AN: This is just something I'm writing during a spell of writers block. Sorry if it's not so good.
Warnings: Angst, slash, drama, romance, ect.
False Confession
Summery: What if, instead of having worked for the BAU, the first time they met Reid was when they saved him from Tobias, who was even worse than before and got away. Now, can they break through to Reid and find Tobias before he kills again?
The sound of a shovel splitting the earth broke through the silence of the graveyard. Soft, frightened murmurs, almost whimpers, punctuated each strike, as though the very force that was being used to dig was causing the digger immense pain. The digger, in fact, was a young man of 24, with brown blond hair in a wavy mess on his head and past his shoulders, parts matted with dirt and his own blood. His body was bruised and beaten; there was a dark bruise under his left eye, the skin ripped in a long cut along his cheekbone, dried blood running down his chin from a torn lip, multiple thin lacerations covering his body, and he walked with a pronounced limp, as though his ankle or foot was sprained.
Another whimper followed the sound of the shovel falling to the ground. A loud smack ripped through the air, and the mans head was tossed to the side by the force of the blow. He scrambled to pick up the shovel again as his tormentor snarled at him.
"Dig faster!"
"I-I can't." The man whimpered. Even as he spoke, he shoved the metal tool into the earth and lifted away another small pile. His hands were shaking, and he pushed the shovel into the earth once more before his body gave in on him, letting him slump to his knees in the shallow ditch, hands on the shovel handle holding him up, looking for all the world like a warrior kneeling in morning before his sword.
"Damn weakling!" Came an angry growl, along with a foot in the side forcing the man to fall over, taking the shovel with him and making a bit of dirt toss into the air. The shovel was yanked from his grip and he scrambled out of the ditch as quickly as his weakened body would let him. He lay, panting, as the man dug his grave for him, curses filling the air.
Suddenly, shouting, light from far off. The injured man wondered, for a moment, if that bright light might be death finally calling for him. But no, he knew his injuries weren't bad enough to kill him, even the internal ones. The lights bobbed closer and, even through the haze of pain and dread filling his mind, the man knew they were flashlights. Saviors. His attacker growled and tossed down the shovel, pulling out one of his knives before dragging his victim to his knees by his hair.
The light was blinding, the shouts deafening as the men and women carrying the flashlights came closer. They stopped not far away, guns trained on the man holding him, and began to try and coax the man down, get him to let go. Reid knew it wouldn't work. The man was insane, totally crazy, and willing to die if it meant taking his last victim with him.
The brown haired man whimpered softly, his body limp against the hand in his hair, despite the dull pain it caused. His head was tilted back by the hold, and he let it, feeling the cold blade whisper across his skin. A moment ago, he would have leaned forwards, jerked his neck, ended it himself just for it to be over. But now, with safety so close, he couldn't let his life end so easily. Slowly, he raised a shaking hand to the mans hip, where his gun and another knife was holstered. He could see past the blinding lights now, and saw the hidden surprise in the faces of the others as the watched him slowly remove the weapons from his distracted attacker.
Suddenly, he was moving with more strength than he thought he had left. With a swift grip, he brought the knife up, slashing it through the hair in the mans fist, cutting it away a few inches from his scalp and freeing himself. Then, he fell back and away, raising the gun in front of himself, hands shaking fearfully.
"There's only one bullet in that gun, boy." The man snarled. The brown haired youth knew that too well. He remembered the terror as the gun clicked hollowly in front of his face, a painful version of Russian roulette. 'Gods will.'
Then the man moved forwards, and the boy flinched and fired. The shot rang out, followed by a gasp of pain. The man toppled into him, the knife digging its way across the outer side of the boys upper arm. He gasped in pain, darkness edging in on him.
"You killed him." He blinked at the sudden gentleness of the voice above him. His looked up to see his attacker, the only sane side of him, smiling weakly at him as blood dripped from his mouth. The bullet had hit his lungs. "Thank you."
And attacker and victim both fell into a silent darkness.
