Disclaimer- see profile. I do not own "Criminal Minds", its characters, or recognizable storylines used in canon. I also make no profit whatsoever from this story or any other fanfic and no property or copyright infringement is intended.

Summary- Reid once saved a life that didn't want to be saved. Gideon left two sons behind. Now, an UnSub that threatens more than just a BAU member's life reunites Gideon and the team for a final case that will change everything forever.

Categories- Angst, emotional whump, hurt/comfort, suspence, mystery, friendship

Author's Note- Standard. See profile. This was written before season five, so Hotch's bits may seem a little off; for the sake of not getting a headache, this is still going to be set in late season four when I started it. ("Nameless, Faceless" took some of the wind out of my sails with what happened to Hotch because it has close relation to what happens here early on, but I wasn't going to ditch this just because "Criminal Minds" did it on-screen while I was working on a previous fic I'd started. Hope you still like it anyway. Besides- it's Reid!) Also, if some of this seems unrealistic, please note that I'm vague on the point of the actual extent of what happens and I'll clarify later (when it won't suck away the drama and tension). Feel free to imagine whatever you want- that's the point of being vague! Oh, and the girly song mentioned in here was supposed to be "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" but I had to take out the lyrics since it's against guidelines. It was a better contrast with it in, but oh well. (Sorry if I'm confusing you at all, but you'll know what I'm talking about after you've read this chapter!) For the same reason, the quotes used aren't really quotes but were written for the story.

Rating- PG-13

Warnings- This story contains moderate-to-severe portrayals of violent acts, such as stabbings and torture. There is also a lot of angst and trauma. This is not a horror story but it is not a very happy fic either, so don't expect a lot of warm fuzzy feelings, although there will be some cute character moments.

The Unended

The team was wrapping up from a case, freshly home and ready for a good night's sleep. Morgan, however, was pressing for a team dinner and most had grudgingly constented, including Penelope. Spencer was the odd man out, but they all understood; the case had been difficult and grueling, particularly for Spencer, who'd been thrown into the thicket of it by the UnSub's coded messages. As a result, he'd hardly had any sleep in the last seventy-two hours and it was clear the kid could barely keep his eyes open.

"Maybe you should call a cab." Morgan suggested.

Stiffling a yawn, Reid shook his head. "It's a ten-minute drive and almost completely straight; I can make it that far without going to sleep." he refused.

Morgan shrugged. "Whatever ya say, but if I have to scrape you off the side of the road, be prepared to pay." he warned in a brotherly but not condescending manner.

Reid smiled in amusement past his extreme exhaustion, hand's stuffed in his pockets and hair wild and, as always, his eyes were underscored by dark circles. Secretly, he loved the treatment but knew better than to air it, aware that the team didn't need any encouragement to baby him or view him as a kid. Sighing softly, he picked up his messanger bag and slipped it over his shoulder, then waved good-night to the team. J.J. gave him a peck on the cheek and told him they'd miss him tonight- especially Henry- and he promised her he'd be there for the next night. It was a brief exchange, but they were always cherished to Spencer, who had never had much family or friends in his life and so always appreciated the value of his teammates, whom he held as both and never took for granted. He understood to a depth that they probably never would the importance of having people to be loved by.

"Get some rest." J.J. advised, then flicked her eyes to the others in the room so they'd know they were all being addressed. "We have a new case we're starting tomorrow. It's local, but there are indications of escalation, so we don't want to waste any time."

"What kind of UnSub are we talking about?" Rossi asked, interested.

Spencer was eager to leave but lingered, waiting for J.J.'s reply, which came without delay. "A serial killer targeting under-the-table prostitutes who he mutilates and stabs to death. No apparent sexual assault."

Rossi nodded but didn't comment and every one understood why; another case for another day. Tonight, they needed to wash away the blood and hatred and terror that had poisoned their hours and choked their minds. Every day a little more of them was tarnished and the only way to counter the affects was to get out, socialize a little, laugh a little, love a little, and get what sleep they could with something behind their eyes other than the images and smells of murder and death.

