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

Author's Note: I repeat again, specific information and back stories for characters, namely Spencer Reid, has been altered for my own purposes.

Chapter Eight: Destroying their Mind

'For those whom God to ruin has designed He fits for fate and first destroys their mind.' –John Dryden

Reid woke up before he even knew he was asleep.

He had been fighting against his restraints once more, sweat slicking his face and matting his hair as his arms protested at such drastic struggles. He remembered taking a rest, laying his arms by his side, ignoring the way they throbbed, and closed his eyes as he tried to even his breathing. He must've fallen asleep then.

The more awake he became, the more he realized just how hungry and thirsty he was. He had been given food, but refused to eat it for fear that it might've been poisoned. But really, what would that change? It would only keep him stronger and keep his stomach from turning against him. Deciding it would be best to be as healthy as possible he resolved to accept food the next time it was offered. His stomach growled in agreement to this plan.

As if on cue, the door creaked open and Andrew entered the room, carrying a covered tray with him.

"Breakfast time, Spencer. Will you actually eat this?" he asked, placing the tray on a small, wooden table and standing with his hands on his hips.

Licking his lips in hunger, he nodded. "Yes, yes I will."

Andrew clapped his hands together as he smiled. "Wonderful! After breakfast, we'll have our treatment team meeting and discuss which medications are best for you, alright?" Reid wanted to argue, shout at him that he didn't need any medicine- that he didn't need a treatment team meeting, but his stomach was twisting into knots in his belly and he was afraid that his food would be taken away as punishment for such behavior. So, he saved his words for later and nodded, afraid that he might speak out if he agreed vocally.

In several steps, Andrew was at his side and began to undo his bindings. Every impulse in Reid screamed "FIGHT! RUN!" And before the signal in his brain was recognized by him, he threw his now free right hand in a hard, well aimed hook. As Andrew fell to the side with the assault, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and ran, his long legs bringing him across the large room in eleven bounds despite the broken leg, adrenaline dulling his nerves. And as he grabbed the doorknob and twisted it to all sides, he realized with horror that it was locked.

Despite this, he still continued to twist and pull, thinking he could loosen the bolts surrounding it. But it wouldn't budge. He was stuck. And more importantly, he had attacked and angered a serial killer. He fell to the floor, still gripping the doorknob, and watched as Andrew stood and gave him a stern look.

"Now, Spencer. You need to behave- you know the rules," he said, producing a small needle from his lab coat along with a bottle of some tranquilizer. Reid eyed the needle as he shuffled closer to the corner, giving the knob one final pull that, like the others, did nothing.

"You...you never told me the rules," he said, standing up once more to his full height.

Andrew shook his head. "Yes, yes I did. I told you when you were first admitted here, remember?'

Reid stuck his chin out. "I came here yesterday. You forced me here."

Andrew was now standing directly in front of him, the needle still held in his hand as he frowned at Reid. "I forced you here because you escaped, and I needn't to return you. Your treatment wasn't working." His eyes widened in fear of what he was insinuating.

"No, no, no!" Reid said firmly as he pressed himself even further into the corner, trying to avoid the needle that would render him unconscious. "I didn't escape. I was working with my team, and you took me. I have no treatment, I don't need treatment, I-" His volume increased the more he talked, fear settling into him. He wasn't insane. What he was saying was wrong- he was a serial killer, he tortured his victims, and this was part of his torture- psychological torture.

He stuck his hands out to push the man away, but Andrew grabbed his wrist and pulled it forward, causing Reid to cry out in pain. He held the young man up by his wrist, seemingly oblivious to the way he fought and twisted his body against him, and reached around him, shoving the needle into his bottom.

He gasped at the sudden pinch of the needle, and then proceeded to fight before the drug took effect and once again he fell limp and at the mercy of his captor.

Xxx

Hotch entered the boardroom, rubbing his face as he walked over to the coffee maker and started making his morning brew. The operative word being morning, as it was only four o'clock. He had been unable to sleep much, and decided that nothing would help him more than trying to help Reid. And so he left his hotel room and headed over to the station, readying himself to pour over the facts and speculations to come up with some clues, some answers.

He failed Reid once.

He wouldn't fail him again.

He sat down in his seat with his cup of slightly sweetened coffee and reviewed all cases, learning things he never wanted to learn about Spencer Reid.

He learned that he had accumulated an oddly high amount of hospital visits for "accidents" between the ages of three and ten.

He learned that William Reid abandoned Spencer and Diana when his son was ten, coincidentally when the hospital visits stopped.

