Disclaimer: This one goes for the last chapter as well, since I forgot to put one in there. I don't own CM, and I'm not making any money. Sadly.

The BAU jet was doing 495 mph at 20,000 ft heading southwest towards Alabama, specifically to an airstrip just outside of Brewton. The team had been rushed to the airport straight from the club, leading them to the conclusion that this was a seriously urgent matter. The files before the teammembers confirmed their suspicions, as they contained material so gruesome that it made the hardened FBI-agents' stomachs churn.

Morgan leaned back into his chair. "I am seriously starting to question my choise of career.." Resting his chin on the L-shape of his index finger and thumb, he gave a deep sigh. "I know we're profilers and everything, but I'm sorry – I will never understand fully how these sick bastards' minds work."

"You don't have to", Hotch broke in. "We just have to figure out enough about them to catch them." In all honesty, he thought to himself, does anyone ever understand anyone?

An eerie silence placed itself inside the jet. A pitiful moan from the far back of the cabin broke the calm. The small table on the side of the somewhat larger seat was cluttered with coffee mugs, nearly obscuring the person behind it. The near shoulder lenght brown hair was sloppily draped around the sharp jawline of Spencer Reid, rave dancer extraordinaire. From the looks and sounds of it, he was currently regretting his choise of poison.

Morgan rose and went to sit beside his colleague, possibly providing him with an extra lap to heave in. Keeping in mind that Reids stomach was not of the strong kind, Morgan kept his distance on the seat. "How ya feeling, kid?" The moment he uttered the words, he knew it had been an idiotic question. The young agent looked like he could fall over at any time. His eyes were red and bloodshot, lips dry and limbs hanging limply from his body. He truly was a sad sight for tired eyes.

Reid merely moaned in answer to Morgans question. Suddenly, his arms tensed and his head shot up from its hanging position. The panic in the young agents eyes was obvious as he flew up from his seat and half ran, half stumbled towards the small airplane bathroom, one hand clutching his mouth. With the slam of the door, Morgan rose from his seat and scratched his head before heading back to the rest of the team. Prentiss looked at him with disbelief. "I can not believe you gave Reid Long Island Ice Tea..!" She shook her head and curved her lips into a "you're an idiot"-position.

Morgan held his hands up before him in defense. "Now, hold on. How was I supposed to know he was going to down three of them in less than half an hour?" He sat down beside JJ Jareau and crossed his legs. "And besides, how in the world can someone get hammered in that short period of time?"

Shaking her head once again, Prentiss could not believe her partners vain attempts to redeem himself. "You shouldn't have given him anything at all! He's a kid, he couldn't hold his liqueuer if his life depended on it." Her heart held more compassion than reproach for her young colleague.

"Alright, enough." Hotch decided to put an end to the blame game that flared between the two agents. "Reid is a grown man, and he is – believe it or not – able to take responsibility for his actions." On the inside, Hotch was laughing wildly at the sight of his young co-worker drunk dancing at a rave, but he knew that he had to keep a stern outside for the sake of his authority.

With a deep sigh, Reid emerged from the bathroom, looking exhausted. His lanky figure looked somewhat crumpled as he dragged himself over to the table where his co-workers were seated. A slight groan escaped his lips as he sat down in an empty seat across from agent Hotchner. He leaned over, resting his head in his slender hands.

"How are you holding up there, kid?" Agent Hotchners paternal instincts kicked into full mode as he saw his young friend suffer the pains of too much alcohol in his system.

"My head hurts.." Reid replied, rubbing his temples.

"That's your brain trying to comprehend its own stupidity." Agent Jason Gideon had been sitting quietly, eying the casefile before him. As he met the eyes of his junior teammember, he could actually feel the shame that flowed through the veins of said member. As much as he hated seeing Reid in this state, he couldn't help but thinking that he had only himself to blame. It wan't like Reid to be this irresponsible, and Gideon mused about the reasons for his sudden downfall. Perhaps a girl, perhaps peer pressure, perhaps bad judgement.

"Drink your coffee." Agent Hotchner placed a new cup of hot, brown liquid before his junior colleague, who immediately wrapped his hands around it, bringing it to his lips. "We need you at your best when we land."

Reid looked up at Hotch with tired eyes. "When do we land?"

"In 20 minutes." Hotch shook his head slightly and decided to bring the team back up to speed with the task at hand. "Let's go over the cases again before touchdown." He grabbed a casefile from the table.

JJ sat up straight, folding the casefile open in her lap. "Alright, we have.." She rustled the papers and cleared her throat. It was a hard case to look at. "Tanya Webster, age 15. Found dead in a dumpster three days ago, mutilated nearly beyond recognicion. The parents had to identify her based on personal belongings. She had been strangled."

"Victim two is Harry Roth, aged 15." Hotch flipped through the casefile. "He was found on a playground later the same day as victim one, but not nearly as mutilated. This victim was also stabbed to death." Hotch changed casefile. "Victim three is Josh Anderson, aged 16, found dead in his home two days ago. Parents were out of town, they found him on his bed with certain.. Parts missing. He bled out."

"This goes on. We have four more victims, all found within the last three days." JJ ran her fingers through her hair and let her hand come to rest on the base of her neck. "The local police is in crisis and requested us a soon as they could."

Morgan looked at some of the crime scene photos. "Good lord, who would do this to a teenager?" He closed the folder and leaned over the table. "So we have seven different M.O:s. Are we sure it's the same UnSub?"

"Yes. All victims are students at the same school, and the time frame is too compressed for different UnSubs." Gideon held a photo in front of his face, scrutinizing it carefully.

Amazingly, Reid managed to raise his voice above the volume of a faint whisper, and adressed the rest of his team. "This could be a variant of the high school shootings occuring more frequently nowadays. In 2007 Seung-Hui Cho shot and killed 32 students and teachers at Virginia Tech. The police found a suicide note in Cho's dorm room that included comments about "rich kids", "debauchery", and "deceitful charlatans", leading them to the conclusion that Cho found his fellow schoolmates less worth than him."

"Could the UnSub be a student at the school who has some business with the victims?" Prentiss rested her elbow on the table as she flipped over a few of the pages in the folder.

"Let's not rule that out." Hotch hated the idea of kids killing kids. "It's the best lead we have right now. We'll be landing in a few minutes, so take some time to gather your thoughts."

Reid closed his eyes. The pain behind his eylids was nearly unbearable and he wished he was home in his bed. Or rather in his bathroom. Once again, nature called and he staggered off to the bathroom for a quick stop before the plane took ground, hand firmly pressed against his mouth.

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I am looking forward to reviews on this chapter, I know it was a little slow - but I need to have Reid in a crappy state for a few more chapters. R&R, my pretties!