Spencer sighed tiredly and didn't bother repeating his good-nights.

Departing with long if tired strides, he made it down the elevator and to his car in the garage, digging out his keys before he got there to unlock it while he was still walking. It beeped, he closed the gap, opened the door, and got inside, starting the engine and pulling out moments later. Ten minutes, he repeated to himself as he turned up the radio with another yawn, ten minutes and then you can sleep... finally.

The black road engulfed in black night broken only by whisps of moonlight stealing through the clouds above and the headlights of his car beyond passed him in a steady and familiar blur, the road home. The code he'd worked so arduously on repeated like a tick in his mind but he was unbothered by it, much preffering the numbers and letters to the images of the lifeless and beaten bodies he'd stood over at the crime scenes, and he let everything but the black road disappear.

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Deciding to carpool, the rest of the BAU took two SUVs, Morgan at the wheel of the head vehicle with Penelope and the girls, Hotch at the other with Rossi. Music filtered through the air- neither soft nor blasting- with Morgan grinning as the girls teased him; not about the music, but at men's attatchment to driving.

"You know, it's a fact that women are safer drivers than men." Emily stated from the backseat.

"Yet men have a compulsion to get behind the wheel of whatever car they're in- even if it's not theirs!" Penelope joined in.

"Oh, Baby Doll, don't be like that!" Derek crooned to his girl, who blushed appropriately at the lavishing. "Maybe I just want to give you all a break, show a little chivalry."

Prentiss smirked. "Really? Somehow, I doubt that." she laughed.

In the trailing car, the conversation and enviroment was more subdued, the senior agents chatting in amusement and somewhat somberly reflecting on their personal relationships. Hotch, now divorced with a son he rarely saw, could easily project how his future would look ten years from now and it was far from all he wished it would be. In response, Rossi lightly gave encouragement and some antectdotes to show him it wasn't all negative or written in stone. Hotch smiled, not fully reassured but appreciative.

"I just think one day, Jack will start yelling at me for not being there when he was growing up, for letting my job ruin the marriage, and tell me that I don't know him, anymore than he knows me. And I won't be able to say anything, because- he'll be right." Hotch lamented, watching the road.

Rossi couldn't deny what he said had merit but, on the other hand, "It doesn't have to be that way. The job does take up a lot of time and focus, but if you're there when you can be and if you show him you love him... one day he'll understand, even if he doesn't always." he counciled.

Hotch nodded. "I look at my team," he went on, "and how many of them have father issues; Morgan's died, Reid's left. I know how much parents can screw up their children, especially when they're not there; that it leaves holes and hurts self-image. It can even squewer a person's views on relationships and families, make it nearly impossible for them to have their own functioning ones." Hotch sighed, shaking his head regretfully. "I don't want to do that to Jack."

There was silence for a moment as Hotch contemplated his troubles and Rossi considered his reply. There wasn't much he could say that hadn't been said before, that the agent didn't already know, but finally he found a tidbit that seemed important. "You know, there's more to being a father than how much time you spend with him. It's about what you teach him. You are who you are; you can compromise that for him and take a desk job, something with fewer hours and more pay, but he'll learn to make those same sacrifices and maybe he'll even blame himself for your unhappiness and spend his life trying to make it up to you. I'm not saying that your happiness is the only thing that matters, but a balance has to be found and an example made for Jack. You're a good man and you're smart; I know you'll find the way, Aaron."

This time, when Hotch looked over to his subordinate and saw the faith and confidence in his eyes, the smile that touched his features was not forced and he gripped the stearing wheel. He just hoped David was right.

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His keys jangled as he unlocked his house door, the dark cocooning him as Spencer gratefully opened it, tired and only half-awake. With a heavy sigh, he stepped into the familiar entryway, hanging his keys up on the hook and putting his messanger bag down as he closed the door without turning around. A stream of pale moonlight coming through the living room window beyond silhuetted the furniture and objects occupying his home enough so that he could see what he was doing without turning on the light.