He learned that when Reid was four he had joined a softball team but was never very good at it, even though his father coached the team.

He learned that Reid's mother had attempted to file an assault claim, stating that several of Reid's classmates stripped him naked and then tied him to a pole, but that she had inexplicably dropped it.

He learned...way too damn much than he felt comfortable knowing.

Shaking his head with the newly attained information, he decided to compare Reid's profile- he shivered at the word- with the profile of the other victims. He grabbed a stack of folders towards him and began flipping through them, taking notes as he went.

It was an hour into this when he heard the door open and looked up to see Morgan, dark bags under his eyes and a coffee cup from a gas station in his hand.

"I ugh...couldn't sleep," Morgan explained as he shrugged and walked over to the coffee pot, completing the same ritual as Hotch as his coffee had long since gone cold.

There was a long moment of silence before Hotch said, "You know Morgan, this isn't like any other case. Even if I want it to be, it's not." Morgan nodded in understanding as they continued to look at each other, neither avoiding eye contact as they set themselves into a staring match.

"I'm sorry. I was just-" Morgan started but Hotch raised a hand.

"Don't worry about it. We're all feeling the same way," Hotch said. Morgan gave a half-hearted smile as he took his coffee and sat down beside his boss, nodding towards his files.

"What are you doing?"

Hotch looked towards the reports in questions and scratched behind his ear. "I'm comparing all the victims, seeing if there's something different. And if so, why he changed his victomology so suddenly. While Reid matched-"

"Matches," Morgan corrected, and Hotch nodded.

"While Reid matches the other victims in physical and personality traits, he's also drastically different. He's an FBI agent, while the other victims were college students training for a more academic line of work. Our UnSub would have had to have recognized this about Reid. If he knew Reid matched the personalities of his preferred type, then he had to have watched him, if only for a day. In which case, he would've learned he was an FBI agent. Because he's an FBI agent, he also presents more of a risk- Reid carries a gun, and, if the UnSub ties himself to Reid, than he ties himself to us, which brings us closer to him. So why continue to go after him?" Hotch said, stroking his chin in contemplation.

Morgan shrugged before saying, "Maybe Reid had something he couldn't resist."

Hotch looked up at him, yet his eyes seemed to look past him, something he often did when he was wracking his brain. After a minute or so he said, "Later on, we'll have Garcia eliminate everything that Reid has in common with the victims and create an isolated list of the differences."

"Sounds like a plan," he responded, but he seemed less than enthused.

"We'll find him, don't worry," Hotch said after a second of silence.

"You don't understand. Hotch I...I told him we would protect him, that we would make sure nothing happened to him. I lied to him."

xXx

Reid felt exhausted once he woke up. He was sure that he represented a zombie more than he did a man and his stomach by now was practically violent. He didn't know how many meals he had missed but he knew he could go for several servings of...anything.

He licked his lips at the thought of a cheeseburger, with bacon and pickles and fries. And coffee. He needed coffee; he hadn't had any in too long. Coffee and a croissant with eggs and cheese...

'No, don't think of food,' he told himself, squeezing his eyes shut as if it would stop the relentless gurgling and churning going on in his abdomen. It didn't work, not like he was surprised though.

He sat up as much as the metal restraints would allow and decided to examine the room, suppressing his physical pain by jamming as much as he could into his still somewhat groggy mind. The door was diagonal from his bed, facing the wall opposite the one the headboard was placed against. Beside that was the small wooden desk that, hours before, his breakfast had been placed on. A simple chair with metal armrests and restraints, long enough to allow for him to eat and write but nothing else, were attached to it. A wooden dresser with padlocks on ever drawer sat beside it and next to it stood a matching armoire with drawers below the closet doors, unlocked for his use. In the wall opposite him, a door was set in the middle, and he could only assume that it lead to a bathroom.

Speaking of a bathroom...

He shifted his legs and gasped in pain as his suspicions were confirmed: he had been attached to a catheter. While it solved one...immediate problem, he stiffened at the thought of having been touched so intimately while unconscious.

'As if this is the worst that will happen,' that cynical part of his mind said again, and he wished it hadn't. The images of the victims and the reports came rushing back to him and he felt anticipatory fear overcome him. He wouldn't turn out like them, would he? His team would find him before then, right? He could try to escape... he would just need to plan. Be logical. He needed to think it through and study this insane doctor to find a weakness, an opening. And then he would act.

But right now, he needed food.

He was starting to feel nauseous and dizzy, his head so lightweight that it seemed as if it could float away at any moment. Little white dots marred his vision and he was aware that if he didn't get food soon, he would pass out once more, but for a more natural reason than just drugs being pushed into his bloodstream.

