A/N: Hello all, this is my second story and in a separate category from my first. Criminal Minds is one of my favorite shows and I have plenty of ideas for stories about the characters (mainly Spencer and Derek).

WARNING: This story deals with suicide attempt(s?), thoughts about it, neglect, depression, mentions of bullying, a homosexual relationship, friendship, and general teen angst. You've been warned.

"Future chapters will be beta'ed by my beta, TheShulesLovinPsycho (Chapters 2-7 have already been sent I've already written chapter 8). But I'm just very excited to publish this story and see what y'all think, so I'm going to go ahead and post it! Please review!

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. I hope you like this story and I'd greatly appreciate a review!

Chapter One: Birthdays Aren't Always Happy

Spencer Reid woke with a start, shooting straight up in bed. It was a Monday morning, but much too early to wake for school yet. He could hear objects being thrown and moved around, along with his mother's panicked voice. In anyone else's home, it would be a cause for alarm. 'Someone must be breaking into my house' being the most common thought, but Spencer knew the reason and it just made him sad.

With a heavy sigh, the now sixteen year old pushed his covers away and went to his closet.

CRASH!

Spencer hurried the process of putting on his clothes at the sound of glass breaking. Then, running a hand through his wavy brown locks in attempt to untangle it, he walked out of his room quietly.

He looked around the corner of the hallway his room was located in. The living room was chaos, and no doubt the kitchen was as well. He'd dealt with this many times before, he knew how to handle her, just not in a timely manner. It wasn't even really handling the situation, it was waiting for it to end without either of them getting hurt.

Diana Reid spotted him watching her, "YOU'RE SPYING ON ME, SPENCER!", she screamed angrily at her only son.

"You work with the government, don't you?" She was making her way towards him in fury. Spencer calmed himself down as she put her face in his, "DON'T YOU?"

Spencer winced at the shrill voice, a headache forming in his powerful mind. "No, mom, I'm sixteen. I promise you I don't work for the government."

She shook her head in disgust and pushed Spencer aside, heading for his room. "That's just what they would say!"

Spencer followed her, she was about to open the door to his room and destroy his most beloved possessions, again. "Mom! Please, let's just go back out front. You need to take your medicine!"

She looked at him, hand resting on the doorknob, "I will never take those pills, Spencer. I know you're hiding microphones in here!" Determination was present in her voice, and she pushed open the door.

Spencer rushed in after her, not looking forward to having to put all of his books back on the bookshelf after she'd be done. He couldn't do anything to stop her; touching her would be a threat, and begging did nothing but make her angrier.

He begged anyways, hoping, even though he knew better, that maybe she'd stop. It'll never stop, he thought with exhaustion.

Blinking away a few tears, he watched as his mother tore apart his copy of 'The Canterbury Tales' by Chaucer. It had been a birthday gift from her, the day his dad left. He turned nine that day, and he hadn't seen or heard from his father since.

He continued to watch Diana, but tuned out the noisy rage that seemed to flow out of her. She'd ran past him, leaving destruction in her path.

She left his room, and he sat on his bed, too tired to go after her. He looked around his room, clothes and books were strewn across the floor, ripped pages much like the kind he'd taped back together again before. The clock showed that he should have been on his way to school by now, but he didn't care.

Tears started trickling down, quickly turning into a steady downpour. His head ached so badly, he was just so tired. He pushed away the tears, contemplating for the millionth time if he should do what he knew was selfish of him.

He didn't think he could handle this anymore, his mother rarely recognizing him. Blaming him for things that never happened, like the 'government' spying on them. He thought about the torture he was put through at school, the goal post incident and the many others that haunted him at night. His school only let him skip two years, they thought he needed social interaction. He definitely had that, if you considered bullying a part of being a 'social butterfly', as they had put it.

He thought about waiting to see if his father would call him, wish him a "Happy Birthday!" Or at least pretend to give a damn and see how his ex-wife and son were doing. He knew that call would never come, and with that his mind was made up. He retrieved a notebook from the floor, and a pen from his desk. He began to write a letter to his mother.

