Four Years Later

Spencer Reid flipped almost inhumanly fast through the book he'd stolen from his elementary school library. His refusal to talk or communicate in anyway way at all had labeled him as a 'special needs and education' case. He was put in class with mentally disabled students and couldn't check out books that were "too big" for him. They thought they were helping.

And while it irked the eleven-year-old Spencer, it wasn't enough to make him talk. Or sign. Or write. Or any of the other communication methods the teachers and counselors could come up with. He did just the amount of classwork that he'd calculated would let him pass and refused to do anything else. He briefly considered that if he let his intelligence show, he could get out of here faster. Go to college, preferably in Virginia, and stay the Hell away from John forever. But he threw that theory away quickly. John wouldn't let him go. He could graduate early and have full scholarships to anywhere he wanted at age twelve, but Uncle John wouldn't let him. Instead, he'd be sitting at home with the man for seven hours when he could be in his relative safe haven.

But when he was eighteen... when he was eighteen, he would be gone. There was nothing anyone could do to stop him. He'd be out that door and free as a bird. In highschool, he could keep his grades at a level where he could get into an out of state school, but not draw attention to himself. He couldn't wait for that day.

He knew where he wanted to go. Virginia Tech. He didn't care what he studied (hell, he'd study everything if possible!) but he wanted to go to Virginia Tech. Ranked 44th in US colleges, lots of programs... and it was in Virginia.

He'd fallen in love with Virginia. It was so pretty and nice and the weather wasn't constantly rainy like in Washington or constantly dry like Nevada. That was the only place that held good memories, although he couldn't think of all the memories of Derek and the BAU without feeling this strange pang in his chest. It made him want to puke and cry and rage. He wanted to scream at the world until someone, something, made that broken empty feeling that Derek left him with go away.

He'd long since given up hope of ever seeing Derek again. In the past four years Derek had not once visited him as promised. Well, that was understandable. He didn't want to be laden down with some whiny "special needs and education" kid when he could be doing so much more. Spencer just wished he'd have told him that to his face and not lied about "visiting if it's possible". That he didn't have to find out the hard way.

But, that was the past. People were bad. That was just the fact of life. Some people got to live white-picket-fence, amazing lives where they're only problems were paper-cuts and the latest fashions. The world had never said no to them or shown its dark side. And some people got crappy lives with sick as fuck kidnappers and uncles and lying, backstabbing 'friends.' People who had never had a break and it seemed like all the bad luck that the lucky people never had to experience got thrown on them. And Spencer was, predictably, the latter.

"Spencer!"

Spencer cringed at his uncle's voice calling his name. Being called only ever meant trouble. Or sex. Trouble was preferable and almost undoubtedly what was going on now. He sighed and marked 'his' book and shoved it under Uncle John's (and his) bed.

"SPENCER!" John's voice roared from downstairs again.

Spencer picked up his pace and all but ran downstairs. No need to make him any angrier.

"There you are, boy," growled his uncle, grabbed the scruff of Spencer's neck and led him to the living room. "Ya see that?" he asked, pointing at muddy shoe prints on the white carpet. "That's mud! Ya tracked mud into my beautiful house, and didn't clean it up, even after I told you earlier to clear the living room!"

Spencer cringed. He could smell the alcohol on his uncle's breath, and, while it wasn't really all that much for him, it still meant he would be more unreasonable than usual. He was always a neat freak that was surprisingly concerned about the state of his precious house and belongings, but when he got drunk, even just slightly, the smallest thing out of place became a cardinal sin.

"I let you into my house and take care of you! I feed you and keep a roof over your goddamn head! And how do you repay me? You track mud into my house, you little whore!" John yelled loudly, and out of control.

Spencer cringed at the last insult. He wanted to yell 'I'm not a whore!', but, frankly, he wasn't so sure if that was the truth or not. He could claim rape all day long, but, really, if it was rape, what are the chances that two different men would both be attracted to him and that he would, ah, physically enjoy them touching 'down there'. It must mean he was a whore, right? Or at least a slut.

The truth always hurts the most, Spencer some nasty voice inside him said.

