Title: The Rise of Spencer

Author: slery

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Rating: M/FRAO gen

Characters: Reid, Morgan, OC

WARNINGS: see individual chapters

Spoilers: none

Beta: the-vampire-act Wingstar102

Disclaimer: Wished I owned but sadly, no. Suing will only reward you with a talkative sick cat.

Summary: A young man suffering PTSD and head trauma learns to rise above his circumstances through the love and support of an unknown stranger.

A/N: This story is an AU. We still have the BAU and they still do their job. However, our characters will meet under radically different circumstances but hopefully, they will still end up where we know and love them.

***

Chapter 1

Warnings: Graphic and gory scene

June 16

"Morgan, can I see you in my office?" Hotch asked from the catwalk.

"Someone's in trouble." Prentiss taunted from her desk.

"Oh shut up." He gave her the finger on his way up the steps.

"Hotch?" Morgan asked before taking a seat.

"We've got a case in northern Indiana with three bodies. The lead specifically asked for you. The team is needed on another case in California, but we could spare you." He handed over the file and Morgan began flipping through it.

"There's definitely a signature. Are you sure we should separate though?"

"It's a very small area and I think this other case takes precedence, but I want to send you. What do you know about the lead?"

The black man flipped through the pages once more. "Johnson--I went to the police academy with him in Chicago. Based on what he has here, he's a darn good cop, and this evidence is pretty compelling. You're right; I should go."

"Okay, you'll have to go commercial on this, because the rest of us are leaving within the hour. Go get Garcia to make arrangements. Then check with JJ to see if any more information has come in. Keep me updated."

Dismissed, he headed for Garcia's office to let the tech whiz work her magic.

Two hours later, he was sitting in first class--reviewing the latest information that JJ had received just before he left the office. The photos showed three victims, all in their twenties, both wrists slashed, and an 'X' slashed across their faces. He flipped through more pages, but there was nothing in the evidence that would tell him what the 'X' meant. He hoped the crime scenes would not be too degraded by this point.

Derek let a smile play across his lips. He couldn't believe the lead on this case was Peter Johnson. They had pulled many pranks together in the academy, it was a wonder either of them graduated. Now look at them, he made it into an elite BAU team and Johnson was now Deputy Sheriff. He hadn't talked to the man in years, but whenever he went home to Chicago, his mother always had news about the "young white man that was totally black at heart." Peter had grown up in foster care, and since most of his "siblings" had been black, he had learned from an early age to fit into any environment. It would be nice to see him settled into a small town.

***

Derek stepped into the air-conditioned airport after climbing down the stairs to the tarmac. He carried his bag in one hand and a computer case in the other. Johnson was waiting for him at the other end of the long concourse.

"Der, it's good to see you."

"Good to see you, too, but I wish it was under better circumstances."

"Do you have any other luggage?"

"No, I'm all yours. Lead the way, McDuff." He motioned with his arm to indicate the doors.

"It's about a thirty minute drive back, so we can catch up a little before hitting the case." Peter navigated the airport lanes until they were finally on the highway headed back.

"Momma tells me you didn't get married."

"No, she literally left me at the alter. I should have known better. But live and learn, right?"

Derek watched his friend try to dismiss the incident. "Well, you made it closer than I did. And trust me, she is rubbing it in. 'Oh, Derek, when are you going to find a nice woman to settle down with?'"

"I hate to tell her, but the BAU members don't actually have a good track record in that area." He took the exit and then changed lanes. "Hey, I did get a house out of the deal, though. Her parents sold us their house; they were totally ashamed of the way she left me and told me to keep the house because she wasn't getting it."

"You're kidding?"

"Nope. So no staying at the crappy motel for you on this trip. Tell me what it's like working in the BAU."

"It's great. Well, sort of. Aside from the serial killers, it's great working with some of the brightest minds in the FBI."

"I hear that Gideon walked away."

Derek ran a hand over his face. "Yeah, it was a bad case. He came back for a little while, but then just got up and walked away. He didn't even say good-bye." He saw his friend casting glances at him. "I'm fine with it. Really, I'm just disappointed. He handpicked me, I really learned a lot from him. But our unit chief, Aaron Hotchner, is really something to watch." Derek let a little pride slip into his voice.

"Tell me about this case."

"The crime scenes are old, so I don't know how much help they will be. We can still visit them, though. I also have dozens of photos from each one, so you can look at them at the scene. They're under your seat in an envelope. After the second murder I wanted to call you in, but the Sheriff wouldn't agree, and your Agent Jareau said there wasn't enough to confirm a serial killer and without a local request you guys couldn't do anything."

