Disclaimer: Don't own it.

Warnings: AU

AN:I was so happy with all the reviews! I kept bouncing up and down, dancing and singing (don't worry, no one could hear me). Seriously, you guys rock! Oh, and I don't think I ever answered my own question: yes, I took the last names from tennis players. A few guessed (one of you cheated, but you still get a cookie!) so I'll better get baking. Ha. Don't pay any attention to my chatter. It's been a hectic week so I'm sorry for the late update.

One more thing; I keep referring to Hotch as Hotchner because this is Reid's POV and he wouldn't even know everyone calls the Unite Chief Hotch. Does that make sense?

Anyways, enjoy!

- The Wounded -

Chapter 5

As Spencer was being guided through the police station, he could feel all eyes fall upon him. He wasn't a prisoner - he didn't even think the agents considered him a suspect - but he was treated with caution. Morgan's hand never left his shoulder and Spencer kept his head down, suddenly feeling like a little monkey in a zoo.

It was only when they entered a small interrogation room that the dark skinned FBI agent let go of him and Spencer gazed around. He had seen it all a million times already in movies, but actually standing inside an interrogation room made him shudder. With doubt in his eyes he turned to look behind him.

Only now did he notice that Prentiss had gone which he found a shame. He liked that woman and perhaps trusted her – if trust was something he could already call it. As Morgan motioned towards the far back chair, Spencer hesitantly sat down. Knowing that he was a minor and here willingly brought the young genius some sort of relief. If he wanted, he could walk out of here or at least demand a lawyer.

Spencer watched how Morgan took a seat opposite the table and only after a few seconds did the door open again. For a short moment Spencer hoped it might be Prentiss, but in stead, a very serious looking man entered the room. He wore an expensive looking suit, his dark hair short and his eyes never leaving his as soon as he entered.

"I am agent Hotchner," he introduced himself, "we have some questions for you."

Taking in a deep breath, Spencer ordered himself to calm down. Did he honestly have anything to fear? Yes, there had been a rather disturbing photo laying in his bedroom, but that was hardly any proof that he was somehow involved in the murders. "All right," he said, knowing exactly what to expect from this conversation.

Agent Hotchner stretched out his arm, only now revealing a see-through evidence bag he had been holding. In it was the picture of the four bullying friends and Spencer couldn't help but look away this time.

It was Morgan who broke the awkward silence – that was how Spencer experienced it anyway. "Who sent you this?"

Slowly, Spencer lifted his eyes to meet the gaze of the two agents evenly before shrugging. "I don't know."

"It's clearly meant for you," agent Hotchner said, his eyes growing in size. His voice remained calm, something which Spencer somehow had not expected. "'Soon', What does that mean?" He pushed the picture even closer towards the teenage boy.

"Four men are in the picture," Spencer said, shifting his gaze between the two agents, still refusing to look at the piece of evidence, "three of them have a cross over their heads. One still remains. I think we all know what 'soon' means."

Morgan leaned his elbows on the table, his eyes very serious. "Kid, this is serious. Why didn't you contact the police? The unsub sent you this which means something to us. He knows you, he has a connection with you."

Spencer nodded his head, finally daring to look at the picture with both agent's scrutinising eyes on him. "He was bullied like me," he said, knowing this was the truth, "a hundred different people could have send me that. This - your so-called connection means nothing."

Not having thought it possible, Spencer watched agent Hotchner's eyes darken. "How do you know he was bullied?" he asked, his question appearing to have come out of nothing. Even Morgan shot him a quick, confused glance. "We released a profile to the media – something you have no doubt seen or read - but never did we mention he was bullied by those men."

Spencer wasn't taken aback by the agent's deduction. "Why else would he be doing this?" Spencer gazed deep into Hotchner's eyes, refusing to feel intimidated by them. He didn't even know this man, but already he could not imagine the agent to smile or even blink. Had agent Hotchner blinked since he had entered the room? Spencer shook those thoughts away and focused on the conversation again.

He continued, his voice steady, "I have followed the news, read the papers. They all mentioned overkill which means the murders were personal. The fact that three of them are about the same age and used to be a tight group of friends only suggest that they have a shared history and Mr. Anderson was a teacher. Conclusion, the unsub went to the same high school and is between 20 and 25 years old. Bullies never pick out strong kids, or once with a larger group of friends than their own so it is safe to say that your unsub was a loner, a nerd. Just like me. That should narrow down the list of potential suspects."

Both Hotchner and Morgan stared at the boy before them.

Agent Hotchner sighed softly. "We did come to the conclusion that the unsub is a former bullied classmate," he said, "but there has been a new murder and we can't find any connection and the overkill was...less than with previous victims. Does the name Cameron Clarck mean anything to you?"

If Spencer had been able to control his body and emotions before, then he lost it completely now. His face drained of all colour and his hands began to tremble so he quickly withdrew them, hiding them underneath the table. He wished the agents would not see his change in behaviour, but they were profilers. They probably already had an explanation in their heads for this.

Spencer pressed his lips together, his mind racing to find his own explanation.

"I'll take that as a yes," Hotchner said softly, no accusation laying in his voice.

"Kid, are you okay?"

Only now was Spencer vaguely aware that Morgan had just asked him a question, but he could only focus on the nauseating feeling that was quickly consuming his body. "He's- He's dead?"