Spencer attached his gaze to the floor and tried to hold his tears at bay, but he couldn't. There were silent tears already running down his cheeks.

He fell to the floor with a cry when the back of his uncle's hand hit his face. His head cracked against the floor hard when he landed and his vision went blurry for a second. He might have blacked out too, but no longer than a second. He put on hand against his burning cheek and looked up at his uncle with tears running from his eyes Uncle John almost never hit him in the face. Or anywhere else marks could be seen.

Spencer gasped and let out a whimper when he was kicked. He curled into a ball with his arms around his neck to try and guard against severe damage.

The onslaught finally stopped, which felt like a lot longer than if probably was. Spencer stayed curled in a ball, crying. He heard his uncle's footsteps march away and felt his chest fill with relief. Well, until he heard them coming back. But, instead of another act of violence, a wet rag and bottle of something that smelled like ammonia cleaner was thrown at him.

With a last pathetic sniffle, Spencer pulled himself off the ground, wincing in pain as he did so, picked up the cleaning products thrown at him, and got to work.

Spencer had passed out on the couch shortly after finishing cleaning, and, much to his surprise, he woke up in the morning at 6:30 with an awful headache. It was the same time his internal clock woke him up every day. Thursday. That meant he could go to school instead of back to sleep. He pushed himself off the couch into a sitting position and bit his lip to stop from crying out.

I don't think anything's broken, thought Spencer. Maybe a cracked rib. That would explain the pain in my chest and trouble breathing... other than that, no real damage done. I can make it to school just fine.

When he stood up and had trouble balancing and seeing, he added 'possible concussion' to his list of ailments.

Spencer tip-toed quietly up to his uncle's room when he'd mostly regained his orientation and silently opened the door, thanking God that Uncle John had seemingly passed out in drunkenness and wasn't getting up anytime soon.

He crossed the room as quietly as possible nonetheless, and opened the closet to pull out an oversized T-Shirt and a pair of bedraggled jeans that hung just above his ankles. His worn red Converse were by the door with a pair of mismatched socks tucked inside to wear.

Spencer crept out the bedroom and made his way downstairs, before throwing his clothes on, grabbing his backpack, and heading to school.

It was cold out, but his jacket was in too terrible condition to even think about wearing, so he sucked it up, and made it to school extremely early, as always.

His backpack was putting a strain on what he was now almost certain were cracked ribs. By the time he walked through the front doors of his school, it was all he could do to not collapse in pain. Uncle John's not usually that violent, thought Spencer in confusion. Sure, he hurts me, but never enough to do damage. Or, not where people can see the damage.

Spencer shook off his thoughts and just walked over to a table in the cafeteria to sit at until the bell rang to dismiss him to class.

The cafeteria slowly filled with people and eventually, the bell rang and all the kids started making their way to class, the youngest ones with teachers leading them in straight lines. Spencer was in one of those lines with the rest of the "Special Needs" kids, as they made their way to a part of the school separate from everyone else.

Spencer loved learning. He loved it more than anything else. But, here, he wasn't learning anything. He was having people tell him stuff over and over again that he already knew. The most simple reading and writing and math and sciences. Stuff he was tackling in when he was with his mother, not stuff that he should have been learning as an eleven year old. Fifth grade, and all the grades before it, was boring.

The short walk to his classroom was almost unbearable for Spencer. His side ached so badly and he could hardly breathe at all anymore. He finally started to cry. It was just too much. Too much damn pain.

He stopped walking, not really caring that people were looking anymore. He hurt too much. He dropped his bag and sank to floor, sighing when the weight was taken off his ribs.

"Spencer?" a concerned female voice asked. Mrs. Perry.

"Spencer? Are you okay?" she asked again. Spencer started to nod, purely out of habit, to tell her that everything, no matter how wrong it was, was just fine. But this time, he stopped. He wasn't fine. He was tired of being 'fine'. He was tired of hurting. He was just plain tired! Tired of it all.

'It's okay to admit that you're not okay,'

Words spoken what felt like over a life time ago to him came back unbidden. He remembered Penny's concerned space as she explained that telling people something was wrong was acceptable.

And, so, for the first time ever, he shook his head to say, 'no, I'm not okay.'