As her frenzy continued in the living room of his Las Vegas home, he made his way to her bathroom. Closing the door, he reached an unsteady hand in the cabinet and pulled out his mom's hair-care basket. Finding what he was looking for, he took out the scissors and replaced the basket.

He went back and forth in his mind, fear and guilt pulling at him. He tried to turn off his brain, to stop the flow of statistics about the affects of a family member's suicide. About the chances of surviving and getting admitted into a psych-ward. About how he'd be just another statistic.

He put the blade in his non-dominate hand and put pressure on it. He gasped in pain as he dragged it down his wrist, agonizingly slow. He'd cut himself before, but it was nothing like this. They were barely scratches. Blood pooled out, as he shakily switched hands and started on his other wrist.

He didn't finish his right arm, he dropped the scissors and sunk to the floor, sobbing. He held his wrist tight, God, this hurts! Eyes screwed shut, he attempted to let the darkness take over him.

He hadn't noticed that the screaming and crashing had died down long before he'd finished his left wrist. He didn't know that his mother had come to, and feeling guilty, had went to his room wanting to apologize.
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Diana looked at what she'd done to her precious son's room. Shame washed over her and she scanned the room, looking to see where he could be hiding. Hiding from his own mother.. she thought warily.

Her roaming eyes stopped on his bed, the only part that seemed to have been cleaned up. One stray paper laid on the bedspread. She picked it up, figuring it was one of his papers for school, she was going to clean everything up for him.

When she read what was written on it, she began to cry. She shook her head desperately and called out for Spencer.

"Spencer! Please, where are you honey?" She ran to her bedroom, the only place she hadn't looked in yet. The door to her bathroom was closed, but light flooded out from underneath the door.

She slammed it open, there was so much blood. She picked him up, feeling for a pulse. It was barely there, but that was enough hope for her. She placed him back down, whispering apologies before racing for the phone.

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His eyes flickered open and closed, catching white walls, a figure of a man, and a too-bright light. He could hear the beeping of a monitor. I'm in the hospital. Spencer thought to himself, slightly confused before the memory of what he'd done came back. He instantly felt terrible, How could I have done this to my own mom?

"He whimpered, and then remembered that he wasn't alone in the room. He still didn't open his eyes, he felt drowsy and couldn't bare the thought of explaining why he'd done what he did.

"Spencer?" A man's voice intruded his thoughts. It was a harsh tone, one he knew, but couldn't quite place.

"Spencer, are you awake?" The man spoke again, and Reid realized who it was.

His father.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, and they landed on his dad. He's aged a lot. was all Spencer could think as he laid under the scrutiny of his father's gaze. Even now he didn't seem to care.

Spencer found his voice, "What are you doing here?"

"William stared at him, "For a genius, you're an idiot." He paused, attempting to make his voice more gentle, "Why do you think I'm here? You tried to kill yourself, Spencer!"

"Reid looked down, noticing the bandages on his wrists. "Where's mom?" The guilt was present in his voice.

The elder Reid sighed, "She's talking to a doctor about the mental health facility associated with the hospital."

Spencer's eyes widened, "No! Please don't make me stay here, I regret what I did! I'm not going to do it again, I promise.. Just tell them to let me go home...please..." He was crying now, his heartbeat quickening, he couldn't stay here.

William shook his head slightly, "She's not asking about it for you.

Spencer's face fell as it dawned on him, it was his fault his mom was checking herself into, what she called during her episodes, a prison. And where would he end up?

"I.. Can I see her?" He looked up at his father, pleading with him.

"I'm going to call your doctor in. It'll be up to her." His father replied, in his business tone. "But you're not going home with her, there's no way they'll let her live on her own, let alone with you."

Spencer's eyebrows furrowed as his dad pressed the call button on the side of his bed. "Then where will I go?"

His annoyed posture told Spencer that wherever he was going, it probably wasn't his dad's idea.

"You're coming to live in Virginia, with me."