A/N: Welcome, one and all. I've loved Criminal Minds for a long time, and I've wanted to do a fic for this show since forever and a half, but never had the plot bunny to do it with. Well, you all know me. And you all know what I love. This story is going to be SO MUCH FUN, the plot will unravel within the next two chapters or so, and it'll be pretty immediately obvious this is going to be way different from my other stories. A lot more case-based, but still my classic style, if you will. It'll be a fun one, thank you for joining me for the ride.

CHAPTER 1

Dr. Spencer Reid had just about had it. The entire team was seated around the conference table, Reid's obvious pain and desperation in plain view, and instead of helping him, instead of saving him from this; this…affliction, all they could do was yammer on about the latest scandal in the White House. Done for the day, the team was losing interest in all things FBI and profiling, and was completely ready to just let go of the mutilated bodies and completely fucked-up minds for a while to do exactly what Hotch always encouraged them to do: go home and live their lives.

Don't ever forget to be human.

Spencer knew: that was most certainly what was happening to him. He knew it because he knew what his life had become. While Prentiss went on with her stoic self, reading Vonnegut and lying about her age (her only true consideration in the realm of vanity); while Morgan spent all night out flirting and (presumably) fucking; while Garcia occupied all of her free time further strengthening her mind with Tetris and trivia games…. Reid found himself at home, time and time again, the exact same way: collapsed to the floor in the corner of the bathroom, trembling hands pushing the needle through his skin. His attentive and observant eyes would begin to roll back, and then drift shut as all the nerves in his finely-tuned brain would circuit, fizzling out. Spencer would lose complete control of his body and mind, no longer responsible for the burden of his genius. And his past.

High.

It was the first thing he did every morning, the last thing he did every night. And as often as he could in between. Get there, to that beautiful place Tobias had shown him only several weeks back, but that he had found himself longing to return to every moment since then; the desire, the craving, always stronger than the time before.

The sudden silence surrounding him brought Spencer back to the moment. The entire team stared. He cleared his throat. "Did I miss something?"

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "Just asked if you needed a ride home." The remainder of the team looked down, away, the ceiling… all around, as long as it wasn't Spencer's eyes. They knew. He knew they knew. The sinking feeling in his stomach confirmed for him, as he awkwardly threaded his fingers together in an attempt to ease the trembling warning him, telling him to get his ass back to the apartment so he could medicate. A quick nod was given in response. He needed to get home as quickly as possible. He needed the drug.

"That would be much appreciated. Thanks." Morgan gave him a curt nod, before they all simultaneously pushed themselves up and went on their ways. Off to do the things in life they chose to partake in with their free time, when they weren't thwarting sick-minded criminals. Certainly not highly illegal – and most likely lethal – drugs.

The drive home was quiet, save one brief exchange.

"You okay, man?"

Reid nodded.

Once inside, after muttering a quiet thanks, he sank down onto the sofa, scrubbing his hands over his face, wincing as he felt the growing moisture around his hairline and shrugged off his cardigan to relieve some of the heat... and ease the process of rolling up his sleeve. His absolute detest for this – for what he'd become, for what the drug did to his mind, for how fiercely dependent he'd found himself – couldn't stop him from reaching under the upholstery for the drugs taped to the wooden underside of the living room centerpiece. Trembling hands prepared the gear, and by the time he could hear the knock at the door, a thumb had already depressed the plunger. Answering the door just wasn't an option when he was nodding off, sinking into the sofa as his head dropped back. Soaring through his escape from his own nightmarish reality. Stoned.

Morgan knew Reid was in there. He knew, because he had just dropped him off. So when he knocked to remind Reid they had to be in an hour early in the morning, and heard nothing, a deep sinking feeling crept into Morgan's bones.

"Reid. Reid, man, open the door."

Nothing.

Morgan sighed. The last thing he wanted was to push the kid; Reid had been through enough, what with being taken hostage by Tobias Hankel. He knew there was torture involved, both psychological and physical. He knew there were drugs. He didn't know much beyond that, though. Reid wouldn't talk. Not to anyone. He was there physically, but inside, he was gone. Isolated.

