Title: Losing My Religion by Lexikal (Hanniballexster on live journal)
Rating: M for graphic violence against a child and language.
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Summary: After two years away from his father and his father's violent rages, Spencer Reid, now ten, is returned home. Spencer has changed... but has William Reid?

Author's Note: This story (chapter one) was originally published on my live journal account as a single story under the title "Losing Myself". However, after writing "That's me in the corner", I decided to write a sequel, and realized that this story would make an excellent first chapter for the sequel (I realize that "That's me in the corner" only has one chapter, but this will have at least two chapters).

This story is not chapter two to "That's me in the corner", but rather, a sequel to that story. In this story, two years have passed since Reid was removed and he is back at home after spending two years away from his father's physical and mental abuse. However, when he returns home, the abuse starts up with a vengeance. The first chapter contains a fairly graphic description of physical abuse, so please take care/don't read if that will upset you. I have made some minor changes to the first chapter, so for anybody who may have read this on my lj account, no, you're not imagining changes. I want to keep this M, and make sure it doesn't accidentally leak into the MA category...

"Get the hell back here, boy." His voice is gruff, hoarse. Drunk. Reid, 10, stops in his tracks. He's been home a month. He's been hit three times already. Nothing bad, not really. A back-handed slap across the face, a shove into the wall.

His hand is on the handle of the door. He was almost gone. Maybe the idiot in front of him won't remember. He could be having another one of his walking black outs. Reid eyes the bottles... weeks worth of empty vodka bottles. His father pours another shot, throws it back, then decides screw it, he'll drink straight from the bottle. His eyes are blurry, his words slurred.

"What are you waitin fer? I said get your ass back over here!" Reid waits a moment. Actually, wait is the wrong word. His legs simply will...not...move.

"NOW!" Head bent, he marches over. Stands in front of the drunken man that provided him with half his DNA.

"I did them, Dad. The chores. They're done."

His father snorts. He looks amused. "Chores... let your crazy mother handle 'em. I don't care about..." A strange look lights up his eyes. Spencer's father has just had a doozy of an idea, and from the look in his eyes, it's not a good one. Not for Spencer. The boy feels suddenly trapped, more trapped than before. That look, he's seen it before.

"Wha' ez-atlally didja doooo?" Definitely wasted. Reid's mind goes blank. Chores. He did chores. But the man wants specifics.

"Just stuff that needed..."

"I asked you what you did, faggot!" There is a loud smash and Reid wearily realizes his father chucked the bottle at him. It missed his head by half an inch and smashed on the floor. There were still a few shots of liquor left and the man rages. "Look wha' you made me do now!"

He rises from his reclining chair and stumbles towards the child. Spencer Reid cowers. He knows, at ten, all the stats for child abuse. Knows that his father is emotionally and physically abusive. His mother is neglectful, but not just to him... she is schizophrenic. She neglects herself. That's why...

"I'm waiting, you little shit." Spencer forces himself to swallow. Chores. Right. Specifics.

"The dishes. Took out some garbage. Some ironing... the clothes were clean but Mom left them out and they got all wrinkled and..."

"Ironing?" The man's eyes harden into little pin pricks of hate. "IRONING?" Spencer steps back, ready to bolt. He has his shoes and jacket on, his house key in the pocket, Gideon's card in his jacket pocket. He can bolt. So he does.

But the man- his father- is faster. Maybe the drunken stupor was partially an act because his father is on him without warning, quickly and deftly, and the boy can't breathe. The hands around his neck are simultaneously choking and dragging him at the same time. He feels himself pulled across the floor, into the laundry room.

The journey takes forever. The journey takes no time at all. The iron is still on, still hot. Not super hot but... Spencer begins to panic.

His father pulls the boy by the hair and throws him against the wall. He feels himself, as if from very far away, looking down on the scene. Dissociation, that's what the shrinks call it. That's what Gideon would call this. People that experience Near Death Experiences report similar out of body experiences. It's most likely a survival mechanism, thousands and thousands of years of evolution to stun an animal before it dies... Spencer thinks all of this within seconds, because his father is holding the iron. He hasn't plugged it in but he's wrapped the cord around his hand and the iron dangles from his hand like a mace.

This is not good.

Spencer struggles to his feet, but when he was thrown there was an unnerving noise, a strange snap.

Broken leg. He glances down. Blood is seeping through his jeans, the blood is spreading quickly. He tries to move. Can't.

Compound fracture most likely then, maybe more serious, judging by the pain and the blood. He can't see it yet, doesn't know if he wants to, when the first blow hits him.

It's unlike anything he has ever felt before. He's felt punches and belts, even wrenches, anything handy... had bottles smashed over a skull containing his genius brain. But this hits him in the chest and he screams and doubles over. There is another blow, this time to the bloody leg and his ears are ringing, his heart is racing.

