A/N: When writing "When Memories Intrude" I felt the need to continue on the concept. This is however a whole new story, so ignore the last one. It's similar, but this one has an ending, eventually. There will be one or two more chapters, so hold your breath :)

-o-o-o-

Hotch rested his head on his fist as he read from the casefile. The pictures were more than gruesome. The young boy lying on the floor in a puddle of his own blood made his mind run back. Too far back. He had to blink to get back to the BAU jet.

The casefiles and the slides JJ had presented in the conference room before their departure from Virginia had shown victim number three of a vicious murderer. Henry Eames, aged 12 had been brutally beaten to death in his own home while his mother and younger brother were locked in the upstairs bedroom.

The UnSub had forced himself into the house and placed a gun to the mother's head, throwing her and her sons into the bedroom, then yanked the oldest boy out before the mother could react. There was nothing she could do but listen to her son's desperate cries from downstairs.

She could do nothing but listen to her son being murdered.

Hotch sighed silently. Why children?, he thought.

-o-o-o-

When the BAU arrived, they were informed that there had been another murder. Ethan Marriet had been the fourth victim of the UnSub ravaging the suburbs of Austin, Texas. Hotch, Emily and Morgan had immediately gotten into the government issued SUV's and set their sights on the new, still fresh crime scene. Reid, JJ and Rossi had been left at the station to set up headquarters and start the victimology work.

The street had been strangely calm, with the exception being the multitude of police vehicles and crime scene-tape. Showing his credentials to the officer at the tape, he and his subordinates were let through and they set their course on the white wooden door.

What Hotch and his partial team encountered upon arrival to the crime scene was all too familiar to the superior. Hotch had tried to brace himself on the plane over to Texas, but not enough bracing in the world could have prepared him for what was waiting in the two storey red brick house.

Hotch drew a deep breath as he stepped in through the doorway. The instant his wingtips hit the burgundy carpeting, the sensation of recognicion hit him like a vicious punch in the chest.

He could just as well have stepped into his own childhood home.

The broken furniture, the empty bottles and beer cans scattered over the floor, the smashed dishes lying everywhere. The smell of alcohol in the air. The sound of a young boy crying in his mother's arms.

It nearly overtook him, and Hotch had to steady himself on the doorframe. Good God, he thought. This was too close to home.

-o-o-o-

Hotch left the dwelling, his legs shaking. Emily and Morgan were handling matters inside the house, talking to the mother and searching the crime scene.

Hotch felt a burning need to get some air before going back to the station where Reid, JJ and Rossi were waiting. He had to coordinate his sources. But in the state he was in right now, he felt nothing like the unit chief that he in fact was. The house, its residents and its interior mess had been too much.

There was little chance that he could keep his stoic exterior if he stayed in that home for much longer. The memories became too vivid, even for a hardened agent like himself. He needed air. He needed to clear his mind.

As Hotch reached the car, the feelings he had been fighting to surpress took the upper hand and he slumped to the ground, his back against the rear door. Thankfully, no one saw him as they had parked the SUV between a patrol car and a news van.

Hotch gasped for breath. So many memories. He held his head between his knees, to regain some blood flow. He felt faint.

So many memories...

-x-x-x-

"Aaron!"

His father's voice coming from downstairs. Aaron scurried down the stairs, wearing only his pajamas. His father's voice was always stern and monotone. It was always best to hurry, otherwise he would be upset, and when he was upset, bad things happened.

His father sat in the kitchen, holding Aaron's report card from school. He looked very angry. Aaron felt the air waft through the room. It smelled like liquor. No, Aaron thought. Not tonight.

"Aaron." His father stood up. "What the hell is this?" He dropped the report card on the table.

Aaron felt his forehead began to sweat. He had brought home a D in biology. Knowing this was going to be 'one of those nights' Aaron steadied himself, and began thinking of something else. An island far away, where his father could never find him. He breathed. "It's my report card."

"There must be a misprint, because no son of mine would ever bring home a D in anything." His eyes shot fire straight across the floor.

These nights were the worst. Aaron usually managed to hide Sean away before his father burst out and go ballistic over some minor detail his oldest son had "screwed up.". But somehow, Sean was never the subject to his father's rage, and Aaron was very thankful for that. He'd rather take his father's entire arsenal of fury than have Sean feel one single slap of it.

His mother never protected him. She locked herself away, either alone or with Sean as she felt a storm approach. He had resented his mother for years for never being there when he needed her, but at the same time, he was glad she managed to get Sean away when he wasn't able to.

