Ever since he got back from prison, everyone was treating him like he was made of glass. They always acted so cautious and gentle, so disgustingly gentle, like they were scared he was going to break if they did so much as speak their opinion of him.
Worse, he knew they were right. Knew that even after he had re-entered his life, he still wasn't free, still wasn't truly away from those bars and everything that came with them. He was trapped, trapped within his own mind, trapped with all the memories, and he would do anything to be released of the pain and anxiety and worries.
On the bad days, on the ones where he could barely stumble into his apartment before breaking down in public, he was tempted. God, he was so fucking tempted, the cravings stronger than they had been when he stole the vial off of Tobias's body, stronger than they had been during withdrawals.
He would always remember the very night he realized what the urges were. The night he realized he was going back down that path, going back down the one he had sworn to never go through again. He had promised himself that he wouldn't ever do it, promised everybody in his life that he would remain clean, but there were always those horrible thoughts in the back of his head, lingering and waiting until he gave in.
You lost your ten-year-clean badge after Lindsey anyway.
Just take it.
It'll make you feel better.
You know your dealer's number.
Make the call.
Do it.
Do it.
He held it together as long as he could, but when Emily was kidnapped by Scratch and everything was going downhill he could feel himself breaking. He could feel himself breaking as Stephen died, as he tried so desperately to help all of them but it wasn't enough. None of it was enough.
After Scratch, it was getting worse. He was craving and he couldn't do this, couldn't deal with any of it, and he just knew it was a matter of time. A matter of time before he proved too weak to stop himself. A matter of time before he gave in, before all he had worked for was wasted.
When his mandated thirty day leave came around, he practically begged Emily to change it. He knew logically he needed a break, needed time to regather and ease his mind from all the cases of psychotic sadists and narcissists, but he also knew that away from his team, he would be alone. He would be alone and the nightmares and memories would get so bad, he wouldn't have control over his own body as the needle sank into his skin just as it had a decade past.
"I'm sorry, Spence, but this is non-negotiable," Emily had said when he came to her office, a look of sympathy plastered on her face.
He wanted to snap at her, wanted to tell her to wipe that stupid expression off her face, but he knew it wouldn't help his case. He took a deep breath, trying his best to remain neutral. "I'm fine; I don't need this, not any more than you guys do."
She sighed, signing off the last of her files before finally looking at him. Really looking at him. Spencer couldn't help but shrink away, knowing that he was surrounded by profilers. It was only a matter of time before they found out.
Just like they did before? that bitter voice in the back of his head whispered. Just like they did and ignored it? Just like they did and abandoned you?
"Stop," he murmured to himself.
"What was that?" Emily asked, concern clearly growing with each passing second. "Look, I really am sorry, but you'll have those lectures to teach to keep you busy. We'll all keep in contact, okay? It'll be over before you know it."
"Emily-"
"I can't do anything about it and, if I could, I wouldn't. You deserve a break, Spencer, even if you don't think so," her voice was soft like she was talking to a child and he just couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand being babied all the time, couldn't stand being treated like he was some kid incapable of taking care of himself.
" Stop it ."
She blinked. "Stop what?"
"Stop treating me like I'm less than you," he said and he could barely recognize his own voice. She looked taken aback and he couldn't help but remember all those years ago, all those years ago when he had been so terrible to her and couldn't stop. He tried to speak a couple of times, barely managing, "I…I'm sorry, I just…"
"I'll see you in thirty days. Please , Spence, just take that time to rest."
He wanted to argue. He wanted to protest, wanted to scream and shout and make her allow him to stay, because he knew what was going to happen and knew he wouldn't make it without support. Wouldn't make it without the help of his team, of his family.
But he didn't. Instead, he rose to his feet, walking out of that office, out of Quantico.
God, how was he going to do this?
It was his second week into his leave.
He had been doing a few lectures, but it was nothing compared to all the work at the BAU. His days marched by in a haze, nights spent wide awake as the screams of Luis and Nadie's blood on his hands played in his mind over and over again. He remembered Shaw and the security guards. He remembered Lindsey taking his mother, remembered Cat's taunts and agonizing games, and he was craving so much he could barely breathe.
