Disclaimer: Don't own it.

Warnings: AU

AN: All those reviews! It blew me away because I was so thrilled! You guys are amazing so here is the next chapter. As promised, Reid meets (some members of) the BAU. Enjoy :)

- The Wounded -

Chapter 4

Hotch found the woman standing before him small and fragile. Her blonde hair was pulled together in a messy bun, her make-up had already disappeared due to her never ending tears and her eyes were bloodshot, red skin around them. Even the tip of her noise was red. He couldn't help feel sorry for her. "I am sorry for your loss, Ms. Clarck," he said in his usual professional voice, "do you mind if we ask you some questions?"

Ms. Clarck folded her arms before her chest, her gaze finally focusing on the Unite Chief standing before her. Slowly, as if Hotch's words had only reached her now, she nodded. "Do you know who did this?" She asked, her voice shaking.

It was Rossi who answered, "That's what we are trying to figure out."

There was a short moment of silence, the woman regaining some of her composure in the mean time. She inhaled deeply and settled her eyes on the two FBI agents standing before her. Hotch could tell she felt uncomfortable, but this was a process that needed to be fulfilled. "Your husband," he said, "he was a real estate agent?"

Ms. Clarck simply nodded. "Why?"

Hotch hated the feeling that he could not answer her question honestly. He didn't know why it mattered what Mr. Clarck did for a living, he just knew he had to find the connection. "Does he sometimes go the Las Vegas public High School?," he continued, "Do you know if he has any connection to that place?"

A deep frown filled Ms. Clarck kind face and her gaze shifted between Hotch and Rossi. The distrust within her was growing and Hotch knew there was nothing he could do about her. These questions were difficult after all. "No, our daughters go to a private school. We've never been near that place actually."

Hotch nodded. "What about the following names; John Ferrer, Mike Roddick, Logan Mayer or Roger Anderson?" He paused a moment to carefully examine any expression that would pass Ms. Clarck's eyes. She only seemed more confused.

"No," she said quickly, irritation seeping through her voice now, "we've never met them, but we heard about their murders on the news of course. Do you think Cameron was murdered by the same killer?" Panic replaced the irritation in her voice.

Rossi smiled reassuringly, but Ms. Clarck only eyed him dangerously. "That's what we are investigating now," Rossi said. They couldn't jump to any conclusion, not with nothing linking this man to all the previous victims.

As if on cue, all the tension from Ms. Clarck's shoulders disappeared. More tears began streaming down her face, sobs escaping her lips. "Please find whoever did this," she begged, "please. My husband was a good man, a good father. He never denied our children anything. He doesn't deserve this."

Hotch watched how the woman before him was slowly breaking apart and he could only offer her some kind words. He knew they wouldn't do much good. "I'm very sorry for your loss."

-o-o-

Prentiss knocked two times on the door, waiting for any sign of life inside the house they were currently visiting. It was a small house, but well kept. However the little garden to the side of the house was in desperate need of mowing and wild flowers grew all around the place. Prentiss could see that someone was trying to keep it all neat, but failed in the process.

Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing an older woman who must be Diana Reid, dressed in a gown and bathing wrap. Her short blonde hair stuck into different directions and her lips were pressed together into two, thin lines. Her hands rested on her hips and her eyes stood wide, wild. "What do you want?" she snapped. Her eyes instantly trailed to the guns strapped to the agent's belts.

Prentiss remained polite and produced a kind smile. "Hello. I am agent Emily Prentiss with the FBI, this is agent Morgan. We were wondering-"

"No," Diana's response came quick, "get out! I don't anyone from the government in here. I know what it is you're trying to do, but it won't work. You two are nothing but dangerous, hypocritical, sneaking-"

"Mom." A young boy – Spencer Reid - appeared from behind the woman. His long brown hair fell before his eyes which he quickly moved back behind his ear. He appeared small and frail for his age and much, much younger than seventeen. When Prentiss looked into his hazel brown eyes, however, she found them oddly wise and she felt taken aback by them.

"Sweety," Diana said sternly, never removing her eyes from the two strangers standing on her porch "these people are from the FBI."

There was a short pause and Spencer shifted uncomfortably. "They are okay, mom" he eyed the two agents carefully as if he were trying to send them a message, "they're friends of mine so you can trust them."

Diana turned to look at her son, almost as if she was weighing down his words. "Are you sure?" Her voice suddenly sounded much softer and loving, a gesture which made Prentiss smile faintly.

Spencer nodded. "Yes, I'm sure. Trust me."

A long moment passed again – one the agents didn't dare disturb - but Diana eventually turned her back towards them and disappeared back inside the house. They instantly noticed relief flooding Spencer's eyes.

"Sorry about that," the young boy said apologetically, "she doesn't like the government, but who can blame her, right? The USA Patriot Act increased the powers appointed to the FBI, especially in wire-tapping and monitoring internet activity. It also granted them permission to search a house while the residents are away, not even having to notify those residents for several weeks afterwards."

There followed a new silence while Spencer looked down to his feet, his cheeks having turned a bright pink. "I talk a lot when I get nervous."

It was Morgan who spoke firstly, taking a step forward as he did so. "My name is Derek Morgan and this is Emily Prentiss," he introduced themselves again, "obviously-" he smirked "we are with the FBI. Can we come in?"

