A/N: Spoilers for Revelations… kind of.

Tobias was a good man. It was Charles who wasn't so good. Raphael was just okay. This was Reid's analysis as he sat handcuffed to the wooden chair. His feet burned unpleasantly from being whacked and his head throbbed from being punched. He could hardly focus his eyes, let alone think.

Suddenly, a figure appeared before him.

"God?" Reid asked.

"Close," replied Raphael, in a voice that was a mixture of Michael Jackson's and Amanda's from Season Four. "I'm an archangel."

"That's great. I am so in need of saving right now. See, there's this psycho…"

"I ain't here to save you, boy!" Charles' voice. "I'm here for crumpets and tea." Tobias.

"Did you know that the Irish actually drink more tea than the British?" Reid yelled nervously. "I like crumpets."

Charles socked Reid in the mouth.

"Jinx, you owe me a decaf," Reid giggled.

"Punch buggy, no punch backs!" Charles hollered, socking the grimy agent in the jaw once more.

"AAAAHH! I'M HAVING A SEIZURE!" Reid screamed. "SOMEONE KILL HOTCH!"

As a disgusting glob of mucusy slobber dribbled down Reid's chin, he fell to the ground and began convulsing.

Tobias decided to go for a late evening stroll in the graveyard. As he admired the roses he then decided to have a leisurely conversation with himself. After a while, Tobias returned to Reid and knelt down beside the slumbering princess.

"He will not wake until he receives his true love's kiss," Tobias acknowledged.

And with that, he locked lips with Reid's drooly chops.

Seven slobbery minutes later and Reid was respirating on his own, despite the fact that he'd been brain dead for a whole entire hour. He looked to his left. Why, there's a gravestone, he thought.

"Kill Hotch," he repeated, not quite sure what he suddenly had against the man. No one would ever call him Percival again though.

"Gladly," either Tobias, Raphael, or Charles stated. "But what will you do for me?"

"I'll play Russian Roulette with you," Reid offered. What did he have to lose besides his guts and a lot of blood?

"Okay, but first I need you to dig your own grave."

Tobias picked up Reid and his chair with his Hercules muscles and carried him outside. Reid felt like a Jewish bride. He blew kisses to the ghost witnesses.

"Adultery and necrophilia," Charles grumbled. "One more strike and you're OUT."

"I actually raped Cupid and Gabriel last night, so I guess I'm all out of strikes," Reid confessed.

"Sinner!" Raphael screamed, hurling the chair into the sky.

Meanwhile, Gideon, Hotch, Prentiss, J.J., and Morgan were all sitting around the round table room of the BAU for their therapy session. Dr. Cox was the FBI psychiatrist, and was also present. None of them were very happy. This was probably due to the fact that they'd all arrived on time at nine for the session, and it was now five o'clock the next day. Hotch paced the room, grinding his teeth and curling and uncurling his fists.

"Hotch," Gideon tried to reason, "Reid isn't going to show. Maybe we should just call it a day. Reschedule sometime next week."

Hotch rounded furiously on Gideon.

"No! No one leaves until we have this session. Right, Dr. Cox?"

Dr. Cox was curled in a corner, muttering something about crazy FBI agents and being held hostage.

Prentiss giggled, hysteria beginning to set in from being deprived of food and water for over twenty-four hours.

"I just can't believe we have a doctor whose last name is 'cocks'," she whispered to Morgan, who looked uneasy.

"I don't know, I don't think I'm entirely comfortable with that."

"Why don't we just start the session now then?" Gideon asked, once again trying to reason with Hotch.

"We can't until Reid arrives," Hotch explained.

"Why?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Prentiss cut in. "Kid's got issues."

Just then, Garcia burst into the room, concern etched all over her face.

"Garcia, if you knew we were here the whole time, why didn't you save us sooner?" Prentiss inquired.

Garcia shrugged.

"It's entertaining watching you guys suffer, I guess. Speaking of watching people suffer…" She held up a disc. "This was mailed to us."

The five agents were huddled around Garcia's computer screen, waiting for her to play the disc. No one had bothered to do anything about Dr. Cox, who was still mumbling in the round table room. Everyone watched with baited breath as Garcia pressed 'play'. The video showed a blond man with facial hair in a black sweatshirt approaching Reid, who was handcuffed to a rickety wooden chair.

"Wait," Prentiss said, and Garcia paused the video. "Is he actually handcuffed to that?"

Hotch leaned in to get a better look.

"I don't know; it's hard to tell."

"I don't think he is," Garcia said.

"Why doesn't he get up then?" Prentiss asked. "Fight or try to run away."

No one said anything. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Garcia resumed the video. Reid was now being hit on the foot with some sort of log and making odd, yelping noises. Morgan cleared his throat and turned away, rubbing a hand over the lump in his pants in what he hoped was an inconspicuous way. The rest of the agents continued watching.

When the blond man revived Reid, it made Morgan very jealous. Those strawberry lips were his to slobber on, not to mention that he was the only one allowed to paddle whatever inch of Reid's skin he desired. Whoever this man was, he'd be dead by the time Morgan was finished with him, that was for sure.

Morgan was so busy working himself into a righteous fury that he didn't notice what'd happened next in the video. Hotch had sure noticed, though.

"He just… he wants to kill me!"

Hotch now had a pretty good idea what his agent's homicidal fantasies had been about. He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"But Hotch!" Gideon called. "We need your help in the rescue effort."

"Like I'd assist in the rescue of anyone who decides to send a psychopath after me," Hotch grumbled under his breath.

Just then, a chair came crashing through the ceiling of the BAU. Perched upon it was Spencer Reid, holding on for dear life. There was no time to get out of the way, and unfortunately, flying chairs do not come with steering wheels. Hotch was lying crushed beneath the combined weight of a chair and Spencer Reid (the chair was probably doing the majority of the crushing) before he even knew what had hit him.

Upon hearing the commotion, the agents rushed out of Garcia's bat cave.

"Spence, you're all right!" J.J. exclaimed, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"Yeah," Reid agreed, "But I don't think Hotch is. Looks like Tobias has some pretty good aim."