"What hurts?" Mrs. Perry asked, still expecting him to open his mouth and speak, even after in all the years she'd known him, he'd never done that. He wasn't sure he even could speak anymore, now that his vocal cords were so out of practice.

Instead of answering, Spencer just wrapped his arms around himself protectively and started crying.

"Sweetie, what's the matter?"

Spencer shook his head, tired of questions. He was done. He'd admitted he was in pain, hadn't he? Wasn't that enough?

"Spencer?" that sweet, caring voice asked again, "please, please find a way to tell me what's wrong." She pushed his bangs away from his face and gasped at the dark hand shaped bruise on his face.

Spencer felt himself drifting. His body couldn't take the pain, and so his mind started to let him fall into obliviousness. The darkness awaiting him felt wonderful, and he did his best to crawl towards it...

Mrs. Perry looked at Spencer in worry, wondering where that handprint came from, but suddenly, she realized he'd fallen into her, unconscious.

"Shit," she cursed, and looked into the nearest classroom, reluctant to move Spencer until she knew what his injuries were.

"Someone!" she called loudly. "Call the nurse! Please!"

An elderly woman, Mrs. Smith, walked out of one of the classrooms in a frenzy. "What's going on? What happened?"

"I don't know," responded Mrs. Perry, frantically. "We were walking down the hallway, then all of the sudden, he stopped and fell to the ground. He was conscious but in pain and has this bruise on his face, but then he fell unconscious and I need the nurse now!"

Mrs. Smith nodded wide eyed and hurried off towards the nurse's office and came back with Nurse Wilson. One look at the boy, though, had Nurse Wilson calling an ambulance.

"Did he tell you what was wrong?" the nurse asked Mrs. Perry.

"N-No," responded Mrs. Perry, doing her best to keep cool and collected. "He's, um, well, as far we can tell he's mute. Sort of."

"Sort of? How can you be 'sort of' mute?" asked the nurse.

"Well, he's not actually 'mute', like some damage in his brain or vocal cords or something that keeps him from being able to speak, he's just... well, we don't really know. He doesn't communicate and only does the amount of schoolwork it takes to pass."

Nurse Wilson sighed. "Well, that makes this a bit more difficult then."

The ambulance pulled up to the school quickly. Paramedics climbed out, placed Spencer on a stretcher and loaded him into the back of the ambulance. Mrs. Perry climbed up with him to ride along. There were other people to take over her class.

She tried to stand out of the way, but that was difficult with all the paramedics. They were saying lots of stuff between them, but the only part of it she understood was 'concussion', 'left ribs 3-5 bruised', 'right ribs 4 and 5 cracked', and 'repeated blows to the body over a period of time.'

But for her mind, it was enough to put the pieces together. It meant that John Reid was a two-faced lying son a bitch that needed to rot in Hell.

The truck pulled up to the hospital and Spencer was rolled out with on a stretcher with an IV in his arm that was pumping NSAID pain relief into him.

He was given his own room and Mrs. Perry was pulled aside to speak to the doctor. His name tag announced him as Dr. Terry.

"Mrs. Perry?" he asked.

"Call me Teresa, please," she said, getting tired of her title.

"Ah, okay. Teresa, have you noticed any signs of abuse or irregular bruising on Spencer?"

"Well, occasionally, but it's never enough to really question," she said, feeling guilty and sheepish even as she said the words.

"Have you asked about any of it?" Dr. Terry asked.

"Of course!" Teresa Perry said loudly, sounding offended. "But Spencer Reid is basically mute. He won't talk or communicate in anyway to anyone. He'll nod or shake his head, but that's about it."

The doctor's brow furrowed as he flipped through some papers on one of clipboards. "That's not on any of his medical records."

"Well, I don't know why. He moved here about four years ago, when he was seven. His father died before he was born and his mother is schizophrenic, so he lives with his uncle. That's really all I know about him."

"We can't send him back to his uncle until we're sure there's nothing going there..." he continued to flip through papers until he found Spencer's emergency contacts. "There's a Derek Morgan on here as his only emergency contact. Says he lived with him while they were searching for family members. I'll get a receptionist to give him a call. He's already cleared to take care of Spencer."

