Warning: This chapter contains self-harm.

Derek couldn't remember how many times he had investigated a crime scene covered in the blood of a victim who had died or been gravely injured. He never became truly desensitized to it over the years – he would have worried if he had. Perhaps Gideon had realized he had come too close to losing that part of his humanity when he made the decision to leave the BAU. No two crime scenes were exactly the same, no two patterns of spilled blood matched, but each and every one of them held unimaginable horrors that chipped away at a person's faith in the world little by little.

No matter how much Derek had been subjected to during his time with the FBI, no matter how many disturbing crime scenes he had witnessed, the droplets of Spencer Reid's blood splashed across the bathroom tiles were the most gut-wrenching sight he had ever seen.

The cut along the inside of the boy's arm ran from elbow to mid forearm, thankfully tapering off before it reached the veins of his wrist; not as deep as he had originally feared but still trickling a steady stream of blood. Derek had to believe the young man's hysterical rambling – that he hadn't meant to hurt himself this badly – because the other option was too much for him to bear.

He remembered reading somewhere that a person who self-injured was not likely to commit suicide in the same manner as they inflicted their wounds. He hoped that was true, because if Spencer was only alive now because he had changed his mind halfway through slicing his arm open, there was a lot more to worry about than he feared.

Derek pulled a pristine white hand towel off the rack above Spencer's head and wrapped it around the boy's arm, holding it tightly in place. The younger man watched with wide eyes as his arm was tended to, as though in a trance, like he wasn't in his body but watching everything from above.

"Spence," Derek said gently. He held onto the boy's arm with one hand and with the other he gently tilted Spencer's chin up so that he could meet his eyes. "I don't know if I can stop the bleeding on my own. We need to get you to a hospital."

Spencer's already pale face blanched and he shook his head, launching himself backwards against the side of the tub so hard Derek cringed. His body was trembling uncontrollably. "N-no. No, Derek, please. I told you, it was an accident," his voice was becoming high with tension and his eyes were agonized. "P-please don't take me to a hospital. I didn't mean to do it. I s-swear. It was an accident!" Tears glistened on his lash line and Derek cupped the young man's cheek in his hand, keeping his gaze fixed on him.

He ignored the fact that his heart was breaking in his chest and managed to somehow keep his voice steady. "I believe you, Spencer," he said. "I know you didn't mean to hurt yourself this badly. But that has nothing to do with it. This is a lot of blood…"

"They'll ask questions," Spencer leaned forward, cutting Derek off with a harsh whisper. "They'll see my medical history – my mom's condition. They'll want to keep me there."

"Shhh…" Derek ran his hand through Spencer's tangled hair, gently unknotting the chestnut locks. "No one is going to keep you anywhere you don't want to be."

Spencer blinked and the tears spilled from his eyes. "They will," he said quietly. "They'll ask me questions. They'll want to keep me there. P-please don't take me to the hospital, Derek. Please. I don't want to go."

"I know you don't, baby, but we may not have a choice."

Spencer was shaking so hard his entire body was almost convulsing with fear. "Derek, please," his voice was breaking. "Derek, please…"

He could feel the war inside himself. The promise he had made to help Spencer no matter what he needed, even if he didn't know the best thing for himself…and the other side; the side that loved this young man and couldn't bear to see him hurting, physically or emotionally. He couldn't stand watching Spencer come unraveled like this, the abject fear in his eyes the likes of which he had never seen before.

He let out a long sigh. "Spencer," he said softly. "I'm going to try to stop the bleeding, okay? I promise you I will do everything I can, but I'm not a doctor. If this doesn't work I'm taking you to the hospital and you're not going to argue with me about it. Your health matters more than anything else, understand? And I'm not going to risk it."

Spencer nodded slowly, his cheeks wet with tears.

Derek took the kid's right hand in his own and placed it over the towel compress, folding his fingers around his own arm. "You have a first aid kit in the house?"

Spencer nodded, "It's in the linen closet at the end of the hall."

"Ok. I want you to keep pressure on your arm while I go find it. And don't you dare move from that spot."

Spencer nodded again, determined to obey as long as it meant he wasn't going to be taken to the hospital. Once Derek was satisfied that the younger agent was keeping enough pressure on his arm he got to his feet and went into the hall. As he perused the closet and found a rather large first aid kit on the top shelf, he wondered why Spencer hadn't bothered to tend to his own wound other than with an ineffectual handful of tissues. The answer was crushing but simple enough, he supposed. Spencer had been in shock and hadn't been able to take care of himself, even if he had wanted to. Which left an icy cold feeling in Derek's heart as he wondered what would have happened if he hadn't found the strength to turn around and come back; if he hadn't decided to defy Spencer's wishes.

He carried the first aid kit back into the bathroom, promising himself that if he couldn't take care of Spencer on his own he sure as Hell was going to defy the kid's wishes for the second time that night.

