Warning: This chapter contains explicit discussion of self-harm.

"Morgan." He balanced the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he grabbed the two mugs of freshly brewed coffee.

"Hey, Derek, it's JJ." She sounded hesitant, and a little bit surprised that he had picked up. "I'm just calling to see how…how everything's going."

Derek paused mid-stride. "What did Hotch tell you?"

"That Spencer is sick and you had to fly to Chicago to see your mom, but I'm not buying it. Don't think anyone else is either but they aren't saying anything."

Derek let out a heavy sigh. "It's best if they don't know what's really going on."

"Derek, what is really going on?"

He turned his back to the kitchen door and lowered his voice. "Spencer's having…kind of a rough time. I'm trying to help him through it."

"Is he using again?"

Derek felt his heart jump in his chest at the blatant question. "No," he said truthfully. "He isn't." He still felt as though it was a lie.

"Well that's a relief. What's going on then?"

"I…don't really think it's my place to say."

"Derek…"

"It was really hard for me to get him to open up in the first place, and I had to swear that I wouldn't say anything to anyone else. When he's ready, he'll tell you. I can't break his trust like that."

She let out a sigh but said, "I can respect that. Just…promise me he's ok?"

"He's ok," Derek said, again feeling as though that was a lie. "And I promise I'll take care of him."

"Good. And if you need my help, just let me know."

"I will, JJ, thanks."

He couldn't manage to shut his phone while still balancing the two mugs of coffee, so he started to head back to the bedroom. As he entered the hall he found the phone forgotten and felt it slip from his shoulder and fall to the floor as he lifted his head.

Spencer stood in the door of the bathroom, a hand braced on either side of the doorframe, staring at the floor with a look of anguish on his face. He had kept his promise by not getting dressed and was still wearing his pajama bottoms slung low on his hips, his bare toes twisting nervously into the carpet.

Shit. He was such an asshole. Such an idiot. He had been so exhausted last night after Spencer had finally fallen asleep that he hadn't bothered to clean up the bathroom; hadn't even thought about it until now.

He approached the younger man cautiously, not wanting to startle him. "Spencer?" When he didn't respond, Derek took a step closer and raised his voice. "Spencer?" He was relieved when the kid finally turned to face him, his eyes dark and haunted. Derek offered both mugs to him. "Take the coffee and go into the bedroom," he said gently. "I'll clean up the mess."

Spencer shook his head. "I can do it," he said, his voice hollow. "It's my fault."

"Please, kid," Derek said, "Let me take care of it. Just take the coffee and go into your room. I'll be in soon."

Spencer cast a look back to the bathroom floor, hesitating, but finally acquiesced and took the coffee from Derek's hands. As soon as he had disappeared into the bedroom Derek opened the hall closet and found a broom and dustpan, heading into the bathroom to clean up the mess.

The larger pieces of glass he was able to pick up and toss in the trash, and he extracted the various toiletries from the residue. As he placed face wash, toothpaste, dental floss, and the other former inhabitants of the medicine cabinet on the counter by the sink, he came across two small, clear orange prescription bottles, both full. His brow furrowed as he read the labels – one for anxiety, one for depression. Both filled over a month ago.

He hurriedly tidied up the rest of the fragments of glass and brushed them into the trashcan before climbing to his feet, the two pill bottles in hand.

When he entered the bedroom he saw Spencer sitting on the far side of the bed facing the window, his sinewy frame bent of the mug of coffee he held in his lap. This is how he was meant to look, the curve of his back creamy and smooth, skin unmarred by cuts and scars. This is how every inch of him should look.

Derek couldn't help the shiver that coursed through him.

He picked up the second cup of coffee that Spencer had left on the end table and walked around the bed, sitting down next to the young man and watching a flash of lightning through the window.

As Derek settled close to Spencer he could see that the young man's hands were trembling, long fingers wrapped around the warmth of the mug. Derek didn't know what to say, so he held out his palm, exposing the two pill bottles in his hand. "What are these?" he asked stupidly.