Morgan nodded.

Silence.

Spencer turned away from the agents, pressing a hand over his lips and refusing to vomit, not now and certainly not here. He cursed himself for losing control like this and he fought back the tears that were trying to invade his eyes, but he knew it was losing battle.

"Reid, talk to us," Morgan said worriedly, reaching out a hand, but Spencer withdrew even further, "come on, kid, don't shut us out now."

Reid breathed through his fingers, "I want to go home now. I don't have anything to do with this. I swear that I don't know who is killing these men." He rose from his chair and watched how the agents followed his example. "Can I please go?"

There was a slight hesitation in Hotchner's eyes and his stoic, stiff appearance had suddenly vanished. He looked softer somehow, almost caring and definitely worried. "We can't keep you here," he said, "but if you talk to us, we can help you. If you are in danger-"

"No," Spencer said quickly, shaking his head and feeling his tears stream down his cheeks. Angry with himself, he rubbed a hand across his face and inhaled deeply. "I never bullied anyone, remember? I can't be a target so I'm not in danger. If anything, that picture just proofs that the unsub feels for me, that he knows what I have been through."

"But Cameron Clarck..." Morgan didn't finish his sentence when he saw Spencer tense at the name, his breathing irregular and his hands balled into fists.

"I never wanted it," Spencer's voice sounded ghost-like, "I swear I never wanted it."

Slowly, very deliberately, Morgan stepped around the table and the distance between him and the teenage boy grew smaller. It was only a matter of time before he stood directly before Spencer and placed a hand on his shoulder, a comforting gesture that the young boy almost appreciated. He quickly shrugged away the hand, however, Mr. Clarck still on his mind.

"Okay, okay," Morgan said, raising both his hands as to show that he wouldn't harm him in any way, "is there anything we can get you? Something to drink perhaps?"

After taking in a deep breath, hoping it would calm him, Spencer nodded. "Coffee?"

"All right," Morgan smiled faintly.

Spencer watched how agent Hotchner turned towards the one-way-mirror that was behind him and nodded once. He should have known there were someone behind it, perhaps more than someone. Agent Prentiss probably was. Who else had been watching him falling apart?

"Please sit, Reid," Hotchner said, picking up the picture of the four friends and turning it face down. The room suddenly appeared less threatening and Spencer allowed himself to sit. He was grateful that he was off his feet because his knees felt weak and his hands were still trembling.

"You do know Mr. Clarck," Morgan said as he resumed his place across the table.

Spencer nodded absent-mindedly, watching how a woman with long blonde hair, blue eyes and an FBI-badge on her belt entered the room, carrying a large mug of steaming coffee. She placed it before him and shot him an encouraging smile. Spencer instantly liked her, but he needed to focus on the two other agents. "I only know him as Mr. Cameron," he began to explain, "and I see him at least once a week. Sometimes more, but it depends on him really. I don't know how it started, but one time I was in the park – reading - and he approached me."

"When was this?" Hotchner asked, needing every detail he could get.

"Two years, five months and seven days ago," said Spencer as if he had rehearsed that answer a million times already. He didn't know why he knew these kind of trivial things, but he just did. "He offered me money if I agreed to go with him. We never went to his house because he was afraid his wife might come home early or something. It's easier to come up with a lie for being home late than to explain why you're in bed with a fifteen year old boy."

He carefully watched the agent's reaction to his story, but he found they remained surprisingly untouched by it. He didn't blame them since they had probably heard worse tales than his. They were the BAU after all and hunting serial killers was their daily job. He wouldn't be surprised to find that even the most gruesome crime scenes left them untouched.

"Like I said, I never wanted it, but with my mother ill..." he trailed off, lost in his thoughts. The way he had said those words almost made it look like he blamed her which he did not. He loved his mother and it wasn't her fault that this had happened. Or that she was a paranoid schizophrenic for that matter.

Morgan's voice called him back. "Reid?"

"Mr. Cameron always called me Spencer or Spence," he continued, "that's why I don't like to be called by my first name. My mother doesn't even call me that. She just says sweety or honey and on her bad days a traitor or imposter working for the government."

"It must be difficult living like that," Hotchner said in an earnest voice.

"It is," Spencer admitted reluctantly, "but I managed to make it work. I earned more money which I used to be pay bills and Mr. Cameron wasn't always...so rough. I could live with myself knowing that I had little other choice. If I had gone to the police or social services, my mother would have been placed in a mental facility and I would have ended up in foster care. Did you know that an estimated of 423.773 children are currently in foster care? That's actually 76.69 percent of Nevada's entire population." He watched Hotchner gaze at him with amazement in his eyes and Spencer only now realized he had been rambling again. "Sorry."

Morgan tried to shoot him his most charming smile, but it came out a little shaking. "You talk a lot when you're nervous," he recalled from his first encounter with the genius boy.

"So if someone goes from killing three old classmate and a former teacher to killing someone that is directly linked to me," Spencer said carefully, not knowing if he would even like the answer, "what does that mean?"

Hotchner sighed. "We'll figure it out."

AN: So what does this all mean for our favourite genius? You'll found out soon because I solemly swear that the next update will happen on Sunday. But please, brighten my (very rainy) days by leaving a short message!