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gifted-burnout-archive · 4 years

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Vices (Part One)

Word Count: 3.1K+

Author’s Note: Ok, no one asked for this, but Mothica came out with a song called Vices and it’s a bop and I wanted to write something so I came up with this. This is just a little mini thing, a three or four parter, but yeah! I don’t want to tag anyone from my other Criminal Minds stuff, but if you want to be tagged let me know!

Warning: Discussion of murder, rape, and violence, and graphic descriptions of all three. Substance abuse.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: As Dr Reid reaches three years sober, a case reaches the BAU that his old vice Dilaudid plays a key role in – the only witness to the murders is a young woman who abuses the drug to forget. Can Spencer break through to her and catch their killer before he strikes again?

Part Two is out now! Click here to read!

“Don’t bother getting comfy, I’ll be briefing you on the jet. Hotch wants wheels up in ten.” Garcia said as she hurried past the field agents entering the BAU offices that morning: Prentiss, Morgan and JJ had gone to get breakfast together, though it seemed there wouldn’t be time to enjoy it.

“You’re coming with us, mama?” Derek asked, taking a sip of his coffee as he noticed Reid and Hotch walking out the latter’s office, both in a deep discussion.

“This one is big… The Cali Slasher is back.” Garcia said quickly, hurrying with her laptop through the doors, leaving the three agents to share looks of disbelief. It wasn’t often that an uncaught killer stayed dormant for almost a decade: in fact, the last time they had seen something like it was with George Foyet.

And never before had they had a cold case with a real surviving victim.

Go-bags were lifted, breakfasts quickly eaten, and within five minutes the team were making their way over the tarmac to the waiting jet, Rossi and Garcia already on board. As Hotch walked ahead with JJ and Morgan, Reid found his himself falling into step with Prentiss, mindlessly flipping what looked like a casino chip between his fingers.

Prentiss caught sight of it as they boarded the plane, stopping Reid on the steps and holding out a hand to see what he had. Reid was visibly hesitant to pass it over, his fingers closing over the chip on resting in his palm, but the look Emily gave him was enough for the object to be handed over.

It was very much like a casino chip, the same sort of size, but instead of plastic the small token was bronze, heavy in Prentiss’ palm as she examined the engraving:

To Thine Own Self Be True bordered the token, with a triangle containing a 3, the words Unity, Service and Recovery on each edge of the shape.

A sobriety chip.

“Has it really been three years?” Prentiss asked, pride swelling in her chest as she looked up at the doctor, a light blush covering his cheeks as he smiled back. She handed over the chip, the pair taking their seats beside one another.

“It’s surreal… I went to a meeting last night I-” Spencer stopped, and took a breath, looking the chip over once more before tucking it into his shirt’s breast pocket. “It feels good.”

“I’m proud of you, Spencer.” Emily squeezed his shoulder gently, the pair sharing the moment before reality caught back up with them. The pilot asked the team to buckle up as the plane went into taxi, and within ten minutes, the team were in the air, and gathering to pay close attention to their briefing.

“Last week, fourteen-year old Lacey Hawthorne and her parents were found in Angeles National Forest. Her parents, Ella and Todd, had been dismembered, and Lacey was sexually assaulted and raped before the unsub slit her throat.” Hotch explained, the team pulling up the files onto their tablets, Doctor Reid, perched on the arm of the couch, sifting through a paper case file. “The LAPD originally thought they had a copycat killer on their hands, but after another killing last night, they believe undoubtedly that the Cali Slasher is back from hiatus.” The team, almost simultaneously, turned to the next file in the case, concerning a Miss Fiona Baxter. “Fiona Baxter, fifteen-years old, and her parents were also found in Angeles National Forest, the same MO.”

“What makes LAPD so sure it’s the Cali Slasher?” Morgan asked.

“With Fiona Baxter’s body, the ME discovered a note placed in the girl’s mouth post-mortem. This note gives details on the survivor from twelve years ago, including her real name, her identity provided by witness protection, and her last known address. Information that was never released to the public, information that never went beyond the BAU and LAPD police chief.” Hotch explained, his expression one of guilt, of worry. He had worked the case all those years ago, and never caught the killer.