Bed, was his lone thought.

He ran a hand through his hair, then lurched forward suddenly as pain crippled his back, a hand on his shoulder, and gasped. He collided with the nightstand in front of him, knocking over the books, and he clawed its edge, incomprehensive of what was happening until his mind finally foggily deduced the only possible reality. He was being attacked.

Another pain as the knife- it had to be blade of some sort- was pulled out, but before he could register any kind of relief when it was gone, it was plunged in again. This time he screamed, arching back, and a hand was clamped over his mouth. He tasted the salt of cold sweaty flesh but, barely able to breathe now and knowing only excruciating pain, the fact was insignificant. Then, the person behind him pulled up closely, the knife still inside him, and he pressed his face against Reid's head.

"It could have been stopped." a voice whispered. "Do you understand? It's your fault. You did this!" it snarled accusitorily, outraged and pained, hot lips and breath against his ear.

Spencer knew that voice... where?

Reid wanted to cry out, to ask what was going on, because he didn't understand, but there was only a muffled sound of agony against the hand, and the knife twisted suddenly, punishing him for his efforts. Fire exploded, engulfing every tortured nerve, and his knees went weak as he screamed despite himself. The UnSub kept him from falling by hoisting him with the knife- more blinding pain- and grabbed the back of the collar of his shirt, then he was thrust forward, over the table. The knife was taken out and Reid gasped sharply- the hand gone as he was frisked and his gun tossed away- and he heaved lungfulls of air into his shocked and shaking body.

Then he was yanked around, legs clumsily making the turn, and again he was held up only by the UnSub and the table behind him. Reid blinked, tears and darkness obstructing his vision, but something about the slender form in front of him was very familiar. Then the moonlight touched the man's melevolant face as he leaned in, and horror and regret and understanding washed Spencer in that instant, even as the face nearly touched his and pain throbbed up his back, and the hand clutching his shoulder knotted tighter in the fabric of the shirt.

"Nathan..."

He did know him; he remembered Nathan Harris like an unfinished chapter of a book, because he'd known when he'd left the young man that it wasn't over, that there would be consequences for saving his life. But he hadn't expected... Reid's heart wrenched, remembering how Nathan had come to him, pleading for help, how they'd done nothing even after he'd told them about his desires- his fantasies about killing women. They knew he'd act on them one day, but the law was clear and there was nothing that they could do but advise him to go to a clinic... And Nathan had tried to kill himself afterward to end it, to prevent those fantasies from coming to frutation.

But Reid had saved him. And, in saving him, other lives had been risked- now lost. "A serial killer targeting under-the-table prostitutes who he mutilates and stabs to death." J.J.'s report rang in his ears. It was him, and Nathan had come to Quantico to do it because he had to make them- make him- understand their liabilty. It was their fault.

His.

"Now it's going to end. But, before I go, you have to come with me. Do you understand?" Nathan declared, face pinched and red with anger and tears, self-hatred and hatred for Reid controling him as much as any sadistic compulsion, and he lunged at Reid with the knife.

Spencer automatically raised his hands in defense and, the blade tearing into his palms and bodies being thrown the next instant, the struggle for life began.

The radio blared and J.J., Prentiss, and Garcia all sang to the girly dance music, Derek cringing unhappily. Entertained by this more than anything else, the women went on, singing louder and throwing back their hair.

Reid threw himself onto Nathan, wrestling for the pocketknife with bloody hands, and they spun, crashing into things unseen in the dark. Nathan pushed him back and then lunged before Reid could recover, and the blade bore into his chest. With a cry of agony, Reid lifted his leg and kicked the attacker in the ribs, dislodging him inches and doubling him over, yet the knife remained buried. Reid grabbed for it to pull out, to stop the assualt and use it in his defense, but Nathan's hand was still on it and it was no more out than they were struggling again.