He gave the number to a nurse to try and call and see if it was possible for him to get up here... Dr. Terry really didn't want to send that boy into foster care. He'd seen his records and medical history. It's was nothing short of sickening. And if his uncle was doing what he thought he was doing... well, he wouldn't be talking either if something like happened to him. The system could be messed up. There was no way he'd want that little boy with anyone that wasn't going to treat him with all the love and care he deserved.

"Doctor," he heard one of his nurses saying. Dr. Terry turned around and looked inquisitively at the young nurse, silently asking 'yes' "He's awake. Do you need to talk to him?"

Dr. Terry nodded and quickly walked into the room, with Mrs. Perry behind him. He gestured for the nurses in there to leave, so the boy would have as little stress as possible.

Spencer didn't know where he was or how he got there. It reminded him vaguely of where he was after he got away from Sir. A hospital. Does that make the man in the white coat a Doctor? Or maybe an angel? Angels wore white and lived in hospitals sometimes right? Especially the guardian angels. To take the dead people to Heaven and heal the ones who weren't done living yet. Maybe.

What was his angel's name? Derek? That sounded a little right.

His thoughts felt all jumbled and weird, but he remembered what had happened and felt a little pain in his head and chest. Breathing hurt.

"Hello? Spencer?" said the Doctor (angel?) kindly. "Can I ask you a few questions? You can just nod or shake your head if you want.

Spencer bit his lip and nodded after a second of thinking.

"Does your head hurt?"

Nod.

"Can you breath in deep for me?" Spencer did so. "Did that hurt?"

Nod.

The doctor put his hands on Spencer's ribs and felt around a bit. Spencer winced when he got to some.

"Does this hurt?"

Nod.

"How about this?" he asked, moving his hands to the other side of his ribcage.

Nod.

"Which hurt more?" he asked.

Spencer just stared.

"Blink once for the first push and twice for the other."

Blink. Blink.

"Good that's good. You're doing great Spencer. Are you having trouble thinking or keeping you thoughts together?"

Nod.

"Okay, now I need to ask some questions about how you got all these injuries, alright?" Dr. Terry asked, pulling a chair up next to Spencer so as to less intimidating.

Spencer nodded after a few seconds of thinking.

"Good," said the doctor with a big smile that made his blue eyes light up. "Did your Uncle give you these injuries?"

Spencer's eyes went wide, and then, he started crying. This is it. Just nod. That's all you have to do. Up and down. Spencer squinted his eyes shut hard causing more tears to fall and nodded quickly.

"Okay, Spencer it's okay. You can cry. You just took a really big step, you know? That was very brave. There's just a few more things and I can leave you be. Unless you want me stay," the Doctor reassured.

"Does your uncle ever... touch you? In ways that make you uncomfortable?" he asked, praying that the answer wouldn't be what he thought.

It was. Spencer nodded and broke down into uncontrollable sobs.

Damn that man. Damn him all the way to hell and further. The doctor took in a deep breath of air. He had to keep going...

He rubbed Spencer's back to try and calm him and continue the questioning. "It's okay, Spencer, it's okay. Just a few more and it'll be over. Ready?"

Spencer sniffled a bit and nodded, keeping his eyes averted. He could hear Mrs. Perry crying from where she was standing by the doctor. She must have been so disgusted with him right now...

"Did your Uncle ever, uh, ...penetrate you?" asked the Doctor. If Spencer didn't understand, he wouldn't nod or shake his head. Then he would explain what penetrate meant, but for now, he wanted to hide behind his medical terms.

Spencer nodded and started sobbing so hard that Dr. Terry knew he could get no more information out of him and just started rubbing his back in soothing circles.


Derek Morgan was sitting in the bullpen of the BAU doing absolutely nothing. He was supposed to be doing paper work but he really didn't feel like it. He didn't feel like doing much since Spencer left.

He'd tried many times to get a hold of John Reid, but had never been able to. He finally just assumed that Spencer was done with this chapter of his life and had forgotten about Derek Morgan.

