Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Mental Illness, Schizophrenia, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Dark Themes, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: MATURE
Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid
I've had this bunny in my head for a while now, but it was put on hold when I began writing One Call Away. But after Chester Bennington's suicide, I started listening to Linkin Park's One More Light constantly, and this fic was born. I highly recommend giving it a listen.
Please take care of yourselves. If you or someone you know needs help, reach out. Don't wait until it gets to be too much. Call someone, talk to someone...or hell, shoot me a message if you want. I'd be more than happy to talk to you.
Always keep fighting.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255
TW: Suicide, Self-Harm, Mental Illness
Chapter One
Broken
.
Who cares if one more light goes out
In the sky of a million stars?
It flickers, flickers.
.
Spencer sat in the dark...alone, in the middle of the living room floor, inside the apartment he shared with his lover—the only light illuminating the quiet space coming from the moon beams as they shone through the window. He was contemplating his next move, debating the possibilities that were suddenly laid out before him while weighing the pros and cons of each one.
He'd been doing that a lot lately—thinking about things he knew he probably shouldn't be thinking about. More so than usual, anyway. Plans and ideas ran through his mind constantly—reasons for him to do it, and ways for him to get the job done properly this time. A new, and rather easy option had very recently become available to him, and he was having an extremely difficult time ignoring its glaringly obvious presence. It was like the damn elephant in the room, tempting him, luring him, promising him something better than the shitty existence he was fumbling through now.
Really, though, most things would be preferable to his present reality.
The bar wasn't set exceptionally high, sad as it may be.
He heard a noise break the still silence—a mere huff of a sigh—and he flinched as he came out of his thoughts, glancing over toward the corner of the room—to the originator of the sound. The man was still there, of course, leaning up against the wall. He was someone Spencer knew all too well—or, had known all too well, at one point in his life.
That was a more accurate assessment at this point.
He watched as the man stared back at him through the darkness and the silence.
Always staring, always analyzing, always there.
Reid didn't know why the older man seemed to stay so fascinated with him. Surely the novelty had worn off by now; and there had to be more important things for someone like him to do with his time besides waste it watching Spencer Reid sit in the middle of his apartment in the dark.
Something obviously wasn't right with the whole situation, and Spencer knew it implicitly.
Unfortunately, that was also the problem.
He knew.
He was still aware—still 'with it' enough mentally to know that everything in his life was completely fucked up. It was all lies, and tricks, and deceit. All upside down and inside out, off kilter and suffocating and confusing; and it had been like that for a while. Nothing had been okay since his mentor—the man who'd believed in him and brought him into the BAU, the man who'd introduced him to Aaron, the man who'd saved him and then abandoned him—had come back into his life.
Since the man had come back to him and refused to leave him alone, no matter how much he begged for it.
Yeah, that had been the tipping point—the metaphorical slap in the face, if you will. That was the moment when Spencer had finally acknowledged the harsh, cruel reality of his condition.
He was crazy.
Certifiably insane.
Mad.
He'd completely lost his mind; and he knew it to be the truth because he was seeing a fucking ghost.
Jason Gideon had returned from the dead, and the man had come back just for him.
Movement from the occupied corner caught his attention once more, and he watched anxiously as Gideon stepped out from the shadows and into the pale light, moving closer to him in one fluid motion. The advance had him instantly tensing and flinching away, his hands clutching tightly to the item he held in his lap.
The heavy weight of it in his grasp helped to ground him.
"You're always so jumpy, Spencer."
"Oh, yeah?" he asked, a breathy and shrill laugh bubbling up and out of him. "Jumpy..." he repeated, mulling over the word, letting it sit on his tongue for a moment, "Hmm, I wonder why on earth I would be jumpy."
Jason chuckled lightly at that, crossing his arms over his chest as he crouched down in front of him. "You're holding on to dreams that aren't going to come true, son," he smiled, "You need to stop. Everything will be so much better for you if you just stop and let go."
"Let go of what?"
"Aaron," another voice answered from behind him, decidedly female.
He knew instantly who it was...he'd know that nasally tone anywhere.
The blonde circled the outskirts of the room, slinking along the wall, dipping in and out of the shadows like a predator, and Spencer's eyes traced her movements out of his periphery. He didn't know if he should completely pull his attention away from Gideon, though; he didn't know what would happen if he did. He always seemed to get much more nervous when there was more than one of them with him at a time.
"You need to let go of Aaron, for his own good," she continued, "And for my son's well being. Jack...Jack shouldn't have to be around someone like you, Dr. Reid. He doesn't need to be around someone as sick and delusional as you are. You know this; we've talked about it, haven't we?"
He slowly nodded his head. They had talked about it. In fact, they'd gone 'round and 'round on this subject multiple times.