When Aaron got a little bit older, he realized that his mother had also been subjected to his father's rage. He didn't notice it at the time, but looking back, he saw the signs. Only then did he begin to understand her.

But here he was. And once again, he drew a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "No. It's right. I didn't do so we..."

His father rushed towards him, and hit him over the face with an open palm. "You are a disgrace to this family! To me!" He began pacing before Aaron. "What the hell am I going to have to do to you to make you understand that failure is not an option in this family!?"

He was a lawyer, Aaron's father, and very proud of himself; anyone could tell. He expected that both his boys would follow in his footsteps, and Aaron actually had no objections against becoming a lawyer when he grew up. He wanted to make a difference.

Right now, however, Aaron was actually frightened. His father had never looked so furious as far as he could remember, and the boy slowly began moving away, ready to run for safety. But it was too late. His father came at him, and swung his fist high over his head. It hit Aaron straight in the face, leaving his nose to bleed violently. It was broken, not for the first time, and not for the last.

Aaron fell to the floor, holding his face. Blood gushed though his fingers. His father came at him once more, this time kicking his son right in the stomach. He kicked Aaron over and over, altering between his chest, legs, stomach, back and head.

Aaron crawled into a little heap of crumbled bones and limbs. His island began to disappear, and the pain was cruel. But no tears. Tears only excited his father more.

"You are worthless!" his father roared between kicks. "You think you're something? You're nothing! You were born nothing, and you will die nothing!" He stopped kicking and looked at his son, disgust in his eyes. "Get some clothes on for God's sake. We're going to the emergency room."

Aaron's father always took him to the emergency room after a beating. That way he could yell at his son some more in front of some doctors, 'for being out making trouble'. That always freed him from any suspicion. After all, what abusive father took his son to the ER?

But Aaron didn't put on any clothes. He crawled to the phone, to call the police. His father was in the bathroom, washing off the blood and changing clothes. Aaron reached up to the phone and dialed the number. 9-1-1.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Help me... Please... My father... He's killing me..!"

"Hold on please." Pause. "What's your address?"

"It's 421 Sun..."

The phone was yanked from his hands from behind. His father stood over him, rage flowing through every vein of his body. He slammed the phone back onto his hook, and looked at his bleeding son. "Aaron."

Aaron crawled backwards in an attempt to get away. But it was useless. His father was already over him, pounding his fists all over Aaron's already bruised body.

Aaron's island was long gone and now there was nothing but angry white pain. Tears began flowing down his cheeks, as he cried out in agony. And it excited his father. The sight of tears in his son's eyes seemed to urge him on, to incite him.

Holding Aaron's body down on the floor, he pounded his fists all over his oldest son's scrawny back, all the while screaming horrible words and profanities.

Aaron wanted to scream, but the pressure on his back was too great. He tried to shield his head from the blows, and struggled the best he could to get away. But it was useless.

The pain as his father's fist impacted with his temple ripped through him like a red hot poker. He bit down on his lip, drawing blood. He wanted to scream, to get the man off him; to get away. Stars swam across his eyes as he silently begged to be rendered unconscious. His prayers, however, were not answered.

One day! he thought while the burning pain split his head in half. One day I'll be stronger than you! You'll never touch me again!

It wasn't the first time, and surely, it wasn't the last.

He was 13 years old.

-x-x-x-

Hotch vomited on the sidewalk, as he sat on the asphalt, leaning against his car. There were too many memories circling his head right now, too many visions of his father's violence and his mother's fear.

Shaking his head and wiping his mouth, he drew a few breaths before standing up, still holding the car door in a firm grip. Hotch knew he had to shake this off, and that he had to shake it off right now. This wasn't appropriate behavior for a senior agent, and especially not for a unit chief.

Silently scolding himself for his momentary weakness, he was fully aware that his focus needed to be on the case – nothing else.

Getting into the car, Hotch sighed deeply and slanted over the steering wheel. Moaning, he dried the tears from his face, and looked at himself in the rear view mirror.

"Goddamnit, Aaron."

The mirror before him showed him the image of a man. A grown man. A successful man. A man who had a job, money, a house and a son of his own. A successful man. He saw a man who managed to get though life, despite a D in biology.

Hotch looked at the house, not seeing that house, but his own where he lived as a child. He closed his eyes and took a breath before finally starting the car and driving off towards the station and the rest of his team.

A/N 2: Hey, hang on for the next chapter! It's gonna be great! Oh, and this was edited by the lovely editor frog!