A/N: I'm so sorry for lapsing in updates. Semester ended, I got pancreatitis, and my laptop broke D: I'm also looking for someone interested in making a "cover" photo for this story, so DM me (: Several things about this chapter: I know BMI is inaccurate as hell but it is still the most common tool used for weight proportions so I went with it.

William Reid woke with a dull ache in his forehead. He rolled over. Shuddering at the sight, he leaned over to push the nearest corpse away. The cold staring eyes of the accountant at his firm stared at him, filled with fear and shocked. William grunted. Kevin, was his name? He couldn't care enough to remember. He shifted into a sitting position. The cops were hot on his trail, he had to get out of Nevada and he had to do it quickly. I'll be out of here by next week. Just need to go take care of that failure of a wife. Then the boy. He grunted, righting himself. His vision cleared and his hand shook, a bottle of whiskey making soft swishing noises. He knocked back several shots worth, before smashing the bottle against the wall. He looked at the bodies on the floor, blood seeping into the ivory carpet. William tip-toed closer to the body sprawled on the floor. Gingerly, he used his foot to roll the second person onto their back. A flicker of remorse reverberated through him. He was met with the scared face of the wife, her hair unkempt and the surprise still in her eyes. He grinned bitterly. Everything comes with a cost, he thought. He rummaged through the refrigerator, shoving some cheese and crackers into his pockets. He opened the cabinets, eyes immediately drawn to the Smirnoff. Pocketing it, he drifted out the back door. He shivered. He was only ten miles out from Bennington. He would rest tonight, and tomorrow, take care of business.

Spencer stared at the linoleum. His leg was outright, still in a cast, with a large sock covering it. His other leg dangled, barely meeting the footrest. He was wearing a new pair of track pants that snapped down the leg- which helped accommodate his cast. They were sitting in the waiting room of Children's National Medical Center. It had been a little over a month since Spencer was found, beaten and bleeding in his own backyard. Spencer was meeting with his new primary provider, who would then give a referral to a new psychiatrist, dietitian, whatever Spencer may need. The small boy picked nervously at the hem of his shirt. His hair, freshly cut, was slicked back. He turned his head tentatively, to face his new father. "Dad," he whispered, reaching out his encased arm to tap Hotch tentatively.

Hotch looked down. "Yeah Spencer?"

"I'm scared," the smaller boy admitted reluctantly.

"Would you like for me to come in with you?" Hotch offered, smoothing Spencer's hair.

Spencer nodded. "Sir. Is she going to ask me about my father?" he asked.

Hotch chewed on his lower lip pensively, trying to formulate the most appropriate and least intimidating answer. "Well kiddo, she might. But you don't have to answer if you don't want to. I just want to make sure you're healthy and that the doctor knows everything she needs to."

Spencer smiled softly. The receptionist was sitting several feet away, busying herself with paperwork. Several minutes passed and she looked up, using her index finger to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Spencer John Reid?" she called out, scanning the room.

Hotch rose to his feet and moved behind Spencer's wheelchair. "We're right here, miss," he smiled, pushing Spencer towards the reception desk.

The receptionist gestured to a nurse at the end of the hall, who was smiling at Spencer kindly. "Hi Spencer, I'm Andi, I'm going to be your nurse today. We're gonna stop in the hall so we can weigh and measure you. Are you able to stand on one foot?" she asked.

Spencer bit his lip timidly. "Y's ma'm," he whispered, knuckles gripping the armrests of his wheelchair.

Hotch looked at his new son sadly. He had been hoping Spencer would slowly start getting accustomed to other adults, but apparently this would take more time. He rushed to Spencer's side, lifting him gently from his chair while the nurse wheeled it out of the way. Spencer wobbled a little, but stood straight against the wall. The nurse brought down the measuring tape and smiled. "He's growing really well, he's a quarter inch taller than he was back in Summerlin."

Spencer grinned widely. "That's good, right dad?" he asked, looking at Hotch hopefully.

Hotch reached out and ruffled his hair fondly. "That's excellent buddy."

The nurse extended her arms to move Spencer back into his chair but he recoiled quickly. Hotch moved in swiftly, carrying Spencer back to his wheelchair. "I'm sorry, he's still pretty shy around strangers," he said apologetically.

The nurse shook her head, dismissing Hotch's apology. "It's alright. We have a special scale to weigh Spencer so he doesn't have to stand on his good leg for too long."

Hotch wheeled Spencer onto the scale dutifully. Nurse Andi fiddled with the settings before scribbling down a number. "I see that even without a dietitian, his weight is much better too. He's still extremely underweight but not nearly as bad as the records we received. His BMI went up from a 12.5 to a 15.5."