"If you stay," she added, "All you'll be doing is endangering him. Is that really what you want? To hurt Jack? Or Aaron?"
His chest clenched and his stomach dropped at those words, a tiny whimper escaping his throat as a heavy mass of unease settled deep inside him.
He'd gotten to know Haley Hotchner quite well over the last few months. She was the most recent addition to his uninvited company—and it was getting rather crowded inside his head. Everyone kept vying for his attention...kept telling him what to do...kept showing him his future and the damage he would inevitably cause if he stayed with Aaron. Haley had opened his eyes to the danger he was putting Jack in just by being around him.
A mother knows, after all.
And he was like his mother, now.
He was just like her, and it was only a matter of time before Aaron got sick of caring for him and sent him away—just like he'd done to his own mom. Maybe he deserved it. Maybe he was destined to die in a mental health facility, locked up, out of sight and out of mind.
Out of his mind.
There had to be a better way to fix everything.
His gaze met Gideon's again, the man's dark eyes boring into him—staring into his very soul—and he could feel his cheeks burning furiously at the intensity of the intimate look. His fingers nervously traced a well-worn path along the smooth contours of the weapon he held as he tried to calm his raging heart.
"Are you gonna use that pretty little thing, or are you just gonna caress it all night?" his mentor asked, cavalier, as though he were simply inquiring on the weather or what book he'd read recently, "I mean, there has to be a good reason Hotch left it out for you to find, right?"
Was there?
Aaron had left a while ago, mumbling quietly about going to the corner market for...something. Spencer couldn't remember what, exactly; he just knew Aaron had grabbed the car keys, placed a quick kiss to the top of his head, and then left without another word.
What if Hotch had left the gun out of the safe on purpose?
What if this was all part of Aaron's plan?
What if he wasn't supposed to be here when Aaron got back?
It was a possibility, he supposed.
Maybe.
Aaron had said he'd only be a few minutes, but they both knew that that was more than enough time for Spencer to do what needed to be done. The problem, though, was that Spencer had no idea exactly how long the man had actually been gone. Time, unfortunately, was no longer a linear progression for him. It wasn't clear, or clean, or easy. It was the opposite. It was upside down and inside out. Hours and minutes seemed to melt into one another, mixing together in a puddle on the floor, all jumbled up and confusing.
Messy and distraught.
Wibbly wobbly?
He sneered at the thought—the quirky little reference that popped into his mind making his heart ache. That was something the old Spencer would have joked about, but not this new, broken version that he was now. That other Spencer Reid no longer existed. He was nothing but a cheap imitation of him now...and not a very good one at that.
It was so sad.
"Maybe he wanted you to find it," Jason calmly continued, bringing his mind back online, back to the matter at hand, "Perhaps he wanted you to use it, Spencer."
Gideon emphasized the words, drilling them in, coaxing him closer to some kind of compliance.
It made a perfect kind of sense, really.
Or, well, it made as much sense as a dead man talking to him could make, anyhow.
Aaron would never be so careless as to leave him alone in the apartment with a loaded gun. Not on purpose, and most certainly not after everything had gone to hell. Not after he'd told his lover his deepest, darkest fantasies—fantasies of death and absolution, of peace and rest, of quiet endings.
Definitely not after he'd started seeing ghosts and talking to himself...started listening to what the aberrations had to say and believing them.
No, Aaron was smart. He wouldn't have left the gun out unless he'd had enough of it all—unless he was tired of dealing with all the fucking shit. The last year had been no walk in the park, Spencer knew that; it had been hell, pure and simple, and he knew he was making Aaron nervous, especially when he was around Jack.
God, he didn't want to end up doing something to hurt Jack; and the inevitability of that outcome had him choking back bile as a wave of nausea rocked through his core.
Jack always came first. Always. That was how it was supposed to be, and perhaps this was Aaron's way of protecting his son.
Maybe he'd left his gun out so Spencer would take care of the problem himself.
Maybe caring for him had become too much for Aaron, and the man really did want him gone...
.
"I don't want it!" he screamed, his voice lit with ire and high-pitched desperation.
Aaron stared him down, several pills held in the palm of his hand while he watched Reid warily, almost as though Spencer were a petulant child about to throw a temper tantrum.
Which, okay, valid point.
But still, the look had fire burning in his chest, bubbling up, fueling his growing anger. He didn't want to be medicated again, and he cursed Aaron for having the nerve to even suggest that he take the wretched pills. He didn't need them—he could be fine without them.
He knew he could.
As they stared at each other, though, he noticed how tired Aaron appeared...how wrung out and frayed the man seemed—raven hair jutting in all directions and dark circles under his once lively chocolate eyes. Those circles rivaled Reid's own, which in and of itself was an impressive feat considering the insomniac look was one of Spencer's trademark specialties.
