Disclaimer: Don't own it.

Warnings: AU (Reid is 17, but the BAU-team are the same)

AN: So I guess people do want to see what will happen next in this story? I will try and update faster in the future, but I really wanted this chapter to be good. I'm sorry if all the names are a bit confusing, but in the end, they don't really matter. If you just remember Dean Isner, then you're all set for the next chapters.

Thanks for the review! Keep 'em coming!

- The Wounded -

Chapter 2

Barry Lannister, the local detective, greeted the newly arrived BAU-team kindly and offered each of them a hand. JJ made sure he knew who they all were to avoid any possible confusion in the future. "And this is our Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner," she concluded as Barry shook Hotch's hand, "he leads the investigation."

Barry nodded very sincerely and began walking further into the police station. "I am thankful you're all here so soon," he said, "I have no idea how to catch the bastard who did this."

JJ professionally ignored his poor choice of words and in stead offered him a kind smile when he looked at her. "The unsub has his reasons and once we find what links the victims, finding him will proof to be easier, though not easy."

Barry let his gaze slide to the faces of every FBI agent, a frown covering his brow. "Him?"

It was Morgan who spoke, "we believe our unsub is a male. To be able to cut someone's throat requires strength and speed, only something a man could posses."

Barry barely acknowledged the new information and simply said, "I see." He showed them the way to a small office where they were allowed to set up. On the back wall, photos and other information hung collected and Rossi walked towards it in order to examine it more closely. Nothing was on there which they did not already know.

"We have to find what links these victims," Rossi said, turning around to look at the rest of the team and Barry. "We know Ferrer and Roddick went to the same school, with a year difference, the same school Anderson taught at. We can only assume that's the most important link between them. So how will we fit Mayer in all this?"

Prentiss stepped forward, allowing her gaze to fall on each photograph that decorated the board. She pointed towards the photo of Mayer, the ginger haired man, and said, "He is the same age as the other two men, that can't be a coincidence. I think it's safe to assume that we have to search for our unsub in the school environment. Perhaps a former friend?"

It was then that Hotch phone rang, disrupting their train of thought. The Unite Chief flipped open his phone and placed it on the table. "You're on speaker, Garcia, tell us what you've found."

"Hello, my precious," Garcia greeted them in her usual cheery manner, "I did a thorough search and found that Ferrer, Roddick and Mayer used to be close friends, but ever since high school they seemed to have lost all contact." There was a brief pause and a keyboard clicking away. "I did some more searching and found that the merry gang consisted out of four members. There is another Dean Isner out there somewhere and I'm looking for his address right now which...I just sent to your phones."

"Thank you, Garcia." Hotch disconnected the call and focused on Morgan and Prentiss. "You two go to Isner and find out if he has any idea who might be targeting his old friends." The two younger agents nodded and left, grabbing a set of car keys on their way out. "JJ, I need you to organize a press conference," Hotch continued, "tell the public that there is no reason for panic, we'll provide you with our profile later."

JJ instantly took out her phone and placed some calls.

"You do know that our unsub probably isn't another old friend," Rossi said, stepping forward until he stood directly before Hotch, "no old friend suddenly goes killing."

Hotch nodded, agreeing with everything Rossi. "Someone bullied," he sighed, "it provides a motive, but we still have a loose end; how does Anderson fit in all this? He's a teacher and wouldn't bully another student."

"We'll have to ask Dean Isner," Rossi said.

"I'll let Morgan and Prentiss know."

-o-o-

Spencer bolted awake, his breath trapped in his chest, making the edges of his vision blur into darkness. He needed to calm down, but the memories of last night came rushing back to him. How could he ever forget what he had done? Carefully, he lifted his sore hand to see small cuts and bruises colour his knuckles. He had been very stupid to crash his hand into the mirror last night.

Slowly, he slid from underneath his covers and out of the bed, grabbing a clean pair socks, jeans and a shirt. The simple movements of getting dressed seemed to hurt and his arms appeared to be weighing a ton as if lead was flowing through his veins in stead of regular blood. His legs were sore and his stomach growled violently as it craved food. Reluctantly, Spencer walked down the stairs to find the kitchen and living room empty. His mother was probably still in bed, a place she probably wouldn't leave for another 48 hours.

He really needed to make sure that Diana was alright, but he felt too disgusted with himself to face her right now. She might be a paranoid schizophrenic - a diagnosis Spencer himself had given her since she refused to see any doctor - but she had a talent for spotting anything wrong with her son. It was her most annoying talent.

Forcing himself to eat a slice of dry bread, Spencer quickly washed away its disgusting taste with lukewarm coffee. It was the only thing that kept him going all day and it was no surprise why he was so skinny lately. A boy of seventeen years old could not survive on coffee alone. Spencer knew this, but he simply couldn't bring himself to eat anything else but bread in the morning or the occasional doughnut in the afternoon.

It was only when he switched on the TV to catch the news that he held his breath and thought he might actually pass out. There was a young, blonde woman on TV, definitely from the FBI, and she was talking about a string of murders that had happened in the past few days. As each photo appeared on the screen, Spencer needed to grab onto the edge of a chair to steady himself and his fingers clenched around his mug of coffee.

It had been a long time since he had seen those faces, but he could recognize them everywhere and any time. Even though he knew they were dead, he felt an anger rise in his chest, an emotion he could no longer control and a little voice in the back of his head growled to him, 'they had it coming.'

-o-o-

Morgan and Prentiss walked up to a little, but nice looking house. The grass in the front lawn was well kept and a little bicycle lay in front of the stairs that lead up to the front door. Prentiss smiled as she pulled the toy aside, looking up to Morgan who had just disconnecting his call with Hotch.

"We have to ask him how Anderson, the teacher, fits into all this," Morgan explained.