Hotch smiled again, pleased with both Spencer and himself. "The average is around 20, correct?"

Andi nodded and smiled. She led them down a hallway before pulling them into an exam room. Fluorescent lights glared and the room smelled faintly of rubbing alcohol. An exam table sat kitty corner to a desk with a computer. "Mr. Hotchner, if you could please help Spencer onto the exam table so I can take his vitals?" she asked politely.

Aaron obliged, seating Spencer on the paper covered tableau. His feet dangled and he clicked the heels of his shoes together several times to fight the nerves rising in his stomach. Andi wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Spencer's arm and put her two fingers on the inside of Spencer's wrist. She pressed a button. Spencer winced slightly as the cuff inflated. A minute or so later, two numbers flashed as the machine beeped. She hummed softly as she removed the contraption from Spencer's skinny arm. "His blood pressure is slightly high, 130/85, but this is most likely a long term effect from the malnutrition. Temperature and pulse are both fine, so I'll go get Dr. Santiago. It shouldn't be long." Andi beamed as she pulled the blood pressure machine out into the hall, closing the door behind her.

Spencer and Hotch settled into the comfortable silence. Five minutes passed before a soft knock on their door was heard. "Come on in," Hotch called out.

The door opened slowly, revealing a woman with messy dark hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. "Hi, I'm Dr. Amy Santiago," she said cheerfully, reaching over to the hand sanitizer. "You must be Spencer."

Spencer nodded timidly. "Hullo doctor."

"And you must be his father. You called earlier to let me know about the special circumstances your son is in," Dr. Santiago reached over to shake Hotch's outstretched hand. She swiveled in her chair to scan the laptop on the desk. "Ok, so vitals are fairly good. Let's see if putting on a few more pounds helps your blood pressure go down. Your ankle was broken pretty badly, and you've been in this cast about four weeks. In another two weeks I think we'll have you transfer over to a walking cast so your muscles don't atrophy. Do you know what that means Spencer?" she asked kindly, without condescension.

Spencer gave her a quick nod and a small smile. "Yes ma'm. Atrophy is when the muscle wastes away cause the cells aren't being used."

"Your father mentioned you were bright," she praised him warmly, squeezing his shoulder. "Your wrist should be good enough to come out of the cast, but I want you to be very gentle with the return to normal activities, like playing and daily routine activities. Your clavicle should be healed by now, so we're going to take off your sling today, and your splints. Does that sound alright? How are you feeling?"

"That sounds amenable ma'm. I feel much better ever since Agent Hotchner came to help. I don't hurt in my bones anymore and he feeds me every day," Spencer said, obviously pleased with this new development in his life.

Dr. Santiago smiled sadly. "That's wonderful, Spencer. May I listen to your heart and lungs?"

"Yes ma'm," Spencer said dutifully, leaning forward slightly. He flinched at the cold touch of the stethoscope.

"Alright, your lungs sound good, no more fluid in them, and your heart does as well. Everything looks good, but I'd like to do a blood draw today so we can make sure Spencer isn't lacking any key nutrients that prevent him from recovering at top speed and quality. I would also like to take out those stitches. Would it be alright if we removed them today?" Amy asked, gesturing to Spencer's forehead.

"That would be okay," Spencer said with acquiescent undertones.

He reached out to hold Hotch's hand, who obliged immediately. Amy smiled at the sight. "Let me go get my kit. Then we can talk about specialist referrals. I would like Spencer to see a dietitian to make sure he gets back onto the growth curve. He should also see a pediatric surgeon to get the pins removed from his ankle, or he'll outgrow them. I also understand that you've chosen a psychiatrist that you'd like to see."

"Yes, Spencer decided that he'd like to see Dr. Renaud."

Dr. Santiago nodded. "That's certainly possible. I will be right back."

Spencer turned to his father. "That was better than I thought," he exclaimed.

Hotch couldn't help but smile warmly at his son. "I'm proud of you kiddo," he praised Spencer, squeezing his hand. "What would you like for lunch? Would you like to go out or go home and make something?"

Hotch had been doing reading about abused kids and he discovered that open ended questions often seemed like tricks to children of abuse, and it was always better to give them options, to ensure them that they were not being manipulated into expressing a want that could be denied. Spencer tilted his head thoughtfully. "Are we still going over to Uncle Dave's?" he asked.

"That's right, I nearly forgot. He said he was going to cook us a big meal," Hotch said, checking his watch. "Actually, by the time we get out of here, it'll be around the time we have to leave."

Spencer grinned. "That's okay."

Amy walked back in, carrying a small basket with her. She pulled the chair up to the exam table. "I'm going to use some numbing cream on your forehead then i'm going to cut the ends of your stitches and gently pull them out, does that sound alright? Then I'm going to cut your cast off. It'll be loud, but I promise I won't hurt you."

