I wasn't doing well.

I wasn't really eating. I knew it was unhealthy but even thinking about food made me nauseous. I ate enough not to pass out each day, maybe a bagel or slice of toast to get me through the times I had to be awake and around people but that was it. It wasn't that I wanted to be skinny, or intended to be - I just couldn't bring myself to keep anything else down. If I lifted up my shirt I could count my ribs, so I wore baggy shirts and sweaters so no one on the team would notice.

The details of the case sort of blurred together in my mind. White male, probably about 6'2, lots of tattoos and a white van. Serial killer, would leave a bouquet of white roses on the countertop to mark that each of his victims were his. Left no DNA evidence, so was careful, and had a unique MO.

"Most serial killers crave attention, even from the police. They'll do whatever they can to get it, so leaving such a clean crime scene is probably an attempt to get us to release a profile without a name and allow media attention for longer than if we knew who he was. What's odd though is each tag on the bouquet has his initials, presumably, written on them, so he allows us to know his initials, but not his name."

My summary was all over the place, I know, but I couldn't focus - it was some fog in my mind I had to get rid of. Usually I cleared it away with coffee, but I hadn't gotten a chance to get any before the debriefing and we were almost immediately on the jet with the go-bags we left in the office in case we had to leave quickly. I had a lock on mine, since I knew that sometimes when someone wasn't at work for whatever reason the rest of the team would search through their bags and make jokes about the items they packed. I knew it was good-natured, but I didn't want anyone seeing my stuff. Morgan probably did anyway, since we usually roomed together, but anyone else and it just seemed too weird.

It was a long flight - nearly all the way across the country. Most of the team slept, but I couldn't do that either, however much I wanted to. Ever since Tobias I had nightmares, not only about him but about stuff before the BAU. I'd wake up screaming, my throat would be raw so clearly it took a while for me to wake up. No, I couldn't let them see that. I know some of them probably have nightmares too, but they're all adults, and treated like them. I'm considered a kid in the office, people think of me as the youngest when they think of me at all. I'm even introduced as the kid sometimes. Nightmares, on top of that? Nope, can't do it.

I turned on my reading light, dim enough that it wouldn't wake anyone else, and since I was on the opposite side of the jet I didn't really think it would anyway. It was a book on schizophrenia, something my mom's doctor recommended I read. I had asked her if I would get it, and she just smiled sadly and told me to read up on it when I was ready. I never did. I wasn't ready. I'm still not, if I'm honest, but I need to know.

I didn't even notice Morgan get up. I was shaking, although I didn't notice that either. He put his hand on my shoulder and I flinched, looking up to see him quickly draw his hand away and look at me, face full of concern.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah sorry, I was just concentrating. Are we close to landing?"

He shook his head no, but was still frowning a bit like he didn't believe me. "No, we're still a ways away, probably at least three hours. I was just wondering why you're still awake."

I shrugged. "Wanted to read."

He eyed the book cover, squinting a bit to make out the words. "You wanted to read about schizophrenia?"

I shrugged again. "Yeah."

He nodded, a bit skeptically, but returned to his seat. I could feel his eyes on me, but I didn't react. I didn't want him to know why I was reading about it. I set the book down and shut off the light, closing my eyes and pretending to sleep.

Before I knew it I did fall asleep, and was back in the basement. Tobias was there this time, with the syringe. I hated the syringe. I flushed down the meds and threw away the needles days after I left him, days after I failed him. We could've run away together. I could've saved him.

"No." I said. He paused, syringe still in hand. "But it makes it better," He said, pitifully.

"You died," I said. "It's not better. I couldn't save you. You died."

I was shook out of my nightmare by some turbulence before it could get worse. It seemed like everyone was still asleep, so I quietly went to the bathroom to dry some of the sweat off of my face. I made myself look mostly normal before I left and went back to my seat again. Everyone was still asleep, except Morgan.

I really hoped he was asleep when I woke up, but no such luck.

He walked over to me, far enough away from the others that if he whispered, they'd not hear him.

"You had a nightmare?" He asked.

"No," I lied.

He didn't respond, but sat next to me on the chair, which thanks to how skinny I was seemed big enough for both of us to sit slightly awkwardly. He frowned a bit at this although I don't think he really noticed why he could sit with me, and turned the book towards him.

"Schizophrenia, huh? Did you have a nightmare about this? It can be a bit nerve racking I suppose."

