i can see you

"SIR, IT'S NOT THAT I'M NOT GLAD TO BE COMING WITH YOU– BECAUSE I AM– I JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND THE WHY."

Garcia looked at Hotch, her hands clenched around the case file and the laptop in her lap where she sat across from him in the jet. The entire team was surrounding her, scattered throughout the jet she rarely occupied in any other capacity besides virtual. She liked the comfort of her office, she liked that she knew she'd have everything she'd need to help them solve cases. Going out into the field wasn't her forte– it left too much room for error, and if Garcia somehow didn't have access to something that could solve a case, save a few lives, she'd never forgive herself.

"One aspect of an equivocal death investigation when suicide is a probability is an indirect personality assessment. Our victims are all internet generation kids. There should be invaluable personal data on their computers to mine for the evaluation."

Derek's voice has her looking to him quickly, eyes raising to where he's sitting perched on an arm of a seat instead of actually sitting in it. "If they committed suicide, evidence of it will probably be in their cyber world."

Garcia barely stifles her grimace as their drawn-out explanation translates properly in her head. "So, I'm gonna snoop through dead kids' computers?"

Rossi shakes his head from his spot behind her. "This plane seldom makes pleasure trips."

Garcia looks back towards Hotch, drifting to where Jane sat beside him at the window with Spencer across from her, attention on the clouds they flew through.

"We've all been over the files," Hotch says, looking at JJ for a lingering moment before scanning the rest of the team. "Let's talk about victimology."

"Okay," Rossi starts with a short sigh. "All four kids were decent students from different neighboring towns, but the same school and the same county."

"Active in sports and community," Morgan notes, dark brows furrowed as he looked through the files once again.

"Intact families, no mental disorders, no precipitating events."

Morgan shakes his head. "These are just average good kids, there has to be some underlying issue."

"Besides relative proximity, there's no obvious connection between any of them,"

Jane nods in agreement with Spencer's words, glancing at Hotch. "It eliminates the possibility of a suicide pact. Even though all of them died the same way, the ligature marks on their necks are different patterns which means there were different fabrics and tools used to hang themselves. If these teenagers were cunning enough to create a suicide pact, they'd almost certainly all use the same exact thing to do it. Not to mention, there would've been behavioral changes over the course of weeks, maybe months, that any attentive parent would've noticed."

Spencer mirrors her nod from earlier, continuing off of her words. "The first few days leading up to a teenager's suicide are usually very telling. Their behavior is transparent, there's a multitude of indicators."

"Yeah, but the most common don't exist here," JJ's voice comes from behind her, and Jane spares her a brief glance over the back of the seat, seeing the deep furrow in the woman's brow. "There's no prior attempts, no period of deep depression, no withdrawal from family members, no spontaneous proclamations of love."

"Spontaneous proclamations of love?" Emily echoed, confusion in her voice.

JJ pauses, glancing down at the carpeted floor of the jet with a nod. "Sometimes a suicidal person, in the days leading up to the act, will just blurt out 'I love you' to family, sort of like a goodbye,"

Though none of them disagreed, Jane seemed to notice that they all gave JJ lingering looks of concern. Hotch's lasted the longest, but he finally gave her the benefit of the doubt and changed the subject.

"We'll start with the latest two victims. If they were suicides, let's find out what drove them to it."

Everyone nods in agreement and Jane leans forward, getting Hotch's attention. "If it's alright, I'd like to go see the bodies and talk to the mortician."

Hotch nods, giving her a fleeting nod. "Sure, just head back to the station when you're done."

──────

"Did you find anything unusual at the morgue?"

Jane shakes her head at Emily as she approaches the rest of the team reconvening at the police station, and she offers a polite nod to the Sheriff. "Did you?"

"Garcia's about to get into Trisha Leake's laptop," She gestures to the redhead sitting in front of three monitors, separate from the personal laptop she was looking at.

"I got it!" The tech analyst's exclamation garners their attention, and all of them gather around behind her to look at the information revealed to them. "It was– it was just a basic trojan horse. It just hid the directories, it didn't erase them."

A few more taps from her rapid fingers pulls up a website that has her rearing back in grim shock. "Oh, god,"

"What is it?"

"She was on a choking game site the night she died,"

"A what?" Rossi questions in disbelief, looking at said website.

Garcia shook her head, stuttering around her surprise. "Uh, it's a– it's a game kids play where they choke themselves to get a buzz, to get high."

"They call it 'the good kids high'," Spencer says, drawing eyes his way. "You get lightheaded and a sense of euphoria even though no actual drugs are involved. It's something kids in high school play,"

Hotch's frown deepens and he looks up from the laptop to look at Morgan. "Did Ryan have a computer?"

Morgan shakes his head. "Not in his room,"

"What about a gaming system?"

"Yeah, he did," Spencer answers Garcia.

"Teenagers will find a way to get online,"

Spencer reaches in his jacket pocket, pulling out a slightly crumpled piece of paper that he flattens out on the desk beside Garcia's hand. "I have the, uh, IP address,"

"Oh, that will help." Garcia takes it gratefully, looking at it as she types it into her program. "Bingo– Ryan was on the same site on the same night,"

"It wasn't suicide." Jane mutters lowly, sharing a look of disbelief with Emily.

"Hang on, this is a text to voice icon. Let's see what happens," She clicks on the small icon, turning the volume up for the tinny voice to come out of the computer speakers.

"Come on, try it. We all do it. I dare you."

"I dare you?" Sheriff Samuel echoes in disgust and disbelief, shaking her head.

Emily's face turns into something solemn. "Someone was orchestrating this. Purposely getting the kids to choke themselves,"

Jane pinches the bridge of her nose, shaking her head in disbelief.

"There's a whole subculture about this game, they do it at parties." Garcia looks back at them, bringing up another part of the website.

"But someone is daring these kids in this area to play the game,"

"It's a contest," Garcia says, the monitor displaying a screen of different school names with progress bars all set at zero. "And there are rules. 'Come on Evans High, this is the big one. Garfield edged out Casper High last week, you gonna let them diss us?'"

"Diss– sounds like a kid," Emily notes, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Yeah, who else would pit schools against each other?"