Spencer nodded obligingly. Amy smiled at him warmly, gently reaching out to rub the analgesic across his forehead. She gently snipped out the stitches, chatting amicably with Hotch. She then griped the scissors, cutting into the cast slowly. "I'm going to have to use the saw now Spencer," she said, showing him the small tool she was about to use.

The noise pierced the air and Spencer winced. "There. You're all done. Now let me send out those referrals and you should be able to be on your way. Please stop by the lab downstairs so we can get that blood analysis. We'll call you in 4-6 days with the results."

Spencer smiled. "Thank you doctor," he said, reaching out for Hotch to place him back into his wheelchair.

"Please schedule something with Lee at the front desk to get your leg cast removed in two weeks," she said with a wide smile.

Spencer reciprocated. Hotch pushed them out towards the reception area. While he was busy scheduling the new appointments, Amy leaned down. "Spencer, I know you're a very smart boy. But I don't think I've ever met an 8 year old who didn't want a lollipop."

Spencer smiled shyly and took the outstretched sweet. He looked up at his father and waited patiently for him to stop talking to the receptionist. When Hotch finished, he looked down. "Dad can I have this?" Spencer asked.

Hotch looked at his son fondly. "Of course kiddo. It's a half hour drive to Uncle Dave's and one lollipop isn't going to ruin your appetite."

Spencer grinned, delicately removing the wrapper before sticking the sucker into his mouth. Hotch bid the medical team goodbye before wheeling Spencer to the exit. Right before leaving the hospital, Hotch's phone buzzed.

Barnett Harding exhaled loudly. His desk looked something of a ransacked room, papers everywhere, his phone hidden and his computer screen obfuscated with scribbled-on Post-Its. The last sighting of William Reid had everyone in panic, flocking to different parts of Vegas. Harding had submitted a request to the FBI to put Reid on their Most Wanted list, and was on a decent sized waiting list. This morning, local police were called out to the home of Kevin Andersen, an accountant on payroll at Reid's law firm. The teacher of his son called earlier when their son did not show up for class. His wife, Khorye, was found facedown in the kitchen, shot twice, and their son Nicholas, in the living room. Nicholas was the only survivor, and possible witness of Reid's rampage. Their home was ransacked. Police were posted at Bennington, to protect his ex wife. They would find him. Barnett extracted his cellphone from his pants pocket. "Hi. Agent Hotchner? No, no we haven't caught him yet, I'm sorry. How is the little man? Thats great, I'm so glad he's feeling better. We just have an update. We found the bodies of Reid's accountant, Kevin Andersen, and his wife earlier this morning. Their son, Nicholas, was unharmed and found asleep upstairs. Nicholas was deaf, and we're waiting on an interpreter to see if he saw anything at all last night. Do you mind asking Spencer if they knew each other? I'm so sorry, we are doing our very best to find William, I've got dozens of men logging overtime looking for him and we will continue doing so until he's found and put behind bars."

Hotch sighed. "Thank you Detective. Yes, yes I'll be sure to tell him. Have a good evening."

Hanging up the phone, he swiveled Spencer's chair around. "Buddy, I just got a call from Detective Harding."

Spencer widened his eyes. "Did they find my father?" he asked hopefully.

Hotch bit his lip. "I- no. Not yet buddy. But he's going to, I promise you. He uh, wanted me to ask you something. About a little boy named Nicholas?"

Spencer's brow furrowed. "Nick Andersen? When I was little, when momma was home, we would play together. He didn't sign that well back then, but now he's probably better. He's deaf, you know?"

Hotch chuckled. "Detective Harding told me. You know sign language?"

Spencer nodded eagerly. "Mom taught me when I was really little. Nick was always really nic, but he really liked video games, so we didn't have much in common. He always let me watch though."

Smiling sadly, Hotch cleared his throat. "Spencer. I'm sorry. But Mr. and Mrs. Andersen were found this morning," he began. Spencer's mouth opened, but Hotch hurriedly said, "Nick was found. He was okay. We just want to make sure you're safe."

Spencer nodded, crestfallen. "This is my fault."

Hotch clutched Spencer's hand tightly. "No. Never. It's not your fault. It's your father's. Please believe me," he pleaded.

Spencer sniffed, using his now free arm to wipe his nose. "Y-yes sir," he said miserably.

Hotch pulled Spencer close to him, squeezing him tightly, hoping to convey all the support and understanding he had through his embrace. "Would you like to go to Uncle Dave's now?" he asked gently.

"Yes please," Spencer said mournfully.