His phone was in his hands. He had memorized his old dealer's number, eidetic memory refusing to allow him to forget it. The bliss, the release, the relief-all of it was just a phone call, a drive, away.
It was so, so tempting. He didn't want to disappoint everybody, didn't want to disappoint himself, but his mind wasn't leaving him alone and all he wanted was for it to shut off. He wanted the solace of nothingness, wanted the calm of silence, and it was so close he felt like he was dying.
He needed help. He needed someone to be there for him, someone he could trust, someone he could depend on, but he didn't want to disappoint the team. Didn't want to tell them how weak he was, didn't want to go on everyday afterwards seeing their faces knowing that they knew who he was.
But there was always someone else. Always someone else that would be there for him without hesitation.
He dialed the number in his phone, practically sighing with relief as they picked up nearly instantly.
Fifteen minutes and thirty-six seconds.
That's exactly how long it took before there were three rapid knocks at his door, followed by that voice he had known to trust, to laugh with, for his entire time at the BAU. "Pretty boy, open up."
He swallowed down the lump in his throat, struggling slightly to rise to his feet. He hoped Morgan didn't hear the way he was so disoriented he could barely walk, stumbling once or twice because his mind was such a blur he could barely think straight.
When he neared the door, his instant thought was to hide.
Don't let him see what you've become.
Don't let him see how bad it's getting.
No. No, because if Derek turned around and walked out, he knew he would be scrambling
to call his dealer and he couldn't do that. He couldn't allow himself to do that. As he pulled open that door, as he saw Derek's familiar, wonderful face, he could feel himself being exposed, being ripped apart to reveal the most vulnerable parts he kept hidden away.
"God, kid," the older man said and only then did Spencer realize how shitty he probably looked at the moment; hair undoubtedly tangled, clothes from his last class crumpled and wrinkled, face more gaunt and pale than usual.
"'M sorry," Spencer said softly, taking a seat on the sofa.
Derek walked inside, standing near the bookcase as he examined the genius. "For what?"
"For being like this."
"Wha-? Spencer, I don't blame you for any of this. None of it is your fault, even if it feels like it is. You're struggling-everybody does sometimes and it's okay to not be fine all the time, you understand?"
But Spencer wasn't everybody else. He was a genius-he was better than them, than "everybody else," and even though he wouldn't say it out loud he knew it was true. He should know better, know how to be better than them, not continue to be weaker. Not continue to be the little kid they all had to take care of.
"Can you look at me?" Derek asked and god, Spencer didn't want to. It felt so shameful that he, Dr. Spencer Reid, would be reduced to something so pathetic, something so pitiful. But after a few seconds, he managed to look up at the man, who was staring at him with such care and worry. "It's okay to be human."
"No, it's not."
" Spencer , I'm telling you right now, nobody on that team, nobody in your life, blames you for feeling things. For having bad days sometimes. We all have them and we all know what it's like-"
"That's a lie," he said bluntly. "You don't know what any of this is like. You don't understand what it's…what it's like, being me and still having all of these fucking problems. It's…it's not right to be like me."
"But it is , kid. We're all different, don't you know that? When we're struggling, J.J tries to hide, Emily refuses to help herself, Rossi drowns it out, Hotch drives himself to exhaustion, I get reckless. We all make mistakes, but we help each other through it. Nobody's going to blame you for having your own problems, Spencer, or how you deal with it."
He swallowed thickly. "Are…Are you sure?"
" Yes . We all care about you, pretty boy, okay? I care about you and I hate to see you this way, but that doesn't mean I want to push you away. I want to help, so please just tell me what I can do, what you need."
He wasn't sure he could do this, sticking around with Derek while like this . He wanted to deal with it himself, wanted to make sure nobody could see him at his lowest, but he had gotten this far and he knew he needed somebody around, somebody to care for him.
"Stay?"
Derek relaxed visibly. "Of course."