Rossi looks at the computer screen incredulously. "Reckless teenage competition,"

"The school that logs the most high time this Friday wins,"

"Friday, tomorrow,"

"'Get your friends on board, practice makes the high last longer. Gotta do it alone and video it with your webcam and upload it to the site for it to count.'"

Jane shook her head, sharing a brief look with Spencer. "Encouraging them to do it alone means encouraging them to play the most dangerous version of the game. That's why the ligature marks on Trisha and Ryan's bodies are so dark– they had no way to undo it before it killed them."

"Garica, shut the site down,"

Penelope sends a fleeting glance over her shoulder to Hotch, looking between the computer and her boss. "Sir, I can– I can totally do that, but I don't think you want me to."

"Why?"

"Well," She swallows, somewhat nervously. "Right now, this site is our only way to track the unsub, and if I cut into it, he will certainly know we are watching him. In which case, he'll shut it down and he'll write a simple change in code, and bring it back up in a more covert fashion. Plus, there's no telling how many servers it's replicated on, anyway."

"You're right." Hotch nods slowly, looking up at Sheriff Samuel. "We're ready to give the profile. JJ, I want you and Sheriff Samuels to hold a meeting with local parents. Tell them the basics– things to look out for, crack down on monitoring their child's internet access, especially tomorrow."

The two women nod and depart from the rest of the team, Sheriff Samuels stopping to gather up her officers and direct them over to the BAU before she leaves. After their quick departure, the team is left in a stiff silence brought on by the reality of the situation. Something as tragic as a suicide is hard enough to deal with, but an accidental death that could've been prevented had these kids not been egged on by whoever was running the site adds an extra layer to the moroseness amongst them.

It isn't lost on any of them how JJ is handling the case as is, being that they can hardly turn off their ability to profile, even if it is another member of their team.

After a moment, the Sheriff returns as the rest of the station surrounds them, looking at the BAU expectantly. "We're ready,"

Hotch nods and looks out at the rest of the department. "We believe the unsub responsible for these deaths may be a teenager."

"He's a loner. He doesn't participate in team sports or group activities. He's withdrawn, very low self-esteem."

Spencer is quick to pick up after Emily, easily falling into the natural rhythm of their profile delivery. "His only form of pure interaction is online. He engages in activity that draws attention to himself, yet isolates him from his peers."

"In real life, he considers himself a loser," Rossi says. "In cyberspace, he can pull strings. Makes him feel powerful."

One of the officers looks at them with that vague dubiousness that most do when they deliver a profile. "Does this kid know that other kids are dying because of him?"

"He's choking himself and daring others to do it," Derek shrugs, voice somewhat deadpan. "So, we're most likely looking at reckless homicides here."

The police officers nod at the new information, and Hotch clears his throat quietly gathering their attention again.

"We're going to canvas the schools that are being targeted on the website. Agent Jareau is currently talking to parents, but speaking to the kids will be our best way to convey the message. We don't want to invoke panic, but we want them to understand the dangers of this go past a simple competition between rival schools. If we're able, we might have luck in finding the kid behind the website in the first place. That's all, thank you."

When the officers have mostly dispersed, Hotch turns to look at the team, his eyes falling to Morgan, Spencer, and Jane standing beside each other. "I want you three to go to Ryan's school. Explain to the administration that we're putting out a PSA. Make sure they understand the severity of this contest. They likely won't respond well, so... whatever it takes. Take down any names of students that seem like they could be the one orchestrating it."

He looks to them for confirmation and they all nod, taking the order quickly as they head for the exit.

──────

"Two different mechanisms, strangulation and hyperventilation," Spencer turns, gesturing to the projected diagram behind him. Jane sits perched on the edge of the desk beside him, while Morgan stands at the back of the classroom, watching all of the students closely. "Create the same effect– oxygen deprivation in the brain."

Spencer trails off as Morgan walks towards a young boy, and the two doctors watch him call out.

"Hey, kid," Morgan holds his hand out for the phone hidden beneath his desk. "Not a good idea. Let me see it."

The kid slowly hands his phone off to Morgan, who raises a brow at the text being shared. "'What planet is this dude from?'" He reads off the text, earning amused laughter from scattered students. Jane eyes Spencer as he drops his gaze to the floor, somewhat shy but mostly just resigned to the typical reaction to his presence.

Morgan continues reading the texts, tone taking on a somewhat grave one. "'He doesn't want us to win the contest.'"

Spencer huffs out a noise of confusion and shakes his head slightly. "Uh– I, uh, think the more accurate statement would be, 'He doesn't want us to participate in the contest at all,'"

He stops at an empty desk, pointing down at it. "This was Ryan's desk, right? This is where Ryan sat? You guys remember Ryan," He clears his throat gently. "He, uh, he played football, took Shauna to prom– I'm assuming that some of you were probably even friends with Ryan."

Some of the students' faces transform into that of guilt and shame, and Jane crosses her arms over her chest at the change in tone.

"Ryan wanted to win the contest, too," Spencer says, twisting his fingers together. "But, uh– my friend Jane," He gestures to the brunette standing at the front of the room, making attention shift to her. "Jane examined Ryan's body, and she– she determined that from the way Ryan choked himself, he cut off all the oxygen to his brain, which sent a distress signal to his heart, slowing it down. Then his brain, in an effort to preserve itself, shut off all non-essential bodily functions. His arms gave out, his legs gave out, which means that he couldn't loosen the tie around his neck at which point panic set in, and in Ryan's case, it escalated to cardiac arrest. Which means that his heart stopped. Brain damage began, and within four minutes, he was completely and totally braindead."

Spencer shakes his head, looking at the students. "He died scared, and probably in a lot of pain, and unable to stop what he thought he had complete control of. All because he wanted to participate in what I consider to be a pretty– pretty lame game. So, I mean, your text is actually completely accurate– I don't want you to win the contest, because I don't want you to play the game."

There's a moment of grave silence, where reality seems to set in for a few students, but it's shattered by a question.

"You all believe this crap?"

Everyone's attention snaps to the boy near the back of the classroom, and Jane raises a brow at the incredulous look on his face. "You don't?"

