(Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or its characters)

Back to normal updating thank god!

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. This one should be longer.

Enjoy.

"Where did he come from?" Rossi rubbed his hands together anxiously as he looked out of the window. He couldn't focus on anything so he quickly looked to Aaron and then Morgan, both of whom were looking at the road ahead, their jaws set strongly against gritted teeth.

Morgan glanced back at Dave and just shook his head. "I don't know." He sighed, turning back to look out of the front window. "I almost forgot he existed."

"We like to forget but we never truly do," Aaron mumbled and Morgan glanced across at him. He remembered when the kids were young, when Scratch turned to them when the team refused to yield. Morgan remembered the horrifying moment, when, face to face with Scratch, he'd told Aaron what he knew about his only son, which turned out to be an uncomfortable amount.

He got close to Spencer too, going to the young boy's school to watch him, by which point both Dave and Aaron were too scared to stay on the case and in the country. The boys always thought they were lucky to be taken on an impromptu holiday, neither noticed the way their father's gripped their hands or looked over their shoulders at every turn.

"We should have been the ones to catch him," Rossi said. "Never rely on the police in matters of intelligent unsub's. God, how could we do blindly assume..."

"Because we all had lives," Morgan said, looking back at Rossi who was shaking his head in his hands. "We can't chase someone forever."

Rossi looked back up at the window to see familiar houses passing by. He bit the inside of his lip. "Now my son has to pay," he said in a quiet voice. Aaron felt his chest tighten at Rossi's words and he sped up.

Soon they were outside of the house and Aaron abruptly stopped the car and shoved his door open. Morgan was running ahead of them as Aaron helped Rossi from the car.

Morgan got to the door, giving the handle a quick turn. "It's open."

"Oh, Santo Cielo," Rossi mumbled, making his way after Aaron and Derek as fast as his weakened body could. His gown swayed around at his ankles as he shuffled inside.

Aaron turned and rushed into the front room while Morgan ran to the kitchen. Rossi staggered to the first doorway.

"He's not over here!"

Rossi could feel panic swelling in his throat. "Aaron?" he said, pushing himself against the door and looking into the front room. He saw Aaron stood in front of the coffee table, holding something in his hand. "Aaron?" Rossi said again, growing desperate. His breathing began to quicken when Aaron didn't turn.

"Clear down the hall too!" Morgan said breathlessly, nearly knocking Dave over as he ran in. "He's not here."

Morgan looked at Dave, his eyebrows tilting sympathetically. But Dave didn't acknowledge him, he was looking ahead at Aaron with wide eyes. Morgan looked up too. "Hey, Hotch what is it?"

"It's uh..." Aaron paused, gazing down at the thing in his hand. Rossi took a step forward.

"What?"

Aaron turned to see Rossi right behind him, his terrified gaze locked on Aaron.

They both looked down at the small drawing in Aaron's hand. Morgan moved past the door to get a look for himself.

"It's a drawing," Aaron said. He held the paper up and it shook in his hand.

Rossi swallowed thickly. He stepped back, his back hitting Morgan who grabbed him by the shoulder.

The drawing was of a crudely sketched hand, with thick, scratchy black lines and countless smudges. One of the long fingers was outstretched, pointing to a brief scrawl of writing.

Morgan squinted at the paper, continuing to squeeze Dave's shoulder comfortingly.

"What does it say?"

Aaron licked his lips as he looked back at the writing. He took a deep breath.

"It says..." Aaron glanced at Rossi who was gaping at the drawing. "It's says: 'It's time to talk about Mr. Scratch.'"

Peter Lewis carefully set his black case on the table. He ran his thumb down the leather edging which reflected the lukewarm light from the yellow bulb above.

He was about to pop open the clasp, his nails digging under the shining metal when Charity walked out from her bedroom. She walked to the centre of the room, past the couch and just a few feet away from Peter at his desk. She glanced down the opposite hall that led to a guest bedroom and bathroom. She then looked at Peter.

"What now?" she asked in a low and dangerous voice. Scratch pulled his fingers away from the case and turned to look at Charity. She was scowling at him, her arms crossed over her modified chest. Before she spoke a muffled scream came from down in the guest room. Neither of them paid it any attention. It wasn't the first sound they'd heard from the room. Charity cleared her throat.

"Well?"

"What do you want?" Peter asked in a smooth and kind voice. A smile rose to his lips as Charity shifted uncomfortably.

"I want to go out," Charity said.

Peter motioned to the front door, still smiling. "Go ahead."

Charity huffed. "I can't go out now. You kidnapped his kid!"