Still, Morgan thought about him all the time. Where he was, how he was doing. Did have a lot of friends? Did he like sports? Just how smart was he?

Derek knew he was still an emergency contact for Spencer, but that was about it. He felt empty without Spencer. A big gaping hole in his heart...

He phone started to vibrate in his pocket. He pulled out his iPhone (so much better than his old flip phone) and hit answer without checking the caller ID.

"Morgan," he said into the phone.

"Hello? Derek Morgan? My name is Claudia Putnam, I work for The First Methodist Hospital in Walla Walla Washington," an unfamiliar female voice said.

Morgan felt his heart jump. That's where Spencer was. "Yes?" he said, feeling his voice get higher with nerves as he said the word.

"There's a young boy here who has you listed as an emergency contact. His name is Spencer Reid. We have suspicions of abuse according to his injuries and you're listed here as an alternate guardian. Is it possible for you to come-"

Derek cut her off, "I'll be there ASAP on the next flight," and hung up the phone. He ran to Garcia's office and asked her to book him the soonest flight possible to the closest airport to Walla Walla. She agreed and Derek was out the door before she could even ask why.

He ran to Hotch's office, explained he was taking time off, and turned to leave, but Hotch stopped him before he left.

"What's going on, Derek?" he asked, sounding concerned.

Derek slowed for a moment and decided to explain. "I got a call from a hospital in Walla Walla about Spencer. They say they suspect his Uncle of child abuse and I need to go get him."

Hotch's eyes widened marginally and he told him to do what he needed. He'd take care of everything.

Derek thanked him and was out the door. He ran back to Garcia's office (starting to lose his breath) and asked about the flight.

"It leaves from the airport in about an hour... what's-" she started.

"Thanks baby, girl," he said, and pulled out his wallet. "How much was the flight?"

"Well, it was $350, but-"

Derek counted out the money and threw it to her.

"Thanks again. Gotta go. Bye," he said in a rush, and ran out to his car, ignoring the stares. He drove to the airport way faster than he should have, grabbed his go-bag, which was in his car, and rushed into the airport.

But, of course, when he got there, security pulled him aside to scan him, search his bag, and about a trillion other things, the flight was delayed and it took forever to get there.

When he finally did, he found a cab, got in, and told the driver where to go, impatiently asking the driver 'step on it' and 'just hurry the fuck up.' He never did. Derek didn't tip him.

Morgan ran into the hospital and started asking for Spencer Reid. One woman finally led him up to his room and he found Spencer asleep in a hospital room, with bruises on his face, arms, and chest. There was a bandage around his head and he was incredibly skinny. His skin was pale, and his hair looked darker than Derek remembered. But he still looked like his Spencer.

A doctor came by and told Derek that Spencer had a concussion, 2 cracked ribs, and 3 bruised ribs, all of which would heal on their own. He also admitted to having been molested and raped by his uncle, as well as physically abused.

Derek looked at the doctor, "You got Spencer to tell you all that?" In all the time he'd known Spencer, the boy never admitted to pain or not being 'fine.'

"Well, kind of." She paused and chewed on her lip. "See, he doesn't talk-"

"He doesn't what?" Derek exploded. That fucking bastard. He'd broken Spencer so far he won't even fucking TALK.

"He doesn't communicate. At all. He would shake his head or nod in response to my questions, but other than that, his teacher says he was resistant to sign language or writing his thoughts and only did enough work to pass on to the next grade level. Well, usually move onto the next grade if he took summer school. Which was probably a ploy to stay away from home."

Derek wanted to punch someone. Preferably John Reid, right where the sun didn't shine. And in his face. And just about everywhere else.

Instead, he pulled a chair up next to Spencer and fell asleep promising him he'd never have to hurt like that again...


Okay, a few notes.

1. I do not agree with any of the stuff Spencer was thinking. That should go unsaid, but just in case, ya'll should know that everything was non-consensual and that no matter how his body responded, it didn't mean jack shit.

2. Again, despite Spencer's thoughts, no one was disgusted by him. It wasn't his fault, whether he notices that or not. I was just trying to understand how he would be looking at all of this.

This all probably goes without being said, I just wanted to clarify.