The phone jolts him out of his sleep with its piercing ring. He sits up quickly, blinking bleary eyed for a few seconds before reaching out to the bedside table and grabbing the phone. He pushes the talk button. "Hel—"
"Spencer, I need you." It would have been an invite to an evening in Derek's bed doing anything but sleeping, were it not for the fear, hurt, and pleading in his desperate tone. Spencer's not sure, but he thinks he can hear the tremor of tears in his lover's voice.
There's no hesitation. "I'll be there in five minutes."
And, true to his word, Spencer is at Derek's door in five minutes, dressed and anxious. He pulls out his spare key and lets himself in. Clooney is sitting at the top of the stairs, whimpering sadly, and yips a little at the sight of the doctor. Spencer climbs the stairs giving Clooney a quick pat on the head, and enters the bedroom the dog has been guarding so well.
The sight that greets him is not at all reassuring, nor what he wants to see. Derek's sheets are a mess, and his possessions that are usually placed so neatly on his nightstands are strewn about the floor. It looks like a bomb had gone off, and none to silently. Derek is in the foetal position in a corner of his bed, his head between his knees, and his body is shaking gently.
Spencer takes off his shoes at the door, and walks toward the bed. "Derek," he calls out in a low voice, soft and gentle. His easy approach has the opposite effect.
Derek's head snaps up, and his eyes are wide, but they are angry and frightened. Spencer is almost positive Derek's not looking at him, rather, what he's dreaming. "Don't," he whispers, his voice most definitely cracking, tear-stains evident, even in the dismal light, "don't come near me."
Spencer, though he knows Derek is only speaking to a projection in his mind from a night terror, is hurt. "Derek," he tries again, but before he can go any farther, Derek leaps up, standing like a tribal warrior on the hunt on his bed.
"I'll kill you, you bastard!" he cries, his hands forward ready to strangle. There's no way out of this, and Spencer doesn't know what he's done wrong. "I swear to fucking god, I'll never let you call me that again! Not in my bedroom, not anywhere! I'm Agent fucking Morgan now," he shouts with finality, his hands coming to rest on Spencer's throat, tightening slowly, "and I will not take your shit you—"
"Morgan!" Spencer cries, his voice harsh enough to jolt Derek awake, and with enough desperation that his hands loosen. Derek's stance—once proud, oppressive, and strong—collapses, his back hunching, his head drooping and his legs sagging. Spencer catches him under the shoulders just before they crash to the ground. He was dreaming about Carl.
Derek looks up at his rescuer's face, his eyes wide and terrified. "Spencer?" he asks, as if making sure not only that it was his lover, but also to confirm that he was there, that he had come to save him. "Fuck, Spencer, I—"
"Shhh..." Spencer chides gently, holding Derek's head against his chest, rocking slowly, stroking his cheek. And when Derek starts to tremble again, Spencer just holds him tighter, pressing soft, chaste kisses to the top of his head, whispering to him softly.
"I'm here for you, Derek. I'll protect you."
Nothing belongs to Nathifa
too many fics out there about reid's nightmares, featuring derek as the knight in shining armor. i thought i'd reverse the roles.