They pulled, twisted, and stumbled, strength against strength and Reid losing blood. Finally, Nathan elbowed Reid in the face and the young agent crashed on the floor. Collecting a breath and wiping his mouth, Nathan stood over him and then strode forward to turn him over and finish what he'd come here for.

Stunned, Reid barely registered when he was yanked onto his back or that Nathan was now straddling him. His eyes opened enough to see the glint of the blade in the moonlight for a split second before it descended, and then blinding hot pain in his stomach, again and again. Crying out, he reacted, throwing fists, pushing Nathan away, blocking the knife. It did little good.

Think! Remember your training! Your training! he yelled to himself, and past the adrenaline and fear and pain it finally kicked in as something else occured to him; this was his home, his territory. He knew it better than Nathan; he could use that against him.

And, in the next instant, Reid reached up, grabbing a vase above him, and brought it hurdling down on Nathan's head, glass shattering. He toppled off and Reid rolled, ignoring his body's protests, and found his feet, frantically searching for his discarded gun. Where had it landed? Where was it! Where was it!

Nathan was rising and he knew he wouldn't find it in time. He had to stall him!

"N-Nathan. I know you don't want to do this." he tried to sound calm, but his shaking voice belied the effort, and he went into profiler mode. He'd talked his way out of being killed before, he could do it again. "It's my fault that it got this far- a-and I'm sorry. We should have done something when you came to us, done more to try to help you."

Nathan was on his feet now, glaring at him as he slowly approached, apparently deeming that Reid was not a threat; he would not escape and he could not change what would happen. Nathan had already decided he would die tonight, so the only thing that mattered was bringing Reid with him. He was already close to accomplishing that goal, watching the other man sway and the dark liquid that soaked his clothes glitter in the moonlight.

Reid swallowed, gaze darting quickly around the room for his gun even as he tried to maintain reassuring eye contact with Nathan, who stalked toward him deliberately. "But, I promise you, if you let me, I'll help you now. I'll make sure of it." he coaxed.

Angry tears glistened in Nathan's eyes, young face hard as he shook his head. "It's too late for that." he responded coldly, definitely.

Reid knew then that he wasn't going to be able to talk him down. Nathan had already condemned himself for what he'd done- and Reid along with him.

"You can change-"

He never got the chance to finish the sentence as Nathan- done with the conversation and with a furious growl- lunged forward and swung down with the knife, cutting across Reid's throat. Spencer spun at the contact, shocked and panicked for a moment that his cartirode artery had been severed, but realized an instant later as he clutched his neck that there wasn't enough blood. There was no time for relief to set in, however, and he was pulled back to face Nathan.

The knife came down but Spencer caught his arm, stopping him, and they battled for dominance. Nathan had the advantage that Reid was pinned against a wall until Reid used it to push off and send them staggering backward, pinwheeling Nathan around. Every part of his body hurt so much, the room was spinning, it was hard to breathe... but Spencer couldn't think about any of that right now. He had to survive, had to stop Nathan.

The knife lowered and turned in as the struggle continued and Reid began to win against all odds. Straining, at last the blade found home in Nathan's waist as Reid used all of his strength. The younger man growled in anger and pain but hadn't given up. Instead, he fought more vehemently and, with a wild spin, threw the agent off, leaving the knife embeded in his stomach. Pulling it out as Spencer landed on the carpet, he breathed heavily, pushing back the fiery pain.

Groaning, Spencer forced his eyes to open, groggy and blurry, but desperation driving him on, and he looked over his shoulder to see Nathan preparing for another attack. He had to get away...

Clammering to his feet with what seemed like the last of his energy, Reid ran, trying to escape, stumbling toward the bedroom. Nathan's heavy, fast steps followed him and Spencer made it inside but couldn't get the door closed before he was tackled. Both men landed on the bed, Reid trembling and heart pounding as, absently, the reality he was dying entered the back of his mind with an absurd clarity and calm.

Mom... I didn't get to say good-bye.

It was his lone registered regret as he fought with Nathan, the blade coming at him again and again...