“Angeles National Forest is 1,094 square miles; our unsub has to know the terrain well.” Reid mused, his eyes darting over the pages of his case file as he pulled in the information given in seconds. “The area isn’t an uncommon place for bodies to be dumped, usually victims of gang violence. Anywhere between 8 and 30 bodies are dumped somewhere in the Forest every year.” He rambled off.

“Our victims are all mid-teens, all from middle class families living in areas close to the forest.” JJ added, tilting her head as she scanned over one of the photos. “Ligature marks?”

“It seems the unsub finds a way into the victim’s homes, ties up the parents, and forces them to watch the rape.” Hotch let out a sigh. “Then dismembers them, and finally kills the girl before abusing the corpse.”

“He targets families with one female child, it’s extremely niche.” Rossi said, his brows furrowing. “And to transport these families to the dump sites, and with so many of them off the regular trails, they could be using a pickup truck or all-terrain vehicle?”

“Were the original killings spree-style? Perhaps something triggered our unsub to kill again?” Prentiss offered, but Hotch’s face looked grim.

“First time round, the first bodies were found three weeks into the case, after two more families had been killed… Hikers found them, the remains had been almost entirely eaten by mountain lions.” Hotch said, the tech analyst beside him doing her best to hold back a dry heave. “The unsub is meticulous. No DNA of his has ever been found at crime scenes or dump sites, and he would spend at least a day with the families, we believed, to provide the illusion of normality. He’d turn on the TV after dinner, turn off lights at ten o’clock.”

“So neighbours thought nothing was wrong…” Morgan tutted as he spoke. “And what do we know about the surviving victim? What information do we have from her?” He asked, setting the tablet down.

“Unfortunately, nothing.” Garcia spoke up, the team looking over in shock. “Well, twelve years ago, when the final murder took place, we know that something prompted the unsub not to kill our survivor. Her parents were murdered, but instead of moving them to the dumpsite, the unsub fled the scene. It was only when neighbours began to…” Garcia swallowed. “Began to smell the family decomposing that they suspected something was wrong. Police were dispatched, found the family in the parents’ bedroom, both parents dismembered, the fourteen-year old daughter tied to the bed naked and unconscious.”

“Amnesia?” Prentiss asked.

“The daughter was raped, but not physically harmed otherwise. She fell into a coma from the trauma, according to doctors’ reports, and after that she refused to speak for a year.” Garcia rattled off. “Put in witness protection, fled her safehouse a few weeks before she turned eighteen.”

“God…” JJ muttered. “Do police have her in custody?” She asked, and Hotch nodded.

“We’ll have more information once we’ve landed. Settle in, it’ll be a long flight.”

When the BAU finally landed and made their way to the LAPD Headquarters, they stepped out of their SUVs to be met by a barrage of press, all yelling questions. As the rest of the team headed inside, police officers helping to hold back the mass, JJ turned to face the waiting press at the top of the steps.

“The FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit has been asked to assist in an LAPD case. We are looking to do anything we can to help this investigation, and more information will be provided when LAPD call a press conference. There are no further comments to be made at this time.” She smiled briefly at the cameras before heading inside after her team, finding that they had already split off to begin work: Morgan and Prentiss were talking to local detectives, Reid had found himself a board to begin a geographical profile, Garcia was already setting up in an office JJ could only assume would be IT, and Hotch and Rossi stood in the centre of the room discussing something in hushed voices with the Police Chief, shaking hands and such. JJ moved over towards her superiors, smiling.

“Agent Jareau, you can call me JJ.” She introduced herself as she slotted beside Hotch.

“Knowles. Thank you for getting here so soon.” The police chief responded, a black man in his fifties. By the look of his bloodshot eyes and slouched posture, he hadn’t slept in at least two days. And the way that Hotch looked at him, it was clear to JJ that twelve years ago, they were working this case together.

