Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds. It's as plain and simple as that.

A/N: Oops, I started another story. When we first learned there would be an unsub targeting the team in season 8, this is what my mind came up with. And in typical fashion, it has taken me nearly a year to get the story down onto the page so to speak.

This takes place shortly after season 7 ends. Prentiss is still on the team, and nothing from season 8 has happened. It's nothing against Blake. I just don't know her well enough to write her yet.

Jennifer Jareau sluggishly opened her eyes.

It didn't seem to do her much good. All she saw were hazy blobs of blurriness, and her thoughts were of the same ilk. She was lying on her back. She knew that much. As her vision slowly came into focus, she was met with an unwelcome sight: Will's lifeless eyes staring back at her.

"Will," she croaked.

She shakily reached out to touch him, but her hand recoiled as a knife plunged into her abdomen. She groaned in pain as the knife was slowly retracted.

"You'll be fine," a voice somewhere above her said. "I haven't hit any major organs."

The pain radiated out from the wound and through her body, jolting her brain awake. Thoughts began swirling through her head. Will's dead. No, he can't be dead. Please let this be a terrible nightmare and nothing more. I only just tucked Henry in. Oh God, where's Henry?

"Relax," the voice cooed as it stabbed her again. "We have a long night ahead of us."

Spencer Reid grinned as Ethan finished his piece with a flourish.

The lounge's patrons applauded, and Ethan said "thank you" with a small bow as he stepped away from the piano.

"That was good," Reid complimented. And because they were rivals as much as they were friends, he added, "But of course I've heard better."

"Well certainly not from yourself," Ethan retorted with a playful shove.

The two left the lounge where Ethan had been guest performing for its jazz-themed week. As Reid walked Ethan to his rental car, he said, "You should visit more often."

"What would be the point? It's not as though I enjoy seeing you," Ethan joked. "Besides, you're barely here."

Reid had to concede that point, so he said, "Well, it's good to see you, man."

"You too," Ethan replied as he opened the car door. "Maybe next time I'll see you down in New Orleans."

"Maybe," Reid agreed. He waited until Ethan had settled in and started his engine before walking to his own car.

As Ethan drove by, Reid raised a hand to wave a final goodbye when Ethan's car suddenly exploded flinging the young agent backward. Dazed, he gingerly sat himself up and gaped at the burning mass that was once Ethan and his car.

Derek Morgan stared out the plane window.

He couldn't believe it. His mother was dead, killed in a car accident because some drunken idiot couldn't keep his hands on the wheel. As soon as his sister Sarah had called him, he booked a red-eye flight to Chicago.

It just wasn't right.

He'd lost his father at the tender age of nine, which left him vulnerable to being victimized as a youth. His cousin had gone missing, and he still considered it a blessing that they'd found her and brought her home. He had also found a good family with the BAU.

Things were supposed to be getting better not worse.

A pre-take off announcement reminding passengers to turn off all electronic devices sounded throughout the plane, and with a sigh Morgan turned off his phone.

Emily Prentiss struggled against the restraints.

She heard footsteps approach from behind the chair in which she sat, and she began to struggle harder.

"Well aren't you feisty," the unsub said and began tying a tube around Prentiss' arm while remaining behind her. The unsub jabbed a syringe into one of her veins, and though she couldn't see a face, Prentiss could hear a smile in the voice, "Dilaudid. I believe you are somewhat familiar with this particular drug."

"Why are you doing this?" Prentiss took the opportunity to ask whilst she still had her mental faculties intact.

Instead of answering, the unsub merely said, "I'll be back with your next fix in a bit. Enjoy."

Penelope Garcia woke with a start.

A hand was clamped around her mouth, and the weight of another body was suddenly upon her. She squirmed, trying desperately to escape, but the unsub's position was too strong. She felt a hand make its way down her pajama pants, and though she tried to scream, the most she could manage were whimpers and muted squeals. As the hand began to stroke her, she tried her best to shut down. She briefly considered trying to concentrate on details that could later identify this pig of a human being, but to focus on him was to focus on what he was doing, and she couldn't bring herself to do it. One thing was for certain: she would not react, she would not give this son of a bitch the satisfaction of that.

After the unsub finished, the sound of a gun cocking next to her ear warned her not to scream as the unsub removed its hand from her mouth and made its escape.

She had never felt so violated in her entire life, and that in and of itself felt like the understatement of the century. Trembling violently and barely holding it together, she scrambled towards her phone and speed-dialed Morgan - she couldn't bear the thought of dealing with the police at the moment - only to have the call go straight to voicemail.

"Derek... Derek Morgan, pick up the phone!" Garcia screamed into the receiver. Tears began to stream down her cheeks. "Damn it, Derek Morgan, I need you!"

David Rossi frowned as his senses returned to him.

He had not gone to sleep on a concrete slab. He was sure of that. In fact, he had spent an absurd amount of money to ensure that going to bed would never feel like that.

Sitting up, he determined he was in an abandoned warehouse of sorts. He automatically reached for his holster only to find, quite predictably, that it wasn't there. In spite of that he decided to have a look around. He turned a corner only to be impaled by a thick wooden stake. Falling to his knees, his hands immediately grasped at the object protruding from his belly.

"Don't worry," a voice comforted as he began to lose consciousness. "An ambulance will be along shortly to collect you."

Aaron Hotchner was sleeping peacefully.

But of course it didn't last. The dreaded sound of his ringtone roused him from his slumber, and he reached out a sluggish hand to grab ahold of his phone.

"Hello?" Hotch said in a well-practiced voice, sounding much more awake than he felt in case a local LEO was calling for the BAU's help.

"Is this Aaron Hotchner?"

"Yes, and to whom am I speaking?"

"Mr. Hotchner, I'm Officer Hugh Neame of the NYPD."

"And how can I help you, Officer?"

"Mr. Hotchner, I regret to inform you that your brother Sean was found dead this morning at approximately 5:30 am."

Whatever Hotch had been expecting, it wasn't that though he supposed he should've found it weird a local LEO preceded his surname with Aaron and Mr. rather than agent.

With Hotch too stunned to respond, the officer continued on, "We're currently handling this as a suicide. I understand that this is difficult news, but I have to ask. Is there anything you can tell us about your brother's mental state as of late? Were there any signs that he might commit such an act?"

"I... I don't know," Hotch finally managed. "We aren't... weren't close."

With a bored voice as though he couldn't be bothered to continue speaking to anyone who hadn't proved useful, the officer asked, "Then I assume you know nothing of his drug habit as well?"

Yet another surprise for Hotch. "What?"

"I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Hotchner. I or someone in my office will let you know if there are any new developments." And with that, the officer hung up.

Hotch stared blankly at the wall. His baby brother was dead.

Thanks for reading!