Clearing his throat, he started calling out to his captor. "Hello? Anybody? Please, I need food. I...I'm very hungry. Can I please have some food?" He waited several minutes but no response came. He swore under his breath. If this guy thought he was running some mental ward, wouldn't he be more responsive to his 'patients'?

A sudden realization hit him then. He was a doctor- he worked at a hospital. Their shifts were nearly as erratic as his. It could be hours before he even had a chance to get food. He moaned into his shoulder at the idea of waiting any longer.

He buried his face into the flat yet soft pillow as he began murmuring what he had made his mantra for the next four hours: 'Behave just this once to get food. No escape, no refusal to eat, just play into it.'

xXx

Reid had never been so happy to see an UnSub as he was at the moment Andrew walked through his door with a tray of warm, aromatic food. He licked his lips once more as his stomach made an extremely violent motion within him, as if it were attempting to break free and snatch the food for itself.

"Are you ready for dinner, Spencer?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he placed the tray on the table again.

He nodded eagerly.

"Will you behave?"

He hesitated, than nodded again.

Slowly, as if disbelieving his patient, he walked over to him and undid his restraints once more. This time, Reid didn't fight and he let himself be pulled from the bed and to the chair, where Andrew strapped him in. He bit his lip, prepared to eat himself if the food didn't come fast enough. But then he lifted the lid off the plate and Reid was faced with the most glorious looking dinner of baked chicken, mashed potatoes and steamed carrots. A dinner role was placed beside the dish and he had a can of soda and a bottle of water to quench his thirst. He barely waited for the fork to be handed to him before he dug in, eating as politely as his angry stomach would allow. Not as if he should really care to be polite.

Half way through his meal, Andrew sat down on the desk and folded his hands on his lap, looking down at him.

"We'll have to move your meeting to tomorrow. We can discuss some medication then, as your previous set was not working," he said, but Reid barely listened to the words- partly because he was too focused on food and partly because he didn't care for whatever game he was playing at. He wasn't crazy- he wasn't a psychiatric patient- but he would play at it if he needed to.

Xxx

"What do you got, Baby-Girl?" Morgan asked as Garcia pulled up the isolated list Hotch had requested to the front window.

"Hotch was right, Reid's the only one that has many notable differences from the others- the five previous victims were so close that they even had the same blood type- A positive if you were wondering. Reid's O negative- he should donate blood more, that type comes in handy. But anyway, here are the biggest differences, aside from Reid's you know...Reid-iness."

"Intelligence?" Morgan asked with a chuckle.

She smiled. "Yeah, you got it. Anyway, the list is: Reid's line of work- it requires more risk and physical expertise while the others were more mathematician, computer engineering type things. Reid's hobbies- the other victims had more outdoorsy type hobbies like fishing and camping and hiking. Physical health- Reid has more reported injuries and hospital visits than the others, as well as having more histories of illness in him and his family. The other victims and their families had a clean bill of health- physical and mental while Reid's mother was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. She's currently institutionalized in a sanitarium in Las Vegas. Her prognosis reveals that she has made little progress but is relatively functioning considering some of the people we've seen.

"Anyway, I'm sending a copy of the list to you and all the others," she said, sending the file at the very moment.

"Thanks, Garcia. Knew I could count on you," he responded.

She smiled wide as she said, "Of course, Hot Stuff." Her smile faded, though, as she stared at her screen, the list still displayed as she added in a sober voice, "Morgan...please, bring him home."

"I intend to. We all do."

A wide, genuine smile appeared on her face, her painted red lips lifting up and curving. There was so much strength in his voice, so much sturdiness and calmness that, despite the odds of the situation, made her believe that Reid would be alright.

xXx

"So, Spencer, why'd you escape?" Andrew asked as Reid sat on his bed, bound once more to the metal railings as the doctor sat himself down on the desk chair beside him, a clipboard balanced on his lap.

"I didn't," Reid started and Andrew sighed.

"What do you think happened then?" he asked.

Reid shifted slightly, choosing his words carefully. "I know that you are a very intelligent man. I know that you feel like the world doesn't understand your medical findings- and I also know that you took me to test your medical theories on. And I want you to know, that if you let me go, I can get you the recognition you deserve." He paused for a moment, forcing a smile on his face. "I read about your procedures and I think that they're brilliant. And I can help you. Just let me go and I can-"

"And how exactly do you intend to help me?" the doctor asked, raising a condescending eyebrow.

