*Thanks to all reviewers!*

"What kind of trouble do you mean?" Hotch asked the youth, who was looking more and more agitated by the moment.

"I-I can't t-tell, but I j-just…." Tucker trailed off.

"You can't tell?" Hotch gave him a disbelieving expression. He really didn't have time for this right now. "Well, Tucker, if you can't tell me the problem, I don't know what you expect-"

"N-no! I can! I just don't want to get my father in trouble!"

"What's your father's name?"

Tucker shook his head fervently, his eyes wide.

Hotch sighed. "Well, can you at least tell me your brother's name?"

Tucker nodded. "Yes," he said. "His name is Spencer R-reid."

Hotch stared at him in silence for a moment. He must have heard wrong. "What did you say?"

Tucker cleared his throat. "Spencer Reid. He's in t-trouble, and if we d-don't hurry-"

"Did you say Spencer Reid?" Hotch asked, dazed and confused. Was his mind playing tricks on him? Spencer didn't have any siblings…

"You're supposed to know him!" Tucker said desperately. "And you're supposed to be Agent Hotchner! He always talked about-"

"WHAT?" Hotch demanded, standing up.

"I-I'll just, go, then, if you d-don't want to-" Tucker turned around and started for the door; Hotch was at his side in an instant, grabbing onto his arm.

"Show me where your brother is," he said.

"Garcia, what have you got on this guy?" Morgan asked. Hotch was driving with Morgan beside him; a miserable looking Tucker sat in the backseat. Tucker had refused to give them his "father's" name, but Garcia had been able to track the guy through his address; and they needed to learn as much about him as possible in the ten or fifteen minute drive. It was dangerous to go face to face with an unsub for whom they had no profile.

"His name is Christopher Buchannan," Garcia said hurriedly, "He's forty-nine years old. He's never been arrested before, no criminal record…looks like he got married when he was only nineteen, had a kid not long after. But…oh," she muttered.

"What, Garcia?" Morgan asked.

"His eighteen year old son was killed ten years ago. Driving under the influence."

"Stressor," Morgan said, as Hotch swerved around the corner, sirens blaring.

"Yes, but it looks like aside from that particular decision, he was a smart kid. Straight As; valedictorian; he was headed for Georgetown, actually-"

"So he's abducting intelligent young men that remind him of his son," Hotch said. Out of the corner of his eye, Hotch got a glance of Tucker; the young man had brought his knees to his chest and put his hands over his ears, as if he couldn't stand to hear what they were saying.

"That doesn't make sense," Morgan said, "Reid's in his late twenties. His son was a teenager when he was killed."

"That's the age his son would have been, if he had survived," Hotch said grimly. "That's why the age of the victims increases periodically."

"That's unusual," Morgan commented, as Hotch swerved again, cutting off a red truck that had accidentally gotten in their way.

"Indicates a higher level of thought organization," Hotch said. "He wants it to seem like his son is still alive, and is living the life he was meant to have." Hotch glanced again at Tucker, wondering how he fit into all of this; was he another victim? He looked an awful lot like Reid. Could he have been just similar enough to the original son to have survived? But Tucker didn't look like he was in any condition to be interviewed right now; he still had his hands over his ears, and was now visibly shaking.

"What about his wife?" Hotch asked, worried that they might be dealing with multiple unsubs.

"They divorced when the son was two, sir. She lives in Florida, now, and-"

"Alright, thanks Garcia, anything else?" Morgan asked, cutting in.

"He runs his own business. They sell office supplies. Hmm," she muttered, "It's doing pretty well this year, actually, especially considering the economic-"

"Garcia! Need to know, only!" Hotch shouted, swerving around another corner.

"Right. Um…." There was some furious typing. "Well, nothing other than he's a member of a number of local gyms. He looks like he's in pretty good shape…"

"Garcia! Anything important?" Morgan snapped.

"Nothing else," she said quickly. "Just…be careful. And get Reid back safely."

"FBI!" Morgan shouted, slamming his fist into the door. "Open up!"

"H-he's in the basement," Tucker stammered; Hotch was clutching his arm tightly as they stood outside the house. "I have the key i-in my p-pocket somewhere-"

"No time!" Morgan shouted, and two seconds later the door had been kicked from its hinges. Tucker let out a wail of disapproval as Morgan advanced inside.

Hotch pulled Tucker in as well, following Morgan. "Where's the basement?" he demanded of the youth, as Morgan advanced into the living room.

