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

He was a fool. A complete and utter idiot.

He had thought – really thought – that he could talk Spencer through his problems and convince the kid to stop hurting himself in less than 24 hours? It wasn't just stupid, it was selfish and dangerous as well. Spencer had been injuring himself on and off for almost his entire life, and he wasn't going to stop now just because Derek told him to. That was a harsh lesson to learn.

He had been so sure that he was getting through to the young man, and that Spencer was finally beginning to agree with him and admit that he needed help. He had let Derek undress his wound and check it over before hopping in the shower, and then let him bandage his arm again. He had acquiesced to eating a peanut butter sandwich for lunch and chicken noodle soup for dinner. He had let Derek call them both out of work for another day without complaint. He had agreed to watch a movie: Star Wars, and his lips moved along silently with every line that was spoken. He almost seemed like he was getting back to the Spencer that Derek knew, and he was beginning to believe that everything was going to be all right.

And then it all went to Hell.

They had fallen asleep on the couch after the movie, Derek on one end and Spencer on the other. The storm had finally subsided and the evening was cool and quiet. Derek felt exhaustion like he never had before, and he didn't know how Spencer had been going so long on so little sleep. Derek doubted he would be able to drag himself to work every day under the circumstances. It either spoke to Spencer's strength, or his determination to hide his problem.

He woke to the sound of drawers being violently opened and shut, and objects hitting the floor. When he opened his eyes and sat up he could see the outline of Spencer's form in the darkened kitchen, frantically pulling out drawers, digging through the contents, and slamming them closed again. He didn't need to ask what the kid was doing. He knew, and his heart froze in his chest.

"Spencer, stop." He made it into the kitchen in what felt like two steps and grabbed the younger man's upper arms from behind.

Spencer struggled to pull free. "Where are they, Derek?" His voice was…eerily calm. Not the angry shout from when he had been trashing the medicine cabinet the night before.

The kid didn't have a prayer of breaking out of Derek's grasp, though he was holding on gently as he could. "I told you, Spencer. You don't need those blades anymore. I threw them out."

"I know…I know the blades are gone," his voice was high and tight. "What did you do with…with the knives?"

Derek's heart sunk into his stomach. "I took them out of the house," he said evenly. "You won't find any."

Spencer let out a strangled cry and tried to turn in Derek's hold.

"Kid, calm down. Everything's fine."

He could hear Spencer's breaths coming in and out like frantic gasps. "Please, Derek. Please."

Derek loosened his hold on the boy's arms and he turned around, immediately clutching fist-fulls of the older agent's T-shirt with trembling hands. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his face mere inches from Derek's with eyes glassy and frantic.

He moved his hands to Spencer's shoulders, setting them there gently. "Take deep breaths," he said. "It's going to be okay. Tell me what happened. Did you have another dream about Tobias?"

Spencer's gaze rose upwards, suddenly refusing to meet Derek's eyes. He could see the tears welling.

"Kid? Were you dreaming about the drugs? Is that what happened?" He chided himself for not waking when Spencer had been ripped from whatever nightmare he had been suffering through.

He could see Spencer's throat working as he swallowed hard. "I k-killed him," he murmured.

Derek almost started back. "You had to."

The young man shook his head.

"Spencer…if you hadn't shot him, he would have killed you. He was forcing you to dig your own grave for God sake!"

Spencer kept his eyes trained above Derek's head and shook his head more forcefully. "That wasn't Tobias."

"Then it wasn't Tobias who you shot," Derek concluded. "If his father made you dig that grave, then he's the one you killed and you did it to protect yourself." He knew that Spencer had struggled with guilt after Tobias's death, but he hadn't realized the extent, or that this was still going on.

"But Tobias is the one who died," Spencer said. "He tried to help me." He pressed his lips in a tight line, clearly trying to keep himself from crying.

"He tried to help you by giving you drugs."

"It was the only thing he knew that could take the pain away. And…and he was right. Almost…right."

"Spencer," Derek said very slowly and succinctly. "You shot a man to protect yourself. No matter if he had one personality or a dozen, he was still a threat to you and you did what needed to be done."

"Then why do I feel so terrible?" His face devolved into anguish.

"Because you're human."

Spencer lowered his head, tears dripping from his eyes. Derek dared to reach up and smooth a hand over the young man's hair. It was especially soft from his earlier shower, and he had to stop himself from running his fingers through it.

This is the Spencer whom he loved, he realized, and the one he didn't want to lose. Even if it was ridiculous that he blamed himself for Tobias's death, it only proved that he wasn't jaded by this job yet. He still believed in goodness in the world even after everything that had happened to him in his short life, and he still wanted to save everyone. He looked younger to Derek now than he ever had before.

One day that innocence would be truly extinguished, and Derek knew it would break his heart when it was.

He put a fist under Spencer's chin and tried to nudge his face up to look at him. He was met with resistance.

