It's okay I promise I'm not starting another ridiculously long fic with no consideration for my other in-progress works it's just a three or four-shot I promise!

PS pretend it's season six and JJ is there because I live for Spencer Reid's hair in Season six.

Anyways. I hope you enjoy!

"A home isn't always the house we live in. It's also the people we choose to surround ourselves with…Your bubble, Mr. Baker, it's been popped. Why would you allow it to grow around you again?" – T.J. Klune, The House in the Cerulean Sea

It's never been explicitly stated, but it didn't have to be—Reid has always been aware of his role in the BAU family.

It's hard for any of them not to see how they fit in. Everyone quickly fell into their roles, and they supported each other in those roles to the best of their abilities. Reid has never had what one might call a traditional family, but the BAU more than makes up for it.

Hotch, the strict father with bottomless reservoirs of genuine concern and brief spurts of honest humor. The one that Reid knows he can go to with any problem, no matter the severity. His own father was less than stellar, and Gideon, despite his reasons, abandoned him just the same. Reid knows in his heart that Hotch will never do that, and it's more comforting than he will ever be able to express.

Rossi, the comical grandfather with enough love and advice to stock ten motivational speakers for life. His humorous encouragement and teasing makes Reid feel welcomed and appreciated, and his serious talks and support pop up when Reid needs them the most. Reid never really knew his grandparents, so the change is nice.

Morgan, the protective older brother, perhaps his best friend, besides JJ. He and Morgan had gotten off to a somewhat rocky start—they'd been pleasant, and professional, but Morgan had been understandably dubious about a twenty-one-year old pipe cleaner joining the BAU. Over time, though, their relationship evolved from professional courtesy to nicknames and jokes, and Morgan eventually started calling him "pretty boy" and "kid" and, every once in a while, put up with his rambling statistics and uncontrollable excitement about some nerdy science-fiction fandom. Reid began to see him as the older brother he never had, and he's eternally grateful for Morgan's strength and kindness.

Emily, the equally protective and sarcastic older sister, whose own trauma in no way limits the support she gives others. Unlike he and Morgan, who had comparatively quickly evolved to friends and brothers, Reid and Emily didn't start off well, and he knows it's his fault. He knows that he'd been suffering severe withdrawal symptoms and the drug addiction was heightening his anger, and she was just trying to help. Any time he remembered how he'd treated her in the beginning, a pit of guilt pooled in his stomach, but he was glad that they were past it now. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that no matter how they'd started out, she'd be there if he needed her.

JJ, one of his dearest friends and undoubtedly the mother of the group. Reid adores his mother, and will always love her and care for her, but Reid had been the parent in their house since he was eight years old, when his father began distancing himself. While JJ is first and foremost a friend, she also loves him and worries for him and cares for him the way a mother might. She calls on his vacation and, after their conversations, confirms that he's eating more than just coffee. She pesters him to get some sun once in a while, and to live a little, instead of reading so many books.

And Garcia, the bubbly, exuberant aunt / friend who never has a shortage of heartfelt affirmations or intense care. Reid can honestly say he'd never had anyone worry quite so much about him as Garcia had, and he doesn't hate the change. Her colorful personality and her flamboyant love and care are a sharp contrast to his simple, earth-tone style, but he finds her presence comforting. Any time he needs anything, he knows exactly what hacker to call.

And of course, Reid knows his role.

He's the baby, the kid. The one that everyone feels protective of. The one with a broken past and fluctuating emotions that he tries to keep behind solid steel walls of intelligence that often fail him. The one with a lifetime of unaddressed trauma and undiagnosed autism and the solid intention of leaving it buried. And the others know that, and accept that, and support him despite it.

No one's ever said it, of course. No one's ever said that any of them are who they are in their dysfunctional family. It's in their actions. What they do.

It's the way he's never allowed to go into a raid first, tucked protectively behind Morgan or Hotch or Emily or Rossi or JJ. It's the way that, when he's hurt, everyone's unconscious instinct is to reach for him as he stumbles. It's the fact that on the plane rides home, after long cases when everyone is asleep, everyone always lets him have the couch. It's the way he's always relegated to the backseat in good humor. It's the way they tease him and call him names, but immediately shut down the locals who inevitably underestimate him and do the same thing.

