Guilty

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine.

Which way?

It doesn't matter in the end

I don't want to be out here at night.

Where do you think you can go?

I am thinking about that.

They will be looking for you.

And not in a good way.

They think you are still together.

They will know you were in that truck.

I didn't do anything wrong.

You didn't?

In the truck. I didn't do anything wrong.

They won't see it that way though will they.

Are you hiding through your own free will? Are you being coerced into this?

It's my choice.

Then if you have done nothing wrong, what are you running from Spencer?

…………..

Reid sat on a grassy ledge and listened to the familiar boyhood voices rushing through his head.

They were right. They always were. He searched in his bag and found something to drink, and something to nibble on. He had no idea what to do. If he couldn't contact who he felt he needed to because Floyd was out there watching. Watching him struggle through this alone. Why was he doing this?

"Floyd?" No answer.

Floyd? No answer there either, just the buzzing of the old voices arguing and hissing in the background.

He couldn't go home. He had no money. He had only that which he carried.

What are you running from Spencer?

"Stop it. Stop it!!" He got up and started to run through the woods…no long caring if he was seen. What was he running from? He was a victim wasn't he?

He didn't do anything to the trucker. That wasn't him! He needed to tell someone.

………….

The trucker had been found and the CSU were called.

"The passenger was not trying to hide the fact he or she was here." They were saying. "Fingerprints and DNA all over the place. Though I suspect some of this is not necessarily from when this happened. This guy seemed to have liked to have his way in the front of his truck."

Strands of hair was found. Slightly wavy. A button from a shirt. Finger prints on the door handle, inside and out. A coffee mug contents spilled taken away to see who had been drinking it. Taken away to gather evidence against who blew Mr Green's brains all over his truck.

The fingerprint results threw back at them flashing red warnings. They were from a wanted man. An FBI agent.

Appropriate people were informed. Stomach's knotted and one FBI agent locked himself in his office.

……………

Reid stumbled into the outskirts of a small village. Little movement. Cars driving slowly, and kids playing in the street. His heart was pounding too fast and his breathing was rough and shallow. He had an idea. Someone who could maybe help him. All he needed was enough money to make the call. Where to get money? How to get money? He looked down at the state of his clothes. He was screwed up and filthy. He had buttons missing from his shirt, and rips in the knees of this trousers. He pulled his tie straight and tucked in his shirt in a feeble attempt not to look like a psychopath who had been living in the woods and put his shaking hands in his pockets. He had to control the shaking. It was vital. Quickly he took a drink from his now nearly empty bottle and took a smoke and lit up. He stood leaning against a tree and waited for the sweats and shakes to pass.

Spencer entered the half full diner and looked around. "Can I help you son?" voice of the woman behind the counter.

"Erm, bathroom?"

She pointed him in the right direction and he walked slowly and slightly drunken towards the door she had pointed to. A man in a suit bumped into Reid nearly knocking him off his feet. Reid said "Sorry" The guy gave him a dirty look.

He entered a stall and locked the door behind him. The wallet was full of cash. His lucky day. He took the money and hid the wallet behind the cistern, flushed and left the stall again. He then returned to the counter and asked for strong sweet coffee and a phone. The coffee slid along the counter and he was directed to a call box on the wall. Slowly he went over and rang a number. He waited sipping on his coffee. He asked to be put straight through to the number and he waited. He was stuffing coins into the slot when a voice finally came on the line.

"Hello?"

"Mahoney?"

"Who's this?"

"Spencer. Reid." whispering.

"Can hardly hear you….who are you?"

"It's me. Reid. Glasses and hair."

"What the hell? What's wrong?"

"I need your help with something."

"Don't know how much help I will be."

"I want you to contact Agent Hotchner for me. I will give you the number."

"Wait wait up boy, what's going on? I have already had threats from some friend of yours."

"I really can't explain. Please Mahoney, call the number for me." And he gave a number. "Tell him it wasn't me. Tell him I didn't kill him. Tell him I am sorry."

"Why will he listen to me?"

"Just try. Please." And he put the phone down.

He drank the last of his coffee and left the diner and walked slowly back down the road to the tree he had previously made his home. He put his back to it and slid down until he was sitting.

……………

Who did you just call?

Floyd! Reid stood up, a bit too quickly and his head started to swim and that greyness snuck around the edges of his vision. He sat down again

Who – did - you – call?

Where the hell are you?

In your head.

Then you know who I called.

Get out of sight of the road. People are staring at you.

Why did you leave like that?

I needed to. Get away from the road and tell me who you called.

Reid half crawled his way over the grassy bank and into the tree-line.

Where are you?

Did you contact Aaron?

No

Are you sure?

Yes. Where are you?

Watching. Get up and move. You are wanted for questioning. They will find you.

Reid got up and started to walk back into the woods.

……………

Hotch was still in his office doing not much but think. His cell rang and he looked at the caller ID…unknown. He frowned at it and flipped it open.

"Hotchner."

"Oh hi. Good. I erm….I got a call from someone." Hotch was trying to work out if he knew the voice. "I got a call and was asked to contact you."

"Who is this?"

"Mahoney. I got to know Reid. Erm…he erm…called me."

White knuckles on the phone "What did he say? Where is he?"

"He said to tell you he didn't do it, and he didn't kill him, and he is sorry."

"Where did he call from?"

"I don't know, but he was a good kid – look after him." And the phone was cut off the other end.

……………

It was raining. His already damp clothes were getting wetter. He was more tired than he ever thought he could be. He was getting cravings. Cravings he hadn't had for a long time, but it would make this all go away. For while anyway. At least it would let him sleep. With the rain came the darkness, and with the darkness the fear. He knew that this stupid fear of the dark was pathetic compared with everything else. He found some shelter under a big old tree and thought about the time Hankel had stood by the tree and watched him dig his own grave. Thinking about it now he wished he had. At least this pain wouldn't be there. At least he would be sleeping.

He checked his bag for food and smokes. Nothing. He chugged back the last drop of drink and sat with his head drooping forwards and his knees up tight.

Maybe if he fell asleep now he would just die and become part of the forest and it will be over. No one need know. It will be his secret. No one will have to find him, or mourn for him. No one will know. They will assume he just ran off and changed his name. He looked in the bag for the knife and sat looking at it. His head was swimming with alcohol and whatever was in the food and smokes, he couldn't think. Everything was grinding to a slow very painful stop.

"I'm – I'm going t t t sleep"

And he rolled over onto his side. He lay and looked through his fuzzy swimming eyes at the burns and cut marks on his arm.

He pushed up his sleeve and looked at the length of arm from wrist to elbow he would have to slice, and slowly pressed the blade against his skin.

"Shsh, no." a gentle voice and a hand over his. "No Spence."

……………………