Luke sighed as he watched the medic tend to Reid at the back of the ambulance. At first glance, it wasn't that bad: he had a few shallow cuts on his left arm (unfortunately, from a young girl slashing at him with her knife). But, if someone took the time to look more closely (someone like a profiler, perhaps), they'd notice his hunched back, almost like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and had just given up on keeping them up. They'd notice his eyes, vaguely looking at the medic's work, but mostly blank, carefully void of emotion. They'd notice the tears in them that he had refused to let fall.

He had to admit that Reid was doing a very good job of seeming to be okay, in masking all his pain (and oh, there was so much that Luke just wanted to wrap him in bubble wrap, lock him up, and never let him witness the horrors of the world again; great, he sounded like Garcia now). But really, when had that facade ever fooled him and the rest of the team?

They had been called in to deal with a series of murders in Albany, in which witnesses had described teenagers, and sometimes children, murdering random people in broad daylight. Some had escaped the police, some had not, and one was dead after being shot by a policeman. In each instance, the victims had had their throats slashed and had died in a few moments.

It was a truly horrifying thought: children, usually the most innocent of them all, becoming cold-blooded killers.

They had quickly deduced that these acts were meant to incite public fear, and that there must've been somebody in charge, someone controlling them all. Eventually, they had found the man responsible and had arrested him inside the very house where he had continually drugged the children and influenced them into abiding by his will. In the basement, they had found fourteen children chained to the ground. Their nightmares would soon be over...except for one.

A sixteen-year-old girl who now went by the name, 'Soldier 5' (but whose real name was Leja Stewart), had found her way to the kitchen. She had grabbed a hold of a knife when she heard her leader being subdued by the police. She had wanted to defend him; after all, he had given her food and housing, had taught her that the rest of the world was cruel. Who was she to argue with that? Who was she to dispute that when this was the only life she had ever known? If he was right, why shouldn't she defend him?

She killed the first policeman who encountered her.

The second one had been stabbed in the chest, at her mercy as she held the knife to his throat, hands shaking and occasionally nicking his skin.

Reid had been the one to find her next, who had begged and pleaded and tried so hard to get her to see the truth. He hadn't admitted that, deep down, he knew it was hopeless. He could see it in her eyes: the desperation she had to survive, the slight fuzziness that conveyed her drug-addled state, the conviction that she felt. After all, the unsub had kidnapped her when she was nine. It is hard to break seven years' worth of brainwashing. Given time, maybe they could have brought her back.

But there had been no time.

Reid had cautiously walked up to her, hands up in a placating gesture, gun long ago discarded. He had tried to break through to the girl underneath. The scared one who had had good parents, both of them, who had loved her with all their hearts, who had spoiled her with cuddles and trips to the park before she was abruptly taken from their lives.

And the spell had broken.

She didn't really remember her parents, especially not with the drugs coursing through her veins. The unsub had been the only parent she knew.

She lashed out at Reid, not exactly in anger, but in all the complicated and mixed-up emotions she felt. He had been only a foot away; he hadn't stood a chance. Before he knew it, he felt a sharp, stinging pain on his arm. He didn't look down until he had managed to take the knife away from her.

Only then did he notice the blood, the red on his shirtsleeve, watching as it spread and flowed down his arm. He glanced at Leja, hoping to see some emotion, some sign of remorse.

He was only met by a resigned look and hard eyes as she got another knife out of her pocket (of course she had another knife), and used it to slash her own throat.

She died in his arms.

And now he was being treated, when it should've been her getting medical attention. It should've been her who made it out of the house alive, who hadn't done a bad thing in her life (unlike himself, he bitterly thought). Who deserved a life.

One that was filled with hope. One filled with giggles and hugs and love and happiness. One that wasn't shadowed by cruel people who drugged and controlled her.

He wondered if she'd get that in heaven.

The medic was finished now, and Luke noted how Reid barely noticed that she had walked away to pack things up.

"You wanna go back to the hotel?"

Reid didn't even glance at him. "Just...give me a minute."

Luke took a seat next to him, staring at the setting sun and waiting a few moments before saying, "You don't look fine." It wasn't a question.

Reid looked at him, giving him an almost perfect mask of confusion. "Do you mean this?" He gestured to his arm. "That's nothing. It didn't even need stitches."

He almost growled in frustration. "You know what I mean, Reid."

"Well, I don't think anyone would be okay if a kid just killed herself right in front of them." He shrugged, then stood up. "We better get going. Everyone's already left."

"Sit down," Luke muttered as he tugged Reid's (uninjured) arm.

Reid sat and scowled. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't want you to necessarily say anything. I just want you to know that the whole team's here for you, if you need us. But, you never get it." Luke laughed mirthlessly. "Every time something like this happens, you put up these shields and act like nothing happened."

"But, I-"

"It's no use denying it. We're profilers, Reid. You think we don't notice? Now, I haven't been here as long as the others, but I've been here long enough to notice this trend. I've also been here long enough to know that there's a certain Code W that is completely tailored to this situation. If you want, I can tell everyone else and you'll have to face all of us at once, including the scary goddess that is Garcia. That would be really overwhelming, so I'd rather you talk to me here and now so I can just help you. That's all I want, Reid." Truthfully, it was much more than that. He wanted to prevent Reid from ever being hurt again, but he doubt that could happen.

Reid stared at him with thinly veiled surprise. "Why...why do you care so much?" He whispered. "It's my problem, mine alone, and you guys just keep trying to break down the defenses I've tried so hard to build up." He shook his head and looked down at his clasped, and bloody, hands. "My burdens aren't yours to carry, and yet you do it anyways. I don't deserve any of you."

"Hey, look at me." Reid met his eyes with his own, tear-filled ones. It was certainly a better sight than before, though. Instead of emptiness, they held a wide expanse of emotions that Luke couldn't even begin to unravel. "You're one of the best people I've ever known. We'd do anything to help you. Forget friends, we're your family."

And Reid smiled. Smiled. A small one, but a real one. One that didn't quite reach his eyes, but still managed to convey his gratefulness.

For now, that was all that mattered.