"I was following through with my plan."

"Your plan," Charity said, folding her arms tighter as Scratch sneered at her. Another scream streamed up from the hall. "And what about me?"

"What about you?"

"I don't want to live like this!" Charity paused. Her eyes fell to the floor. "They have Brandy now."

"Shame," Scratch muttered absently. He turned back to his case and popped the clasp, lifting the lid slowly and beaming back at the shiny things inside.

"That's your daughter!"

Scratch sighed as he pulled on a pair of petrol black gloves which squeaked with each flex of his fingers. He pursed his lips and reached into his case, lifting up one of his needles. "So you say," he mumbled as he examined the barrel. "She'll be fine. As for you, you're here aren't you?"

Scratch thumbed over his other tools, smiling liberally at a particularly lethal one. He glanced back at Charity. "I always bring you home."

"This wasn't my plan," Charity snapped.

"And what was your plan, darling?"

Charity hesitated, dropping her arms and looking down at the floor.

"It was a new car wasn't it? Or new breasts? Darling, I already said you don't need all that."

"I helped you. I got you this far."

Scratch's eyes crinkled as he smiled at Charity, his hand resting on his case. "I am so grateful," he said quietly. "But this was always my plan."

Peter turned back to look over his case and Charity pulled her skirt down, shifting around in frustration.

"If you won't give me anything for this then... then-"

"Then what?" Scratch asked, not looking back at Charity.

"I-I want to get out of here, Peter."

Peter paused, his fingers trailing down the instruments in his case as he turned slowly. Charity stepped back when he stared at her. His mouth flicked up into a menacing smile, dialled up to an uncomfortable smile. Charity licked her lips.

"Darling, you can go," Scratch said. He moved his hands away from his case, his gloved fingers settling like creeping, black spider legs on his knees.

"I-I-" Charity glanced down the hall when another silenced cry echoed from it, bouncing around them quietly like a howling ghost. "The money," she mumbled. "That's the... it's the only reason we did this."

Scratch chuckled to himself and slowly rose from his seat. Charity moved back again, eyeing Scratch cautiously.

"You made your own reasoning," Scratch said. His gaze moved slowly to the door down the hall. "I had one simple reason," he said nodding toward the room down the hall where Spencer was.

Charity looked at the door and then back at Scratch.

"You said-"

"I said you could have the leftovers. Nothing about money." Scratch's head dropped low so he was glaring up at Charity as he moved closer.

"You said he was your enemy. We had to make him pay. A-and when I refused you promised me his money." Charity shut her mouth quickly, not realising she'd raised her voice so much. She pressed herself back into the wall when Scratch hopped forward. He tutted loudly, his feet moving gracefully across the floor.

"Darling, there was no refusal from you. You'd do anything for a bit of cash. Oh, and the way you had him flashing it." Scratch whistled low. "Payment granted."

Charity glanced down the hall where the muffled cries were coming from. Peter gently moved her head to face him, keeping his fingers against her tight cheek as he smiled.

"You can leave now," he said. Charity stared back at him, her eyes wide. Scratch lifted his other hand slowly and Charity's wet eyes darted to his spidery fingers. "Shhh," Scratch said in a hushed tone as he slid a needle into Charity's neck. Her wide eyes found his again and a single tear trickled down her hollow cheeks.

Scratch smiled. Pulling the needle back out he put his other hand against Charity's face. "Sorry," he whispered as Charity's eyes rolled back to stark white and her body crumpled.

Spencer's throat was sore from screaming through the duck tape. The amount of strain he put into each scream didn't effect the volume of his voice. It was muffled and pointless but still Spencer tried.

Tears had dried against his skin and with every new scream fresh tears would run their course, nestling against the duck tape for a moment before flowing over, the moisture doing nothing to loosen the tape.

He wanted his dad more than anything. He remembered a time when it was just him and his dad and Spencer longed for that comforting feeling. He closed his eyes and remembered wandering through his dads half-closed bedroom door and climbing into the empty side of the bed. His dad always sensed him there and would turn over and put a comforting arm around him. Spencer opened his eyes and fresh tears would fall. He thought he could still feel his dad's arm holding him.

His dad wasn't there though and so Spencer screamed louder. The scream fell into a quiet whimper as he went ignored. Spencer was more scared than he had been on any case. He'd seen bad things, so many awful, horrifying things but his dad had warned him about the other things. About hostage situations or becoming the victim yourself. Spencer's lips trembled under the tape. This was what he'd been talking about. This was what kept his dad up with dreadful nightmares.

