Disclaimer: Criminal Minds and all its associated characters are property to CBS and no profit is being made from this story.

Author's Note- VERY IMPORTANT: Two important things to know. The first, is that, as many of

you may have noticed, I have tailored certain information on characters, situations, and character backgrounds (particularly in regards to Spencer.) This is not a factual mistake, but an intentional rewriting (excluding that this chapter correctly names Spencer's height, which I still have yet to fix from the previous chapter.)

The second is that this rating will change, but, in order to accommodate readers who do not feel comfortable reading M-rated or sensitive material but would still like to continue with this story, a break will be made in between these sections. The break in question will be a capital M, flanked by symmetrical dash marks.

- - - M - - -

It will appear once at the start of the material in question, and appear once more at the end to ensure the reader can safely avoid offensive subject matter. The rating will not change though until the chapter that requires it is uploaded, which, according to my outline, is around Chapter 13.

Chapter Seven: Humor Me

'You should humor crazy people when you're at their mercy.' -Laurell K. Hamilton

Garcia froze.

He wasn't being serious was he? He sounded so...dispassionate, so detached. Not at all like someone who had just had his teammate and- dare she say it, friend- kidnapped by a sadistic serial killer. He had to have been pulling a sick joke on her. They did have a conversation not too long ago where she had teased him relentlessly for his lack of a sense of humor...perhaps this was a misguided attempt to prove her wrong?

'Yes,' she thought, as she suddenly realized her hands were shaking. 'That has to be it.'

"Garcia, are you there?" came Hotch's voice.

Angrily, she said, "Yes, I am, and I don't think that's a good joke. You really shouldn't have a sense of humor if that's your idea of funny."

He sighed, tiredly and...sadly? "Garcia, this isn't a joke. He disappeared sometime between eleven this morning and one in the afternoon. When we arrived at the...at the crime scene, his bag was there, along with his gun, which was broken, and a pool of...blood. We had Forensics come in and we'll have to wait several days before they can confirm if it's Reid's blood."

She was sure her heart stopped.

"You...you can't really...I mean..." she began, hearing the way her voice stumbled over her emerging tears.

"Garcia, please. We need information," he said quietly.

She shook her head and took a deep breath, "Um, okay, what do you need?"

"Medical history, educational records, and anything along those lines, Garcia."

She nodded, even though he couldn't see her. Finally, she said, "Yeah, you've got it. I'll send it over right away."

While Garcia had never felt right about invading the private lives of the many she had been obligated to because of her job, this was downright wrong. It felt like she was going behind Reid's back, digging into his life for cruel and evil intentions. But she had to- they needed to compare him to...to the other victims.

She choked on a sob.

'Pretend it's not Reid, pretend it's not Reid,' she told herself as she collected the necessary information, reading as little as possible as she could manage. It was bad enough that everyone on the team would have to read it, she could give him what little privacy she could by keeping her eyes away from it.

It felt so unreal, to be searching for him under such circumstances. So violating.

When all the information was together and collected, she sent it directly to Hotch and then decided a quick break was necessary.

Xxx

"Alright," Hotch began as he displayed the email on the large screen at the front of the room. Immediately, a photograph of Reid, stored in the FBI database, popped up. Long brown curls framed a strong yet thin face, with high cheek bones and sunken cheeks. A slight cleft to his chin and a hooded brow line cast shadows across his face, contrasting the pale look to his skin. His hazel eyes, shining with youth and knowledge, looked back at them with such familiarity that, one-by-one, each unit member looked away from them.

It was too much.

Hotch swallowed as he tried to proceed as normally as he would at any other time. "The UnSub has now captured SSA Dr. Spencer Reid." He hit a key on his keyboard and for a moment, the screen showed Reid's physical and medical records, but then split into six panels, one for each victim. Morgan and JJ visibly flinched at seeing their friend be compared to a victim. But he was a victim now.

"Like the other...victims, Dr. Reid" -maybe, just maybe if he called him so formally, he could conceive an entirely new entity in his mind and forget- "is a white male, age twenty-three, tall lean build, light weight." The medical report read:

Name: Reid, Spencer

DOB:October 9, 1981

Weight: 137 lbs.

Height: 6'2''

Notable qualities: Eidetic memory, genius IQ- 187.

"Each were withdrawn and described as socially awkward and uncomfortable." Hotch pressed a button and report from a school psychologist popped up and he looked briefly at the screen, reading his subordinate's school records.

'Highly intelligent but lacks the tools for proper social interactions. Has hinted towards being bullied by his classmates. Displays traits indicative of the Autistic spectrum, but mother has requested that no evaluation be done.'

He pressed a button.

The screen changed.

He read more.

