Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Spencer was hungry, tired, and stressed.
Not a great combo.
He could feel a headache forming; he needed another fix.

He gritted his teeth and pushed through, determined not to give in to that urge at work when he was barely allowed there in the first place.

He had taken a little over a week off after Tobias, which was not enough by Hotch’s standards, but Strauss had cleared him to work so his disapproval was just that - and disapproval on its own was harmless. He was useful to the team, and Strauss knew every day she didn’t go over Hotch's head to sign him off despite the doctor's warnings, Reid would torment her with messages and emails (even one visit to her office - that had been the last straw).

He elected to think he could usually be persuasive enough to not resort to those means, but apparently, it is difficult to twist a very clear order from the doctor and a failed psych eval (he had barely passed a second one, which usually wasn’t allowed without a couple months waiting time).

Usually, the psych eval would be no problem; he knew exactly how to lie to pass them, but he couldn’t hear more than one question about what happened with Tobias without having to fight off a panic attack.
He knew why. He wasn’t dumb; he had always had issues talking about these types of things (he almost laughed at the casual phrasing at that, as if ‘these types of things’ happened often) but it was apparently worse now. He knew the exact incident-or - or rather, series of incidents-that had caused that.

“What happened here?”  The therapist's voice would merge with Charles, and pure stubbornness and fear would stop Spencer's mouth from opening to voice an answer. The memory of a rough hand tying his wrists, the sound of a gun clicking over and over, rushed into his head like water. 

Spencer came back to reality as he felt something warm on his hands.

Blood.

He'd been gripping his pen too hard, and the plastic snapped and dug into his hand.

He muttered a curse as he let go and threw the pen into the bin, reaching for one of Morgan's more expensive ones, without the plastic around the ink.

Needless to say, that little fun activity Charles came up with had caused Spencer to freak out whenever a question too similar to the ones Charles had asked him was directed his way.
Or anyone's way, for that matter.
He had to start avoiding being picked for interviews, not that it had been difficult, Hotch had stopped choosing him to interview witnesses, Spencer couldn’t figure out why - it's not like that had ever gone wrong.

Hotch had avoided choosing him for a lot of things as of late.

He had stayed with just deskwork for a while. He and Hotch agreed on two weeks to a month (Hotch only gave the two-week figure to calm Reid, clearly intending to stick to two months, and Reid only accepted the possibility of waiting a month to get out of that office).

.
Spencer allowed four days before demanding to be on the case that had them travelling to Texas.

He rationalised it had almost been two weeks since the incident at this point, so he was technically supposed to be back at work anyway. Hotch had reminded him that he was meant to be starting on deskwork then too - he had conveniently walked out of earshot by then, picking up the go bag Hotch was disgruntled to realise Spencer had still brought with him to work.

An annoying - although useful - side effect of the whole situation was that he could get away with these arguments and demands.

As much as he wanted to be on the case, it annoyed him that Hotch seemingly thought he was too fragile to argue properly with.
Only three or so weeks ago, before Tobias, he could never have gotten away with the blatant disrespect he had been showing as of late.

He tried to not let anger build when Hotch let him get away with a snide comment that would otherwise at least get a stern look, when JJ used her 'mom voice' on him more often than not, when Morgan no longer teased him like he used, to when Garcia didn't even mask the pity she wore on her face when she looked at him.

Prentiss was the only one who treated him somewhat normally - he appreciated it greatly, which made him even more upset to realise he was lashing out at her just to see her react normally and say something back.
It was a genius idea to mess up his relationship with the one person treating him somewhat normally.

Gideon was going the opposite route - treating him like he was now made of steel - outright arguing with Hotch (even more out of character for Gideon than it was for Spencer - Gideon was also going off the rails as of late) when he sidelined Spencer, which was only appreciated a few times before the attention it got him started to make his ears burn.

He seemed to be trying to send Spencer out to do something every five minutes - it was better than the other's approach but eventually had started fucking Spencer over even more.

He was permanently exhausted these days; he hadn't felt rested since a while before Georgia.

He pushed through it and managed not to be openly drowning, but the mouthfuls of water he was chugging every day were starting to clog his lungs.