“We have our Agents Morgan and Prentiss heading over to the first crime scene now, I was hoping we could speak to our surviving victim?” Hotch asked, Knowles’ face dropping a little more.

“Detective Caldwell is bringing her in the now, setting her up in an interrogation room.” He said, sadness coating his words, leaving Rossi and JJ to share a look of confusion. His phrasing was off, more like she was a suspect than anything else.

“I’d like to see her. JJ, would you go help Reid? Rossi, you come with me.” Hotch instructed, the three men going in one direction as JJ turned and headed in the other, making the short walk across the bull pen to Reid, the young doctor plotting and connecting the dumpsites from the new murders with the old cases.

A total of 35 people were dead as of last night.

“Hey, could we talk about something?” JJ asked quietly, stirring Reid from his thoughts, the man looking over at her with concern.

“Is something wrong?” He asked.

“No, I just… Prentiss told us all in the car about three years. I just wanted to say I’m proud of you.” JJ replied softly, and for a second time that day Reid blushed. JJ, Garcia, Prentiss and Morgan had driven separately from Reid, Hotch and Rossi, giving Prentiss plenty of time to gush over Reid’s accomplishments without embarrassing him too much, and letting the other team members do so too.

“It’s not that big of a deal…” Spencer tried to brush off the compliment, but JJ held up a hand, stopping him.

“It’s a huge deal, Spence. I am so proud of you.” She gave him a tight squeeze, the lanky kid squeezing back before breaking away, turning back to his charts, and taking a step back, knitting his brow as he thought. JJ noticed, moving to stand beside him. “What do you see?”

“The dump sites are all along the CA-2 highway and the CA-39.” He pointed out, and JJ noticed the pattern as well. While it seemed the dump sites were random, they all lay along the major highways through the park. “Could you go ask Garcia to check and see if there’s any cameras along the roads?” Reid asked JJ, who walked through to the IT room, leaving the genius to ponder to himself.

It felt odd for him to be investigating back here, the crime scenes so close to his old university, CalTech, especially on a case he didn’t know if they could solve. Their unsub had been doing this a long time, and Reid just didn’t know what to expect next. A loud clatter from one of the back rooms caused heads around the office to look up and over, and JJ walked out of IT with Garcia to find out what could be going on.

“Is everyone alright?” Garcia asked, looking up as Hotch and Rossi walked quickly from the back room towards the remaining team, Morgan and Prentiss already at the crime scene.

“We have a serious problem.” Rossi informed, looking over to Hotch. When Hotch refused to say, Rossi continued.

“Y/N Y/L/N is a junkie.”

“I’m sorry, what do you mean ‘she’s a junkie’?” Garcia asked after a few moments of silence. Another clatter followed, making the tech analyst jump a little, and one of the detectives, his name badge reading Caldwell, headed towards the BAU team, holding a hand to the side of his face. “Detective, are you ok?”

“The bitch kicked me.” He muttered, revealing a bruising cheekbone. “I tried to handcuff her, and her leg came out of nowhere. Officers have her restrained.”

“Restrained?” Reid asked, looking more concerned for the one who just kicked the cop than the cop himself. “Why would you restrain her? Did she come in here in cuffs?”

“Yeah, why?” Caldwell asked, looking around the group, oblivious.

“You just restrained a woman the same way our unsub did when he raped her… You’re forcing her to relive trauma. Not to mention she’s most likely in withdrawal…” Reid explained, walking quickly towards the back room, past another officer who was sporting a shoe sized mark on his arm.

“Reid.” Hotch called out, causing the doctor to stop just short of the interrogation room and look up. A silent exchange went on between the pair, Hotch making sure Reid was capable of the next steps, and Reid nodding in response. “I’d like to suggest Doctor Reid lead this interrogation, Detective Caldwell. The close proximity of age between himself and the victim might make her more comfortable.” While it was phrased like an offer, everyone knew it was more of an order: Hotch wasn’t messing anything up this time round. With the go ahead, Reid entered the room and shut the door behind him before locking eyes with Y/N Y/L/N.