The boy shakes his head a bit, pursing his lips like he's trying to stifle a cocky smirk or something.

"Why don't you come up here and tell us what you think?" Morgan prompts, tucking his hands in his pockets as the kid looks around at the classroom full of students with a slight sigh.

"Whatever," The boy shrugs, getting up from his seat as the students look on expectantly. He walks slowly past a few rows before he jerks suddenly, running for the door at the back of the classroom hurriedly.

"Hey– hey!"

He ignores Morgan's calls, bursting out of the room in a frantic sprint, and Morgan is quick to chase after him, yells echoing down the halls as the students begin to murmur in shock. Spencer and Jane share a brief look of panic before they quickly dismiss themselves, keeping a civil but hurried pace until they're out of sight from any students.

They follow the sound of chaos down the hall, coming up on Derek pinning the kid, trying to get him to calm down.

"Stop fighting– stop it,"

Spencer's face twists in concern. "You okay?"

Derek nods, catching his breath as he looks back at the kid. "Why'd you run?"

The kid turns his head, refusing to make eye contact with the FBI agents, and the choker around his neck shifts at his frantic movements.

Jane taps Spencer's arm, getting his attention as she bends down, prompting him to follow suit. "Look at his neck,"

Spencer nods, eyeing the purpling marks. "Bruising."

"Let me look at your neck," Derek reaches for the choker and the kid jerks.

"Don't touch that!"

"Hey– what'd I say? Relax."

There's a shade of fear on the boy's face as Derek moves the necklace off of the marred skin, but it isn't the type of fear of someone who's been caught incidentally killing kids. It strikes Jane as odd, and she glances at Spencer beside her, wondering if he sees it as well.

He seems to not notice her sudden hesitance for the whole situation as his attention stays on the colored bruises on the boy's throat. "Different colors mean different stages of healing."

Morgan lets go of the necklace, letting it slide back into place as the kid minutely struggles against his hold. "You've been doing this to yourself for a long time, haven't you? There's no telling how much his brain has suffered."

Jane sighed, eyes flooding with sympathy as the boy looks her way. "We need to get him to a hospital."

──────

"Dr. Reid,"

Sheriff Samuel's voice made Spencer turn away from where he'd been watching Jane and the nurses examine Christopher Summers, and he gives her a brief, hopefully sympathetic look at the sight of her visible exhaustion.

"You think it's him?"

Spencer nods slowly, tucking his hands into his pockets. "He's a pretty likely candidate,"

A voice from the receptionist's window catches their attention, and they both look over at the new arrival.

"I'm, uh, Wilson Summers. The school called and said my son was injured,"

"Will," The Sheriff says the man's name softly, and Spencer's brows twitch.

"You know him?"

She nods, ducking her head slightly. "Professionally. He works for the fire department."

Wilson Summers approaches them carefully, his eyes flickering between the Sheriff's familiar face and the young man's entirely unfamiliar one. "Sheriff?"

"This is Dr. Reid," She nods her head in Reid's direction, making Will turn his attention to the man completely.

"Is my son alright, Doctor?"

"Actually, um," Spencer winces slightly. "I'm not that type of doctor, I'm with the FBI."

"FBI?" Will echoes in disbelief, shooting a brief look at Rhonda.

Spencer nods, glancing in Christopher's direction. "Your son Christopher has been choking himself."

"I don't– I don't understand,"

The Sheriff sighs, tilting her head. "You know the kids that have died recently?"

Will nods shortly. "The suicides,"

"They may not be suicides,"

"It's a game that, uh, kids his age tend to play where they– they force themselves to pass out for the, uh, the buzz that it gives them." Spencer clears his throat at the furthering look of incredulity on the man's face. "How long has Christopher been dressing in the gothic fashion? The black nails, and the eyes, and–"

"A while," Will cuts him off, nodding with brief understanding. "He's been having a rough time."

Spencer's brows furrow. "Why's that?"

"His mother died a few years ago, and he's been wearing black ever since."

Spencer nods slowly, clasping his hands together in front of him as he looks over in Jane's direction again, seeing her already looking their way. He tilts his head in silent question, briefly darting a glance at Christopher, and she seems to understand what he's asking, if the slow shake of her head is anything to go by.

Spencer stifles a short sigh as Sheriff Samuels continues to speak to Wilson Summers.

"Does Christopher spend a lot of time on the computer?"

Will lets out a sardonic laugh, looking down at the tiled floors. "Just every waking..." He trails off, looking at the Sheriff, and the FBI man. "Why?"

"We think your son may have created a website encouraging kids to compete in this choking contest,"

The man sighs, shaking his head. "Uh– what are you saying?"

"Dad!"

The three of them look over as Christopher's voice rings out, and they see nurses wheeling him off in a wheelchair to his visible disdain.

"Hey, buddy,"

"Take him inside," Derek waves the nurse off, turning to look at the kid's dad. "Your son needs to go in for some tests."

Jane steps away, giving Christopher a polite smile that he ignores as she approaches his father, Spencer, and the Sheriff. "Mr. Summers, I'm Dr. Jane Donovan with the FBI. Your son is being taken to get a few x-rays and scans, but I assure you that he's in great hands here."

The man nods briefly, eyes darting off in the direction his son had gone in. "What, uh– why does he need all those tests done?"

"A side effect of choking or being choked is a lack of oxygen to the brain, which can often cause a lot of long-lasting symptoms that could lead to irreparable damage in your son, especially in the developmental stage he's currently going through. These scans are just going to show us how much damage has been done, and if there's any way to reverse it while we still can."

Wilson nods slowly, and his eyes flutter shut in exhaustion.

"Will," Rhonda speaks again, gaining his attention. "When he's done, we're gonna need to talk to him down at my office."

Jane clears her throat softly, doing little to diffuse the tension that had settled over them. "Right. Could I borrow my colleague here for a second?" She smiles uncomfortably, gesturing for Spencer to follow her a ways down the hall, making sure to stay out of earshot of Christopher's father, or Sheriff Samuel.

Spencer looks down at her concernedly, tilting his head. "Is everything alright? Did Christopher say something?"

