Omg, I'm so sorry I haven't updated in ages! I had this chapter pre-written for awhile, but I'm currently working my way through finals (joys of GCSE French, ugh) and other subjects. And life has gotten in the way too, but I hope you enjoy this edition of depressing Reid and angsty team.
On another note, he gets out of the hospital soon. But well...things get worse before they get better. Feel free to speculate. Got the next few chapters plotted out, and it'll be a rather...bumpy journey for our favourite (or mine at least) genius.
Thank you to everyone who has read/reviewed/followed/fav'd; it really means a lot that you guys are enjoying my work, really. Its terribly humbling, and it keeps me motivated to write (should be doing some more since Christmas Break is coming up). I love you lot so much 3
~FANFICTION~
He felt his heart plummet to his stomach as the door swung open, the scent of hospital washing through his nasal cavity, a horrible reminder of the sombriety of the situation. Deep, kind brown eyes were drawn with worry, the lines around his eyes more prominent than ever as his forehead creased in perplexity and shock.
The thin walls had done nearly nothing to stifle the maddened cries that had resonated through the corridor, each scream a glancing blow to his auditory system, shattering the silence tens of times. Though the distressed wails had been more than anticipated, he couldn't help but wince in pain as the sobs grew more desperate, more yearning, more guttural.
But here he was again.
Standing at the door tentatively, Morgan's booted feet trembled a little with apprehension as he braced himself for the sight that would most certainly grace his eyes as he entered. But though he was prepared, he still did a slight double take as his eyes adjusted to the bright light in the white, sterile room.
"Kid…" He felt his words curl into the air and disappear as his warm brown eyes shifted into an expression of worry, casting a gaze on the forlorn figure gazing numbly up at the ceiling. Skin was pale grey, throbbing veins visible underneath the papery whiteness, dark circles ringing his eyes...oh his eyes… Once sparkling with intelligence, they were dull and lifeless, a haggard stare replacing what had allowed him to join the Bureau in the first place.
Derek felt the breath leave his lungs as he took a step closer to the bed, the sound of the heart monitor screaming in his ears, a unfeelingly cruel reminder of where he was and the sombre situation he was in. Pulling the plastic chair by the bed closer to him, he levered himself into the seat slowly, unobtrusively casting a gaze of Spencer's still form, hating how the thin sheet barely rose and fell with his breathing.
Scrape.
The sound of the chair moving across the sterile floor echoed in the room, the relentless beeping motion of the heart monitor sounding rhythmically.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
"Hey kid," Morgan spoke softly, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned a little closer to Reid; close enough to be brotherly but not exactly invading his personal space. Hell, he didn't even know how Reid was going to react with this...this...drug clouding his mind. He hadn't even been himself recently; the genius he had once known was gone with the wind, whisked away into a land of possibly no return, leaving the body empty and vulnerable for evils to take host. He was Spencer physically, but mentally...the kid he knew was gone.
No response.
"How're you feeling?" Morgan tried again, a crease appearing on his forehead in worry, deep voice slightly gravelly.
Again, no response. Just the rise and fall of his chest, the steadily fluctuating graph on his heart monitor.
Spencer fought to keep his breathing slow and even, as if he was asleep. In, out, in, out. Rhythmically; in time with the heart monitor. Don't betray your weakness. Don't let Morgan see… Don't let him show disappointment, because you KNOW he's disappointed with your stupidity, you worthless idiot.
"Reid…why?" Morgan murmured to himself, placing his hand on the seemingly unconscious man's hand, clasping the thin, bony fingers between strong ones, hating how weak and thin they were, loathing how the veins felt under his hand. "Kid…" A sob escaped the stronger's lips, a tear running down his nose and dotting the sheet.
"Spencer...just tell me why? You had everything...god, why? What sick bastard drove you over the edge? Who? Why didn't you tell us, or get help? God, why didn't I do anything about it...ask yoU? You'd been acting weird recently, why didn't you tell someone?" A shaky breath escaped the man's lips as he scrubbed away at his tears fiercely, but more replaced them, an intricate dance down his cheeks and onto the sheets, dotting the white with patches of grey.
Reid had to fight the urge to open his eyes, staying stony and silent as the Thoughts sent glancing blows of white-hot pain through his mind once more. The drugs tore him apart from the outside in, but the thoughts from the outside in.
Stupid.
Worthless.
Good-for-nothing.
Disgusting.
Disappointment.
You should be dead.
Worthless.
They always ask why, he thought to himself bitterly. But why don't they ask, why not? If I had died, they'd ask why. But I'd ask, why not? Why didn't they leave me to die? They're already asking why, and I don't even know how to answer.
They never ask what I have to gain from the quiet. They don't know that everlasting sleep could take away the pain, take away everything. They'll never ask what I'll gain from death. And if they do...I don't know how to answer.
Stop asking why I did this. Stop trying to 'help' me. I'm not worth it. Not f*cking worth it.
Stop asking me why...please…
Morgan's choking sobs echoed through the room, each breath like a cleaver slicing Spencer's heart to pieces. But he lay still, unmoving.
Silent...
~FANFICTION~
The air in the waiting room was silent, stagnant with worry as the muffled sound of hospital hustle and bustle tinkled through the thin plaster walls. Most of the team had shifted positions on the couches, half-drunk paper cups of coffee littering the tables, some empty and others with dregs remaining, cold and still. It was as if the coffee reflected the forms of the team; cold and still, silent. There were no words needed; speech could break the teetering calm like a flame upon a sheet of ice, sending the waves of terror and worry reigning over their bodies and minds in unstoppable tsunamis.
Penelope sat alone on a couch, ringed fingers clutching a paper cup of rapidly cooling tea, sparkling eyes dull and saddened. Usually immaculate hair was askew, and trickles of mascara-streaked tears made tracks of soot grey on her rosy cheeks. Derek's seat had been vacated next to her, feet tucked up under her body as her left hand idly picked at the fabric of her top.
Emily had migrated from the corner of the room to sit by JJ, the two women sitting together on the settee by the door. The blonde's eyes were staring off into the distance, lost in thought, clear blue irises dull, redness underneath her eyes from sobbing. Emily had her arm around JJ's, her expression equally unmoving, features seemingly locked in an eternal poker face, piercing as usual but lacking bite. In worrying situations, she seemed to shut down, almost a statue carved out of pale ivory with raven hair, falling messily down to her shoulders.
Hotch and Rossi were silent too, perched on hard, plastic chairs despite the fact that the room was filled with sofas. Their eyes locked for a split second before wandering away again, as if they were picking out the individual specks of paint on the walls, every imperfection and speck of dust in the room gathering their utmost attention. As they met, they seemed to scream at each other, a sudden desperation as their teammate and friend (perhaps more) slipped away in front of their eyes.
Helpless.
Hotch hated this feeling. Loathed it, more than anything. The same sinking feeling he had when Hayley was killed by Foyet, the feeling that he couldn't do anything as the ones he loved were put into danger. But with Foyet, he could get revenge on him, take out his vengeance on someone else. Reid however...his battle was against himself. He was hurting himself, and in order for him to stop Hotch would have to fight him to get the demons away from his mind.
But Hotch didn't know.
He didn't know that the demons had already made a home inside the man's body. He was Spencer but he wasn't; a demon living in his body, in a sense, driven by his anguish and feeding on his agony, slowly but surely driving the 'good' part of him away, perhaps never to be seen again.
Helpless…