The fact he was struggling was in itself a wonderful reminder that Gideon's message about Tobias not ‘being able to break’ him wasn't founded in any truth. Just a ridiculous hope in Reid that was now undoubtedly broken - the illusion of whatever Gideon had thought he'd seen in Spencer dead alongside Tobias.

Gideon didn't care about his abilities - not really.
He knew this because when Spencer failed and had to have another team member come to his aid, Gideon did look disappointed, but in himself instead (that did not make Spencer feel any better - disappointment was disappointment) and when Spencer managed to keep up, Gideon didn't look proud at anyone just relieved.

He was proving to himself that Spencer wasn’t broken beyond repair - that he hadn't taken a kid into the BAU and fucked them over for life.

Spencer tried for him, but he could feel the water moving around in his stomach, and he knew it wouldnt be long before he choked too obviously for Gideon to ignore.

The man in question was currently ignoring the stares Reid knew he noticed he was being given by the youngest agent from across the Jet.
Spencer looked down finally and then over to the others.
Hotch was across from him on the table they sat at, reading over the case file Reid had already memorised; Morgan and Emily were sitting together quietly talking amongst themselves. Prentiss’s eyes met his for a moment, and she sheepishly looked away, causing Morgan to turn his head. Reid looked away before he saw him.

Great.

He couldn’t even blame Emily, he didn’t know what he would do if she stopped treating him normally, he also didn’t know how he'd get through the day without her putting him in his place every now and then when he said something out of line, reminding him that he was still human and not an abused dog everyone felt bad for.
It was selfish, but he didn’t care enough about anything right now to put work into changing it.

He can't remember when exactly he became this person - someone who willingly hurt someone else just to feel more normal.
Maybe it was after the very first dose of Dilaudid, or the second when he'd struggled a bit less, or the third when he already learnt to be thankful.

Maybe it was after one too many hits to the head - the doctors surely couldn't have missed brain damage but how else could he explain the fact he felt like he'd been given someone else's personality.
Like his brain had been squeezed, and the integrity and all his goodness had been forced out like toothpaste through a tube.

Maybe the same thing happened physically, he'd lost even more weight -Tobias and Dilaudid and lack of sleep and food had stripped the muscle, life, and colour from under his bones and placed his skin back over them without him having quite noticed when.
His hair was falling flat across his head no matter how much he tried to return life to it, his dark under eyes had become more pronounced, looking as though they were physically carved underneath his glassy eyes. He still had some light bruising on his face but it fit in well enough with the rest of his appearance he may have looked like he was missing something without it.

His ribs and foot ached, his back covered with new marks that wouldn't all fade, his wrists only just healing from the rope burns (at least mostly, if you knew they were there you could still see them, or Spencer thought so at least if the team's wince when they looked at his wrists where anything to go by).
He felt exposed, raw, vulnerable - everyone gave him these knowing looks when his hands shook too much to continue geographical profiles, or when he stood up and had to pause for a moment to catch himself on the table.

They looked at him confused; however, when he left the bathroom stalls looking calmer, more collected (more unaware and much, much, much higher).
They'd figure it out soon, if he carried it on or made it more frequent. Gideon probably suspected and Emily gave him these suspicious looks that made him think she'd also know it soon if she didn't already.
He wondered if she'd say anything, probably more than the others.

He thinks he'd thank her if she did, but realistically, he could understand he'd probably just yell or scoff.

He didn’t care much, he'd felt far too exposed to the world, some of his worst moments being a screenplay for the team, his others being shared with effectively three people at once, being forced out of him by Charles in the form of scars and his biggest regrets being shared with through a confession he wished he had given sooner.

Having this secret made him feel a bit better.

That's what had made him consider another method.

TW

Right after they had gotten the case, just before they had to be on the jet, Spencer had been sitting in the bathroom, holding a needle in one hand and common sense in the other.
The latter was slipping through his fingers and he couldn't make himself care.