"It's more like what he isn't saying," She says, sighing. "I– I am not a profiler by any means, but I don't think this kid is our unsub, Reid. Every single thing he says is– is a lie, or he's just posturing to look like this confident kid."

Spencer purses his lips, nodding. "He fits the profile, Jane,"

"No, I know, I know," She waves a hand. "But every question that Derek or I asked, he would look really sad for a split second before he was defensive and angry all over again. I don't– you don't have to believe me, or go running to Hotch or anything, but I think there's something else going on here. Even if he is the unsub, we're still missing a key component to this whole puzzle. I just... wanted to tell you. You don't believe me, and that's fine–"

"I do," He cuts her off, firmly but not unkindly. He offers her a short nod when she looks up at him hopefully. "I do believe you. Whether Christopher is the unsub or not, we're missing something."

Jane's face floods with relief and she lets out a quiet sigh as she rests her hand on his arm, squeezing it gently.

"Hotch will, too," He says quickly, making her eyes widen briefly. "He'll believe you, if you go to him."

Her brows furrow on her forehead, and he wonders why she would ever doubt Hotch's faith in her abilities. Not just as a boss, but as her technical father. She rocks on her heels slightly, digging her teeth into her bottom lip as a smile grows on her face. "Thank you, Spencer. I, uh– just– thank you."

Spencer's face morphs into something full of depth that Jane can't read on him just yet, but she can't deny the familiarity behind it. She figures it's just her time with the BAU becoming more and more familiar, rather than feeling like a complete outsider to their dynamic.

He just nods at her thanks, offering her one of his small, somewhat awkward smiles. "Of course."

──────

When they get back to the station with Christopher in tow, Jane heads straight for the private conference room Hotch and Emily are in, leaving Morgan and Reid to talk to the boy alone.

Hotch looks over his shoulder as she enters, shutting the door behind her as she watches Reid and Morgan sit Christopher down and attempt to get him talking.

"How was the hospital?"

Jane heaves a tired sounding sigh. "Not great. His dad wasn't even there when we performed the examination and he still wouldn't answer any of our questions."

Emily raised a brow and Jane shrugged, watching Christopher begin to pick at the black nail polish on his nails through the camera feed. "Usually kids clam up around parents in those situations– if it's parental abuse, they're scared of punishment for telling the truth. If it's self-inflicted, it's usually just nerves about being caught. Christopher didn't seem like either, he just... didn't say anything."

Hotch hums lowly, eyes falling to the video feed.

"He's not very engaged."

"Give them some time,"

"Well, it's almost Friday," Emily shakes her head. "We don't have any time."

Hotch tucks his hands into the pockets of his suit pants, eyeing the closed off teenager ignoring every attempt at openness from Morgan or Reid. "Well, as long as he's here, he can't post anything new to his website."

"True, but the kids are still gonna play the game."

The three of them are interrupted by Garcia's abrupt knock and entrance, as she pokes her head in to hand Hotch a file. "Here's the full background you wanted."

"Thank you," Hotch takes the file with a nod as she smiles and ducks back out just as quickly as she came. His attention shifts to the file as he skims it briefly, frown furrowing deeper on his head. "No wonder he's a loner."

The two women look at him inquisitively as he reads Christopher's file.

"They've moved three times since his mother died," Hotch leans forward over Emily's chair, dropping the papers there for them to see. "Cut off his peer support."

Prentiss' face morphs into one of disbelief as she eyes the timeline in the boy's file. "Three new schools in two years. That is a lot of adjustment for a kid to have to make."

Jane picks up the papers, flipping through them carefully. She makes a vague noise of agreement with Prentiss' words, pursing her lips as she bites at the inside of her cheek anxiously.

Reid's voice comes through the speaker of the laptop, and her eyes drift up as she pays a shred of attention to the extremely one-sided conversation.

"I want you to know that we're going to be confiscating your computer."

Morgan is quick to pick up where Reid stops, and Jane can tell by his posture that he's frustrated with the brick wall of a teenage boy they've been dealing with. "Our analyst is going through all of it,"

"So that we can uncover the truth."

"Sure you will." Christopher makes a noise of disbelief, shaking his head slightly. "Truth."

Emily shakes her head, frowning at the complete lack of conversation. "He doesn't seem worried about us finding anything."

"They aren't building any rapport," Hotch observes.

Rossi steps into the room suddenly, gesturing behind him. "They're back."

The three of them look through the slits in the blinds on the windows, watching as Christopher's dad walked in alongside Sheriff Samuel, with the laptop in hand. The Sheriff directed Will Summers in the opposite direction of Garcia before walking over to the woman to give her the computer.

Rossi gave them all a solemn look that they shared before turning to follow him out of the conference room, over to where Garcia was already trying to get into Christopher's laptop.

"Mary, this Christopher kid is fantastical. He's got a segmented hard drive, serious firewalls, major league encryption,"

"No reason for all of that unless he's hiding something serious," Rossi says, watching the otherwise unintelligible data on Garcia's screens pour in.

"Okay, so that's why he isn't worried," Emily says, looking at Hotch and Jane.

"This is, uh, unusual," Garcia says, eyes not leaving her monitors as she typed away. "Every attack I launch is shut down immediately."

Another denial popped up on her screen just before a rapid beeping set off, making the team look for the source confusedly.

"What's that?" JJ asked.

"Someone just uploaded a new video to the game site," Garcia said, her voice grave.

JJ checked her watch quickly, a level of defeat weighing on her shoulders. "It's 12:01,"

"It's Friday, they're playing,"

"It's only a matter of time before some of them go wrong."

"Guys, I'm gonna keep dead-ending on this until I get a beat on how he set up his security system." Garcia said, trying to keep up with her pace of breaking into the laptop despite the repetitive failures.

The team is disrupted by Reid and Morgan walking out of the room they'd been in with Christopher, and Hotch looks at them inquisitively, earning only a frustrated raise of the eyebrows from Reid before the doctor walked off.

Morgan shook his head, staving his own frustration off for the most part. "Hope you got a Plan B,"

Hotch is silent for a moment before he turns to Garcia with an idea. "Garcia, I think that this kid will relate to you better than anybody else. I want you to talk to him, see if you can get him to open up."

