Author's Note

This is just a little something I came up with. Hope you enjoy, it's kind of depressing.

I don't own Criminal Minds nor the characters. All mistakes are my own. Spoilers for previous seasons. Contains drug use and depression.

Dr. Spencer Reid was like a glass mirror. Every single time something bad happened to him, a crack in the glass was made. When he was born, he was had a smooth, crack-free surface. Then school started. Every single time a bully tormented him, a crack was made. But it was nothing major. He kept his composition and refused to be broken.

Then his dad left. Abandon. Gone. Out of his life. A large, jagged crack sliced through his glass soul. So he was left, barely holding on. But he survived. Even if whenever he got home to find his schizophrenic mother withering in the corner in fear, another blow was put to his structure. He held on.

Then he had to send his mother away. One of his biggest regrets almost destroyed him. But he held on. He joined the FBI as Jason Gideon's protégé. Things were looking up. Yes, he still had cracks inside of him but he was yet to be broken.

But then Tobias Hankle happened. He felt a part of the glass chip away and fall into the black nothingness that lives around his cracked mirror. A part of him died after those two days. And the glass was still slowly breaking apart weeks after. The Dilaudid was a safe haven. A home. It made him feel as if the cracks in him were being covered. Covered, not repaired.

The Gideon left. Gone. Abandon. Just like his father. It almost broke him for good. Almost. He was barely hanging on by a thread; every time he let someone in, they tore him apart in the worst of ways. Slowly, he felt himself being repaired inside. The cracks weren't quite gone, they were just burying themselves deep within. Sure, he had his bad days that brought back up old cracks or even made new ones. But he held on. He was strong.

But not immortal.

Even after he swore to himself never to let anyone else in; Emily Prentiss slithered her way into his heart. Not romantically, of course. But as a best friend, a coworker, a sister, a friend. But then she died. Or so he though. Turns out she was living it up in France while he was bending over backward trying to keep the shards of glass from tumbling down. Little bit, here and there, slipped through his grasps as little parts of him died away.

Then he found out. She was alive! He knew he should be happy. He should be joyful. He should be fixed, no more cracks. Right?

Wrong.

He was betrayed, by the only people he ever even trusted in his life. And they thought she could just waltz right in like nothing ever happened and everyone would be buddy-buddy again. Ha! He felt a strange tug in his chest and then he felt absolutely nothing.

Spencer Reid has broken.

And know he sits with the syringe in his hand wondering if it's possible for him to ever be put back together. But then decides he doesn't care. Nobody cares. If anyone cared, he wouldn't be sitting on his bathroom floor; tourniquet tied on his arm, half bottle of Dilaudid rolling near his foot with needle positioned in the crook of his arm. No, they didn't care.

He pushed the needle down and felt the rush of coolness through his body followed by a wave of bliss.

No, he finally deiced in a drug-filled haze, I can't be fixed.

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