He couldn't do this.
He hadn't done this on a case (hadn’t been on a case yet) and that's where he'd drawn the line.
This line kept seeming to move though.
At first, it had landed where he could only use it to sleep, then it had moved again - only at home he rationalised but stopped caring what for. Then Spencer had thrown the line far enough he could use it at work - just once.
Then twice.
Then whenever he needed as long as no one was taking notice.
He couldn't let it run its way to letting him use it while on an active case.

However, if half of the feeling he liked was having a secret to keep (it was becoming more the fact he craved the drug than a secret, but he wouldn't admit that to himself - if he did he'd realise that no matter what he did he would end up moving that line further and further) he had more options.

He had knowledge of mental illnesses, and instead of seeing this as cautionary tales, he apparently saw it as a list to choose from.

Eating disorders - some people did this for control, he needed that, and it could be a secret. But he was already alarmingly thin, he didn't eat enough as it was, and he was throwing up about three times a week at home already. He'd be hospitalised far too quickly; that wasn’t an option.

Self-harm, however, well with other people it was dangerous; you could hit something important, or get an infection, or get caught.

Spencer, however? Well, he had an outright ridiculous knowledge of the human body, where the veins and arteries lay, how to sterilise any blade and how to hide it.

He'd used that logic to allow himself this admittedly subpar coping mechanism before. He was clean now, had been for a while, but he could use a little familiarity.

If he was thinking clearer, he may have felt something over planning to break this streak.
But when he'd rummaged round and found his old blade, he’d known this was better than drugs.
At least from the perspective that it wasn't illegal and he could hide it better.

He sat in the bathroom with it in hand.
He planned to only use it for a while, to use when cravings for Dilaudid hit - after they faded, he'd stop using it.

However, when he made the first cut and he felt the oh-so-familiar feeling of blood running to meet the wound, he sighed and knew this was going to be the start of something that would last for longer than he hoped - it would control him, not the other way round.

He didn't care though, he could get the illusion of control and most importantly, he thought, as he now sat across from Hotch, feeling his clothes press against the multiple lines now running down his left arm, it was now his secret. 

Chapter Text

Nobody talked to him on the jet, no one expected him to add to the profile or really function in any way that mattered. Usually, being underestimated was a good thing; it gave him an edge, an advantage, a secret even - and he now knew how much he valued those.

It wasn't helping at all now, though.

Not when thoughts that maybe he couldn't do this, maybe they were right, seeped into his mind, dripping into his conscience and sloshing around in there until their doubt in him was his own.

The only people who may have treated him somewhat normally - Gideon and Prentiss weren't acknowledging him for other reasons - Prentiss avoiding him biting her head off ( he ignored the twisting feeling of guilt that caused in his stomach), and Gideon had been talked to by Hotch before they left. 

They didn't know he knew, but the walls to Hotch's office were thinner than they realised, and the gap in the blinds was large enough that Spencer had noticed what was happening and went to not-so-subtly listen.

He didn't have to bother being careful not to get caught with these sorts of things by now - they didn't seem to think he was in it enough to do that. They seemed to assume he was either convinced they weren't worried about him or decided he should be catatonic enough by now that he wouldn't care.

“You have to give him time, Gideon - he’s only been back a few days, and you've given him more work than normal.”

“He can handle it- it's only paperwork anyway, he’s fine.”

“No - he isn't.”

He'd walked away, not wanting to hear more.

This was the first case Spencer was officially working on since Georgia - he’d helped with geographical profiles for one they'd worked from home, but hadn't officially been involved. 

If there was any chance to try to prove he could function, it was this. 

He crossed his arms slightly to feel the clothes brush against the cuts on his arm, clearing his mind before speaking up, giving a quick statistic to the others that related to what Emily was saying. 

He was impressed that his voice didn't shake at all, coming out even and at a decent volume. They looked at him, some nodding before turning back to the other conversation. 

He made an effort to ignore the fact that Gideon hadn't even looked up at him and decided to get up to get a coffee. 

No one looked up as he left - or faltered in their conversation, he wasn't really involved. He ignored the slight anger in his chest at that - they either put too much attention on him or practically ignored him. 

He was being unfair; he needed to calm down.

He grabbed the cup while it was still burning, allowing the pain in his hand to calm him.