Garcia stuttered silently for a moment before turning to look at Hotch. "Sir, I have never done that before. What if I mess up?"

"You'll be fine."

Garcia nodded once, mostly to herself before she got up from the chair, a sudden tremble to her entire body.

The team watched as she walked over to the door to the room Christopher was in, bracing herself for this new territory. It was new for all of them, to have Garcia so involved in the case, but if Hotch had faith in her then there was no doubt amongst the rest of the team.

Biting her tongue, Jane stepped away from the team back to the room she'd been in with Emily and Hotch to grab the background file on Christopher and his family. She walked back out into the main room, just in case someone came looking for her, but she took a seat at a table by herself, and started reading.

She saw what Hotch had already pointed out– the complete lack of stability or consistency since Christopher's mother died a few years ago.

She set a few of Christopher's papers aside and looked through the bare bones information on Christopher's mom instead, letting out a distant noise of sympathy at the seemingly unending list of ailments and illnesses she had suffered through before it all got too much. She chalked it up to a chronic illness, or something like cancer, and didn't linger much longer as she looked through the few pages on Will Summers, too.

Nothing struck her too oddly, much to her chagrin. She was glad she hadn't gone to Hotch with her hunch about Christopher not being the unsub just yet, because it seems to have been a waste of time. Based on his impossible security on his laptop and his overall demeanor with Reid and Morgan, he truly fit the profile like a glove.

Jane's startled out of her contemplative thoughts as a voice calls out to her, head snapping up in the direction of it.

"Hey! Hey, you were there at the hospital earlier, with my son," Christopher's father approached her, pointing an accusing finger at her as she shut the file and stood from the table.

"Yes, I was, Mr. Summers. Can I help you with something?"

"That– that woman in there is interrogating my son," He pointed towards the room where Garcia was still sitting with Christopher. "He's just a kid– he didn't do any of this stuff you're saying he did!"

Jane held her hands up in a placating manner, shaking her head. "Mr. Summers, we're not accusing Christopher of any crimes at this time. Penelope is a tech analyst with the FBI and she's simply asking him how to access the information on his computer. There is no interrogation happening, it's just a simple interview."

"I know my rights, Doctor, and as far as I'm concerned, my kid doesn't have to talk to anyone, or let you see his private information. I want a lawyer, and I want my kid with me."

"Mr. Summers–"

"I said–"

"Is there an issue?" Hotch interrupts just as the man's voice begins to raise, and Jane lets out a quiet breath of relief, eyes fluttering shut as she looks away for a split second, collecting herself.

Jane cleared her throat, looking at Hotch. "Mr. Summers wants a lawyer for his son."

Hotch keeps his reaction subdued, and Jane is envious of his ability to do so, because she knows he's instantly irritated by the course of action. Nonetheless, the man nods and gestures for Mr. Summers to follow him as he leads him towards the room his son is in.

Jane swallows roughly once they're out of earshot, pushing her hair off of her face.

"Are you alright?"

She nearly jumps out of her skin as she spins to face Spencer, her already racing pulse skyrocketing at his sudden appearance. "Oh– uh, yes– yeah. I'm fine. Thank you."

Spencer's eyes shift from her undoubtedly flushed cheeks to the direction Hotch and Mr. Summers had walked off in, narrowing imperceptibly. "Was he bothering you?"

Jane shook her head, turning at an angle to look as the interview was interrupted, undoubtedly killing whatever chance they had of getting some sort of confession out of Christopher. "No, just– frustrated. He invoked. Asked for a lawyer for Christopher, there isn't anything I could do."

"Cases like these are frustrating," Spencer says carefully, not necessarily on tiptoes but testing to see what sort of attempt at comfort he could offer her without crossing a line. "Kids make it harder."

Jane hummed like she was agreeing with him, even though it was obvious her mind was miles away. "Do you have kids?"

Spencer's eyes snapped to her, and she raised a brow at the sudden pink in his cheeks as he struggled for a coherent thought. "Wh– no. No. I don't. I don't have– anything. Anyone." He winced at his harsh words, shaking his head, dislodging some of his unruly curls from where they were tucked behind his ears. "No kids."

When he dared to raise his gaze back up to hers, he didn't find any sort of taunt in it like he suspected. It seemed like she didn't think anything of his complete fumble of an answer, just nodded like he'd barely spoken at all.

Clearing his throat quietly, he forced himself to ask. "Do you? Have any kids?"

"No," She says, lifting a hand to scratch at an invisible itch beneath her bangs on her forehead. "I, uh– my boyfriend, Calvin. That's all I have."

Something struck that as odd in Spencer's mind, and he eyed her now-appearing discomfort at the question turned around on her. Feeling conflicted because he technically already knew the answer, he shifted his weight from one leg to another. "No siblings?"

Jane looks up at him, her blue eyes wide, like she couldn't believe someone had asked her that. She didn't seem offended, at least he didn't think so, but there was something close to incredulity. Like she didn't believe he was asking her because he genuinely wanted to know, or even engaging in conversation with her for this long to begin with. It made Spencer's chest ache with a distant pity.

"I have... had a sister." She says quietly, almost hesitantly, like she doesn't expect him to actually listen. "She moved in with my aunt when I was 12 and I never heard from her again."

Spencer held back his harsh exhale, knowing it would give way to suspicion on her behalf. It didn't feel like it had been almost twenty years since they were 12– since everything suddenly changed. Since Spencer was woken by red and blue flashing lights, and his mother crying hysterically in the kitchen. It didn't feel right that Jane hadn't talked to her sister since that night.

He feels like it should be different. It's one thing for him and Jane to fall out of touch after such a tragedy, they were just kids who grew up across the street from one another. Jane didn't even remember him anymore– that's how inconsequential their friendship had been on her back then. But to be torn from a sister after losing both of your parents in one night, Spencer couldn't imagine the amount of devastation that lived inside of Jane. He couldn't fathom the amount of grief she kept bottled up, only that it could rival his own hidden tragedies.