'Spencer Reid, only son of Diana Reid, has admitted his mother on the grounds that she is an unstable paranoid schizophrenic and unable to care for her any longer. Diana Reid exhibits...'

He pressed a button.

The screen changed.

He read more.

'While FBI applicant Doctor Spencer Reid demonstrates exceptional understanding of the law and all its underlying studies, particularly that of sociology, he has physical inhibitions that could hinder or even prevent his entry as a Special Agent. He has failed the endurance and strength part of the exams-especially notable was his inability to work a gun- but he has excelled in all other exams. Currently unsure of whether or not his physical limitations can be overlooked in order to allow him entry.'

He pressed a button.

The screen changed.

He read more.

'Psych. Evaluation for Dr. Spencer Reid, mandatory for FBI admittance. When questioned about his biggest fear, Dr. Reid avoided eye contact and, after much prompting, claimed his biggest fear was divided equally amongst inheriting his mother's gene for paranoid schizophrenia, particularly since he was so academically gifted, and the fear of the dark. When questioned about this fear, he claimed that it was the 'inherent absence of light' and not necessarily the dark itself. This fear could pose a difficulty when working certain cases as light is not always guaranteed. Dr. Reid also admits that he suffers from nightmares, but refused to explain any further. Fear of darkness, combined with nightmares, unstable mother and nervous mannerisms could possibly suggest signs of long-term abuse in childhood...'

"STOP!" Morgan shouted, jumping from his seat so rapidly that the swivel chair flew back and crashed to the ground, the wheels spinning as he slammed his fists down on the table. Everyone turned to look at him, but avoided eye contact. He had done what they all wished they could've done.

Morgan looked up, breathless and livid as his cheeks shined with tears. "Just...stop...this...we can't. This is wrong," he seethed, glaring Hotch down with fiery brown eyes.

"Morgan, we have to. It's protocol to-"

"To hell with protocol! He's our friend! We can't invade his life like this!" He had now walked around the table to stand before Hotch, whose jaw clenched in anger.

"This is what we have to do, regardless of who it is. Now you can do this case like you would any other case and be objective, or you can be flown back to Quantico in the morning. Your choice." It was a challenge, and neither of the two men were willing to give in. Each stood tall and strong and willing. Dark eyes collided into dark eyes until Morgan walked to the door, practically ripping it off his hinges.

"I need to get some fresh air," he grumbled, standing in the threshold. Before he left, he turned to Hotch and said in a voice too cold for the normal friendly man, "The fact that you can do this like you would any other case and be objective disgusts me."

He slammed the door with finality and left.

The room was silent as Hotch continued to look where his subordinate had once stood, the words sinking in. He wanted to treat it differently, because it was different. But he couldn't. Didn't Morgan understand that?

With a shuddering breath that reminded him of his age, he turned to his team members and said, "Let's take a break so we can all clear our heads." God knew he needed a break.

Xxx

Reid knew it was Ketamine the instant he felt the sluggishness, the inability to move, and heard the slurs in his own tired voice. Of course, it didn't last long as the Ketamine took another side effect and caused him to forget the entire scenario. And when he awoke in a brightly lit, windowless room, with various dressers and cabinets, both his wrists strapped to a hospital bed and him dressed in a hospital gown, a broken leg bandaged in a case from where the rock shattered it, he realized he was confused. When he came to, in perfect clarity and without any pain or residual weariness, he knew that the drug had somewhere overlooked his perfect memory and, while keeping him conscious, made him forget it all.

It was the first time he ever forgot something.

And he didn't like it. He didn't like the uncertainty of what might have happened to him and he most certainly didn't like the absolute confusion he felt. He felt so put out of the loop, so without knowledge. His intelligence was one of the few things he could hold onto, and now he didn't have it.

Trying his hardest to push this thought from his mind and overlook the disadvantage, he started to analyze his situation. A mental list once again formed in his head.

'I was captured by the UnSub, who is Dr. Andrew Wright.'

'He has a personal hospital/ operating room set up for his victims.'

And even though he tried to be logical, tried to dissociate himself from this situation enough to not be effected by it, he couldn't help but turn that list into a set of accusations, turned against him and his...stupidity. Yes, Boy Genius, child prodigy, inhumanly smart Dr. Spencer Reid was stupid and that's what his mind kept telling him. It just kept throwing out evidence after evidence of all the reasons why it was his fault that he was captured.

'I didn't listen to my instincts.'

'I didn't listen to Morgan.'

'I overlooked facts about the case- where the victims were kidnapped, and even that they were just like me.'

'I created the wrong UnSub profile...'

A new, even more frightening thought came over him. What if the team looked for the UnSub based on his profile? He was wrong- so off from the actuality of the situation. But...it made sense, right? It was a solid profile- even the team thought so! They agreed with him, they created the investigation based on it!