Prentiss nodded, understanding before pointing towards the bike, "seems there is a kid in this house."

Morgan smiled, pulling of his sunglasses and placing them into the pocket of his jacket. He knocked on the door and waited for someone to answer. Only a few seconds later, a young woman appeared, her short blond hair pulled into a little ponytail. She couldn't be much older than 25. "Yes, can I help?" she asked in a soft voice.

It was Prentiss who took out her badge and showed it. "We're with the FBI. I am agent Emily Prentiss and this is agent Derek Morgan. We're looking for Dean Isner, is he home?"

"Yes," the woman said, suddenly nervous, but she stepped aside and allowed the agents to enter her house, "he's in the back with our son Jaimy. I'll go get him for you."

"Excuse me," Morgan interrupted her before she could walk away, "what is your name exactly?"

The woman smiled, revealing a warmth in her eyes that had been hidden only moments ago. "My name is Donna Jones," she said, "am Dean's wife." She disappeared then for a moment, her voice echoing through the house as she called for her husband. A male voice answered and Donna returned, folding her arms before chest. "What is this about exactly?"

It was then that Dean Isner appeared, a small boy following his trail. Jaimy had a head full of blonde curls, much like his mother, and his large blue eyes were glued to the two strangers in the house. Donna knelt before her son and gently caressed his cheek. "Why don't you go play in your room, sweety. Mommy and Daddy have to talk to these people."

Jaimy nodded and after throwing the agents a quick insecure glance, he disappeared up the stairs.

"Can I help you?" Dean asked, stepping closer to his wife who took his hand into her own. They showed the agents towards the living room and sat down on the couch, Prentiss and Morgan following their example.

It was Morgan who began the conversation, "I think you know why we are here, Mr. Isner."

"The murders," Dean nodded, sighing deeply, "they were my friends."

"Were?" Prentiss asked, instantly having spotted the tense of the verb.

Dean smiled sadly, turning his head to look at his wife. "We lost all contact," he explained, "when Donna got pregnant a few years ago, I was forced to grow up suddenly. I couldn't have a few idiotic friends hanging around the house, drinking beer while I had a son coming."

Morgan nodded understandingly.

"I mean," Dean continued, a slight tremble in his voice, "Jaimy is almost five and already he can be influenced by cartoons and movies. You should hear the things that sometimes come out of his mouth."

"So you haven't seen them lately?" Prentiss asked, needing to be sure of this fact. Every small detail could help them get closer to the truth.

"I saw Logan Mayer a few months ago," Dean said, frowning as he tried to remember these facts, "it was an accident really. I spotted him in the mall and we got talking for a while. Donna and Jaimy were shopping for clothes so I had time."

"And the others?" Morgan asked, leaning forward until his elbows rested on his knees. "What about John Ferrer or Mike Roddick?"

Dean bit down on his lip and shifted his gaze between the two agents. "Look, we were friends in high school and when that time ended, we went our different ways. I never even went to a reunion because frankly, I wanted to forget about that time."

Prentiss smiled. "Who doesn't?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, releasing Donna's hand and leaning forward. A deep sigh escaped his lips as if he was trying to prepare himself for what was coming next. "I was horrible in high school," he admitted reluctantly, "I thought I was it, as did my friends. The four of us – me, Logan, Mike and John – we were kings around here. We thought the world belonged to us because we were popular, rather good looking and excelled in sports. After school, we met up at the park and continued our bullying there."

"Is there anyone you targeted continually?" Morgan asked.

Dean swallowed heavily and cast down his eyes. "There was a boy," he said softly, "easy target; nerdy, small, no friends and a name that screamed to be bullied for. We made sure Spencer Reid's life was a living hell."

For the first time since they had seated, Donna spoke, "It's okay, honey, those years are behind you now. You're a wonderful father and you broke with your past. That's what matters."

Prentiss almost felt sorry for disrupting the loving moment between husband and wife. "Roger Anderson," she said, calling back Dean's attention, "he is one of the victims. Do you have any idea why he has been murdered as well?"

Dean rubbed a hand over his face, appearing very exhausted suddenly. "He...uhm," he searched for the right words, "Mr. Anderson was a good teacher. I went to a different school so he was never my teacher, but John and Mike often spoke of him. His classes were one of the few they actually enjoyed. But there were times when my friends were bullying on the playground and Mr. Anderson just stood by. Spencer once went to him - I remember - talked to him, but Anderson did nothing. There was little he could do."

"Thank you for the name," Prentiss said, wishing she could say something else. If this Reid was there unsub, then they were about to make an arrest. It was never easy to do so when the unsub was a victim as well and she could only begin to imagine what it must be like to be bullied throughout your entire childhood.

"I don't think it's him, though," Dean suddenly said, causing both agents to frown, "but it's the only one I can remember. He might be able to tell you more."

Morgan was confused. "Why don't you think it's him?"

"Because if I remember correctly," Dean said, shifting his gaze between the two agent's, "he'll only be around seventeen by now. He was years ahead in high school, graduated when he was thirteen - I'm not sure, I didn't really pay him much attention."

"We'll talk to him," Prentiss simply said, "we won't take up more of your time."

Donna and Dean rose from their couch, extending their hands for the agents to shake it. They did so and left the house, both of them looking at each other with questions in their eyes. If – according to Dean Isner – Reid could not be their unsub, then who was? Perhaps Reid might be able to offer some answers.

AN: Just to remain clear:

The victims are Roger Anderson, teacher at the same high school John Ferrer, Mike Roddick and Spencer Reid went to. Dean Isner and Logan Mayer both went to different schools.

Oh, and does anyone have a clue where I got the victims' last names from? You'll get a cookie if you guess right! :)