something inside his heart just snapped and now everything was free. "Maybe I'm sick of being called a kid when I'm thirty. Maybe I'm sick of you—" he stood up and shoved the remaining files into Morgan's hands—"piling all of your work on me." Reid grabbed his messenger bag. "Or maybe I'm just sick…" He couldn't think of anything else he was frustrated at Morgan for, so he just left it as that and stormed out of the office, leaving a stricken Morgan and Emily behind him.

When he reached his apartment, he had trouble unlocking his door with his shaking hands. He threw his messenger bag down on the coffee table in his living room and began pacing, fuming. His head began to prickle with the usual pain. He furiously turned the lights off with unintentional force. Rubbing his eyes and pushing on his head only did so much with a pain so great.

He wanted to call someone, have someone with him to help him. But every time he was around people he would get surly. Who was he supposed to call anyways? Gideon? Morgan? J.J.? None of them would help. To be honest, he wanted his mother. He looked at a framed picture of her on his bookshelf and felt a desperate need to be with her. However, she had no clue who he was.

The very thought brought tears to his eyes, which he shoved down with a wave of anger. It was her fault he was going through this. Her fault that he might become schizophrenic. He reached for the picture frame of his smiling mother and threw it against the wall. It shattered and dispersed across his wooden floor. It gave him a powerful feeling, so he took one of his mother's glass ornaments on the shelf and threw it across the room too. Then he grabbed a book off the shelf and chucked it at the floor. Heated with a fierce rage, he continued destroying his house. Soon, books covered the floor, a couple with ripped-out pages. Glass shards glittered off the floor and the coffee table was cracked where he threw a textbook at it.

His headache had increased tenfold by this time, and he now had tears running down his face as he tightly shut his eyes against the excruciating pain. He dropped to his knees on top of the broken picture frame of his smiling mother. His shaking hands grasped his hair and he pulled, trying to relieve the pain now hammering against his eyes and temples. He fell over to his side and hid his head in his arms as a loud ringing now filled the room, eerie and alarming. It faded slowly, along with his vision.

It was thirty past nine in the morning in the bullpen of the BAU office. Morgan glanced again at the door, then the clock, then at Reid's desk. He had already called Reid three times that morning, his growing concern for the kid consuming his mind.

"He could just be sleeping," suggested Prentiss, not even looking up from her paperwork.

"I asked Hotch if he asked for time off, and he said no," replied Morgan. "Reid wouldn't just not come in. What if something is wrong with him?"

"With who?" asked J.J., walking into the bullpen holding a stack of papers.

"Reid."

J.J. looked worried. "Is he okay? He's seemed kind of ill recently…."

Morgan and Prentiss nodded. "He told me yesterday he was sick," said Morgan.

"Should we go over there?" Prentiss asked.

Morgan was already standing. "I'm going." He grabbed his keys and his jacket.

"I'll go with you," said Prentiss, jumping to her feet too.

"I'll let Hotch know," said J.J. "I have to go talk to Garcia about a new case."

Morgan and Prentiss pulled up to Reid's apartment and quickly got out of the car.

"I knew it," muttered Prentiss.

"Knew what?"

"There's no construction on his street."

They didn't analyze it long, but rushed up the stairs to the third floor and to Reid's apartment.

"Reid!" Morgan shouted, knocking on the door. "Open up!"

There was no answer, so Morgan wiggled the doorknob and was surprised it was unlocked. Slightly more concerned for their agent, they walked in and immediately stepped on glass. Morgan looked around at the room and saw shimmers of glass reflected everywhere in the morning sunlight on the floor.

"Oh, God. Reid!" Prentiss cried, rushing forward to the limp figure on the ground.

Morgan crouched down next to him as Prentiss rolled him over. His eyes were shut, but there were red tear tracks all over his face. There were also dried cuts on his arms from the glass shards underneath him.

They called out his name several times before his eyes flickered open. He looked confused, and more than tired. The bags under his eyes stood out eerily against his pale skin. He looked like a ghost.

"Morgan? Emily?" he said, staring up at them through squinted eyes.

"Reid, what happened to you?" Prentiss asked him, holding onto his arm as he sat up against the wall.

He didn't answer her; he just rubbed his eyes forcefully. When he opened them, he stared around the room in horror. Morgan and Prentiss followed his gaze, and once again, Prentiss said, "Reid, what happened?"

Reid looked at her with wet eyes, his mouth hanging open slightly. "I broke everything," was all he said. "I broke it."

"Kid, look at me," said Morgan sternly. Reid's wet, brown eyes locked onto his, and Morgan said not unkindly, "What is wrong with you?"

Reid didn't know how to answer. "You know those headaches I told you about?" he asked the two of them. When they both nodded, he said, "Well they haven't really stopped. Only recently, they've gotten worse. Now I'm beginning to forget things I never forget. Sure, sometimes I forget where I set my keys, but I'm forgetting maps, excerpts, quotes, statistics, pictures, everything!" His voice broke, and a tear escaped from his eyelashes. His breathing began to come out in short pants, and seconds later, he couldn't suck in oxygen.

"Okay, Reid," said Morgan loudly, soothingly, "you're having a panic attack. Bend down and put your head between your legs."

Reid did so, and both Morgan and Prentiss rubbed his back gently as he did. A minute later, his breathing was under control.

"Have you seen a doctor?" Morgan asked him calmly.

Reid shook his head, and a piece of glass fell from his brown hair. "Not recently. I don't need to."

"Why do you think that?"

His eyes held a depth of fear and sorrow as he said, "Because, Emily, I know what's wrong with me."

They sat in silence. Finally, Morgan broke it with, "Why didn't you tell Hotch about this, Reid?"

"Because I'll be out of a job," replied Reid bluntly. "I'm not going to put his job on the line again. He's already wormed the team out of being fired from drugs, murder, a fake death, drinking…I'm not going to add to the list 'hiding a schizophrenic time bomb.'"

"Reid," said Prentiss softly, "he could probably help you."

"I'm not going to put that pressure on him, Emily." Reid got to his feet. "I should just resign before I get someone killed out in the field."

"Don't be ridiculous, man," said Morgan, standing upright. "You don't even know for sure if that's what's wrong with you."

"Don't I?" Reid asked, a look of defeat on his face and clouding his eyes.

"No, you don't."

"And until you do," added Morgan, "you will not quit. Reid, let us help you though. Take some time off, get sleep, and don't worry about it."

"We're always here for you, Reid, you know that."

Reid couldn't tell if the lump in his throat was from sadness or happiness, but either way he nodded his head and smiled at them. The glittering light refracting from the glass stung his eyes, so he let Morgan lead him into his dark bedroom and into his bed, fully dressed. He wasn't sure if Morgan heard his thanks before he closed the door, but was out cold before he could think twice about it.

Morgan heard a whisper from Reid before he shut the door and then joined Prentiss to clean up all the glass and books in the room.

"Emily," he whispered while stacking books, "are you scared?"

She gazed up at him for a long time before saying, "Yes, but we all have to face our fears. You confronted Buford and sent him jail. Hotch killed Foyet and saved his son. J.J. almost lost her family a couple months ago. Rossi dealt with his previous cases that haunted him and watched his ex-wife die. Garcia had to find and face the man who deceived and shot her. I faced Doyle and managed to save Duncan, even after pretending to be dead.

"Reid's biggest fear is that he will inherit his mother's disease. Perhaps he will. Perhaps he has. The point, though, is that we all have demons we have to face. What matters is that we are all there for each other when we do, as a family."