He licked his lips. "I work for the FBI. I can pull some strings for you. I can get some professor from California Tech to-"

"Now, Spencer," Andrew said softly, silencing the young man. "I need you to understand something. This whole FBI story of yours…it's a fantasy. 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 sting. 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.

"Spencer, I don't want to do this, but you need to understand the truth," he said as he walked over to the bag he had carried in with him and produced a small knife. Panic swam through Reid's veins as once more the pictures of the victims flooded his mind, his attention focused on the stab and cut wounds.

In an attempt to avoid that, he called out, "Y-yes, you're right. It's all a fantasy. I'm sorry I escaped."

Andrew stood before him now, the knife in his hand as he frowned and shook his head. "This is a little practice called cognitive reinforcement. It's for your own good." And with that, he launched himself at Reid, who screamed out and flung his body and limbs in every direction possible, trying to throw the man off him. His movements stilled when he felt a sharp and painful pierce in thigh.

He screamed through gritted teeth, subconsciously pulling his body inward to wrap his arms around his knees in comfort. But his restraints didn't have enough give for him to do so, so he brought his injured leg upward and curled it into him, uncaring of how exposed he was at the very moment. He could only focus on the unnatural searing heat in his thigh, now slick with blood. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered how wet his abdomen was becoming from clutching his bloody thigh so close to him through the thin material, but it wasn't even a mild nuisance at the moment.

He turned as much to his side as he could and bit the inside of his cheeks until he tasted metal. It hurt so much...his entire thigh throbbed. How deep was it? He didn't dare look- he was afraid that if he did he would see the gray, scarred thigh of the other victims.

When hands grabbed onto him, he flinched, but fell into it when he became too weak to fight. Whoever it was who grabbed him- the identity eluded his mind at the moment- was being gentle, almost caring. He knew he was in danger, he just couldn't remember how exactly...the pain in his thigh was evident of it, but his mind wasn't clear anymore.

Deciding the hands were too gentle to be the danger, he let darkness overcome him as his body lost too much blood...

xXx

"I cut too deep," Andrew muttered as he placed the now unconscious Reid on the table, peeling off the sticky and blood soaked hospital gown before he collected what would be needed to clean this wound.

He hadn't meant to plunge the knife as deeply as he did, nor did he mean to pull it downward to create a gash. But Reid had struggled too much and in the end, only made it worse for himself. Now Andrew had pulled his movable tray, stacked with medical supplies towards him as he began fixing the wound, grimacing when he saw the horrible off-white color of bone.

He worked quickly, trying to fix the gash while being careful of the already broken leg. Spencer was proving to be quite a challenge- just as he had suspected. FBI agents often have much fight in them and his patient was no different. But eventually, his plan would work. Spencer would doubt himself, doubt his reality. One day he would be lying in his hospital bed and think, 'If my mom was crazy, and I'm told I'm crazy, than clearly, I must be crazy.' And Spencer would cooperate- give in to whatever he told him. He would believe everything Andrew said and think that everything he knew about his life was just a delusional, psychotic creation.

Yes, he would break him.

He could already see the feral glint in Spencer's eyes whenever he hinted that he was a psychiatric patient. He was desperately clinging to what he knew- but starting to doubt if what he knew was the truth. He would get him, though.

Spencer would crack.

And then the real experiments could begin.

xXx

Author's Note: This chapter was brought to you by Shutter Island! Seriously, I wrote the thing and even I kept flashbacking to that movie as I reread it. Oh well. What did you think? Any suggestions? Ideas? Rants? Let me know and I'll see what I can do.

Also, Reid got the booty juice!

Chapter Nine: Lock and Key (Preview)

"Tomorrow, we're going to interview everyone on the list Garcia gave us. We'll break into teams, you and me, Rossi and JJ and Morgan and Varney," he said, and Emily smiled. She knew that if anyone could be relied on to remain calm and collected in the face of danger, it was her boss. He would make sure everyone kept their wits about them, made sure everyone focused on saving Reid, even if he himself allowed for a moment of grief, as he had just experienced. And she hoped with everything she had, that would Reid would somehow know just how loved and care for he was, despite whatever he was being subjected to.

Repressing the thought and imagery that crossed her mind in only the way a profiler could compartmentalize everything, she said, "We'll find him. We're all working our butts off and Reid is an incredibly strong person. A lot stronger than I think he receives credit for."

Hotch opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the door opening and Varney stepping through.

"Hey, I'm really sorry to interrupt, but we have a woman out here," he said, breathless and wide-eyed as a small, hopeful smile flitted onto his visage. "She says she thinks she knows who the UnSub is."