Realizing he'd been silent for a bit too long, Spencer nodded, attempting to dissuade any awkwardness he might've instilled in her. "It's said that about 82% of children live with siblings– did you know that having siblings can make you shorter? The more older siblings you have, the more likely you are to be about one inch shorter than the last. A lot of studies have been done on the effects of having siblings, it's actually really fascinating,"

Spencer trailed off, pursing his lips together at the small smile that had grown on Jane's face, completely replacing the despondent stare she'd had.

Shaking her head, she once again held no taunt or tease in her gaze as she looked at him. "I didn't know that, actually. Got any more fun facts you think I should know?"

Easily spurred on, Spencer rocked on his heels, gearing up for a quick ramble. "Well, actually–"

"Hey, Jane," Prentiss' voice carried across the station and they both stopped, looking away from each other to find her dark eyes. "You read the background stuff Garcia dug up in the Summers', right? You wanna come debrief us?"

Jane nodded, turning to grab the papers she'd pilfered through earlier before turning to give Spencer an apologetic look. "Rain check on that fun fact?"

Spencer ducked his head, trying to hide the smile on his face. "Of course."

Jane hurried over to where Prentiss was standing with Rossi, Hotch, and Sheriff Samuel. She offered them the papers Garcia had printed out, ducking her head in an acknowledging nod as they began to skim the information there.

"Judging by sheer volume, Christopher's mother was sick quite a bit,"

Jane nodded in agreement with Emily's statement, her eyes not leaving one of the files they'd gathered on the boy's mom. Having watched his father practically manhandle him out of the station earlier after invoking during Garcia's interview, they'd all felt the sudden bout of pressure to prove it was Christopher, as more and more videos went up on the site.

"His father brought her into the ER repeatedly," Rossi flips a page. "She's described as being violently ill each time."

"A couple of days in the ICU, miraculous recovery, only to be repeated time and time again," Prentiss shakes her head, a hint of frustration seeping into her tone.

"And no diagnosis, no discernible cause,"

Jane shakes her head, reaching behind her on the desk to grab Christopher's test results from earlier that day. "Look, the first two victims' bruising was more severe because of the damage it caused, but they were fresh. Those bruises were formed on the day they died. Christopher's bruises have much more discoloration to them, and they've been formed over a longer period of time."

"What do you mean?"

Jane shrugged at Hotch's question. "The results of his x-ray show that there's been long-term damage to Christopher's esophagus, and surrounding tissue and muscles. Not to mention the oxygen deprivation his brain has suffered from, due to repeated episodes of abrupt unconsciousness."

"Can you tell from the scans how long exactly he's been doing this?" Emily questions, offering another angle of the scans. "Is there any way to put a timeline on it?"

The younger woman sighs, eyes running over the images again. "I'd say years, if I had to guess. And unless he's the luckiest kid alive, it doesn't make sense to me that he'd be able to keep this up for a matter of years without having at least one instance where he needs to be revived. Even just starting out, there would be trial and error."

Hotch is silent for a moment, contemplating her words. "You don't think Christopher is the unsub,"

Jane looks caught out for a moment before shaking her head. "No, I don't. I haven't had time to find anything concrete, but there's just something that's not adding up. I talked to Spencer about it earlier, and he said the same thing, but–"

"Reid said that?" Prentiss cuts in, not particularly rude, just curious at the turn of assumption.

Jane nods, looking between the four others standing around the table. "I know he fits the profile like a glove, but there's something we're missing. With the level of damage done to his body, I just– there's no way he's doing this just for a temporary buzz anymore. And there's no way it's self harm– he doesn't get any sort of release. You can tell just by looking at him that every horrible feeling he's had since his mother died is still bottled up. There's no way that Christopher is inflicting this sort of thing onto other kids."

Emily nods slowly, her dark eyes looking to Hotch. "It took one time for Ryan and Trisha to die doing this– how has Christopher managed to do it accident-free for this long?"

"He hasn't," Rossi says suddenly, pulling a picture from the ER's evaluation. "Look at these bruises on his chest."

Jane takes the picture from him, holding it for Emily and Hotch to see, too. "These are CPR bruises. At least, they're perfectly placed like a resuscitation wound would be."

Hotch frowns deeply, eyes roaming over the file. "But there's no record of any resuscitations."

"That's..." Jane trails off, brows furrowing. "Let me see the mother's file again?"

Emily shifts the pile of papers in her hand, handing off Cynthia Summers' history. "Here,"

"This is... repetitive, unknown causes of illness. Almost routine, and methodical. There's a history of the same exact symptoms, never really increasing in severity until her death. But doctors could never diagnose her with anything, not even an autoimmune disease or something."

"What are you thinking, Jane?"

"Are you guys familiar with Munchausen's Syndrome?" They all nod hesitantly, so Jane continues. "It's typically only women that experience it, both as the victim and the abuser, but it's not unheard of in men. It's a mental disorder where a parent, or someone who cares for a child pretends that their child is sick, or even makes them sick in order to keep them weak and in need of caring."

"You think Will Summers is doing this to his son?"

"I think it's a very strong possibility," She tugs at her bottom lip with her teeth, shifting anxiously. "Munchausen's can be very mild, but it can also get to the point where the caretaker actually kills the person they're inflicting this fake illness upon because they are so focused on keeping them convinced that it's real. In keeping up such a violent delusion, they can end up convincing themselves that it's real, too. Those are typically the cases where it ends in death."

"So, if the mother and Christopher both have a series of repeated illnesses and revivals, but no diagnosis,"

"Munchausen by proxy," Jane fills in, tucking her hair behind her head. "It has to be him– it has to be Wilson Summers. Christopher's not been with any other adult capable of doing these things right since his mother died. There's no way he's being successfully resuscitated by someone and it's managed to go completely undocumented."

"We need to tell the others, see if they can confirm it." Hotch nods, snapping the file shut and heading for the door to go to the rest of the team.

They all file out of the room, hurrying over to Garcia's makeshift station in the bullpen just as Spencer looks up from the computer, catching Jane's eye.

"Christopher was being manipulated by an adult,"

Jane's face morphs into one of grim satisfaction. "Cynthia Summers' death is a textbook case of Munchausen by proxy."