It's the way Hotch gives him quiet words of commendation and private, proud smiles that his father never bothered with. It's the way Rossi will pat his shoulder or play a quiet game of chess when Reid's feeling particularly down. It's the way Morgan calls him "pretty boy" or "kid," and somehow knows what he's thinking before he does.

It's the way Garcia says she loves him and gives him affection without any reservation, whenever he needs to hear it. It's the way JJ mothers him and trusts him with her child, her world, and how she's always there when he needs to talk. It's the way Emily, even with all her compartmentalization, is always on standby for a word of encouragement or advice.

He knows he's loved. He really does. They show it in everything they do.

Unfortunately, they're not the only ones in the world who know how to profile. This unsub managed to pick up on the exact same thing, and Reid's paying for it now.

…

The unsub they'd been looking for had been a sadist living as an egotistical god-figure in his own mind, and wanted nothing more than everyone to revere him for his fictional status. He tried to make this so by bombing different locations to inspire fear and awe. The bombs were designed not only to kill, but to injure as many people as possible. They profiled that the bomber would be watching the chaos and confusion, reveling in it.

The team had been closing in—or at least, they thought they were—when the unsub struck again, this time just outside the police station. Reid and JJ had been on their way to the Medical Examiner's office to follow up on a discrepancy in one of the victim's files that might lead to a break in the case. They'd just exited the doors when the SUV they were heading towards exploded.

The shockwave had cracked the pavement and thrown he and JJ off their feet and into the brick wall just behind them. Reid's world had blinked out, sluggishly fading back into focus as the sights and sounds and smells overwhelmed his brain.

His first thought had been to check on JJ, but he couldn't get his bearing. Where had she been when the bomb went off…? She'd been eleven inches to his left. But where was he now?

He blinked, slowly becoming aware of the shouting surrounding him, the panicked screams of onlookers and the incessant shouts of police officers pouring out of the station.

He felt hands slide under his shoulders, dragging his pliant body away from the burning wreckage, and weakly resisted. He had to find JJ. He—

"Sh, sh," a voice said softly, the world darkening around him. He'd thought maybe it was Morgan dragging him away, but—but the hands were rough and tight, and Morgan was never this aggressive. "Just sleep."

Reid was absolutely not planning on listening to the man's instructions, but there was a prick in his neck, a distant flare of panic at the thought of being drugged again…and then nothing.

…

Reid wakes, and instantly regrets it.

His head is throbbing, and no migraine he's ever had can compare to the initial pulsating pain in his temples. That's got to be a nasty concussion. He didn't know where he was, what he was doing, or how he'd been hurt. Even with the concussion, his fact-stocked brain retrieves the information on head injuries, and he surmised that with the confusion and loss of consciousness, he had at least a moderate concussion.

He reaches up to rub his head, his confusion escalating when he realizes he can't move his hands.

"You with me?"

Reid glances in the direction of the voice, squinting against the glaring bulb illuminating the otherwise dark space. The space makes even his messy apartment look immaculate. Cluttered benches and tables take up almost every inch of the space, covered in blueprints and schematics and loose nails and bolts.

Reid's eyes widen when he catches sight of the man's face, and his brain instantly recalibrates.

"You," he says, looking at the man he'd interviewed just the day before. Joshua Matthews. "But…"

He'd been a suspect because of his previous work with chemical waste products and his advanced knowledge of chemistry, but he didn't fit the profile at all. He and Morgan had been sure he wasn't the unsub—his reactions to the devastation were too organic, too…too normal.

The man smirks from his workbench, turning fully to face the injured doctor. "I'm what some call a 'high-functioning sociopath', Dr. Reid. I assume you know what that is. Given my environment as a child, you should have surmised that I would be very good at hiding my emotions." Reid recalls that he'd been the victim of terrible physical and emotional abuse, but their profile had surmised that the unsub had lived a life of privilege and had recently suffered a loss that rewrote his place in the world.

Reid had known something was bothering him about the profile, but he didn't know what. It all makes sense now.

