Disclaimer:I don't own criminal minds or any of it's characters.

A/N: I hope you enjoy this. I wrote it in one sitting; it remains unbetaed, so all mistakes are my own.

As you guys may have noticed, I am partial to writing about mental illness. I am not overly knowledgeable, just the research I do on my own, or the information I gather from my psych classes. So, I hope this is accurately portrayed. If not, all helpful criticism is welcome.

Little, Unfortunate Child

Derek knew the moment that he laid eyes on the pitiful, sack of bones that he would never be the same again. Curious eyes still showed bright in the sunken sockets, as if a flickering flame was still alit somewhere in the tortured mind, but the cowering form and keening spoke otherwise. Derek eased closer, to get a better look, in the cramped quarters they now shared. One moment the malnourished body pressed closer to the corner, and the next, it had lunged, teeth bared, to pin Derek to the floor.

"Aah! Get off me! Get off me, man," he demanded, scrambling to shove the sinewy creature off him. The twelve year old backed away and held his hands up as a shield. "It's ok. I'm not here to hurt you. If I had been strong enough, I wouldn't be here now. But don't worry, little man, my dad's a cop, and he's going to rescue us both. I promise."

The more Derek talked, the more relaxed the other figure became. Chapped lips opened and closed, mimicking a fish as Derek spoke, but no sound escaped. As the atmosphere calmed, the cold crept into Derek's awareness. He rubbed at his arms, fast and rough, to stimulate some heat. Without permission, his teeth began to chatter, interrupting the peaceful silence.

Chocolate orbs took in the modest living space, the dangling light fixture casting shadows in all the corners. There wasn't much to see. A small mattress, toddler size, rested in the back, right corner, bare of any bedding. To the left of the door, closest to the opening, set two bowls, with balls and bones as decoration. The red bowl with colorful bowls had murky water dancing in its depths. Derek curled his lips in disdain. The lingering rancid stench that invaded his nostrils did little to quell his turning stomach. The other bowl was empty.

Derek eased away from the door, toward the center of the room, there he sat and waited, knees drawn up with arms wrapped around them. He could stand a smelly, cold, enclosure with a crazy companion for a little bit, his dad would be there before he knew it to take him away from all the gross, uncomfortable, scariness. His cellmate watched his every move, Derek was sure he hadn't even blinked, and when he was sure the kid was just going to keep his distance, he closed his eyes to regroup and think. He was startled by a small finger, poking at his arm and then his cheek. The grimy appendage left brown smudges where it touched.

He eyed him, wary, ignoring the prodding. The kid was a little boy, no older than a four or five year old, concluded Derek. Sunken, dark eyes were clouded with fear, wild with curiosity. The smudges and smell on the stretched thin skin hinted at living in dirt and waste, while the bony figure with a swollen stomach spoke volumes of years of neglect. The entire picture made Derek sick to his stomach. He may have complained about his parent's strictness from time to time, or argued with his sisters, but he would never deny the love and care his family had for one another.

The exploration turned to petting, and while he was disgusted by whatever was being smeared on his skin and clothes, he knew that his reaction could make or break his relationship with the kid. He held still until his body began to cramp, and then he tried to ease into a new position without interrupting the scene. A low growl emitted from the boy in warning, but it quietened when Derek finished moving.

Without a clock or windows, time didn't seem to have any meaning. What had to have been hours passed by, and Derek was beginning to get tired. His companion had lost interest in him for now and had sauntered to the corner of the space with the bed. With no desire to be attacked again, Derek laid down where he was to rest. The area parallel to the bed turned out to be the bathroom, which is why the room smelled so bad. He wanted to stay far away from there; there was no telling what disease was waiting to jump on him. The wall with door in the middle allowed too much cool air in to sleep, so he opted for the center, underneath the light. Sleep was lulling his consciousness when there was a pull at his arm. Derek's eyes sprung open to see the kid tugging at him insistent, when their eyes met, the younger boy pointed to the corner with the bed. Maybe he wasn't all crazy then.

He allowed himself to be guided over to the mattress and went to sit down, watching the kid to make sure this is what he wanted. There was no sense in misinterpreting and adding injury to insult. The flimsy cushion sank with his weight and his hand brushed a hardening substance. He jerked his arm back and sniffed. He was going to puke. Whatever he touched stank and was mushy. Hightailing it over to the water dish, he plunged his hand in; even dirty water would wash away the bulk of the grossness. Drying his hands on his jeans he went back to the center of the room and lay down again. The little, unfortunate child, or Luc, for short, crawled back to him and narrowed his eyes at him, pulling at him again.

"No," he told him, hoping he could understand. "That's just gross, man; I'm not going to sleep over there." He curled back up again, arm tucked underneath his head. Luc copied the action, facing him.