The hospital room was quiet aside from the steady beeping of the machines hooked up to the pale, thin form on the bed. He was young, but his body spoke of the horrors he had gone through. Multiple bruises and lacerations, a sprained ankle, a chipped molar, and some internal bleeding from a few rough hits to his stomach. He had been beaten near death, but had survived.
It had been only two days ago that the boy had killed his own would-be killer, passing out from his injuries soon after. It had been surprising for those who saved him to find that, even in the states the victim and killer were in, almost unconscious and nearing death respectively, both men had spoken and smiled at each other before the blackness had claimed them. And now, there was nothing they wanted to know more than, why?
They had stationed one of their team by the mans bed at all times, saying they needed to talk to him as soon as he woke, when everything was freshest. At the moment, a man with black hair was sitting there, looking tired. A second later, a dark skinned man entered as well, holding two cups of coffee and relieving the man of his position. The black haired agent was just at the door when a soft groan made him pause. He turned back to the room, watching as the brown haired male tossed his head and groaned.
A minute passed, and the agent was ready to let it go as a false alarm and head out, when a soft murmur reached his ear. "Oooh… Wh-where?" Golden-brown eyes blinked open slowly, wincing at the bright white of the room, and he frowned. He was in a hospital? Why? Then, in a rush of pain, the memories returned, and he jolted up in the bed with a gasp.
"Easy there." The brown skinned man said gently, reaching up to gently touch the mans shoulders and guide him back down. "You're alright." The boy let himself be pushed down again, and closed his eyes as he settled against the pillows.
"Who-?" He asked, glancing at the men.
"I'm Agent Hotchner, this is Agent Morgan." The black haired man replied, pulling out his credentials and showing them to the kid. The boys eyes seemed to take in all the writing at once, and he looked up at the other.
"The B.A.U.?" He mused. "Behavioral Analysis Unit, right? What do you want with me now? Isn't everything over?"
The men blinked at the boys knowledge, glancing at each other. "We… just have a few questions." Agent Morgan replied. "Um… what's your name?"
"You know already." The other replied, raising an eyebrow. "But, it's Spencer, if you need to hear it from me. Spencer William Reid."
"How old are you?" Morgan asked, as Hotchner took a seat again in the other chair beside the bed.
"24, but you knew that as well." Reid replied, sitting up a bit more. "You already know my birth date, my father and mothers names, where I live, or lived, now, and you probably even know the name of my cat." He shot the others a bland look. "So let's get through those pointless questions and start on the things you really want to know."
The two agents stared in surprise at him for a long moment, then Morgan nodded. "Alright then." He agreed. "Where did you get abducted?"
"Outside of the small coffee shop across from my home." He replied softly, expression growing tense at the memories.
"Do you know why he chose you?" Morgan asked. So far, everyone had a 'sin' they had committed. Slowly, Reid sighed.
"I sent my mother to a mental hospital. I'm a homosexual." He shrugged. "I'm not sure which one he picked up on, but it doesn't matter now, does it? I would guess the former, though. There's no way for him to know about my sexuality."
"It's possible he knew." Hotch replied, frowning, already able to tell about the others intelligence and not understanding why he didn't pick up on that already.
"Not really." Reid frowned.
"He was probably watching you." Hotch mentioned gently. "Saw you on a date, or at a bar or something of that sort."
Reid gave a wan smile. "I don't date, and I'm practically a recluse. Not even my closest friend knows, because I find no point in mentioning it." He shrugged. "But, if he knew, he was smarter than I gave him credit for." He sighed, shrugging once more.
There was moment of silence before Morgan continued. "Alright. What did he say to you?"