Tucker was in tears by this point. "You c-can't hurt f-father," he gasped.

"The sooner you tell us where the basement is, the more likely we'll get Reid and your father out of there safely," Hotch said, speaking quickly but trying to appear calm.

Tucker hesitated, then nodded hurriedly and led them around back. "In here," he whispered, pointing to a door that was barely visible behind a large coat rack.

"Let's move!" Morgan shoved the coat rack out of the way and kicked down his second door of the day.

"Christopher Buchannan! FBI! Don't move!" Morgan yelled, starting down the stairs. Tucker tried to follow, but Hotch put his hand on his chest and pushed him back.

"Go wait outside," he hissed.

"I SAID DON'T MOVE!" Hotch heard Morgan shout. Hotch turned around and followed him down the stairs.

"Sir," Morgan was saying, "Turn around and put your hands on your head." A large, muscular man was standing over a limp form; Reid, Hotch realized, with a rush of adrenaline and panic. The large man; Buchannan; was holding some sort of remote control. His back was to them; Hotch couldn't see either of their faces.

"Sir!" Morgan shouted. Finally, the man turned around; but he didn't put his hands on his head. He just held the remote control high in the air.

"Christopher," Morgan said, "You don't want to hurt him."

"He's not a good son," Buchannan said, looking pained. "I had to get rid of him. You have to understand. He couldn't…couldn't learn. He just couldn't learn."

"The remote," Hotch muttered, and Morgan nodded; it could be a bomb for all they knew.

"Mr. Buchannan, if you put down that remote and step away from Dr. Reid, we can work this all out," Morgan said.

Buchannan didn't answer. "Where's Tucker?" he asked.

"Tucker is just outside, sir. If you put down that remote control, and step away from-"

"Nothing to be done," Buchannan interrupted, looking sadly at Reid. Then, slowly, he took a step away and lowered the remote onto the ground.

Morgan darted forward to apprehend him; Hotch ran over to the body lying on the floor.

"Hey, Reid, c'mon," he muttered. He grabbed his wrist and felt for a pulse; it was warm.

That was when he felt it.

"Morgan, I've got a pulse!" Hotch shouted, allowing relief to seep into his voice. He heard a long sigh come from Morgan, and the other agent let out a shaky laugh.

Grinning from ear to ear, Hotch shook Reid's shoulder. "Reid," he mumbled. The boy didn't stir. Frowning, Hotch checked the pulse again; it was strong, but then Hotch noticed something else. It was uneven and erratic; it would beat strongly for several moments, then far too quickly, then stop all together.

"Morgan, we need to get him to an ambulance," Hotch said quickly.

Morgan finished cuffing Buchannan, then nodded. "Can you carry him?"

"I'm not sure if I should move him yet. Get the paramedics down here. " Morgan nodded and hurried Buchannan up the stairs. Hotch bent down next to Reid, checking his pulse again.

"Hey there, Reid," he muttered. "We were pretty worried about you. You can't keep doing this, you know. You nearly gave Garcia a panic attack when she found out you were missing. We were all sorry for how we left things at that party. Next time we don't have to have drinks. We can all watch Star Trek together instead, if you…Reid?"

The boy's finger had twitched.

"Reid? You there?" He grabbed onto the hand and squeezed it. "We found you. Everything will be fine," he said, using the same soothing voice he sometimes used to talk to Jack.

Reid's lips moved.

"What was that?"

He mumbled something. Hotch leaned closer, trying to listen.

"I promise to be good," he breathed.

Hotch put his hand on Reid's shoulder. "It's alright, Reid, he isn't going to hurt you anymore."

Reid's brow furrowed with confusion, his eyes still closed. "Father?" he asked.

"No, he's gone," Hotch said.

Reid's eyes snapped opened; he blinked in confusion for several moments before his eyes adjusted to the light. He focused on Hotch with an expression of terror.

"Reid," Hotch said, "Christopher Buchannan is gone. We found you."

Reid's terrifiedexpression didn't diminish; his confusion only seemed to increase. His lips moved for several more moments, as if he were trying to figure out the right question to ask; but no sound came out. Hotch waited patiently; he could hear the paramedics coming down the stairs. Then, finally, Reid spoke.

"Who the hell are you?"

*So I didn't kill him but now we get to see what happened to his brain, which should be fun. Oh, and reviews bring peace and happiness to the world : )*