Sadly, it was also understandable; neither one of them had been sleeping much lately.
"Spencer, you need to take your meds."
"No," he frantically shook his head. He absolutely hated the way the pills made him feel—heavy and out of it, lethargic, numb.
High.
To be completely honest, he'd rather see the ghosts and hear the voices than feel the side effects. He couldn't let Hotch do this to him—he couldn't let him force the medication down his throat again.
No...not again.
"I don't need it, Aaron. Really. See?" he held a hand up between the two of them, willing with all his might for it to stay still even as the tremors he was feeling visibly coursed through his body, "I'm fine. See? Fine...I'm, I'm f-fine. I'm just fine, completely fine—"
"Spencer," Hotch sighed, "You're really not. You know you're not fine, honey. Come on, now...don't do this, don't fight it. Just cooperate with me. Don't make me force you—"
"NO!" he screamed, cutting Aaron off and slapping his hand away, sending the menagerie of colorful pills flying to the floor and scattering, "Didn't you hear me?! It's not that difficult of a concept, Aaron! I said I don't fucking want it!"
Before he knew what was happening he was slammed into the wall, and the impact was hard enough to momentarily knock the wind out of him, leaving him dazed. Then Aaron's body was against his, pinning him in place as one powerful arm draped securely across his shoulders while the other hand clutched at his jaw, holding his head still and forcing eye contact. He couldn't move, couldn't escape. He felt trapped, like a wild animal caught in a snare; and he clawed at his lover's arms in retaliation, thrashing against strong hands, desperate to get away, to get space, to run.
"Spencer, you've gotta calm down."
Aaron's voice was steady, firm, and unwavering; but Reid could see tears shining in his dark eyes as he continued to struggle against the man's iron hold. He knew he didn't really stand a chance, though; and that thought just made him feel even more panicked and helpless.
He was utterly powerless.
Pathetic.
Lost.
"Aaron, don't—don't, don't make me. Please. Please, don't make me take them," he whimpered, all of the fight leaving his exhausted body as he slumped tiredly against the wall, "Please...I'll be better. I know I can be better. I can do so much better. I promise. I'll—I'll ignore the voices! Okay? I can do that, right? If that's what you want, I can just ignore them..."
"Spencer..."
"No! Aaron, I can! I can do that. You believe me, right?" his eyes watered as he begged Aaron to have faith in him and his abilities, "You have to believe me...please. I...I can do better. I promise, Aaron. I promise you, I can do that...I can do better. Better...I'll...I'll be good for you...please..."
"Shhh, Spencer," Aaron pulled him into his chest, the man's grip still strong, yet tender at the same time.
Safe?
Maybe he was safe here...in these beautiful arms.
He used to think he was safe.
"Just calm down," Aaron's chest rumbled soothingly against his own as a hand ran through his hair, and his eyes moved to the floor, staring blankly at the pills still littering the ground at their feet, "Let's...let's just go to bed now. Come on, honey."
He sniffled and gave a small nod of agreement, allowing Aaron to direct him to their room. Once there, he was gently helped into bed, and the covers were pulled up over him; then Aaron was gone, rummaging around somewhere—in the en suite bathroom from the sounds of it. Spencer didn't have the energy to investigate further, though; instead, he just closed his eyes and let the warmth of the blankets surround him. When Aaron returned, Spencer faintly remembered the mattress dipping behind him before he felt an all too familiar sensation—the slight prick of a needle in his upper arm. His breath hitched at the momentary sting, then he surrendered to it, curling in on himself as he waited for the drug to take effect.
Haldol.
Aaron always gave him the Haldol when he'd been exceptionally manic or hard to handle.
.
Tears ran down his cheeks in hot streams as he thought about every horrible, awful thing he'd ever done or said to Aaron—all the vile names he'd called him and the punches he'd thrown—and his heart ached at the realization. He truly was nothing but a burden now, a monster, a danger. Things would be so much better for Aaron and Jack if he weren't there anymore...if he were just gone. They could have a real life again. A normal, happy life. Jack wouldn't have to stay at Jessica's whenever Spencer was having a bad day—like today.
Like yesterday.
Bad days were all too frequent now...too numerous for him to even count.
Too many.
Too much.
Much too much.
It was all just too fucking much!
"You need to use it before you end up doing something you'll regret."
His body tensed at the idea. "What...what do you mean?" he asked, hesitantly, afraid to hear the answer even though he already knew what it was.
He'd heard Jason say it enough times.
"You'll hurt him, Spencer. Or you'll hurt Jack. Both, probably. It's really only a matter of time, dear boy," Gideon laughed, smiling thoughtfully at him, "Think about it, son...you're highly unstable. Unpredictable."
"I won't hurt them," he mumbled, biting anxiously on his lower lip.