"Please, Derek…"

"I'll help you kid. Just tell me what you need."

"I need…I-I need…I need to do it again."

Derek's blood ran cold. "No," he said with finality. "Not going to happen."

Spencer began crying softly, his face still downcast. "Please," he gasped the word. "Derek, you don't understand. I need it. I need to feel it."

"I am not letting you cut yourself again."

"Just once more…" Spencer begged, clutching Derek's shirt tighter. "I promise…just once more. I need to…I need to do it. My skin feels like it's twitching, like it's about to come off. You don't understand."

"You got off the Dilaudid and you can stop this too. I believe in you."

Spencer shook his head. "If I can't have drugs, I need this. I need the release. You don't know how it feels…you don't understand." He looked up then, and his hazel eyes bore into Derek's with a frightening intensity. "I need it."

"No!" Derek's response was forceful and he struggled not to shake the kid into compliance.

"I'll find something," Spencer said, letting go of Derek's shirt and trying to shirk out of his grasp. "There has to be something. Has to be…" He started looking around frantically.

"There isn't. I made sure of it."

"No, no, there has to be something..."

"I promise you, there's nothing in this apartment."

Spencer seemed to be standing on a ledge that suddenly crumbled beneath him. As his desperation grew he sank to the floor, finally succeeding in releasing his shoulders from Derek's hands.

"I need it…I need it…" his voice was desperate, but the more frightening thing was how quiet it was. Derek felt more comfortable when Spencer was screaming at him than he did now. This was a whole different kind of meltdown.

Spencer was on his hands and knees, the tears flowing freely now, as he begged. "Please, Derek, please please please. You don't understand. You don't know how much I need this. How much I need to feel it. Just let me do it one more time. Just this once. I promise it will be the last time. Derek, please." It was the most gut-wrenching sight he had ever seen.

Derek slowly sank to his knees in front of where Spencer was hunched over on the ground. Now he was just mumbling a desperate stream of "please, please, please…"

Derek said nothing. He grabbed Spencer with one bulking arm around the chest, and turned him over, his other arm snaking under the younger man's knees as he rose back up from the floor.

Spencer immediately went rigid and then tried to clamor out of Derek's embrace. "Derek, stop! Stop! You don't understand! Please! Please! I have to! I'm losing my mind! Please!" The quiet pleading was now escalating to the familiar hysteria.

As Spencer kicked his legs wildly, Derek hung on tight and carried the young man out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bedroom. Once inside he kicked the door closed and lowered himself to the bed with his struggling burden, settling Spencer on his lap and folding his arms around him tightly.

Spencer continued to fight, trying to launch himself up and away. "Let me go! Derek, let me go!"

"No," Derek said calmly.

Spencer turned towards him, his face a mess of wetness, and started pushing against the older man's chest. When that did nothing, he began hitting him, which made Derek only hold on tighter. "Let me go!" he shrieked.

"No."

"Let go of me! Now!"

He didn't budge.

"I hate you, Derek! I hate you! I hate you!"

"Too bad," Derek said.

He wasn't sure how long Spencer fought against him, flailing his legs and shoving and hitting and punching, all the while screaming in rage. He just held on and let the hysteria work itself out of his system.

"I hate you!" Spencer continued to cry. "I hate you!"

Derek said nothing. Just held him tight.

It was a long time before the boy settled down and the fighting dissolved into sobs. Derek tried to pull him against his chest, but Spencer resisted for a long while before Derek finally felt the strength go out of him and he sagged into the older man's embrace.

He rocked him as he had on the hallway floor, only this time as Spencer cried he knew better than to think that when this finally stopped it would all be over. He rested his cheek on top of Spencer's head.

After a few moments the sobs died down to soft crying and sniffles and Derek finally felt as though the storm was beginning to pass once more. He steeled his resolve. "Spencer," he said, quiet but firm, "tomorrow morning we are going to look through the list of therapists your doctor gave you." He felt Spencer stiffen in his arms, but he said nothing. "You're going to pick one out," Derek continued, "and we're going to make an appointment. This is not a request."

He half expected Spencer to tell him yet again that this was none of his business, and that Derek couldn't force him to do something he didn't want to do, but the boy was silent.

Derek sighed. "I'm sorry, Spencer," he said. "I let you down."

He was surprised when he heard the young man mumble, "It's not your fault."

"I thought I could fix this by myself," Derek said. "I was wrong. You need more help than I can give you, and I'm sorry for thinking I was enough."

Spencer had stopped crying and rested quietly against him.

"Tomorrow," Derek said, "we're going to find you real help tomorrow. We'll find someone for you to talk to."

A pause. Then, "Will you go with me?" Spencer had spoken so quietly Derek had barely heard him.

He felt tears sting his eyes. "Of course, kid," he said, holding Spencer tight. "You can count on it."

TBC