Dread filled him. He failed the team and got himself kidnapped by a serial killer. Every part of his being prayed that they would realize that Reid's profile was wrong and change it so they can capture Dr. Wright and get him to safety as soon as possible.

He wanted to hit himself when he thought about his last conversation with Morgan. He had made it such a point that he needed to be able to handle himself out in the world and then he goes and gets drugged and captured.

'Bravo, really got that point across wonderfully,' a bitter part of him thought.

If only he could've put his fear and pride in that chest he would've let Morgan come with him and...and what? Would it help? Or would Morgan just get hurt in the cross fire? Or worse? No, in the end it was better this way. He knew he wouldn't have been able to live with himself if something happened to Morgan because he got in the way of the UnSub. He'd much prefer whatever fate he got without dragging Morgan, or anyone, down with him. Besides, he deserved it for being so...oblivious. No one else should be punished because he was so stupid.

Some part of his mind laughed wryly at this. It really was so ironic, him being so stupid. A genius IQ meant nothing when you lacked common sense, he supposed.

He struggled against the restraints once more, ignoring the awful clank of metal against metal as he pulled his wrists this way and that, knowing even before he began it was a fruitless effort. But he still kept trying, twisting and contorting his body with hope beyond hope that he might dislodge the bindings.

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

The sound rang through the air, becoming more frantic when his movements did the same as panic settled in. And the more he thought about the notes and what he knew- what he decoded, the Coroner reports of the victims, the pictures- the panic only grew. It consumed him until all rational thought was impossible and the chest in his mind was officially broken. Would he become like that? With the scars and scabbed over burns? Naked and...and...

Oh god, he needed to get out!

As he continued to fight against the bed he was trapped to, a new sound joined the clinking and the clanking of the metal and the slight, panicked whimpers from Reid. The sound was a large metal door, opening and then slamming shut with the heavy material.

Startled, Reid stopped and looked at the direction of the door, in the corner diagonal from where the bed sat, and saw Dr. Wright walking towards him, a smile on his face.

He swallowed what felt like a large lump of bread stuck in his throat as he stuck his chin out in a show of defiance. Of course, it was difficult to seem intimidating when you're in nothing but a hospital gown and chained to a bed. Dr. Wright seemed to have thought so too, as he chuckled the closer he got.

"Dr. Reid...may I call you Spencer?' he asked, as if it just occurred to him how dreadfully formal 'Dr. Reid' sounded.

His lip twitched. "You can call me whatever you want if you let me go," his voice was calm and friendly, betraying everything that was really going on inside his mind. It was his training coming back to him. After the initial fear and panic had subsided with the man's entry, his mind cleared and went into Special Agent mode once more.

"I can't let you go just yet, Spencer. And feel free to call me Andrew."

"Why not, Andrew? Why can't you let me go?"

Andrew gave him a sympathetic look. "Because, Spencer. You're not well. When you're well, I'll let you go."

His heart rate sped up. Did he...did he really think he was helping his victims? "What do you mean I'm not well? I...I feel fine. So could you...could you discharge me? Please?" he asked, trying to smile but finding it difficult to do so.

But the Doctor just sighed, tiredly. "I'm afraid you don't understand the full extent of you illness, Spencer. You may feel fine, but you're not." He then raised a finger and tapped it against Reid's forehead, who stiffened at the touch. "Not up here, at least."

Something was wrong with his brain? He couldn't help the shiver that ran up his spine at the suggestion. He was fine, physically and mentally. He really, really was.

"No, I'm fine up there too," he said, licking his lips nervously. "I...I'm not insane," he whispered. At first he was unsure that Andrew had heard him, but then he responded with a heavy sigh.

"Sometimes, Spencer, the most sane thing you can do is believe you're insane."

He turned away from the doctor, feeling a stinging sensation at the bottom of his eyes as his words sunk in. He wasn't insane. No, he wasn't. He was Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid for the FBI's BAU team. He had three Ph.D's in math, chemistry and engineering, two BA's in psychology and sociology and working on a BA in philosophy. He specialized in geographical profiling and finding and discerning patterns. He had a genius IQ of 187, an eidetic memory and could read twenty-thousand words a minute. He grew up in Las Vegas, went to California Tech when he was twelve. This was real. This was reality. He wasn't going to let some serial killer take that away from him.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Andrew, smiling once more. "But don't worry, Spencer. We'll have you stabilized and sane in no time."

And he was out the door before Reid had a chance to say, "But I already am..."

xXx

Morgan kicked down the door, gun raised high and aimed ahead of him as he made room for JJ, Rossi and Emily to enter, each carrying their guns high as well. Bullet-proof vests printed with FBI across the front adorned the torsos of the agents as they each made their way into the old house.