Spencer nodded, stepping aside and showing the agents towards the kitchen. He watched how they carefully gazed around and figured they were looking for his mother. "My mom won't bother us again, she's probably locked herself in her bedroom until you're gone."

Prentiss nodded and asked, "She does that often - locking herself in her bedroom I mean?"

Spencer shrugged, "She's a paranoid schizophrenic. She doesn't trust anyone or anything for that matter. On her bad days, she even yells at the TV to stop monitoring her every move."

Morgan frowned. Garcia never mentioned the specific nature of Diana's illness and he knew she would have had she found anything. In stead, she had only mentioned her career ending due to medical reasons. The dark skinned agent took a step towards the young boy. "Did a doctor give her that diagnosis?"

"No," Spencer said in a matter of fact way, "but she has the symptoms and I've read enough books to be able to make that conclusion."

Both FBI agents gazed at the teenage boy standing before them.

A nervous chuckle escaped Spencer's lips. "Did I freak you out?"

Prentiss shook her head and said, "No, but it's pretty amazing you can make that conclusion."

"I'm smart," Reid shrugged, "nothing special."

Morgan frowned, looking the young genius straight in the eyes. "That is special, Spencer, you are obviously a brilliant mind and I hate to see it go to waist like this."

Spencer blinked. "Don't."

"Don't?"

If he could, Spencer would have stared a whole through Morgan's skull. "Don't call me Spencer," he said, suddenly fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, "only my mom calls me that. Call me Reid." The lie could be read ever so clearly in his eyes and Spencer felt relief when the agents didn't ask any more questions about it. "So how can I help you?"

"You know why we are here, Reid," Prentiss was the one to say, "you know the men that have been murdered."

"They bullied me," Spencer said instantly, not caring to hide the fact that he did know them or that his connection with them was rather negative, "at least, the three young men did. Mr. Anderson stood by and watched, but I don't blame him. There was nothing he could do in the end. Can't say I feel sorry about their deaths though."

Morgan stared right back at Spencer. "You're very honest."

Spencer leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms before his chest. He figured a normal teenager would feel intimated by the FBI's presence, but he just wanted to be honest with them so that this was over. "Why hide it," he explained, "you are profilers so you're able to tell if people lie or not."

Prentiss laughed quietly. "Sometimes."

"But why exactly are you here?" Spencer asked, shifting his gaze between the two agents.

Morgan inhaled deeply. He was a little taken aback by the straight forwardness of this kid, and quiet honestly, his intelligence was freaking him out. He doubted he was smarter than this teenager which somehow unsettled him greatly – not that he would show anyone that.

"We were hoping you might be able to shed some new light onto the case," Prentiss said when Morgan stayed silent, "perhaps you know someone who might be capable of murdering these men? Someone who went to high school with you?"

"Those men," Spencer said, surprisingly cold, "bullied over a hundred kids throughout high school. The only reason you are here is because someone remembered me which isn't that hard since I was twelve when I finally left that place."

"Dean Isner told us about you," Morgan said, thinking that honesty would get them the best cooperation of this kid. If Spencer thought they could read his every lie, then Morgan couldn't help feel that the kid could see straight through theirs. "He never spoke to any of his old friends since he left high school. He's honestly sorry for what he did back then."

Spencer snorted, dropping his arms. "Of course he is."

"But those murders," Prentiss said, ignoring that last comment, "they are wrong."

Suddenly, Spencer's eyes widened, shifting through the entire kitchen. Something had unsettled him and he was having trouble hiding it. "I know they're wrong." Accusation lay in his voice. "My mother taught me about right or wrong, agents, and I would never wish death upon anyone."

"But you think they had it coming." It was as if Morgan was reading his mind. "You understood what was happening, who was getting killed and why, but you never informed the police. Why is that?"

Slowly, as if he were trying to control his every movement, Spencer looked past the two agents and gazed at a closed door. He instantly regretted it and closed his eyes. Only when he heard Morgan's voice did he open them again.

"What's down there?"

Hesitation was settling in the young boy who appeared younger with every passing second. "Nothing," he said in a hard voice, "only my bedroom."

Morgan's eyes widened. "Can we have a look around?" He already turned on his heels and headed towards the white door. Something lay behind it, something Spencer didn't want them to see and Morgan could feel it was important. If Spencer wasn't willing to cooperate, then they would have to push him a bit.

Spencer's entire body tensed. "Do you have a warrant?"

Silence.

"If you don't have anything to hide..." Prentiss' voice was much softer than Morgan's at this point. She even seemed compassionate, but Spencer only eyed her with vigilance. "Come on, Reid, we are just trying to help and we know that you aren't the unsub-"

"Unsub?" Spencer's voice shook.

"Unknown Subject," she continued gently, "the killer. We saw how you suddenly looked at your bedroom and tensed like you have something to hide. If you truly think these murders are wrong and you know something, then you should tell us."

Spencer bit down on his lip and watched how Morgan approached his door. He said nothing as the agent disappeared into the small bedroom and waited patiently for him to find it. It wasn't even that difficult to miss since it lay openly on his desk and Spencer cursed himself for his nonchalance.

Not a minute later, the dark skinned agent returned, the picture of the four friends in his hand.

"What's this?" he asked, holding up the photo for both Spencer and Prentiss to see. "I think it's best if you come down to the station with us, kiddo. You're in a lot of trouble"

Reid only swallowed heavily.

AN: Please don't stop the reviews now. The more I get, the sooner I will update!