He sat back across from Hotch, and they had about 20 minutes of the flight left. They were sitting quietly now, all going over the file alone.

Spencer read through it again, committing parts to memory - ignoring the fact he had to do this at all when he usually would've done this earlier, completely subconsciously. No, he was too busy cutting himself in the bathroom, trying to avoid shooting up - he didn't put effort into ignoring the self-disgust and shame washing over him.

“You alright?” Hotch must have stopped reading the file at some point. When Spencer looked up, he realised why; they were now descending, a whole 20 minutes passing without him realising - his ability to stew in self-disgust and pity was impressive. He cleared his throat briefly before answering.

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, Hotch,” he tried to keep tone out of his voice but failed, not caring much, he added, “Are you alright? To make a point.

Hotch didn't respond.

Spencer ignored the way his body tensed slightly as Hotch tried and failed to hide the disapproving look that crawled and hung onto his face at his comment. 

He felt a bit of guilt when he snapped at his team for trying to check on him. But he was fine. He needed them to get that and leave him alone.  

He was handling it, not super well, but he was handling it.

They just didn't actually know him; they were only worried because the person they'd seen through that camera hadn't been him, not really.

If they knew him, they'd know he'd be fine. He had to believe that. If he was wrong, he didn't know what the point of being saved in that graveyard was.

He'd told Gideon as much the one and only time they'd properly talked since Georgia.

"They all seem worried about you."

" Really? I hadn't noticed."

"It makes sense." Was this Gideon's shitty way of saying he was worried? Spencer was happy he seemed to be talking to him again, but he wasn't going to just accept that lazy show of caring.

"Of course it does," he said, the gentle venom he'd mastered colouring his words, "Poor baby Dr Reid, who can barely tie his own shoe laces or shuffle his own deck, got hurt." He turned his tone back to normal,

"They don't know anything about me. They wouldn't be so worried if they did."

He didn't say that because he had some awfully dark past, sure he was a thief, and a liar, but he wasn't exactly in the mob - he wasn't who they thought he was, though, he knew that. They didn't.

"Well, tell them. Tell them whatever piece of information you think would make them know you, and watch how they still worry." Gideon paused, "They'd listen to anything you wanted to share".

Spencer scoffed.

"Of course they would, pity makes for a good audience."

"They don't pity you, they care about you."

" They don't know me, they don't know what happened, they have exaggerated versions of both, you can't care about something you don't actually know anything bout. It's pity."

He placed down his chess piece. He'd won this game; he won more often than not these days.

They'd started playing best of three. Spencer never won those - he could beat Gideon once, but once he saw Spencer's strategy, he saw it. As he predicted, the rest of the games were finished in silence, with Gideon winning the next two swiftly.

That had been their last proper conversation besides casual good mornings or swift orders administered by Gideon, followed without a word returned.

He took a breath as subtly as he could, closing his file and preparing to leave.

He hadn't been told what he was doing when they landed, but he could guess with a reasonable chance of success - he would be setting up a geographical profile at the station, under the watchful eyes of Hotch.

He didn't bother thinking of ways around it, he didn't have Gideon to back him up if he asked to do more - not after the talk him and Hotch had earlier, and to be honest he was feeling lightheaded and the idea of being able to sit in the station for a while wasn't the most unapealing thing -yet. 

The travel to the station went by without Spencer noticing, too focused on subtly pressing against his arms, trying to get a sharp feeling of pain that was unfortunately fading with the time taken.

He was at the station, setting up the geo profile as he knew he would.

Hotch was speaking to some deputy whose name Spencer hadn't paid attention to, electing to look over the pictures of the victims unceremoniously laid out across the table instead. 

Young, female, two sex workers and one homeless runaway drug addict.

Easy targets, and ones that would have gone unnoticed or at least unconected if it wasn't for the detail of the right ear of each of the victims being cut off and taken as a trophy.

Spencer, like the others, was thinking this was likely something as generic as the unsub feeling unheard. Usually, Reid would scoff at how juvenile the unsubs they caught were, but now he was trying to ignore the conversation he could just about hear going on between Hotch and the deputy. 