Hotch guided the wheelchair out of the hospital in silence. Loading Spencer and the chair into the car, the couple drove away in silence. Hotch glanced in the rear-view mirror. "Hey, would you like me to play one of the books on tape?" he asked Spencer, who was staring distantly out the window.

Spencer looked at his father briefly. "Yes please," he said softly.

Hotch pulled over, and opened the CD case for Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. "All I have is Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets from an afternoon with Henry a while ago, is that okay?"

Spencer nodded, still staring off, mind distracted. The car revved along a country road, and Spencer found that his eyes were very heavy. It couldn't help to close them, just for a second, he thought to himself, letting gravity take over. Hotch smiled from the front seat as he saw his son's eyes flutter shut. The car continued to move along in a peaceful lull accompanied by Jim Dale's low English accent floating to the backseat. Hotch pulled into Rossi's driveway, car bumping softly over gravel. He twisted backwards to tell Spencer they've reached their destination, but the young boy's eyes were already opening slowly. Spencer straightened his head sleepily. "Are we here daddy?" he asked.

Hotch smiled warmly. "Yeah Spence. Let me get your wheelchair and we can go in."

Spencer stared up at the mansion. It was probably twice as large as his house was, and a good size larger than his new home here in Washington, D.C. He suddenly felt very nervous. Playing with the hem of his shirt, he allowed Hotch to lift him into his wheelchair. The chair's wheels turned over gravel, crunching loudly. Spencer craned his neck in search of the end of the voluminous property. Hotch wheeled Spencer up the concrete driveway and shifted the chair onto the porch step. Hotch pressed the doorbell, and several seconds later, Rossi opened the door with a wide grin splitting across his face. "Aaron," he said pleasantly, reaching forward to give Hotch's hand a hearty shake.

Spencer gazed up at Rossi, tentative fear flickering in his grey eyes. "Hi Spencer. Do you remember me? I'm your Uncle Dave," he said gently, outstretching his hand for Spencer to take.

Spencer hesitantly took Rossi's hand, grasping it lightly and shaking it. "H'lo Uncle Dave," he said softly.

Rossi led them into his home, past a grandiose living room and into a shiny, elaborate kitchen. "I'm making spaghetti marinara with Sicilian cheesecake for dessert. We also have a house salad as well."

The dining room was just beyond the kitchen, and Rossi hurried over, moving a chair to accommodate Spencer. Hotch sat down beside him. "The food looks great Dave," he said warmly.

"It looks really good," Spencer added, smiling bashfully.

Rossi smiled back at him. He took his seat at the head of the table, passing Hotch the large bowl of salad. "Well why don't we start?"

The three ate in a happy silence, Spencer still waiting tentatively the first few minutes, waiting to be rebuked or refused. When Hotch did the exact opposite, rather, by encouraging Spencer to take more food, the boy relaxed and began to settle into his surroundings. He began actively engaging in the conversation, telling Dave about his favorite books and his favorite games to play. "But I really like to think about Oliver Sacks. I liked a lot of his case studies. The human brain is always so interesting to think about," he said happily, clumsily shoveling spaghetti into his mouth.

Rossi chuckled. "That certainly is true Spencer," he commented, watching the boy fumble clumsily with his fork and knife. "Did you get your cast off today son?"

Spencer nodded vigorously. "Yes sir! It was super scary. Even though I knew it wasn't gonna hurt, I was scared, but Father was there and he let me hold his hand. The saw they use can't actually cut skin, you know, it's the vibrations that break the cast open."

"I actually didn't know that one," Rossi commented thoughtfully. He watched as Spencer set down his fork and knife carefully, folding his hands and looking at his father expectantly. Hotch smiled at his son and pushed his plate forward. "Spencer would you like some more?" Dave asked.

Spencer shook his head. "No thank you sir, I'm about full," he said.

Rossi's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Too full for dessert?"

Spencer's eyes lit up. He looked at Hotch immediately. "Dad, can I have some dessert please?" he asked.

Hotch nodded in amusement. "Of course, but only one piece, I don't want you to be up all night. We have that interview with one of the schools tomorrow, don't forget."

Spencer looked at Hotch seriously. "I could never forget," he said, nearly scandalized.

Rossi passed Spencer a plate of cheesecake and watched the boy devour it in record time. Hotch leaned over and ruffled his hair, a smile settling on his face. Rossi smiled too. He had seen his friend happy before, of course, but nothing like this.

Nothing at all like this.

A/N: I'm splitting up the dinner into 2 chapters because this is getting a bit long. I'm sorry if this seems like a lot of filler but I promise you it's building to something. Also, something else to look out for: I'm writing a Law and Order SVU/Brooklyn 99 crossover in the style of How I Met Your Mother~