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"My first wife made a lasagna to die for!" Rossi shared, the road still passing in darkness as they continued their drive to the resturaunt. It would be a few more minutes yet, but no one really minded. "Three layers of ricotta cheese, spinach, and a meat sauce that was out of this world! I tell ya, there was nothing like coming home to the smell of her cooking." he recounted.

Hotch smiled with a laugh. "Haley wasn't big on cooking. But she had a way of lighting up the room and making everything from the day wash away..." he reciprocated fondly.

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Bolting as he got free, blood running from the corner of his mouth, this time it was his own feet that brought Reid down, tripping in the living room when his legs failed to coordinate. He gasped as he landed, the impact jarring his wounds, and tears slid from his tightly shut eyes, one arm underneath his body. Nathan, sporting enough wounds of his own to make him weak but no less determined, slowly approached from behind, staggering a little on unsteady legs.

Reid heaved heavy, labored breaths rapidly, terror and the excruciating agony that was his body gripping him beyond controlled functioning, his lungs unable to draw enough air and burning. Then his eyes opened and lifted and, for a moment Reid didn't recognize what he saw, staring blankly at what lay right in front of him. It was his gun. Disbelief flooded him but, knowing he had to act as Nathan closed in and readied for what would be his final assault, Reid reached out with the arm underneath him, grabbing it, and whirled around. His finger tightened on the trigger, firing before he saw Nathan or Nathan saw the gun, and he didn't stop. His attacker looming over him jerked back with each impact until the clip was empty.

Please, let it be enough...

Reid didn't know how many had hit or where or if he'd hit anything vital and, knowing he was out of options and with no way out if Nathan came back charging at him, he stared in rapt apprehension as the young man- still just a kid- staggered backward, then stood still for a moment in the pale half-light of the moon, shocked. Nathan's eyes rose from his chest and locked with Spencer's for a breathless eternity- attacker and victim, unsub and agent, troubled teen and mentor... then Nathan crumpled to the floor in a heap.

Shaking, Reid stared at his still form for a moment, half expecting him to get back up. But he didn't. You need to get help, he reminded himself, ordering himself to action. He moved, sloppily and slowly, unable to breathe properly- one of his lungs must have been collapsed by a nick- and made it to his feet. Almost immediately he fell back down. His body spasmed, curling on the floor with tight waves of pain arching through him. But he fought it back with raw determination; as much as he wanted to just sink into the numb darkness beckoning him, he knew he couldn't or else he'd die.

Blinking back tears and with a great effort, he pulled himself back up, shaking, and stumbled his way to the bedroom, clutching everything in his path to hold him upright and leaning on the walls. He didn't know where his cell had gone- it was lost somewhere in the fight- but he had a land phone by his bed. He clung to the doorframe, trembling from exertion and heart racing, then gathered himself to lurch to the bed, half-falling on it when his legs buckled as anticipated. He crawled, clinging to the sheets, around the side of the matress, hoping he'd picked the right way. He reached out, feeling for the lamp table.

A wave of relief hit him as his hand made uncordinated contact with the corner, and he searched for the phone, finding it after a floundering moment. The darkness washed around him, behind his eyes, creeping over him inside- he hated the dark!- and he shivered. Spencer couldn't see the numbers, didn't have the energy to even open his eyes, and could barely remember what it was he was doing. Something important... call someone... His fingers pressed blindly on the buttons, managing to hit a speed dial, but then the phone fell from his numb grasp, unable to hold out any longer.

It hurt... It hurt so bad... Reid couldn't breathe, gasping, but his chest was tight and it tore his lungs every time he tried to fill them, and it took so much effort and he never got what he needed... He was so tired... he couldn't think... what was happening? He couldn't remember... he didn't know. Just that it hurt, and it was dark. Terrible darkness and pain.

Clutching the sheets, the last functioning part of his brain pulled them to his chest- trying to stem the bleeding- as he slid sidewise onto the floor, Spencer unable to hold himself up any longer, his strength gone. And he shivered as the darkness came for him.