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Crutch Of A Broken Man

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He stares into the mirror, wondering if this is what his life has become. He doesn't recognize this haunted figure who stares back. The one with dark circles beneath wide eyes, long hair dangling limply around a pale face. What he does recognize is the needle marks in the crook of his elbow. The small red and purple tracks glaring back at him, almost angrily.

He can't imagine what the others might say, might think of him if they ever found out. Not that he wants them to ever know. Not if he can help it.

But somewhere in his mind, he fears they already do.


He stares off into space, trying desperately not to think of the drug that has become his life. Somewhere, vaguely he can hear someone calling his name.

"Hmm?" he answers, noncommittally. It's Morgan.

"I said, are you all right?"

"I'm fine." He glances around the rest of the cabin, to where each team mate is staring at him. "Thanks for broadcasting it," he adds, annoyed.


"What's the matter with you?" Emily stares at him, confused.

"What do you mean 'What's the matter with me?'" he stutters.

"I've never seen you act like this."

"Oh, really?" He almost laughs incredulously. "In the months that you've known me, you've never seen me act this way? Hey, no offense, Emily, but you don't really know what you're talking about, do you?" He storms off, muttering about nosy agents. He really needs a fix to calm his nerves.


A small, clear vial sits upon the counter top, its contents winking in the sunlight streaming through the bathroom window. He stares down at the bottle, hands shaking, mind racing. He doesn't want to do this. He wants to stop. But he knows that without the drug, there is nothing. It gives him peace from the horrors of the day, and keeps the nightmares at bay.

His eyes close as his fights the terrors of his mind.


Small slivers of light slip through the cracks in the walls, eerily lighting the shed. One foot is bare, stretched out before him. He wants to move away from the man clutching his ankle but restraints prevent him from moving too far. It doesn't stop his mind from turning over though.

"The Lord spoke unto Moses saying 'speak unto all of the congregation of The Children of the Lord and say unto them, you shall be holy for I the Lord your God am holy.'" he quotes, word-for-word.

"You know Leviticus?" Tobias/Charles pauses, surprised.

"Every word of the Bible. I can recite it."

"The Devil knows how to read too."

"I'm not a Devil. I'm not a Devil, I'm a man, my name is Spencer Reid. I have a mother and I have a father just like you and they taught me the Bible. Let me, let me just recite the Bible," he stumbles on, babbling.

Tobias is unforgiving. "It's time to confess, Spencer Reid."  He proceeds to hit Reid's out-stretched bare foot with the log in hand.


His eyes flash open as he breathes heavily. Sweat trickles down his face and back as he gasps from the ghostly pain he can still feel.

There were a lot of things he never meant to do. He never wanted any of this to happen. He never meant for it to last this long. He never wanted to use drugs as a crutch. But somehow, he found it was all easier with them.

With one last look at the bottle, he shuts out the rational part of his brain, slipping the needle into his arm with practiced movements. His eyes close blissfully as the drug hits his system. For a moment, all is well.

The needle falls from his arm and he realizes what he has done. Stumbling backwards, he stops only as his back hits the wall. He slides to the floor, crumpling into a heap. His body shakes with the sobs of a broken man.