Okay, this was a prompt fic, my lovelies, and it is not a happy one. Warning: Not happy! Angst, no comfort, and mentions of self-harm. If that's a trigger for you, you've been warned.

I was prompted to write something personal to myself, something a little deep, and to keep it under 2k words. This was what I have for you. I'm sorry about the not-happy-ending, such as it were, but I'm not in the most pleasant of moods myself. I have another one I may post later that speaks a little more true to me. It's just been a rough few days and writing like this helped. Then, I thought I'd share it with y'all. So, here you go. :) OH, btw - Spencer is NOT schizophrenic in this. I'm not fond of those type of fics.

Finally, the team was taking a break. This case was a tough one and they'd been working nonstop. But finally Aaron had told them all that it was time to take a break, to go back to the hotel and sleep. Derek, Dave and Emily had gone first. Not long after, Aaron, JJ and Spencer had followed.

Spencer swore his whole body ached both outside and in. The images that he'd seen today were burned into his mind and were taunting him. He'd seen so many cases over the years, why was this one getting to him so much more than the others? He didn't know. All he knew was that it was killing him inside in a way that hadn't happened for a while now. It took every ounce of Spencer's inner strength to walk down the hotel hall to his room. One foot in front of the other, over and over. Who knew it could be so hard? But his feet fought him the whole way, wanting nothing more than to turn around and go in the opposite direction. To go and knock on the door of a different room. He'd be welcome, he knew that. He was always welcome. Always. But that little voice in his head, the one born from years of painful remarks and mockery from his peers, was growing stronger and stronger and taking all control from him.

He'll never want you once he knows the truth.

No, it wasn't true. Derek wasn't like that. He wouldn't turn Spencer away. He'd let him in! But Spencer kept walking; slow, shuffling steps, down the hall to his room.

You're nothing but a temporary amusement to him. Someone to pass the time until something better comes along. Why on earth would he want to keep you around?

Shut up, shut up! His fingernails dug in to his hips, his arms still wrapped around his own waist. It wasn't true. That wasn't the type of person Derek was. He was kind and caring. He'd never abandon someone in their time of need. Right?

Not a normal person. But you're not normal, are you? Look at you. You're disgusting. Why on earth would he want to be anywhere near you? He can get anyone he wants with the snap of his fingers. What would he want with a scrawny little freak like you? You're pathetic. A freaky guy with a freaky mind who should never have been let out in the field. No one wants you here; they never have. You see it every time they look at you.

No, no. No!

Yesss. They look at you and they see the ugliness. You're a freak of nature. Try and cover it up with your smarts and those stupid professor clothes but they see the truth. Underneath, everyone can still see the disgusting person you are. They can see the bastard down in there. They see the ugliness that's on your soul.

Oh God. Spencer stumbled, almost falling to the ground. He had to brace himself on the wall for a minute as that inner voice ripped him to shreds. Thank God everyone was already in their rooms; there was no one out here to see him breaking apart. He had no strength to fight it anymore. How could he, when all that voice whispered was truth?

That's right. You know it's the truth. That's why you do what you do, to make the outside just as ugly as the inside. Cause what's inside is so horrible, so disgusting, it has to get out somehow. You know what you have to do. You know! Do it. It's the only thing for someone like you. Do it!

A sob caught in Spencer throat. No, no, he wouldn't cry here. Not where anyone could come along and see him. No one knew about his inner pain. No one knew about the struggle he waged daily. The only person who'd even had a glimpse was Derek, back with the Dilaudid, and even then he'd only seen what Spencer had let him see. Not this. Never this.

Almost as if thinking of Derek had summoned him, Spencer heard that beautiful voice. "Reid, is everything okay?"

For a moment Spencer thought he'd finally gone off the deep end. That he was not only talking to himself inside his head, but that he was now imagining Derek's voice as well. He was crazy. There was no denying it now. But then he realized that the voice came from behind him. He looked over his shoulder, his eyes unerringly finding Derek. There must have been something showing on his face, something more than he wanted to be seen, because Derek reacted visibly to it. He startled back a step, eyes going wide and mouth opening in this little 'o' of surprise. All of that lasted only a second before he started to step out of his doorway.