"Surreptitious poisoning,"

"Christopher has been choked and revived on multiple occasions," Jane quickly retorts back, hands clenching around the papers still in her hands.

Spencer's brows furrow and he looks away from Jane to where Sheriff Samuel is standing beside him. "You said that the father works for the fire department, right?"

"Yeah, for a couple months now,"

"In what capacity?"

Grim realization sets in on the woman's face. "As an EMT."

"EMT, that's the unsub– it's Wilson Summers," Jane looks at Hotch, her eyes wide as she realizes she'd been right.

Garcia glances from the desktop monitors before her before she looked back up at the team again. "Christopher didn't even understand the wiping systems on his computer,"

"So the father poses as a classmate and invites local kids to join the game,"

"Bumps up the stakes and encourages them to use their riskiest methods,"

The Sheriff shakes her head, another realization hitting her. "He works on Friday nights,"

Spencer's eyes widened briefly. "Which means he gets called out to do the rescues. He– he's not just collecting video tapes, his Munchausen has evolved."

"Yeah, into a full-blown savior complex," Jane finishes his thought, shaking her head in disbelief.

"I'll put out an APB for his truck."

"He'll find a place to download the video tapes, they're his trophies."

"After that," Rossi says gravely. "He'll clean up his mess."

"Christopher's the only witness against him," Hotch shakes his head. "We need to find them as soon as possible."

──────

Jane looks around the bedroom filled with FBI agents, pulling at her vest uncomfortably. She didn't carry her bureau-issued gun with her half the time, and she was hardly used to this sort of field work just yet, so there was barely any time for adjusting to the suffocating feeling of the bulletproof vest.

"There's dozens of discs here,"

Sheriff Samuel shakes her head disappointedly. "I was right here, I never even looked around."

"Well, we only had consent for the laptop and he knew it was encrypted." Emily says, giving the woman a sympathetic look.

"We didn't have probable cause for a warrant," Hotch eyes the stacks of DVDs, turning to face the rest of the group. "Mr. Summers didn't have a chance to come back and get his trophies. He'll definitely try and download the videos tonight."

Frowning, Emily looks around the somewhat bare bedroom. "This kid was doing everything he could just to survive. The extreme abuse conditioned him to shield his father."

"When his father came in the room, he seemed genuinely relieved."

"Like his burden had been lifted," Spencer recalls, brows furrowed deeply.

"He was elated when his father rescued him," Hotch crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the team. "We need to rethink everything. Let's focus on the behavior– what's the pattern? Things boil over, the father moves on. New town, new sadistic M.O."

Jane frowned, mind reeling as she thought of the boy's behavior, of the father's.

"Christopher knows his father's patterns," Spencer says, eyes distant as he recalls the boy's words during the questioning they'd done before his conversation with Garcia. "In his mind, it'll never end."

"A symptom of the Munchausen's," Jane says, hooking her thumbs in the straps of her vest, pulling it away from her chest as much as she could. "Assuming it's been happening his entire life and worsening since the loss of his mother, he only has his mom's death to use as an example for his own. This is the closest he's ever been to being caught– of course Christopher doesn't think we'll be able to save him,"

She scoffs lightly, shaking her head as she looks at Hotch. "He thinks he's going to die before we can."

"Christopher's giving up before he can be let down again," Hotch pulled his phone from his pocket, rapidly dialing Garcia. "Good job, Jane. Garcia?"

"Yes, sir?"

"When you were talking to Christopher, did he say anything to you to suggest he was giving up?"

"Giving up?" Garcia echoes confusedly.

"Was he trying to say goodbye?"

"I–I don't understand,"

There's a brief pause on the line before JJ's voice echoes through somewhat distantly. "Did he give you anything?"

"Yeah, how did you know that?"

"What did he give you?"

"When– when we were talking, he gave me this pirate's earring."

Spencer shakes his head, looking at Hotch. "He's made up his mind. Suicide– the only victory over his sadistic father."

Prentiss frowns, nodding in solemn agreement. "He may also see it as reuniting with his mother."

Derek turns his head, looking at Hotch's phone. "The father's gonna want to download those videos from somewhere, Garcia, and we gotta stop that process."

Garcia's rapid typing comes through the speaker alongside her voice. "I'm already on that. I replaced the website with a phishing site, I'm downloading it to the servers now. When he logs onto that website, he's going to be rerouted to our server, and we can capture his information."

"Stay on that site, Garcia,"

"Yeah,"

"It'll buy us some time," Hotch looks up from his phone at the team. "Where are they headed?"

"Wait," Emily steps forward, looking at the phone to talk to Garcia. "What about the mother? It's all about the mother. Garcia, where is Cynthia Summers buried?"

"Give me a second," Garcia quickly falls silent again at the question, and Derek takes the moment to speak.

"You know, for Christopher, a cemetery would be a place of refuge. But for the father,"

Hotch shakes his head, grim realization crossing his face. "He's revisiting a body disposal site."

"Oaklawn Cemetery, halfway between here and Glenrock!" Garcia calls through the phone, prompting Prentiss's next train of thought.

"Okay, he would willingly go there with his father."

"The father still needs to download the videos,"

"And he might need a power source."

"There's a chapel," Sheriff Samuel says suddenly, wry smile on her face. "They use it for burials."

Hotch nods shortly. "Let's go. Garcia, we'll call you from the car."

──────

"When we get in there, I want you to fall back, alright?" Hotch twists slightly, looking at Jane. "You don't have a weapon, and he might be armed."

Jane nods dutifully as they come to a screeching halt in the church parking lot, and she hops out of the car, staying by Hotch's side as the others rush around.

"That's his SUV!" Sheriff Samuel calls to them, unholstering her gun.

Hotch's phone rings and he answers quickly, lifting it to his ear. "Yeah, Garcia?"

Hotch's frown deepens and he looks at Jane briefly, eyes drifting along the gathering police officers. "Is he downloading the videos?" There's a brief pause before he nods. "Alright, we're going in."

He pockets his phone again, and Jane looks at him imploringly. "He's trying to download the videos but Garcia's software is stopping him. Stay behind me, alright?"