"Tell me this then," Jason leaned in closer, so close Spencer could feel the man's hot breath on his face, "How many times did your mother hit you when you were a child? Hmm? How many times did she hurt you when she was delusional?"
"No..." he shook his head, tears continuing to burn his eyes, "I'd never hurt them like that. I wouldn't...I'd never hurt Jack. Never."
"I'm sure that's exactly what Diana thought, too, wasn't it? She'd never hurt her precious baby boy..." Gideon smirked, and Reid flinched as a hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, "But you will. Think about it. If I told you to, you would. You'd hurt him. You'd kill him. You'd do it, Spencer. You'll do anything I say. Anything at all."
"Nonononono...no, stop...just, just stop!" he jerked back and his hands flew up to his ears, covering them, trying his best to drown out the horrible voice, the lies, the deceit, "You're not here. You're not real! I know you're not! You're not real...no no no no no..." His nails dug harshly into his scalp and he pulled violently on his hair, focusing on the pain the action caused. Pain was good. Pain was helpful. The more pain he felt, the less he could hear; and the less he could hear, the easier it was to pretend that he was okay. But he couldn't do that this time. He couldn't get Jason's sickening laugh out of his head. When he closed his eyes he still saw the man leering at him, still felt hot breath on his skin. "Just leave me alone!" he shrieked, bawling as he curled into a tight ball on the floor, "Please, please just leave me alone. Make it stop...make it all stop...please please please...no more...I can't take it anymore...just make it stop..."
"It helps."
The words startled him into silence; and the new voice had his head snapping up, eyes wide, frantically searching the shadows until they landed on a shaggy mop of messy blond hair. Familiar blue eyes stared back at him, and the man they belonged to smiled softly, knowingly. "What?" he asked, wiping at the tears obscuring his vision, "What...what helps?"
"The bullet," Tobias quickly answered, "It helps to quiet the voices."
Spencer looked back down to his lap, examining the newly cleaned Glock 17, swallowing thickly as Gideon's words echoed in his mind...
.
"If I told you to, you would. You'd hurt him. You'd kill him. You'd do it, Spencer. You'll do anything I say. Anything at all."
.
As he listened, his eyes caught site of the long, dark scar marring the skin on the inside of his wrist and forearm. His fingers lightly traced the raised flesh, remembering exactly how good it had felt to slice his body open. He remembered the warm gush of blood as it flowed so easily down his arm, pooling at the tips of his fingers like a tidal wave of cascading relief. He remembered why he'd done it; but he also remembered just how utterly devastated Aaron had looked that night when the man had walked in and found him bleeding all over the kitchen floor.
He didn't want to keep putting Aaron through that kind of torture; he deserved so much better than that...so much better than him.
He didn't want Jack to see him like he was now, either—a broken shell, empty, cold...nothing more than an echo of who he once was.
Did that other person ever truly exist, or was it all just a trick? Just another delusion?
He especially didn't want to keep seeing and hearing things that weren't really there. He knew Gideon, Tobias, and Haley were just in his head—he really did—but they seemed so real; and it was beginning to become more and more difficult for him to differentiate the truth from all the lies.
Sometimes he even thought that Aaron and Jack might be the true hallucinations.
Sometimes he feared that he'd never left Georgia...that he was still back there...trapped inside that shack, cuffed to a chair in a cold and lonely cemetery while the smell of fish hearts and livers filled his nose and burned his eyes.
Those were the nights he was truly terrified, the nights when his nightmares became more of a reality to him than the truth.
He realized he was very, very sick and he shouldn't be listening to anything the dead manifestations surrounding him had to say, but they were making too much fucking sense to simply be ignored; and that was the precise reason he was sitting in the dark, clutching desperately to a gun his lover may or may not have meant to leave him access to.
Wasn't it?
Wasn't that the reason?
Yes.
Of course it was.
He didn't want to keep living like this—a burden to the man he loved and a danger to the boy who had become like a son to him. And the fact that his hallucinations were truly making sense to him didn't help matters any.
He didn't think he could live in a world that had taken his mind away from him and turned him into what he was now.
This would be better for everyone.
With the decision made, he took a deep, shuddering breath and looked back up to meet Gideon's heavy gaze. They shared a quiet moment together, staring at each other like they were in the throes of a heated game of chess, or perhaps a long-awaited goodbye; then Jason nodded his head approvingly and Spencer lifted the gun.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he placed the barrel against his temple and closed his eyes as the heavy metal cooled his skin.
The last thing he wanted to see before everything ended was Aaron, so he concentrated on the man's perfect face...beautiful and warm and kind. Chocolate eyes gazed lovingly back at him, and those dimples...those radiant dimples had Spencer smiling as one final tear rolled down his cheek.
.
Who cares when someone's time runs out
If a moment is all we are?
Or quicker, quicker.
.