"No," I said. I paused for a minute before I blurted out, "My mother is schizophrenic."

I wasn't making eye contact with him - I rarely ever am - but from the corner of my eye I could see his head whip around before he pretended not to react.

"Oh, Spence. I'm really sorry." He said. For a few minutes we didn't say anything, just sat in silence as I dug my nail into the side of my pointer finger to try and sharpen my focus. To try not to just space out.

"It's hereditary." I finally said. The silence grew heavy.

"Oh."

That line of the book rung through my ears as I said it. It's hereditary. Someone with autism is more likely to get it - that wasn't from the book, it's just something I'd heard, but at the moment I couldn't remember where, nor did I care to try. My chances were raised by 10% due to my mother. I didn't know what happened to my father.

That string of thoughts repeated in my mind for longer than I thought, before I heard Morgan calling my name and telling me it was time to deplane. I shook those thoughts out of my head and moved out of the plane with the rest of the team.

Once we got inside, Emily was waiting with more details about the unsub.

"According to witnesses, erratic rambling and yelling could be heard inside the house before the victim's murder. It didn't sound like struggle from the victim, it sounded like it was from the suspect, and was almost like talking to someone although only the victims were reported in the houses beside the unsub, which suggests the subject might be schizophrenic or suffer from a similar mental health disorder. He drives a white van as previously stated, and reports on his height now vary from 6'2 to 6'5. Witnesses say he looks strong and has a slight accent, although none of them can pinpoint what accent that would be. Based on one witness' best approximation, we suspect that the unsub is German or has heavy German influence in his family tree."

I swallowed hard and prepared to convey my usual list of statistics. "Schizophrenia is usually hereditary, so it's likely one or both of the unsub's parents have or had schizophrenia. German is sometimes mistaken for Dutch, so it's possible that the unsub is actually dutch or speaks another similar language or with a similar accent. The injuries the victims sustained look unpracticed so it's likely we're not looking for a medical professional, but - although it may seem unlikely - a florist might be our best bet for occupation. White roses aren't particularly difficult to find online or at florist shops, but since no recorded purchases of white rose bouquets that match our unsub's profile are being made in this area, it's possible the unsub works as a florist and simply is choosing not to log the roses as a purchase to cover his trail or because they're something that he already owns."

Emily nodded. "Good work Kid, why don't you make a geological profile with Morgan, Someone call and ask Garcia to find a list of florists with employees that match the unsub's description, and I'll go interview the witnesses again, see if they can recall the clothing the unsub was wearing or any other helpful details. Go!"

Everyone filed in their own directions, and I briefly toyed with the idea of telling Emily I'd prefer she not call me kid before I decided it wasn't worth it. I went over to the map I had brought with me, as I was usually responsible for creating the basic geological profile before I handed off my findings to Garcia, and started to mark the places we knew of, including the florist shops within a 20-block radius of every murder, the victim's houses and places they regularly visited, and places that they might not have mentioned, but may have visited anyway, like grocery stores or dry cleaners.

Morgan had followed me over to the desk, but I didn't notice until he chuckled a bit. "Seems like you didn't need my help, Kid." I held back a wince that threatened to present itself on my face at that nickname and instead laughed a bit, not a real laugh but what I could muster at the moment. Part of my speed was motivated by exhaustion - I just wanted to be done, so I could go get a coffee. Maybe three.

"Sorry. Did I miss anything?" Morgan looked over the map and shook his head. "I don't think so. This florist shop seems to be the midpoint for each victim, so I'll send Garcia a photo of your map and mention that to her." I nodded in acknowledgement, and gripped the table as I felt a wave of dizziness. "Hey, woah. You okay Reid?" I nodded. "Yeah, yeah, sorry. I'm going to go get a coffee and take a walk, I'll be around if you need me. Call me for any updates."

Morgan nodded, looking skeptical, but I ignored it, as the wave of dizziness had passed over and I was okay to walk. I grabbed a coffee as quickly as possible and went to a nearby park, hoping to get in a secluded walk.

There was a section of the park that my mother had shown me once, when she came to visit. I don't know how she found it, but it was a sort of old pathway that you'd only really see if you were looking, or I suppose if you were my mom. If you followed the worn path it would lead to a small pond surrounded by a canopy of trees, where you could sit down on a rickety old bench-swing and watch the scene around you.

I stayed there for a few hours before I got a text from Garcia saying she was about to call the team about news, and to head back. I sighed, but got up to leave.

That's when I passed out.