"Ah, the real question arrives." Reid slowly sat up, brushing Morgan's hand away when he tried to get him to lie back down again, and hunched over his knees, avoiding their eyes as he had been doing since he woke. "He said, quote - You killed him. Thank you. - Unquote." Reid noted the others confused expressions. "He was schizophrenic, you realize." Morgan nodded, Hotch not moving. "The one who was there at first, when I was -" His breath hitched, and he shut his eyes for a moment. "When you came, that was his 'father'. Tobias, the real Tobias, hated the man. He was glad I killed his 'father', even if it meant killing 'Tobias', because he was free." Reid slowly frowned head hanging, ragged hair hiding his eyes. "Still…" He murmured softly. "I killed an innocent, in the end."
Morgan blinked in surprise. "He was a murderer, Spencer." He said gently. "He would have killed you."
"No!" Reid's head flew up, and his eyes locked with Morgan for the first time. They were blazing and determined, haunted and broken all at once. "Tobias was innocent. He saved my life."
"What?" Morgan asked curiously. They had gotten a video of the boy digging his own grave, and one of the cops recognized the surroundings. That was how they had gotten the boy. He didn't know what had happened to the boy before then.
Reid took a slow breath, shutting his eyes tight. "They killed me, once. I died in that hut." His body quivered. "Tobias, the real Tobias, gave me CPR. He brought me back. He was a good, innocent man. And I killed him."
It was obvious the guilt was getting to the young man. The next day, when Morgan came back to tell him they were leaving, that they were handing the rest over to the police, Reid stared blandly at him for a moment, then asked a question that Morgan was sure would haunt him more than even the case itself.
"You do realize that you should arrest me first, right?"
More than anything, more than the video-taped deaths and the sight of the blood, Spencer's quietly distraught expression, his haunted, hopeless eyes, stayed with Morgan for weeks. They completed two more cases and, in the entire time of seeing mourning parents and those frightened for their own lives, he did not see one person as lost and hopeless as Spencer Reid had been. They knew that, though someone they loves was dead, they would live on. Those they saved knew that, now, everything was going to be okay. Even those they were too late to save had an almost peaceful expression, because it was over now, and they would no longer be hurt. But Spencer, his eyes had told Morgan everything.
Spencer believed he was a murderer, and his life was going to be forever haunted by his guilt. He would never be okay again.
Morgan tossed back the last of his now-cold coffee, putting his last few papers into his 'out' box before gathering his things. He intended to go home, but his feet moved on their own, and he soon found himself in Garcia's little office.
"Hey, baby girl." He murmured.
"Hey there." Garcia turned to face him, one last monitor glowing behind her. "What's got my chocolate sex God upset?"
Morgan blinked. Upset? Was he upset? He forced a smile and replied "You should stop hanging with us profilers. We're rubbing off on you."
"I know, it's so annoying!" Garcia faked a distraught expression, and Morgan bit his lip. "Now, c'mon, sit." Penelope directed him to her spare seat and he sat with a sigh. "Now, tell the doctor what's wrong."
Frowning, Morgan knew he had to get it off his chest. "You know how, in every case, there's something that sticks with you for a while?" Garcia nodded, playfulness gone. Morgan needed her now. "They fade out soon enough, though. Usually."
"But something hasn't." Garcia replied. "It's still bugging you." Morgan nodded. "What is it that's stickin', my love?" Garcia cooed.
"Remember the Hankle case?"
Garcia nodded, shuddering. "Don't think I'll ever forget that one."
"Remember Spencer?" She blinked at him. "The kid we saved?" She grinned then.
"Yeah. Why? He's the thing sticking?" Morgan nodded. "But, he's safe now." Garcia frowned, confused.
"He's not." Morgan replied softly. "I went to the hospital, telling him we were heading out." Garcia nodded, remembering them mentioning that. "He said… He wanted me to arrest him." Garcia's eyes widened in surprise.
"Why in the world would he want that?" She asked, shocked.
"He believes he killed an innocent man. He thinks of himself as a cold blooded murderer now." Morgan rubbed the bridge of his nose between his fingers, frowning. "He feels guilty for doing something to save his own life."
"How bad…?" Garcia finally asked. Sure, some victims felt guilt afterwards. They felt like they were at fault for attracting the killer to them. But, this was obviously worse, if it had Morgan so upset. Much worse.