Matthews inclines his head in a gesture of mock acknowledgement. "Unfortunately, your splendid brain failed you this time."

Reid's undeniably flustered by the jab, but he knows now isn't the time to lose his head. "You're right. You got me. You're brilliant, Mr. Matthews."

Mr. Matthews smirks. "I know. Unfortunately for you, I also know you're trying to ingratiate yourself to me. As soon as I found out the BAU was working on my case…well, I was flattered, to be honest. Quite humbled."

Reid highly doubts that.

"Anyways, I did some research, and I read many an article about you profilers." Matthews stands, and Reid can't suppress a flinch as the man advances on him.

Reid can't move; his hands are tightly bound with a ziptie to a half-ring bolted to the ground in front of him. All he can do is tug at the tie in a half-hearted hope of escape, and the position is far too similar to Hankel's shed for him to remain calm.

"It's a fascinating profession," he says, sitting down in front of Reid, the way two friends may have a talk. Reid is unnerved by the utter normalcy in the man's movements. "I know it's mainly intellectual guesswork, but…your unit has a very impressive success rate. I think it's very intriguing how you so easily trust a profile based on pure conjecture."

Reid bristles, but forces himself to remain cordial. "Profiling is about much more than conjecture. We take the patterns of an unsub's psychological and behavioral history and use it—"

Reid doesn't even see the hit coming. One second, he's reciting an overview of his profession out of one of his Quantico textbooks, and the next, he's trying to regain his balance as he's sent reeling to the side.

His cheekbone aches, the hinge of his jaw spasming in pain, and he feels blood slither from his left nostril and drip onto his cardigan. He rights himself, carefully avoiding Matthews' eyes.

"I just told you I'd done some research. I don't need you to lecture me."

Reid nods. "Right. I'm sorry. You probably know more than me, anyhow." It's overselling it a little, but nervousness coupled with his concussion is inhibiting his ability to think rationally, and he's just trying to figure a way out of this.

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," Matthews says. "I'm sure with a bit of time and effort, though, I could outshine your unit. I'm a quick study."

I'm sure you are, Reid thinks sarcastically. He almost says so, then reminds himself that he's in the presence of a narcissistic murderer who won't hesitate to kill him.

"Why did you take me?" He asks, trying to redirect the conversation. "We weren't onto you. You were smart enough to evade us for a long time, and you knew it."

Matthews smirks again. "Well, I'm realistic, Spencer. I know that if I continue at this pace, I'll be caught. I'm going to turn myself in once I finish my last project."

Reid's eyes widen.

He's read every single book on profiling, including Rossi's. He's done hours and hours of supplementary study, has studied every single past case he could get his hands on, and he's sure that he knows more about analytical profiling than most FBI agents.

Joshua Matthews does not fit into any category he's ever studied, and it scares him. Without knowledge to draw on…he doesn't know what he's supposed to do.

"I thought that might surprise you," Matthews concedes, leaning back against one of his workbenches, looking relaxed as Reid's hands shake. "I've killed…what, twenty-six? Twenty-seven?"

"You killed twenty-nine people," Reid says with barely contained contempt. His eidetic memory allows him to remember every detail of each of their faces, every aspect of their lives. The thought that this monster in front of him can't even remember the number of lives he's stolen, when Reid remembers them all in excruciating detail, is infuriating. "Three of them were children."

Matthews just laughs at Reid's hatred. "Right, right. Twenty-nine. Well…" He shrugged. "I'm bored, Spencer. I thought maybe I'd have a challenge with law enforcement, but…you've disappointed me. I'm done with this game, so I made a new one."

Reid's brain is working overtime. "What game do you need me for?"

He smiles, shrugging. "You're the profiler. You tell me."

Reid narrows his eyes, his mind shuddering under the possibilities before he stops thinking, letting his instincts take over. "You're bored, but you're also narcissistic, and egotistical. You think that even if you turn yourself in, you'll be able to escape, from the station or from prison. You wouldn't turn yourself in, though, if it wasn't a fundamental part of the game." He pauses, the pieces coming together in his mind, his heart stuttering at the thought. "Of…of your finale."

"Keep going," Matthews says. "You're doing wonderfully."