It was falling apart, with the roof caving in and shattered windows. The walls were dark with grime and old, golden brown wallpaper, which had in a previous life been white, was peeling off, leaving bare areas of exposed wood. The floor sunk with every step and threatened to fall in with the weight of the combined agents, but it didn't. It kept strong, even when individual floorboards picked up from the floor beneath it and the support gave way just a little more. The whole house smelt like a combination of must, mothballs and stale urine and Morgan resisted the urge to plug his nose as he continued to walk through the house.

"Move outside! We've got nothing!" Rossi called as he escaped through the kitchen door, which fell off its hinges and crashed to the ground. They followed, Morgan taking up the rear as they came into the back yard.

The yard sloped immediately into rocks that lead down to the shining waters of the Esopus Creek except...it wasn't water. It was blood- thick and dark, dark red with a heavy metallic scent that invaded his senses and made him gag. The blood lapped up onto the stones, coating them in crimson as the currents carried it further down the Esopus.

And in the middle of the creek, on a flat, red coated stone was Hotch, standing over Reid.

Throwing his gun to the side, Morgan ran across the creek, sluggishly as the thick substance provided more of a resistance to his movements, and came to the rock, falling to his knees beside his friend.

His skin was gray and cold to the touch, various healed wounds and scabbed burns marred his naked and exposed body. His lips and eyes were stitched together crudely with thick black thread that shown in contrast to the pallor of his skin. Even his brown curls seemed duller and grayer, as if the natural color was fading over time. Reid was dead.

Tentatively, Morgan reached and cupped his cold shallow cheek as his large shoulders shook with tears. He was about to pick up the corpse when a knife plunged deep into Reid's motionless chest, directly above his heart. With a startled gasp, Morgan looked up and saw Hotch release the blade, standing back with an unreadable expression on his face.

"You...you killed him," Morgan accused, feeling betrayal ache in his own heart.

Hotch raised an eyebrow. "No, Morgan. You did." His cold eyes then looked down, and Morgan followed them, seeing his own hands clutched around the handle of the knife, blood spewing from the now warm and pale pink body. Choking sounds met his ears and he looked up to see Reid, alive, turning his sad hazel eyes to his friend.

"Morgan," he coughed out, as blood began dripping down his chin, the stitches loose but still there as if they were cut through to uncover his mouth. "Wh...why?' Reid asked, and Morgan's hands flew away from the knife he wasn't even aware he had stabbed him with, jumping back as if it had burned him.

"I...I didn't..." he tried to say, but he couldn't speak; the sight before him too much to bear as Spencer Reid died for the second time, with Morgan being his murderer.

A scream that never made it out of his mouth got caught in Derek Morgan's throat as he sat up straight in his bed, his heart pumping fast and his breath coming out in ragged, horrible gasps. Clutching his shirt to his chest, he closed his eyes, only to open them when the image of Reid, dead and dying and then dead again, flashed in front of his lids like a macabre movie. His hands were shaking almost frighteningly so and the room suddenly seemed too small. He stood up from his bed, prepared to leave when his eyes got caught on the bed adjacent to his, neat and tidy. Reid's bed. They had shared the hotel room.

The room was officially too small and without air now, and with speed he wasn't aware he possessed, Morgan ran from the room and from the hotel and onto the street, meeting the pink skies of sunset. When he had told Hotch he would go out for some air, he decided a nap was a good idea. He needed to get away from the situation, only for an hour or so, and now regretted it as the day turned to evening and any chance of respite was closing up for the night. He couldn't return to the hotel room. Not knowing that he was sleeping next to the bed that Reid would be in if...

If Morgan hadn't let him get captured.

xXx

Author's Note: Responses to the last chapter- the preview- were pretty fierce here. I will not kill off Reid, partly because Character Death is not my strong suit (however, I am trying to remedy this weakness, but don't worry, not in this story) and partly because cactuses hurt like a bitch, haha. Any story of mine that does feature character death will contain a warning at the very beginning of the story, saying so. No warning, no death. YAY!

Anyway, let me know what you think! Personally, this is my favorite chapter so far, I especially like the dream/nightmare. Creepy. Anyway...

Chapter Eight: Destroying their Mind (Preview)

"Now, Spencer," Andrew said softly, silencing the young man. "I need you to understand something. This whole FBI fantasy of yours...it's just that. A fantasy. The sooner you accept that the sooner-"

"No!" Reid shouted, his hands shaking with that long time fear. It wasn't true. He was lying. "No, it's not a fantasy. It's real, it's-"

He felt the slap before he saw it.

His cheek stung and his left eye got teary from the sudden shock of pain. He swallowed harshly, wincing at the remaining pain. He was sure there was a giant red mark on his face now, and as he turned to face Andrew, he knew that that wasn't the last of the assaults to come.