He opened the box and removed bandages, gauze and medical tape, wondering how Spencer had accumulated so many medical supplies and if he had indeed patched up his own wounds in the past. It was not a comforting thought but he pushed it away, trying to keep his expression neutral. He pulled down a washcloth from the rack on the wall and soaked it in soap and water, then knelt by the younger man and coaxed the boy's hand away from his bloody arm. There were a couple other marks that were fresh, not nearly as deep, and Derek could tell that Spencer had worked his way up to that final cut.

He pictured the kid sitting on the floor of his bathroom, in his dark apartment, tears running down his cheeks as he dragged a blade over his arm, and wanted to throw up.

As he worked, carefully cleaning the wound then patting it dry, he could feel Spencer's eyes on him. The young agent wasn't watching the progress on his arm; he was watching Derek's face as he concentrated on patching him up. It was almost disconcerting but he didn't ask Spencer what he was thinking, much as he wanted to know.

He wrapped the injured arm carefully, making sure the bandages and gauze were tight and secure, hoping that it would be enough to stop the bleeding, because he really wasn't relishing the thought of dragging a hysterical Spencer to the hospital against his will.

When he was done, he took the second washcloth from the towel rack and ran it under warm water, kneeling before Spencer once more to clean the blood from him. He could have told the kid to do it himself, he supposed, but there was still such a look of shock on his face that Derek wasn't sure how much he was capable of doing on his own.

He wiped the smear of blood from Spencer's chin, then the streak of red across his too-thin chest, then from his right hand that he had used to hold the wound closed. The entire time Spencer didn't change expression and didn't stop looking at him with glittering hazel eyes. He hated that the kid wasn't spouting off random facts and statistics, was sitting there so quietly he could have been a statue. He missed the know-it-all Spencer who drove Derek crazy with what he considered trivial information.

When Derek was finally finished cleaning the blood from Spencer's body and had washed the sticky redness from his own hands, he let out a breath he felt like he'd been holding for the last 15 minutes…or maybe for the past several days. "Do you feel light headed at all?" he asked. Spencer shook his head. "Let's get you up then." He held out his hands and the young man took them, allowing himself to be helped to his feet. Derek wasn't sure how long Spencer had been sitting in the corner of the bathroom, but he seemed shakier just from the effort of standing, and he wrapped an arm around the younger man's waist to keep him upright.

As they turned to leave the bathroom Derek saw a glint of silver in the corner by the tub, near where Spencer had been sitting, and he recognized the object as the razor blade that the young man must have used to slice up his arm. He forced himself to look away, and half-carried Spencer to the living room where he deposited him on the book-free corner of the couch. "I'll get you some water," he said, and didn't wait for a response before walking into the kitchen and out of sight.

As soon as he was there he flipped on the light switch and then walked over to the counter, leaning heavily on his hands. He took several deep breaths, reminding himself to be strong, and then fished his cell phone out of his pocket. He rummaged in the cabinets for a glass as he dialed.

"Hotch." He sounded exhausted, which made sense considering it was around midnight.

"Hey, it's Morgan. Sorry to bother you." He found a water glass and opened the fridge, pulling out a Brita.

"What's going on?" Morgan could tell that his superior was instantly awake. He was uncannily attuned to when something was wrong, as they all were.

"I need to take a personal day tomorrow, if that's ok with you. And, uh, I'm calling Reid out too."

A beat. "You guys okay?"

"Yeah. Reid's not feeling too well so I promised I'd stay with him. I think he just needs a day to recover." That was a blatant lie. There was no way the kid was going to recover from this – any of this – in one day. But he couldn't come right out and say what was going on without compromising Spencer's trust in him.

Another short pause and Morgan had the feeling that he didn't have to bother hiding anything because Hotch wasn't an idiot and clearly knew something more serious was going on. "Got it. Not to worry. And if you need more time, just let me know."

Derek puffed out a breath of relief. "Thank you." He said. "Tell the team…I dunno, tell them Reid's sick and I'm out of town or something."

"Don't worry…I'll come up with a convincing cover story."

"JJ…well…she's close to Spence and she knows something's wrong. If she wants to talk about it have her call me, okay?"

"No problem. And Morgan?"

"Yeah?"

"Take care of him."

"I will." Derek closed his phone and stuffed it back in his pocket, realizing that he was right and even if the team didn't know exactly what was going on, if they didn't suspect Spencer was back on drugs, everyone was at least aware that something was up. It almost made him angry, because no one was actually doing anything about it.

But then he remembered that he was doing something about it, and he wasn't going to let Spencer face this alone.

He flipped off the lights and walked back into the living room with the glass of water. "Kid?" When he didn't see Spencer immediately, he walked over to the couch and found the younger man had laid down and curled up on himself, eyes closed and tear-spiked lashes laying against his cheeks.

Derek set the water down on the coffee table and pulled an afghan off of one of the arm chairs, draping it over Spencer's lanky frame. He stood there a moment, watching the rise and fall of the kid's chest, just thankful that he had gotten there in time and that his pretty boy was safe.

Then he returned to the bathroom to clean up the evidence of what was easily one of the worst nights of his life.

TBC