Luc drew lines in and curved into the earthy floor, and for an instance, Derek was hopeful that he was trying to write, but there was no pattern or legible letters. The closest was two lines resembling a V between two other straight lines, or a two curves that came together to look like an S. The disappointed huff sent particles of dirt dancing over the childlike gibberish, catching Luc's attention. Luc mirrored Derek's disappointment and turned away from him. To Derek, it seemed the kid was more like a smart monkey than a little kid, and while it made his heart hurt for him, it didn't really didn't make him want to like him. Why get close to someone who can't be helped. When Derek's dad got there, they would be rescued, and while Derek would get to go home to a loving family, the kid would be sent off to some sort of institution, not much better than a kennel.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before help came. Days? Weeks? Months? Their kidnapper had fed them a few times, and had refreshed the water too, but there hadn't seemed to be a pattern for that. Maybe it had been away to keep them disoriented. Either way, by the time the police had found them, by the time Derek had been wrapped in his mom and dad's arms, tears pouring from them all, Derek had almost lost hope. Luc had eaten bugs, trudged feces around their living space when he'd go to the corner to relieve himself, had lashed out at Derek when Derek couldn't or wouldn't try to understand his idiotic drawings. By the end, Luc had left Derek to the center and went back to the mattress by himself. The thumping that would erupt in the silence turned out to be the boy banging his head, and Derek had tried to make him stop, but hadn't the strength or motivation to enforce his words.

An ambulance had whisked him away, leaving others to try and coax Luc out of his home. Derek thought about him often, but didn't bother to ask about him. Did he really want to know what became of the animalistic child? Probably not. A hot shower did wonders for his spirit and more food than he could eat fixed most of the rest. The hospital said he came out malnourished and dehydrated, but otherwise fine. His momma prayed and prayed, thanking the Lord Jesus for the safety and health of her baby boy. His sisters brought him comic books and candy and told him out happy they were to have him back, and his dad hugged him and told him how proud he was of his boy. Every once in a while his dad would disappear for a bit, he'd always come back solemn and hold his family tight. He never said a word about what was wrong, at least not to Derek and the girls. Derek pretended not to wonder what was going on, pretended to hope it wasn't about the boy who had been in that shed like prison with him.

Three days afterward and he was released to go home. While the doctor was gathering up his papers, his parents set all three kids down for a family meeting. Derek was both relieved and angry that his pop's had been going to check in on the kid. It turned out that their captor was kid's father, who had murdered his schizophrenic wife before having a psychotic break of his own. That had happened four years ago. The man had imprisoned his own four year old son, treating him like a dog or worse. He had tried to give his son companions in his lucid moments of grief, but they always ended up dying. Derek had been the eighth child to go missing in four years. Thankfully, the BAU had stepped in help the police and there had been a good turnout.

Luc's real name was Spencer Reid, and the doctor's had hope for him, but it was going to be a lot of work and he was going to need a lot of support. With no family to his name, he would become a ward of the state and sent to an institution equipped to handle his mental facilities, but unfortunately, doctors could not give him a family's love. So, being the people they were, Derek's parents had offered to take Spencer in. It was not going to be easy, and some sacrifices would have to be made, but they felt it was the right decision to be made. Spencer wouldn't be released from the hospital for a while yet, but that just gave them time to set up and figure some stuff out.

Derek had been angry and had lashed out at his parents. He had spent weeks or more with the kid. He knew what he was capable of, and it wasn't anything human! It had ended in a panic attack. Mrs. Morgan wrapped her son up in her arms and rocked him, soothing the fear and pain. She reassured him and promised everything would be alright, to just have a little patience and faith. There was enough love to go around.

Four weeks later, Derek's dad came home with one Spencer Reid, fuller cheeks, brighter eyes, and a wary serenity about him. He looked unsure on his feet and clung to the pants leg of Mr. Morgan. Spencer had yet to utter a word and he still lashed out to or threw a tantrum to get his needs met, but it was getting a bit better. His eyes fell on Derek and they lit up with unequivocal joy. His mouth opened and closed like fish, little grunts and sighs emitting. He fell to his knees and crawled his way to his friend, the one who saved him. Sat at Derek's feet, brow furrowed, his noises became frustrated. He grabbed at his wrist and tugged, hard, healed pink lips forming silent gibberish. Derek took pity on the boy and sank to the floor. Moving slowly so Spencer could object, he pulled the barely bigger than a five-year-old, eight-year-old boy into his arms and held him close.

"Welcome home, brother."

A/N: No, I haven't stopped working on my Sherlock story, it's just a bit harder without my muse as back up and motivation. I hope you enjoyed this story, let me know what you thought!