The world tilts.

The third blow catches him in the head and he sees stars. Far away he can hear himself begging. Stop. Stop. You'll kill me. You're going to kill me. But it continues, and he knows he will die.

Stop. Please stop.

The fourth, or maybe the fifth blow hits him in the face. Everything goes black.

He wakes up in a bed in a hospital room. There is an IV in his hand. His leg is already in a cast and lies uselessly underneath the covers. He knows, without looking, that they've put a Foley in to monitor his urine output.

The door opens and he cringes, but it's just a doctor. A woman doctor. She has a clipboard with her. She smiles at him and sits down in a chair. He feels dazed and foggy and thirsty. Overwhelmed.

"Hi Spencer. My name is Maria." He nods. There will be the inevitable questions. He can't see his face but, even with the pain meds- and he knows from the foggy way everything looks that he's on something for pain- that he's probably a real mess. His lip feels swollen and he sucks on it, can feel and taste dried blood and stitches. He reaches up to his head and fingers gauze bandaging.

"Your Mom brought you in. She said your father did this to you." Okay, cat's out of the bag now. Spencer waits for the doctor to say more. When she doesn't, he finally nods.

"What... what sort of injuries did I sustain?" He asks softly, staring at her bleakly. The woman seems a little surprised by his phrasing, his maturity. She looks hesitant, not sure how to answer.

The child in front of her is so small, so frail... even for a ten year old. He can't see himself, but his skull was fractured and he almost bled out several times. The broken leg severed his femoral artery. She is amazed he is talking, let alone speaking like a little adult. Devoid of emotion, though.

She stares at him carefully, at the shattered cheekbones, the missing teeth, the stitches and the broken nose... the bruising is heavy and extensive. His face is more purple-black than flesh coloured.

"Well... your leg was broken..."

"Compound fracture?"

"Um... yes. The bone was protruding..." she stops, wondering why she is telling the kid all this. He asked, and his eyes are pleading with her. He wants... maybe needs... to know. "But when your femur was broken, it cut into what's called the femoral artery..."

"You obviously fixed it, or I wouldn't be here." It's not a question.

"Yes, we had to operate; on your leg, and on the artery in your leg. We put some screws in the bone. Also, your head... you had a skull fracture and internal pressure and bleeding..."

"You shaved my head." Again, not a question.

The woman exhales, suddenly feeling drained. The boy knows too much, is too accepting. It would've been easier if he'd just cried or cringed but this calm acceptance is somehow worse.

"We had to open up your skull to reduce the bleeding in your brain."

"A craniotomy." Spencer Reid says dully, and nods, as if he is having a private conversation with himself as well as her. He's quiet for a moment, his tongue snaking around the inside of his mouth. He licks his lips and looks up at her.

"Some of my teeth are gone. They were knocked out, I guess. I probably swallowed them."

"That's pretty easy to fix, Spencer. A dentist can put new teeth in, screw them right into the jaw bone and..."

The boy looks suddenly afraid, which is odd considering his previous detachment. Then, suddenly, she understands.

He still has his original leg, his original skull, his original brain. They're injured, but they're still his. His teeth are GONE.

"They were my permanent teeth." Reid says mournfully and looks away, looking at some distant point out the window. He glances back after a moment. "You took photographs, didn't you... of the injuries. For the police?"

She nods. Obviously this is not the first time this child has been physically battered... if for no other reason than he knows how the system works too well.

"Was I naked? When you took the photos?" An odd question. She stares at the boy, her concern growing, but his expression gives her nothing.

"We had to cut your clothing off in the ER due to your injuries... your pants..."

He is fidgeting now, distressed.

"Spencer... is there something you would like to tell me?"

They'd checked the kid over for any sort of obvious sexual trauma, and had found nothing. But not all sexual abuse left obvious physical indications.

The boy looks at her with pleading eyes. The eyes are the only parts of his face that still resemble a human face, even though one of the corneas was detached. He didn't ask about that his eyes, though, and she can't lay it on him. Not right now.

"Spencer, why are you suddenly so upset?" If she'd thought there might be a further disclosure of abuse she would have sent in the resident kiddie shrink to talk to him.

"Those were my favourite pants!" For the first time, he sounds like an average ten year old. Scared, protesting... but it makes no sense. He was bleeding to death. No, the kid was- is- scared by the idea of being naked. Stripped.

She has seen cases like this before, knows the warning signs.

"Spencer..."

"I only ever get hit... okay?" His words are slurred, probably from the pain meds. 12 hours of surgery and the kid woke up after 4 hours in recovery. It shouldn't be possible. Hell, he shouldn't even be alive.