Spencer shrugged, lifting shaking hands to take a sip of coffee.

"Because it looks like medication you filled, but never took."

"Brilliant observation skills," Spencer murmured.

Derek was determined not to lose his temper this time around. "Why didn't you take them, Spencer?" he asked. "If your doctor thought you needed them, why didn't you listen?"

"Because I don't want to have to rely on drugs," he replied simply. "I don't want pills to dictate my life."

"Like the Dilaudid?"

He turned to face Derek, eyes pain-filled and owlish. "Like my mother."

Derek took a deep breath and set the pill bottles on the bed between them. "This is different than your mother's condition. You know that."

"But that could be me…one day."

"You can't worry about what hasn't happened yet. You can only worry about the here and now – and right now you're denying yourself the help that you need."

"My doctor gave me a list of therapists too," Spencer said softly.

"And have you talked to any of them?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Spencer shrugged in response, turning his attention back to his rapidly cooling coffee. "Thought I could control it."

"And now?"

"Now I don't know."

The admittance hung heavy in the air. It was a step in the right direction at least. Spencer may have come to grips with the fact that he needed help, but that was a far cry from actively seeking it out, or even taking what was offered to him.

A question burned on Derek's tongue and he tried to dispel it. There had been something nagging at him since the ride home he had given Spencer last night, and he knew that he couldn't help himself from asking. "Spencer," he said quietly. "Last night, in the car, I asked you how long you had been cutting yourself. You said forever. What did you mean?"

Spencer let out a long sigh and closed his eyes as though he knew this question was inevitable. "It meant exactly what I said."

"But when did it start?"

"I guess…when I started high school? I was so much younger than the other kids. I had to take care of my mom. My dad hadn't been in the picture for a long time. It made me feel…in control."

"In control…" Derek repeated. "But you were hurting yourself."

"I can't explain it," Spencer said. He was staring out the window now, his eyes unblinking. "It's not just about control. It's like a sensation, an impulse, bubbling over to the surface, and I just need to…to feel. Even if I'm feeling pain. Sometimes I think it's the only thing I can register. Everything else is just numb. And when I'm angry, or scared, or sad, it's like I'm…I'm bleeding those emotions out of myself bit by bit and it's the only way I can acknowledge them and let them go." He turned to face Derek again, his lashes spiked with unshed tears. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know how to explain it. I really don't. I wish I could. I wish I could give you a reason, but I can't."

"It's ok," Derek assured him. "Have you…have you been cutting yourself this whole time?"

Spencer shook his head. "No…I stopped when I was in college. I finally felt like I had found my element I guess. I stopped for a long time. Then when Tobias hooked me on Dilaudid it was like a whole new habit was taking me over…the method was different but the release was the same. Gideon…Gideon helped me through that. We never spoke about it, not really, but I knew he knew and I knew he understood. Then, when he left…"

"Were you angry with him?"

Spencer shrugged. "A little…I guess. But not really. More hurt, but it wasn't his fault. It was just…too similar."

"To your father."

"Yeah."

Derek took another sip of his coffee, which had now definitely gone cold. "Spencer…" he managed, then paused, his heart beating in his chest. "There's something I want to say to you."

The boy looked up at him expectantly.

"I just want you to know," Derek forced the words out, meeting the younger man's eyes and locking their gaze. "I want you to know that I'm not going to leave you. That I'm not going to walk away from you like your father, or Gideon. I need you to know that."

The expression on the younger man's face instantly fell, his eyes darkening. "Don't say that, Derek," he said quietly.

"It's the truth," Derek said. "I'm not going to walk away from you. Not now, not ever."

He could see the shimmer of tears in Spencer's eyes and the boy quickly turned away from him, looking back to the window. "You promise," he said. It wasn't a question.

Derek nodded. "I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

TBC