"Yeah, I know it can be a pain sometimes. There are so many cases that we have to prioritize, it's hard enough working with the locals, but going in on bad terms makes it almost impossible to get the case solved." He continued flipping through the photos.

"It's a small town and everyone knows each other's business, so it's a hard sell that we have a serial killer. Everyone is convinced that they would know if a stranger was running around killing people."

"You think it's a local."

Peter glanced at his friend before looking back at the road. "I hope not."

"What do they think?"

"The Sheriff wants to believe it is a suicide pact. I can see the slit wrists, but I just can't believe anyone, especially these kids, could cut an 'X' across their face."

Morgan pulled out his phone. "It is highly unlikely. Other suicide pacts usually have a video or letter they leave . . . or the method is the common link. However, aside from slitting the wrists, there haven't been any other body markings in other cases that I know of." He flipped the phone open and dialed--leaving it on speaker.

"Speak to me, my African God."

Derek smiled at the look on Peter's face. "Garcia, I need you to look into suicide pacts and see if there are any that mark the body in a significant way besides slitting the wrists."

"Will do chocolate muffin, but that is a tall order, so I'll have to get back to you."

"That's a new one."

"Don't say a word."

"But--" He was interrupted by the police radio.

"Spencer 247 in progress, Jenny's Diner."

Peter picked up the mic. "Angie, this is Johnson. I'm back in town and on my way, about ten minutes out." He hung the mic back on the dash.

"Sorry, Derek. I've got to take this."

"Spencer 247. What kind of code do you have in this little town?"

"Not now."

Morgan was a little taken aback, but figured he would get an explanation later. They pulled into a small parking lot with a diner clearly labeled as Jenny's.

Peter climbed out of the car and Morgan followed him. Once inside, a woman behind the counter pointed them toward the back wall in the corner. A young man with messy brown hair was curled into the corner, holding a knife out in front of him. Peter crouched in front of him and held out his hand. "Spencer, it's okay. You're safe now; give me the knife."

"S-stay back. Just leave me alone."

"Spencer, look at me. It's Peter. Dylan is dead. He can't hurt you any more." The man started to waver.

"You there. Here." Morgan looked over to see the plump woman behind the counter waving a bag at him.

"Excuse me?"

"Here, take this. It's Spencer's lunch; he hasn't ate yet." Morgan reached over and took the bag.

"Has it been paid for?"

She just shook her head at him. "Don't be silly. Spencer's food is on the house."

Morgan watched Peter leading the young man out of the diner with his arm around the thin shoulders. He followed them back to the car. Peter placed the man in the back, behind the passenger seat, and climbed into the driver's side.

The ride to the station was quiet, he watched Peter keep glancing back. The young man had his arms wrapped tightly around himself and was slowly rocking back and forth.

At the station, Morgan followed them in. Johnson led the slender form over to a holding cell and sat him down on the bed. He unwrapped the man's arms and took his hands in his. "Spencer, where have you been?"

Hazel eyes darted around the cell. "I . . . I don't know."

"Well, I'm glad you're back."

Derek stepped over and held the bag out.

"Great, thanks Derek. Have a seat." He sat down on the bed carefully.

"Spencer, this is Special Agent Derek Morgan. He's a very good friend of mine. Derek, this is Spencer Reid. He's a very special young man. Can you stay with him a moment while I get some water?"

"Sure." Morgan watched Spencer look at Peter with panicked eyes. "How about some lunch? The lady at the diner said you hadn't eaten yet." He pulled out the sandwich, pulled back the wax paper and placed it in Spencer's hand.

Peter came back in and knelt in front of them. He shook out a small white pill from a medicine bottle and watched Spencer take it with small sips from the water bottle. "Make sure you drink all of the water. Come with me, Derek?" Peter motioned for him to leave the holding cell.

Peter closed the door to his office and motioned for Derek to have a seat. He grabbed a bottle of water for himself and offered one to Morgan. "No thanks." Morgan watched his friend intently.

"So I take it a Spencer 247 actually refers to Spencer."

"Yeah, something like that."

"Is he mentally ill?"

"PTSD actually."

Morgan was shocked and didn't hide that fact. "How old is he?"

"Twenty-four." Peter looked out the window of his office and then got up and went to the door. "Angie, is everything okay?"

Morgan turned in his seat to see.

"He had a seizure and dropped his water. I'm just cleaning it up."

"Did he finish lunch?"

"Yeah, I'll get him settled. Go back to what you were doing."

Morgan watched her tuck the young man in and then gather the trash. Peter sat back down and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What happened to him?"