The first thing Reid took notice of was her eyes, red and a little puffy, like she had been crying. By the tear stains on her cheeks, it was clear she had been. Her hair was tangled, tied haphazardly in a ponytail, her cheeks sunken in, she chewed on her lips so incessantly that when it started to bleed, she didn’t even notice. She just kept staring at him, examining him the way he examined her. Her hands were cuffed tight over faint markings on her wrists, no doubt reminders of that night over a decade ago, when similar cuffs had trapped her to a bed for four days before anyone found her. Her ankles too had been shackled, the metal resting on top of sneakers that were falling apart. She was dressed in a ripped tank top and faded shorts, and Reid spotted a layer of sweat across her body.

He made the first move, taking a step towards her. When she flinched and held up her cuffed hands to cover her face, he lowered his own, pulling a key for handcuffs from his pocket before taking another step. She didn’t flinch that time, instead sitting herself properly on the chair once more and looking ahead of her at the grey concrete wall. Ahead of Spencer was a one-way mirror, to her left, his team no doubt on the other side.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to unlock these?” Y/N spoke up for the first time as Reid slotted the key into the lock on her handcuffs, causing him to look up, the pair now only inches apart. Her voice was quiet, softer than he would have expected, and timid. Like she was scared of him, or maybe she was scared of herself.

“I don’t think it’s fair to treat you like a criminal when you’re a victim.” Reid stated simply, unlocking the cuffs and removing them from her wrists, Y/N’s hands instantly going to rub the sensitive skin. As she did so, Reid unlocked the ankle restraints, letting them fall loose at her feet as he sat himself across from her.

“What’s your name?” He asked first, and Y/N looked him over with interest, stopping the chewing on her bottom lip and switching it for her nails, all of which looked brittle and extensively bitten.

“My real name or the one the police tried to give me?” She asked, and when Reid didn’t respond to the snarky comment, she sighed. “Y/N Y/L/N… What’s your name?”

“Dr Spencer Reid. I’m with the FBI.” Her face fell at the mention of his affiliations.

“You work with Aaron Hotchner then?” She asked, and Reid nodded. “He couldn’t help last time, what makes you so different?” Her tone became harsher, her leg bouncing under the table as she continued to bite her nails.

“I know about what you are going through.” Reid said softly, and Y/N let out a curt laugh.

“Really? I seriously doubt it, Pretty Boy.” She spat back at him, averting her gaze to somewhere in the far corner before her eyes landed on the mirror. “I bet Hotch and all your teammates are behind that glass, right? Profiling me? You know, I’m not stupid. I read up about the BAU after everything. Found out what you all do.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid Y/N.”

“Again with the profiling… I don’t want to be here. When can I go home?”

“We both know that ‘home’ isn’t somewhere you should be.”

“Don’t act like you know me, Dr Reid.” She sneered.

“I think you are scared, I think you hate police because they never caught the man who killed your parents and raped you, and I think you’ve been using drugs to try and forget everything you remember about those five days twelve years ago.” Reid spoke matter-of-factly, and Y/N’s head snapped to look at him.

“Don’t act like you know me.” She said for a second time, slower this time, and Reid leaned forward, hands clasped on the desk, looking her over, challenging her aggression with silence. Only when she sat back in her chair did he begin to speak.

“Your lip has been bleeding for six minutes and you have yet to notice it, you’ve chewed your nails so excessively they struggle to grow, your leg just won’t stop bouncing, you are sweating despite the air con in here being set to 65. Your clothes tell me you spend your money on something more important than food or necessities. By how skinny you are, I would say heroin, but I don’t see track marks, and we both know you think that while you don’t deserve a lot, you deserve better than heroin.” Reid read her like a fucking book, taking a pause before delivering his final statement, a question.

“So, Y/N, how long have you been addicted to Dilaudid?”

#criminal minds #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #fanfiction #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #cm #cm fic #fanfic #aaron hotchner #angst

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