The kid wasn't much of a social genius anyway, despite his sky-high IQ, but this was different. There was most definitely something OFF about the kid. He just couldn't place what. Sad, really, considering his profession.

Leaving it at that wasn't easy. The investigator in Morgan wanted to dig, to pry, to find out what was troubling the kid so severely: what was making him late to work so often, what was causing the withdrawn isolation, why he locked himself in the bathroom for 30 minutes at a time (just not feeling well, Reid would swear over and over). Why his hands shook… Why he had lost so much weight, even for his thin frame… As Morgan checked off everything that had seemed off over the last few weeks, the pieces connected. Finally.

THE NEXT MORNING

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry."

"Reid, you were supposed to be here two hours ago."

"We tried to call you."

"I know, I'm- I'm really sorry…" Reid barely managed to sputter, out of breath as he rushed to settle into his chair and help the team. A quick swipe of his hand over his brow, a straightening of the purple tie over his grey button down and lighter grey cardigan, and a slight shuffling of his files, and he was ready to go. "What did I miss?"

Morgan didn't say a word. He just studied the kid. Looking for his proof. He cleared his throat. "Knocked on your door last night to remind you. No answer."

"I wasn't home."

"I had just dropped you off."

Reid paused. A brief glance down, studying the table, and he remembered. "Right. I just… I don't know. I didn't hear you. I'm sorry."

Hotch quirked an eyebrow at this, then zeroed in on Reid. "Spencer. I need you to be your absolute best for this one. We've been pulled in after a total of 5 deaths already."

Prentiss glanced up at this. "Remind us why we didn't find out about this until now?"

"They're suicides…" Reid muttered, looking over the case file. "Overdoses."

"Maybe. Or maybe they're murders. That's what we need to find out," Hotch offered.

Prentiss glanced up. "What changed? Why are they suddenly considering the idea that these may be murders?"

"They all happened the same day. The exact same way."

JJ shifted in her chair. "It couldn't have been a suicide cult?"

Reid kept his eyes locked on the files, beginning slowly, then letting his voice get a bit more hurried as he rattled off his knowledge. "No, it...it doesn't seem that way. Statistically, suicide cults are much larger groups. They also tend to leave indication of whatever message they're trying to send by performing the act. The blatant absence of both those signs suggests that's not what's going on here."

"Reid?" The youngest member glanced up at hearing Hotch's voice. "Can we speak in my office for a minute?" Reid blinked.

"Sure."

Once out of earshot, the interrogation that Reid just knew, with a sinking feeling in his heart, was coming, began. "Reid, I think there's something we need to talk about."

A slight shift of his weight gave him away, he knew, mentally swearing at his own stupidity. Hotch was a profiler, damnit. "What do we need to talk about?"

There were a few things it could have been. He could have asked him why he seemed so off. To reprimand him for being late this morning. To say he knew, to say he had noticed the marks on the inside of Reid's elbow, he could sense the drugs pulsing through Reid's being and was ready to ship him off to a rehab, a place where Reid couldn't get his last thread of hope, his only form of relief and release. To tell him he was fired, banished from the only thing that ever made Reid feel like his genius was a tool of usefulness, and not just a burden, getting in the way of living his life.

Hotch could have said any of those things, and Reid wouldn't have been surprised.

What Hotch did end up saying... well. That surprised Reid.

"You're my man for this job. I want you to take the lead on this one. Do you think you can do that?"

Reid swallowed. Ready for this kind of responsibility, he was not. Especially with his... condition. But he needed to do this. He needed to gain back his reputation. He needed to convince everyone he was okay. He could swear up and down, but he could see it. Them losing their faith in him, and all it did was necessitate a stronger dose of Dilaudid each night, morning, and moments in between, just to forget how much he was letting them down.

"I can do that. Thank you, for the opportunity, Hotch."

Hotch slapped the young kid on the back. "Of course, Reid. I have faith in you."