"About two years ago he was kidnapped and held for six months. Dylan was a schizophrenic survivalist. He took him to a cabin and beat and tortured him daily. He was convinced that Spencer was a government spy sent to get information on him. When we found him . . . Dylan had gutted himself." Peter paused for a moment taking a deep breath and releasing it. "We later found his journals and he thought he had things implanted in him and was trying to dig them out. He . . . he pulled his entrails out and wrapped them around Spencer."

"Oh, god." Morgan whispered.

"Derek, he had been dead at least two days before we found him."

"That poor boy."

"I was the only one that could get through to him. He was hit in the head several times with a blunt object and sustained brain trauma. His seizures aren't severe anymore, but he has to be medicated for them."

"I take it the scene at the diner was a manifestation of the PTSD."

"Yeah, he has flashbacks. There could have been a smell or sound at the diner that triggered it, but he thought he was back in that cabin."

"What about the knife?" Morgan quietly asked.

"He was trying to protect himself. He's never hurt anyone but himself. One time, he was sawing at his wrists with a blade. Spencer . . . he thought he was trying to cut the ropes away. There are scars . . . and sometimes he says he can still feel the ropes."

Morgan studied the sadness in his friend's eyes. "What's your connection with him?"

"I'm the only one he will talk to about what happened, and I'm the only one that can get through to him."

"At the diner, the waitress said there was no charge for his food. What was that about?"

"Der, this is a small town. The people here know everyone else's business. That boy out there cannot hold a job long enough to make money to take care of himself. When his head is on straight, he works down at the library. But different people around town, mostly older ladies--" He stopped and smiled. "They make sure he has something to eat. When no one has fed him, he goes down to Jenny's and she makes sure that he eats a good meal. They all know he can't work at a regular job now and that it isn't his fault."

"Sounds like some community you have here." Morgan was a little sarcastic.

"Now wait just a minute. They don't go around making excuses for the town drunk or some lazy ass that just doesn't want to support his family. Everyone knows that Spencer tries on his good days. He just doesn't have enough good days in a month to make ends meet. Plus, what happened to him wasn't his fault. They know that it could have been anyone of them. He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Morgan took in all the information and waited on his friend to continue.

Peter stood up, "Let's go check out the crime scenes before it gets too late."

***

Morgan pulled out the photos of the scene and held them up as he walked around the alley. The sun was going down and cast various shadows around the walls. At the back of the closed-in alley was the door to the theater Lo Mage. "Who uses this access?"

Johnson looked through the file. "This one is only used by the actors and employees after the place has been closed for the night. The other side of the building has a side entrance that patrons may exit after the show to get to the parking lot."

"So this would be deserted except for a certain time frame?"

"Yeah, when they start coming in for the day, before the front door or the other side is open."

"The sun is starting to go down and it looks like this alley gets dark pretty quick. The unsub would have plenty of time to work back here." He held up another picture and walked to where the body had been found. The head was pointed toward the street; that meant the unsub would have a clear view. "He could see everything from here." Morgan took out his phone and dialed.

"Speak to me, oh little lost lamb." Garcia answered.

"Are you calling me little, Baby Girl? You wound me."

"Not you my lovely. What can the fountain of knowledge give you?"

He flipped back through the file, being careful not to drop anything. "I need you to see if there is any connection between Nick Valentine and the Lo Mage Theater."

"Will do, Sweet Thang."

"You have got to explain that." Peter chuckled after Morgan hung up the phone.

"That is the all knowing Penelope Garcia, Tech analyst extraordinaire. She is a whiz at finding anything that can be tracked by computer."

"You two a couple or something?"

"Definitely a something, but not a couple."

"You hungry?" Peter asked.

"Sure, it's getting too dark to find anything else out here. Where to?"

"We'll go back to my place. We just need to stop and pick up Spencer."

***

They pulled up to a medium size ranch house surrounded by a white picket fence. "Seriously, Pete?" Morgan asked.

"Yeah, I know. But I kind of like the picket fence. It gives the place character."

"But what kind of character are you trying to portray?" Morgan smirked at the look of indignation Johnson threw his way. He opened the back door for Spencer.

"Thanks."

Morgan watched the young man tuck his hair behind his ears again. It appeared to be a nervous habit, but then again, it was almost shoulder length and was always hanging in his face.

"What do you feel like tonight, Spencer?" Peter unlocked the door and they all walked in.

"Something easy."

"How about spaghetti and salad?"

"Sure."

"Do you want to help or do you need to lie down?"

Spencer brought a bony hand up and scratched his nose. "I can help."

"Go ahead and get started. I'm going to show Derek his room and get changed." He patted Spencer on the shoulder and motioned for Derek to follow him.