"Spencer, if your dad ever hurt you in some other way..."

The machine recording his pulse is beeping hectically now. "He didn't, okay? He didn't! I just don't like people taking photos of me..." He stops dead in his tracks and closes his eyes.

"I don't feel good. I'm thirsty. Where is my mom?"

"Your mom is down at the police station." Oh boy. Now comes the rough part. Well... rougher part.

"My dad though... he's in jail, right?" The boy's voice is a squeak.

Shit. Shit. Sometimes the system really sucks. "Spencer, do you know what schizophrenia is?"

"Yes."

"Your Mom... she has a lot of problems... you know that, right?"

"She forgets to get out of bed some days." The boy says tiredly, sighing. "So?"

"Spencer, your dad is claiming he never touched you... hit you. He says your mom hurt you."

"That's a lie!" The heart rate monitor is beeping quicker now, again. 100 beats a minute. 105. 110...

"I know. I believe you. But the thing is... your dad has an alibi... an excuse... for where he was when you were hurt. He says he was with some friends, and they are backing up his story."

"But he wasn't!"

The boy's eyes are darting around the room now, as if looking for intruders. Monsters. Shit.

"Spencer, there is a policeman outside your door. Nobody but a nurse or doctor or someone authorized by the hospital can come in here."

"The window..." But the boy, even terrified, realises the faulty logic there. They are on the eighth floor.

"Is this paediatrics?"

"It's the Intensive Care Ward."

"But I'm fine now." His face is nearly black, he's vomited twice, had two seizures- one in the ambulance, one on the OR table, shortly before flat-lining. He's anything but fine.

"You're doing really well, that's true. But we just want to keep an eye on you..."

"After... when I go home...he'll be there?"

She can't tell him he might not be going home. Not for a while. The papers are already signed, the social workers have put in the calls. The kid's going to a foster home.

"You won't be going home, Spencer. Not until we figure this thing out. Not until we can be certain you'll be safe at home." Jesus Christ, the kid almost died. Was almost murdered. And she has a feeling, not for the first time, either.

"But my mom... she can't take care of herself. She needs me." The boy can't turn over. There are too many wires and tubes all over his body and his leg is in traction. But she knows he would turn over if he could. Away from her. To face the wall. His eyes are tearing up, his lip is shaking. He's going to cry.

She wants to hug him, but there is nowhere she would feel comfortable even touching. His entire body is bruised, though not as bad as his face. The kid didn't mention the burns. All over his back and upper legs. Cigarette burns. A few fresh ones, so many old ones.

"Spencer, your father could've killed you today." It's out before she can take it back and she wants to kick herself. He's a little boy for crying out loud... but it's hard to keep that in mind because his voice and mannerisms and facial expressions are so... advanced. But he is still just a child.

"He's not a monster. He's not a serial killer, or a sociopath... he has problems with impulse control and alcohol. Anger."

Serial killer? Where did that comparison come from?

"I'm thirsty," Spencer says then, sighing heavily, his voice rasping.

She pours him some water and puts the straw to his lips, wincing in sympathy as he takes it. Guzzles too fast. But she doesn't have the heart to tell him to slow down or take the water away. He smacks his lips when he is done, closes his eyes. If she didn't know he was breathing, she'd think she was looking at a corpse, he is so battered, so still.

"Sometimes I have dreams," His voice is slurred; the morphine is taking its toll, "of my teeth falling out. But they weren't just dreams. It actually happened. They're gone."

She pulls a chair over to his bed and sits down, takes his good hand, the one without the IV line. He doesn't pull away.

"I can never get them back. They were my permanent teeth... now they are gone. I think I must've swallowed them."

And then he is asleep, and she can't help but wonder what will become of this little boy. Battered for years, obviously... and obviously highly intelligent. But she doesn't know him. Not really. Monsters don't come out of nowhere...

As if he can read her thoughts he mumbles, half asleep. "Doan worry... I'll stop them. I'll get different teeth."

And then he is out again. Hopefully they'll have a new pair of eyeglasses for him when he wakes up. Hopefully the shards they took out of his face won't leave obvious scars. Hopefully.

That's it. It's intense and graphic and probably differs too much from the show because while Spencer was neglected and the show hints at abuse, it doesn't take it nearly this far. But oh well. That's why it's called fan fiction.

This story was originally posted on my live journal account, and my pen name on lj is "Hanniballexster", although I haven't uploaded to lj for a while. I am saving lj primarily for CM fic I want to write that is definitely, 100% MA... the stuff I can't post here.

Anyway, I did change some of this story from the original version: I edited it, cleaned up some typos and added a few extra details. This is the first chapter of the sequel to the story "That's me in the corner". Please review! Thanks.