"Real bad." Morgan sighed. "I'm worried about him. It's been months… and I'm still worried. It's not going away."
Garcia was silent a moment, and finally spoke. "Want me to check up on him?" She asked. Morgan blinked. He hadn't thought of that. He slowly nodded and, a moment later, the room was filled with rapid tapping. A few moments later, Garcia made an odd noise.
Slowly, she turned back and frowned. "I think you were right to be worried."
"Why?" Morgan asked, standing up. "What happened?"
Garcia sighed slowly. "He quit his job, moved to Las Vegas, where he grew up." She replied softly. "At the moment, he's checked into a Las Vegas hospital for self inflicted wounds. He tried to kill himself."
Morgan sighed as he stepped off the plane. He wasn't really sure what he was doing here. He had taken a week off from work and bought a ticket to Las Vegas before he could really think about his own actions. He sighed at himself and quickly got checked into a hotel near the hospital where Reid was staying.
It was early the next day when he went to visit the man. The nurses were against it at first, but finally let him through when he flashed his credentials and explained how he knew the boy. Finally, he knocked gently on the door and pushed his way in.
Reid blinked up at him in surprise, sitting on his bed with his knees drawn up. Slowly, he groaned and dropped his head onto his knees. He didn't want to be seen like this.
Morgan, of course, could tell, but he wasn't going to back down. "Hey." He murmured, walking over and taking a seat beside the others bed. "How you doing?"
Spencer slowly looked up at him. "Is it a rule of the FBI to ask questions you already know the answer to?" He asked, voice toneless. Morgan gave a weak smile.
"Sorry." He replied. There was silence for a long moment as he tried to think up how he could explain everything, why he was here.
Reid beat him to it. "I know you think I'm crazy." He noted blandly. "Everyone seems to."
"You're not." Morgan cut in. "I know that." Reid gave him an odd look, incredulous, curious and hopeful all at once.
"I tried to kill myself." He pointed out, as though he was talking about the weather.
"Why?" Morgan asked. He needed to hear it.
"Again." Reid rolled his eyes. "Always asking what you know." He sighed. "I took the life of an innocent. I became a killer, something I swore I would never do. And now, people are pitying me, even congratulating me for it. They don't realize it is innocent blood on my hands." He sighed slowly. "No one blames me for what I've done. But I took someone's life to save my own."
"But, that's not your fault." Morgan replied, shaking his head. "You did what you had to. You are still alive because of what you did."
"I don't want to be!" Reid cried, distraught. "I don't want this life, not when I've gained it through the death of another!"
Morgan was up and moving before his own mind caught up. He settled on the bed beside the other and wrapped an arm around him. He quickly tugged Spencer to his chest, hearing but not quite understanding the almost frightened gasp that escaped the boy. Because he really was just a boy, in Derek's eyes, though he himself was not much older. There was something innocent, almost naïve about the youth and, now, that innocence was darkened, dirtied by blood and guilt. And Derek wanted nothing more than to help the other wash the blood stain away to be pure once more.
"Relax. Just relax." Derek murmured, rubbing small, comforting circles on the mans back. "It's going to be fine."
"Don't say that." Reid whimpered in his arms, leaning against his chest, almost falling into the larger mans lap. "Don't. It's not. Never."
Derek sighed and tucked the boys head under his chin. "It will be." He said, voice firm with conviction. "I'm going to make sure of it."
"Why?" Reid whispered weakly, closing his eyes and finally relaxing in the others hold.
"Hm?" Derek asked, knowing he didn't have to elaborate about what exactly he was asking.
"Why do you care so much? Why are you so set on helping me?"
Derek sighed. He knew the boy deserved the truth. "I don't know." He admitted. "All I know it that, until I know you're safe, my life can not go back to normal."
"Why? I mean nothing to you. You barely know me."
"I know enough." Derek said, determined. "I know more than enough to know you do not deserve this pain. And helping people… that's what I do. I can't let this rest knowing I've failed you."