Reid does, barely hearing him. "After everything you've done, the finale would have to be something big, and extravagant, and very, very public. It would need to be seen by hundreds of people to satisfy you. And if you took me…instead of just someone off the street…you want law enforcement, specifically the BAU, to be affected by it. Local law enforcement hasn't been very helpful, so you're focusing on us, because we have the best means of catching you."

Matthews grins, laughing under his breath, and Reid flinches. "You're very good. Now let me do a little profiling."

Reid can only gasp in surprise as suddenly Matthews is gripping his throat, shoving him down to the ground and looming over him, just like Hankel. Reid's wrists scream in pain as the tie won't give and his skin is split, but he can't focus on anything past his need to breathe.

"The BAU is comprised of the six of you and a technical analyst," he says, his fingers pressing into Reid's throat as he writhes, gasping for air that won't come. "I've been watching you, and I've seen how you treat each other. You're much more than a team. You're a family, and I find that…just…so interesting! With all the blood and violence you see every day, I would've thought you'd distance yourselves from each other, but the relationships are fascinating. And you're right at the center!"

Stars and nebulas are bursting in Reid's eyes, and the words are barely reaching him through a hazy bubble, but he hears enough for his heart to skip several beats. He wants to yell, to scream at this sadistic, unpredictable madman to stay away from his team, but he can't breathe.

"Hotchner, the fearless leader. He's got a soft spot for you. Rossi, the wise old man, does, too. And don't even get me started on Morgan, the self-proclaimed protector. He did a bang-up job of that, didn't he?"

Reid's wheezes echo in the thin air even as his terror spikes.

"Jareau's a beauty. You two seem close. But she has a wedding ring, and you don't…sly homewrecker, kiddo," he says with a wink. Reid bucks feebly, his eyelids fluttering. "Then there's Prentiss. She's a headstrong one. She barely let one of the officers look at you when he started getting aggressive at the crime scene. And I assume your tech analyst is the same way."

Finally, finally, the hold on Reid's throat loosens just enough for him to breathe, and he inhales like a fish out of water, coughing violently under this madman's shadow. Matthews doesn't release his neck, just relaxes his hand, though, and Reid is stiff as a board with tension. He can't even raise his hands to rub his throat or defend himself.

"They all love you, Spencer. So how do you think your team's going to fare when, even though I've turned myself in, given them hints, and presented to them all the information they need to solve the puzzle…they can't find you in time, and you die?"

Reid's heart hammers in fear, his heavy breaths overshadowing the grating silence hung by the words.

"Of course, you can avoid that," Matthews consoles, his voice dropping to an almost sympathetic tone. Reid knows now how he's avoided detection—the man's ability to recreate emotions is stunning, and he's utterly terrified of him because of it. "You have the option. I have a bomb ready for your fancy jet. It will fit quite nicely in the luggage compartment, and I promise, no one will be the wiser. It will take a long time, but eventually, they'll leave without finding you, and they'll die in a glorious explosion on the runway. Of course, I'll let you go afterwards, but you won't find me."

Reid swallows, his eyes squeezing closed involuntarily as he shudders, the hand tightening just enough to remind Reid who's in charge. The thought of the only people he can rely on and the family he loves dying because of his choices is absolutely staggering, and he thinks his heart might give out. "Please—"

He can't finish. Matthews smiles. "What's your decision?"

It's not a decision at all. Just as he had in Hankel's shed so many years ago, his answer is immediate. "Kill me."

Matthews smiles, patting Reid's cheek with his free hand. "Thought so."

Reid feels a hot tear slip from his eye, and hates himself just a little bit more.

"Ah, none of that," he says, finally releasing Reid and returning to his bench, leaving Reid to pant on the ground, blood dripping from his wrists and fingertips and nose. "It's unbecoming of an FBI agent. Don't worry, it's going to be…well, Dr. Reid, your finale is going to be magnificent."

Reid closes his eyes and prays that his demise won't be his family's undoing.

…

Matthews is a sadist, but he's also very intelligent, and Reid sees no way out of the current situation.

Matthews had knocked him unconscious not long after having made his decision, and when he wakes up, he's already in the midst of the finale. He wants to be quite literally anywhere else.