They walked down the hall and into a small but nice room. "Feel free to use the dresser; there are a couple of empty drawers on the left. The bathroom is the first door across the hall. Spencer's room is next door and mine is at the end of the hall.

"So, how did you become his caretaker?"

"I was the only one he would have contact with."

"What about his family?"

Peter sighed and leaned against the doorframe. "His father left when he was ten and . . . his mother . . . is a schizophrenic."

"Oh my, god. I mean the kidnapping would be hard on anyone but--"

"Yeah, it hit a little too close to home. He doesn't even get to see her. Her parents took her away when he was eighteen. She's in a private sanitarium in Las Vegas. They didn't want to have anything to do with him because of his father, since he was eighteen they just left him here."

"How can someone survive all of that?"

"He's strong, Der. Despite his problems, he still lives day to day and on his good days, he wants to contribute to society. Well, I better get changed so I can go help."

Morgan watched his friend go. He then sat down in the chair in the corner and let his mind take every thing in for a few moments. He got up and unpacked his things. Then he placed the file away in the drawer with his clothes. Derek did not want to leave it out where Spencer could accidentally see the photos. When he finished, he walked to the kitchen where he could hear laughter.

Peter and Spencer were each chopping up vegetables and kept stealing pieces from the other's cutting board. "I take it you still play with your food, Pete?"

Spencer jumped out of his skin and crouched on the floor covering his head. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He whispered.

Peter knelt down next to the trembling man. "It's okay, Spencer. You did nothing wrong. Derek didn't mean to scare you." He pried the arms from around Spencer's head, pulled him up into a tight hug, and rubbed up and down the slender back.

"Pete?" Derek whispered.

He walked Spencer over to the table and made him sit down in the chair next to Derek. "Hey, kiddo. I'm really sorry." He simply received a small nod in return.

"It's okay now, Derek. I think he just forgot that someone else was in the house with us. Here's the salad." Peter placed a bowl in the center of the table and then went back to clean up the mess on the cabinet.

Derek took the bowl and spooned some out into his salad bowl. He tried handing the dish to Spencer, but he kept his eyes down cast. Morgan reached over and squeezed Spencer's shoulder. The young man was still trembling; he smoothed his hand up and down the thin back. "It's okay. Do you want some salad?" He watched the small shake of the head so he sat the bowl back down in the center of the small table.

Peter came back over to the table and picked up the salad. He spooned some onto his dish and then scooped out a portion for Spencer. The quiet man slowly began to eat.

After dinner, Derek helped his friend clean the kitchen and then they sat down at the table to talk and reminisce.

Spencer walked in at about nine dressed in pajamas and walked over to the fridge to get a glass of milk. Peter got up and fished keys out of his pocket. Then he unlocked the cabinet by the sink and took out three prescription bottles. He handed Spencer the correct dose from each one and waited while he swallowed them with his milk. When he was finished, Spencer gave Peter a hug. "Sleep tight," the older man said.

Once they were alone again, Morgan asked, "What's with the locked cabinet?"

Peter closed his eyes and sighed heavily. "We had a couple of incidents."

Derek looked at his friend intently, letting him know that was not an explanation.

"The first time, Spencer got his medication wrong and took the wrong one at the wrong time. Then he took the wrong dosage. The last time . . . he nearly over-dosed."

"He tried to kill himself." Morgan whispered solemnly.

"We don't know. When he came to, he was really confused. At that point, he didn't appear to be suicidal. But the doctors and I have no idea what his mental state was at the time he took them. It was ten pills and not the whole bottle. We can't be certain that he didn't just get confused. And . . . we don't know if he took them all at once or spaced them out. He was alone for six hours. At the time, he had to space his medication out so it wouldn't interact with each other. He was taking different medication almost every two hours. It is possible that he thought he was taking different things but just kept taking them out of the same bottle."

"And now you don't want to take the chance in case that might not have been what happened." Derek added.

"Yeah."

"So, what is he taking these days?"

"An anti-convulsant; he'll probably have to take one for the rest of his life. Also, an anti-depressant, that's pretty much a given with the PTSD, and a very mild sleep aid. He still has nightmares about the cabin and it interrupts his sleep for days, messing with how effective his other medication is. Exhaustion and stress makes his seizures worse, which makes the depression worse, and opens him up to more nightmares. It keeps going in a never-ending cycle and causes his over-all health to deteriorate and then he ends up back in the hospital, making him more depressed. Spencer hates the sleeping pills but it's better than going through the cycles."

Peter looked down at his watch. "He should be asleep now if you want to discuss the case."

Morgan walked back into his room and pulled the file out. They spent another hour talking about the case before going to bed.