Spencer lifted his gaze weakly when the door began to rattle. The door opened and Spencer whispered, unable to abuse his throat with another scream when Mr. Scratch stepped inside. Scratch turned slowly away from the door which he locked. He looked at Spencer who stared back at him with wet, red eyes.

Spencer breathed heavily through his nose, trying to prepare himself to scream again despite the scratchy feeling in his throat.

Scratch turned his head to the side and he smiled at Spencer..

"Spencer Rossi," Scratch said with a stretched grin smeared on his face. Spencer lifted himself upright, sitting back in the chair and breathing harder, his nostrils flaring

Scratch moved closer and although Spencer moved his head back he couldn't stop the slender fingers crawling across his face and clenching his chin. Scratch turned Spencer's head up to look at him, his fingertips massaging Spencer's wet cheeks.

Spencer lost all courage to scream. More tears slipped down his cheeks as he looked up into Scratch's black eyes. His tears dripped onto Scratch's hand and the man chuckled, pulling his hand from Spencer's face to look at the tears.

Spencer jerked his head back, sucking in long breaths through his nose. He tried to push his feet against the floor and put distance between himself and Scratch.

"I like when they cry," Scratch said quietly. "Not as exciting from someone like you but your father... I'd love to see him cry."

Scratch laughed when Spencer failed to hold in a sob. "Oh, Spencey... Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. You cry so pretty."

Again, Scratch was grabbing his face and turning it up to the light, forcing him to look back at Scratch.

"I know a lot about you, Spencey."

Spencer tried to pull his face away from Scratch but his fingers only dug deeper into Spencer's cheek.

"I know who your real father is. Will Reid. That would make you Spencer Reid."

Spencer shook his head in Scratch's grip, looking up at the man with a wet glare.

"Ah, you're right. I can't trick you. But could you imagine? If William, rest his soul, was still here. He wouldn't be so fun to play with though..." Scratch dragged his fingers from Spencer's cheek, caressing his face before releasing him with a smile. "No, your real father is fun to play with."

Spencer scrunched his eyes shut as Scratch laughed. He waited for the man to move before he opened his eyes again.

"So fun," Scratch repeated wistfully. Spencer opened his eyes slowly but Scratch was still watching him with a smirk.

"You don't know who I am do you?" he asked and Spencer's eyebrows dropped thoughtfully.

"No, your father never told you about me. Nor about our past."

Spencer looked up at Scratch again, squinting at the pale man with his matted curls and black attire. There was something vaguely familiar about him but Spencer knew he hadn't ever met the man before, nor talk to his dad about it.

"Your dad," Scratch said, empathising the final word with raised eyebrows. "Didn't want to play." Scratch still had a smile on his face as he stared at Spencer. "He wouldn't let me play with you either. So he left and his team thought, thought, they got rid of me."

Spencer sucked in a quick breath through his nose when Scratch winked at him.

"Now I want to play." Scratch's eyes lit up with a wild sense of adventure like an animal whose found its prey. His hands went behind his back and he took a step closer to Spencer, moving slowly around him.

"Do you know what I do, Spencey?"

"No...Hmm." Scratch the walked around Spencer, circling him predatorily.

Spence turned his head sharply to keep his eyes on Scratch. For a moment he didn't see Scratch even with his neck strained to watch him. In that moment Scratch moved forward and grasped the young man's neck. Just as suddenly Spencer felt something pierce his skin. He jerked at the cold feeling but Scratch grasped his throat tighter until he pulled the thing back out.

Scratch moved back into Spencer's line of vision with an empty syringe in his hand. Spencer's eyes widened upon seeing the long needle.

"I guess I'll just have to show you," Scratch said with a smirk. The smirk contorted before Spencer's eyes and the room began to tilt.

Scratch chuckled, his warped smile growing on his face. Spencer tried to blink away the distortion. "Oh, this will be fun," Scratch hissed, his tongue curling around his teeth like a snakes.

Spencer's head became heavy and it lolled to the side. He tried to hold it upright but he had no strength to do so.

Scratch blurred where he stood and when Spencer blinked he was gone. When he blinked again the man was closer, his smile twisted eerily and his body elongated, stretched up near the ceiling. Spencer gaped up at him with heavy eyes.

"Nighty night... don't let the bed bugs bite..." Scratch leaned down, his monstrous face inches from Spencer's. "Because they will," he whispered, blowing mist into Spencer's face as the young man's head fell back and darkness overcame him.

Spencer's in trouble! Thanks for reading!

See you soon and stay safe.