It was a typical conversation - Hotch assuring they were assisting, not taking over, the deputy at least seemingly thankful for their help.

It was the small detail of the southern accent that hung off the deputy's words that caused an issue for Reid's attention and heart rate.

It wasn't the same as Tobias’s Georgian accent, but it was similar enough that his brain didn't care. 

He pushed past it, thinking about victimology.

The word bible slipped into the conversation - likely talking about this being in the bible belt - Spencer didn't care to piece together the conversation, focusing on keeping his breath even and his hands steady as he worked on the board.

He placed a pin down and ignored his shoulders tensing and his now audible heartbeat in his ears. 

“Reid?” Hotch's voice rang out. 

He turned and raised an eyebrow in place of using words.

Hotch just looked down at Spencer's hand - oh.

He'd begun fiddling with a pin and had pricked his finger. A while ago, if the decent amount of blood that had accumulated was anything to go by. 

He sucked away the blood, trying not to think about germs as he placed the pin back where he'd taken it off the board. 

“Are you alright? You look pale?”

“I always look pale,” Spencer muttered, humour being lost when he reached for a chair and sat down shakily. 

Hotch hummed, in a way Spencer knew meant he had more to say - but thankfully, he elected to remain silent.

They went over files in silence, but Spencer didn't miss how Hotch's gaze travelled to his pricked finger every now and then. 

It wasn't long before he found himself being sent away to eat, he and Prentiss both having a quick break at the same time. They went their separate ways, Prentiss still understandably avoiding him.

He picked out a sandwich from a cafe just next to the station, needing a quick walk for air.  

He didn't have much of an appetite, he picked pieces but ultimately ate prcticlly nothing, much to the concern of JJ who was now sitting next to him as he threw most of the food away in favour of sipping on his coffee ad he read over the case file again, begging his mind to think of something to add. 

He ignored the shaking in his hands - an easy thing to do, that had become almost as permanent as his craving for the drug he knew he couldn't have.

He hadn't even brought it with him - he assumed he'd be able to get over it by now. He should've known better. 

Maybe he should bring it around with him - if he could only possibly use it at home, he'd be more likely to use it in larger doses - that excuse rang hollow even to him.

He could probably find some here, or fake being ill and get to go home. Hotch wanted him to go anyway; he wouldn't have to act much, he mused. He quickly disregarded that line of thought. 

This became harder to do as the rest of the team filtered in - everyone expressing annoyance over the little evidence they had, considering there were already three bodies, Morgan's voice rising a little too loud and angry for Reid to handle.

He reached his limit when an officer, a young man, likely not much older than Reid and definitely not imposing on his own, joined this chatter.

The southern accent bounced around the small room and landed directly in a pit in Reid's stomach; he needed more space than this room could give him. He slipped out quietly, ignoring the fact that Gideon noticed him leave and said nothing. 

He wandered for a moment until he realised he was subconsciously looking for the first aid kit. He paled. His first aid kit at home was where one of the two bottles of Dilaudid he'd taken from Tobias was.

He’d have scoffed at his stupidity - did he think the police department was storing drug store heroin away in their med kits, too? But he was trying to quell the panic racing through his body at the notion. 

He couldn't do that, he couldn't become that.

His mind travelled back to Tobias.

It helps.

He was right. Reid knew he was right; that's why he'd fought so hard to avoid being given it.

Pathetic, just like my son

He made a beeline towards the bathroom, pulling out his small blade and rolling up his sleeves before he'd fully registered this response.

He took a moment, admiring his earlier handiwork before allowing himself the release he'd been searching for when he left that room. 

It was as if the dread he'd been feeling bled out through the cuts he drew across his arm - it felt purifying.

The Dilaudid was an escape, but one that left him dirty - this was a much better trade-off. Even if it wasn't quite as effective in removing him from reality, it was a close thing.

He avoided the thoughts that maybe it'd be as good if he went deeper. He was careful; this was a reward.

He left the bathroom a lot calmer than he entered. Again, he saw the team's faces fill with confusion. He couldn't find it in himself to care.