No! That snapped Spencer back to himself. He turned away from Derek and rushed the last few feet to his room. If Derek got to him right now there was no way he'd be able to keep from breaking and telling him everything. From ruining it all. Behind him, Derek's footsteps were coming quicker and quicker. He was picking up speed. But Spencer managed to get his door open and quickly dart inside. He slammed it shut and locked it just as Derek reached the other side.

"Reid!"

Slowly Spencer backed away, almost crashing into the table. "Go away, Morgan." He answered hoarsely. "I'm fine. Just go away." He couldn't have Derek coming in right now. Not here, not now. Not when he was like this.

The voice in Spencer's head laughed at him. He raised his hands, cradling his head, trying to force the voice out. Fingers curled into fists, clenching his hair so tightly it pulled at the roots. His pain was building more and more. No, no! He couldn't do this. Couldn't take it anymore! Though he didn't notice it, he was panting with the effort to draw in air. His lungs screamed for it.

With the sound of Derek still knocking at his door, Spencer rushed to the bathroom. He knew what he had to do. Knew the one thing in the world that would ease this unbearable pain. The bathroom door slammed shut behind him. He barely remembered to turn the lock. Just in case. Just in case someone managed to get in his room. He couldn't have them finding him. Couldn't have them stopping him.

His hands trembled when he grabbed the little bathroom kit that he brought to every hotel. It held things like his toothbrush, his shaving kit and other necessities like that. But at the bottom, in a little piece of toilet paper, held the one thing he was looking for now. When he finally reached it he gave a strangled cry, clenching it in his fist. So close; he was so close! It took no time at all to strip down and yet it felt like it took forever. Habit had Spencer climbing into the empty bathtub to do what needed to be done. Here he could easily clean up the mess he made. Here, it didn't matter what he did. When it was said and done it would all wash away down the drain. Gone, as if it never happened.

He didn't hear Derek at the door anymore. He didn't hear anything. Even the voice in his mind was quiet as he sat there and unwrapped the toilet paper. When what was inside fell out into the palm of his hand, nothing else mattered.

Spencer picked up the razor between two fingers. How could something so small come to mean so much? How could it become the very means of his survival?

He looked down at his legs, at the network of small scars that crisscrossed here and there. The pattern of his life could be traced by the severity of his scars. There was a story there, if one knew how to look. Pain, at varying stages in his life. Pain, when it became too much for his body to hold anymore. Like now. Like tonight.

In contrast to before, Spencer's hand was perfectly steady when he lifted the razor. It stayed steady as he pressed it into the outside of his leg and drew it down his skin. The line of blood welled up behind it. Instantly it dripped down his skin and into the tub. He had gone deep, but not too deep. Without breaking stride, he put another next to that one, then another, each one no more than three inches long. There was no pain, only a sense of relief.

That's right. Do what you're best at. Destroy yourself. It won't make the pain go all the way away. Nothing ever will. Nothing ever does. It'll come back.

That little voice in his mind was back. He knew what it was. He wasn't crazy. His therapist had told him once that the voice came from the broken part inside of him. The part that had been made to feel worthless and useless and dirty. That voice was the broken Spencer that lived deep down inside the agent he was today. But knowing that didn't take away its power. It didn't stop it from cutting him from the inside the same as his hand cut him from the outside.

Maybe this time will be enough, he thought to himself. Maybe this will be the last one.

It won't. You said that last time and look where you are now. You're pathetic. You know it. Everyone knows it. It's in their eyes when they look at you. You're always fucking up. Always messing shit up more and more. God, you're such an idiot.

Spencer's grip on the razor tightened as his own thoughts flayed him. He didn't think about it as he moved the razor to his other leg. This cut was longer, just a tad bit deeper. Enough that he could feel the sting of it. Enough that the pain was actually felt. Real physical pain to remind him that he was real. That he was alive.

Lightheaded, Spencer laid his head back against the tiled wall. It was like being high. He felt high off of this. He rested his arms on the sides of the tub while his legs bled sluggishly and the voice, for the moment, was blessedly quiet.