"Got it," She mutters softly, shifting her gaze to scan the rest of the team as they file into the church. Her eyes meet Spencer's across the parking lot, and she gives him a silent, hopefully reassuring nod, before ducking her gaze away, trying to ignore the feeling of his eyes still on her profile.

She steps out of Hotch's shadow when they enter the church, Morgan and Prentiss leading the way with their guns raised as they approach Wilson Summers and Christopher.

"FBI!"

He looks up, eyes wide even as he keeps his hands wrapped tightly around his son's throat. Emily dips her head in a nod, giving him a stern, urging look that has him stepping back, leaving his son to fall limply against the rope tied around his neck.

"Jane," Emily says her name as Hotch and Morgan keep their sights on the father, and the woman gestures her forward as she rushes to Christopher. "He might need CPR."

Nodding dutifully, Jane follows, helping Emily leverage his body so she can unwrap the coiled rope from around his neck without him falling.

They get him laid out on the floor, and Jane presses her fingers to his pulse point, her eyes scanning the deep bruises marring the skin of his throat. "He's got a pulse," She tells Emily, shaking her bangs out of her eyes. "Christopher? Can you hear me?"

The boy's eyes flutter open, widening in surprise before they fall on his father who's standing over him with some twisted look of smug defeat.

"Hey, Christopher," Jane urges his eyes away from his father, laying a gentle hand on the side of his face. "You're alright, yeah? We're gonna take you to the hospital and get you all fixed up."

She turns, looking at Emily. "Can we get EMTs in here, please?"

Emily nods, standing upright as she uses her radio to call in the EMTs.

It doesn't take long for them to come rushing in with a stretcher, and Jane waves them over, helping Christopher sit upright against one of the church pews. "He's going to need oxygen. Pulse was weak– less than 50 when I measured."

"Get him up here," One of them orders, and Jane moves to help, keeping his head still as they strap him down securely. "Alright, let's get him started on a drip and some oxygen."

Jane steps back as they wheel him out, and she tilts her head back towards the vaulted ceiling with a long sigh.

"You good?"

She drops her head back down, meeting Morgan's warm, concerned gaze. Smiling tiredly, she nods. "Just, uh... wondering how you guys don't go crazy doing this all the time."

He huffs a laugh, nodding in agreement. "It's not easy. But you're good at it. I don't know how permanent this arrangement is, but we'd benefit from you stickin' around."

Jane's smile turns somewhat bashful, and she gives him a grateful look. "Who knows what Strauss might decide, huh?"

"You got that right."

He turned away from her as Hotch approached them, and Jane dropped her gaze to the floor, contemplating his words. She doesn't know exactly what she feels, but she doesn't think she'd be opposed to joining the BAU permanently.

It doesn't sound like a bad idea, really. Working with familiar faces. Friends.

──────

"What is that?"

Jane glances up from her book at Spencer's question, but she quickly realizes he wasn't talking to her, but to Emily, who's sitting across from them on the jet with some sort of wooden contraption in her hands.

"It's called a star puzzle," Prentiss informs him, fingers still fumbling with the pieces. "It's basically impossible to figure out. You have to put all of the pieces back together to form a perfect star. But the origin of it is, um, kind of a romantic tale."

Jane raises a brow at her words, closing her book gently, keeping her finger in between the pages she was reading as she focuses her attention on the woman in front of her.

"There was this young prince who wanted to win the heart of the fairest maiden in the land, so he climbed to the top of the tallest tower in the kingdom and he caught a falling star for her," Emily smiles, eyes alight with a gleam of amusement that shows how much she loves the story.

Beside her, Spencer picks up the pieces, examining them as Emily continues.

"Unfortunately, he was so excited that he dropped it and it smashed into all of these pieces, so he frantically put it back together again to prove his undying love for her, and he succeeded, and they lived happily ever after."

Spencer's brows furrow on his forehead. "That doesn't make any sense."

Emily looks at him confusedly. "What do you mean?"

"You can't catch a falling star, it would burn up in the atmosphere." Spencer says matter-of-factly, making Jane hide a smile pulling at her lips behind her hand.

"Yeah, but it's not literal, Reid. It's a fable."

"But there's no moral. Fables have morals."

Emily sighs, sharing exasperated looks with the team watching on. "Okay, so it's just a romantic little story."

Spencer reaches for the puzzle pieces again, and Jane watches as he shifts them around skillfully, slotting them into place.

"And the point is, it's basically impossible to do, because you have to take all of those pieces and fit them together exactly–" Emily stops abruptly as Spencer sets the completed puzzle down on the table between them, her face falling into a glare that has no real heat behind it. Pursing her lips, she clasps her hands together and looks at the young man. "There's a lot to hate about you, Dr. Reid."

"Play poker with him sometime," Rossi says, head propped up on his hand.

"Try playing chess with him,"

"Or Go,"

Jane huffs a laugh, shaking her head as she reaches for the completed puzzle. Her actions draw Spencer's attention, and she looks up at him from beneath her lashes smiling softly. "Logically, it doesn't make sense, but, uh– I think the moral is that one would do anything for love, even if it means catching something as impossible as a falling star."

She sets the puzzle back down on the table between the seats before settling back into the plush leather, her elbow knocking into Spencer's on the shared armrest. "Hey," She says, getting his attention again despite it never leaving her in the first place. "I'm, like, really good at chess. We should play some time."

Something flickers in Spencer's eyes and he nods, ducking his gaze from hers. "Definitely."

"You got any fun facts about chess?" She offers, raising a brow as he looks at her again. "I'll take that rain check now, if you don't mind?"

Spencer's eyes brighten and he wets his lips, beginning a quiet, consistent ramble about the history of chess throughout time. Jane listens raptly, her book forgotten in her lap as she turns in her seat to face him, chin propped on her hand as he goes on.

They're oblivious to the way Emily watches them, a curious glint in her eye.

────── 

author's note; jane and spencer make me insane i've decided. also the star puzzle scene is one of my favorite things ever, and i've had the idea of writing that moment between jane and spencer in my notes app for like 6 months. also the chapter title is from i can see you by taylor swift bc that song is sooooo janexspencer

edited and published; 10.28.23. 

- liz