He finds, for a panicked moment, that breathing is quite difficult until a hand scoops under his jaw and raises his lolling head, and Reid has trouble getting his bearings as the world blinks back into focus. Matthews stands above him, and Reid's suddenly very aware of the situation.

"Finally awake?" He asks, but Reid can only blink up at him, his head swimming. The hand disappears, and Reid's head is left to loll in limbo as he looks around, the world swimming out of focus. "Just in time. I'm just about done, then I'll leave you."

Reid's other senses slam back into him, and the aches and pains come first. His hands are bound behind him with thin cord that cuts into his skin, his ankles the same, one to each chair leg. There's another thin cord wound around his chest and arms and waist, keeping him secure to the chair back. Thick leather is wrapped across his throat and he feels it snake along his back to the back of the chair, holding his head up when he can't seem to do it himself, and the pressure is panicking. He feels claustrophobic, and has to close his eyes to avoid crumbling before he can continue his observations.

He's in a dank, foul smelling room with concrete walls and very little light. In front of him is a steel door slightly ajar, and next to that lies several buckets and heaps of plastic packaging. Reid can't fathom what their for, his slow mind struggling to process the information.

"Well, I think we're all set," Matthews says from behind him, and Reid flinches, then gasps at the leather constricts around his neck at the movement, heat flaming in his face as the blood flow is stinted.

"Comfy?" Matthews asks, coming around Reid's chair. Reid hates that he can't even follow him with his head, sitting stiff and still to avoid being choked again. He ambles leisurely to a black bag against the wall, and Reid's heart leaps into his throat as he pulls out what looks like a music stand and a laptop. He opens the laptop, and after a few clicks, begins setting up the camera.

Reid's breath catches.

This can't be happening. Not again. This can't be happening again.

Reid feels his breathing pick up and his eyes widen, and despite everything he knows about panic attacks and trauma and flashbacks, there's nothing he can do to keep himself from going over the edge.

Matthews is going to make them watch, again. He's going to be hurt in front of his team again. He's—he's going to—he can't—

The slap is quick and brutal, sending him spinning and choking as the leather tightens around his neck. He sucks in a ragged breath before coughing, blinking hazily at the dim ceiling.

Matthews is frowning. "Don't freak out on me now. I haven't even gotten started."

Reid closes his eyes and tries very hard to remain in control of his faculties.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Matthews says with a shrug, setting up the tripod and diligently angling the camera right at his face, a satisfied smile stretching over his teeth as he achieves the desired picture. "All you have to do is sit there and look pretty until the…explosive conclusion."

Reid doesn't like the sound of that. Not at all.

"What are you planning?" He asks, surprised at the steadiness of his voice, though it may be a few notes too high.

"Damn. Someone really overestimated your intelligence," he says, shaking his head in disapproval. "That's…ah, here we go. See for yourself."

Reid looks at the camera screen now reflecting his image, and he watches as the blood drains from his face and straight to his toes.

He couldn't see it because he couldn't turn his neck, but behind him is an intricate bomb the size of a small car.

Reid's heart stops.

Matthews holds up a flash-drive and winks. "When I deliver myself to your team, they'll have this to access the webcam and communicate with you. They won't be able to track you through it, of course; I'm not that sloppy. I'm rooting for you guys! They need their resident genius to help them figure this out." Reid gasps in fear as his jaw is grabbed again, and his body goes rigid under the dark, crazed stare of this madman. "But I want them to watch as you slowly crumble under the weight of your fate, knowing that they're so, so close…and nowhere near enough. And as a special treat…"

Matthews grins a shark's grin. "You won't know how much time is left. It could be an hour…it could be a day…it could be right after I leave here. Every single second could be your last, Spencer. Use them wisely."

Matthews smiles. Waves. Leaves.

Reid finally cries.

A/N: Eh-heh. Uh. Yeah. WIP Number 6. Don't worry, I hate myself too. But this one should be done fairly quickly, and I wanted to get it out there! Publishing works that I like kind of gives me motivation to actually work on them, so I hope you'll bear with my sporadic update schedules.

Thanks so much, and please let me know what you thought about it! Thanks!