*Note* Some dialogue from Revelations

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds, its characters, or its dialogue.

Chapter 7

"Spencer, please go to the other room." His father dismisses him without a single look.

"Don't treat him like a child." His mother snaps.
"I'm not going to have this conversation in front of him." His father retorts, glaring angrily at his mother.

"Statistically, children who grow up in two-parent households attain three more years of higher education than children from single-parent households." He helpfully inputs.

"We're not statistics, Spencer!" His dad scolds him.

"I'm not crazy." His mom argues, drawing his dad's wrath back onto herself.

His dad sighs, "If you refuse to take care of yourself, I can't help you."

"I do take care of myself!" his mother says indignantly.

"What day is it?" His dad challenges.

"That's not fair."

"I'm out of ideas, Diana." His dad says exasperatedly.

"Well, you could take Spencer with you, just for a little while." His mom suggests hopefully.

His dad barely spares him a glance before saying, "Don't do this."

"You're weak!" his mom hisses venomously.

"You're right. Goodbye." His dad tells him before leaving.

Spencer turns to his mom, "I'm not weak." He assures her.

"I know honey." She says with a weak smile.

"I'm not weak!" Reid insists, still under the influence of a dilaudid-induced haze.

"Yes you are." A voice whispers nastily.

"I'm not weak!" Reid says again, desperately trying to convince himself.

"Yes, you are." Ashley appeared in front of him, the front of her blouse crimson red with blood.

"Ashley?" He raced towards her, desperately trying to cover her bullet wounds with his hands. As soon as he had managed to staunch the blood of one wound, another popped up. "Ashley, Ashley, c'mon stay with me."

"I can't Spencer." She whispered, a milky film covering her irises. "I'm already dead and it's your fault."

"No, no it's not. I didn't pull the trigger." He cried.

"But you stood back and let them shoot me." She accused. "I was willing to give my life for you, and you let me. You had more experience, but you were more than willing to cower behind me."

"I never asked you to though. I would never let you get hurt." He pleaded.

"Yet you did nothing."

"She's right you know." Emily stood next to him, her features blank and her abdomen bloody. "You heard me use the alias Lauren Reynolds, but you did nothing."

"I didn't know." He whispered. "I thought you were talking about a friend. You never talked about your life before the BAU, none of us did."

"You should've known Reid." She scoffed. "You are the genius after all."

"How could I when you didn't let me in Emily? How could any of us have helped when you were so determined to shut us out?" he whispered.

Her dark eyes narrowed, "you saw the signs! You should have done something."

Ashley appeared next to Emily, her features pale in death. "You should have saved us Spencer." She whispered, "we're dead because of you."

"I'm sorry," he sobbed, "I'm so so sorry. Emily, Ashley please forgive me! I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to save you!"

His eyes shot open to find himself as he had been before succumbing to the opioid's unwelcome embrace. He was still situated in the center of the small shack, his hands bound in front of him. The tell-tale bruises of fresh track marks littered the crook of his right arm, mixing with the scars both he and Tobias Hankle had inflicted four and a half years ago. A slight tremor ran through his body, the byproduct of a taser being thrust against his side. Reid grimaced as he recalled the feeling of fifty thousand volts of electricity coursing through his body.

If given the choice between being beaten, stabbed, or tased; Reid would gladly choose to be stabbed or beaten. Unfortunately, his captor had not given him that luxury. What had once been his favorite t-shirt was now a ragged mess; slashed to pieces by a large butcher knife. None of the slash marks had been deep enough to draw a significant amount of blood, but each felt as though someone had continuously run a sheet of paper across his abdomen until he received a papercut. He couldn't see to be sure but, based on his calculations of the force behind each punch, he was certain at least three of his ribs were cracked. For some unknown reason, his captor had not struck him anywhere above the shoulders; granting him a small boon. While his faculties were hampered by the drugs coursing through his bloodstream, he did not have a concussion.

You really are weak. A voice whispered in his ear; not Emily's, Ashley's, or his mother's, but his own.

No, I'm not. He retorted.

Only someone who was weak wouldn't even attempt to escape. The voice reasoned. Go ahead, prove me wrong.

Reid's light brown eyes scanned his surroundings. Luckily his captor had not bolted the chair legs to the floor, allowing him a small amount of freedom to move. Reid slowly but surely inched the wooden chair across the room until he found his quarry. Long, flexible toes stretched out to latch onto the shoelaces of his sneakers; drawing them back to him. With a slight exertion of effort, Reid transferred the shoes into his lap and removed the soles. After the Hankel incident, he had been sure to give himself a means out of the sticky situations the BAU tended to find itself in. This out consisted of cutting a small hole in the bottom of his favorite pair of sneakers, and hiding his magician's lock picking kit inside. Reid smiled as his fingers brushed against the polished steel of his kit, and set to work on the locks; moving with a speed only acquired through years of practice. In addition to hiding the lock pick in his shoe, Reid had also practiced getting out of handcuffs every time his nightmares of Hankel and relapsing woke him. The nightmares had been frequent, and his adoption of this habit had allowed him to both: master a new skill, and rid himself of his fear of handcuffs; one he had acquired during the Hankel case.

A soft click drew his attention back to his -now free- hands. Reid stood abruptly, and raced towards the exit; there was no telling when his captor would come back. He warily cracked the door open and checked that he was alone before leaving. Instead of the forest or field he had expected, he found himself in a long hallway; he was still trapped in the unsub's territory. Blood pounded in his ears, as he hurried down the hallway, deafening him to the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. His fingers brushed the knob of the hallway exit when something angular collided with the back of his head; temporarily stunning him. A beefy forearm cut across his throat, cutting off his oxygen supply, and an angry voice whispered, "You're going to regret that." Reid fell back into the man's arms, dizzy from the blow and lack of oxygen; his last thoughts before losing consciousness were of the large hunting knife the man held.