This couldn't be happening.
The day he had most feared, the day that had haunted his nightmares throughout his entire life, had at last arrived. He was going insane. He was going insane and it was only a matter of time before he became his mother. He was going insane and it was only a matter of time before everybody left and he was left to suffer alone.
In the corners of his vision, the shadows flickered, lunging and moving and laughing at him and he squeezed his eyes shut but they weren't leaving. They were still there and he felt like he were dying, they were still there and he needed them to go away because this couldn't be happening and fuck, fuck, fuck this couldn't be possible, please .
"Reid?" Hotch asked and he snapped to attention. He must've looked just as bad as he felt because everybody was beginning to glance at him slightly but he couldn't care, couldn't care because he felt as if he were drowning, couldn't care because it had finally happened and this couldn't be happening. "Reid, hello?"
"Uh…" he blinked, trying to look away from the shadow coming tantalizingly close. It was approaching and he wanted it to stop but it wasn't, it wasn't and he blinked a few times and it receded a bit but it was still there . It was still there and he couldn't make it go away, it was still there as if it were laughing at him, mocking him for eternity.
"Spence?" J.J asked but when his eyes locked with hers his stomach sank. She was staring at him with a knowing grin, a knowing grin that showed she knew what was wrong, knew that it had finally happened, a knowing grin that wasn't her's , and god he couldn't do this. He had known that the migraines were a sign, known that doctors were right when they said they were psychosomatic and had known what that meant, but he hadn't expected for it all to happen so soon. He hadn't fulfilled his life yet, hadn't gotten married or had kids or put his mark on the world. He would disappear as just another FBI agent, wasting away at a facility until his mind deteriorated completely and he was no longer himself anymore. He had seen it happen with his mother and now it was happening to him and he wasn't even controlling his own body as he lurched to his feet, rushing out of the conference room because he felt like he couldn't breathe and the shadows were still following him.
He hurried into the office bathroom, not even caring about all the germs and bacteria as he slid against the wall. The shadows were still there but now the air was tainted faintly with the smell of rotting meat and he looked down and his hands, oh god his hands, they were red and raw and all he could think was that they were going to collect flies and the shadows were still there, laughing and mocking and never, ever leaving.
The door creaked open but he couldn't make himself look because he was scared that it would be something else, something else that would prove he was going crazy, something else that would prove that everything he had fought for, everything he had worked so hard for, was for nothing. It felt hard to breathe and each inhale came with that stench of rot and the laughing ringing in his ears.
"Oh, god, Spence."
It was Emily. Emily, one of his dearest friends and practically a sister to him. Emily, who was always there when he needed her. Emily, who couldn't see him like this because he loved her and he didn't want anybody to have to witness this , didn't want anybody to see what he was becoming.
"Go…" he mumbled weakly, praying that she would listen, praying that she would step away before she could realize just how bad it was, before she could realize just how desperately he needed help.
She didn't.
She didn't, instead crouching down and reaching out her arms.
She didn't, wrapping him in a hug and whispering comforts into his ear.
But everything that she said was overwhelmed by the laughter.
After that, it only got worse.
After the first breakdown, he immediately took a two-week sick leave. He knew that he would have to leave altogether, knew that the BAU wouldn't keep an agent suffering from a mental disorder, but he needed time. He needed time to process, needed time to say goodbye, needed time to really realize that this was all actually happening.
Slowly, the delusions got worse. During a particularly bad episode, he managed to trash his entire apartment, coming back in a lucid state to find everything in disarray. Upon seeing his bookshelves tipped over and furniture scattered, he had barely managed to make it to the bathroom before throwing up.
But it wasn't just that. The laughter and the mockery continued but now he heard the voices, always too quiet to truly listen to but there nonetheless, constantly in his ears like static beneath a song on the radio. He couldn't get rid of it, couldn't stop it, and it scared him more than ever as the whispers eventually evolved into discernible words.
The team stopped by his home a few times-mostly Morgan, J.J, and Garcia. He refused all of them, assuring them that he was fine because he really couldn't find a way to tell them what was going on. Emily was the only one aware, but he wasn't able to get in contact with her, wasn't able to find her.
He had assumed she had been busy with work. He had assumed that she had been too preoccupied with her own life to worry about him and even though it stung, even though it hurt, he was fine with it. (He wasn't, but he had to make himself believe it because he couldn't bear any more pain, any more agony). She had her own life and was probably enjoying it without him.
God, he was wrong.
On the day that the whispers officially became murmurs, mumbles echoing throughout his brain, he got a call. He didn't want to pick it up, knowing fully well it was probably Hotch informing him that his leave was over and he had to either take off more time or show up at the office. He tried to ignore it, he really did, but it kept on ringing and ringing.
Pick it up.
Tell them.
Tell them what's wrong with you.
Tell them about what you're becoming.
No. No, he couldn't do that, because then he wouldn't be part of the team's family and he couldn't bear the thought of that, couldn't bear the thought of being forgotten and ignored until he was nothing but a husk of what he had once been. He stared at the phone, stared as it kept on ringing and ringing and ringing.
Do it.
Tell them.
Do it.
He couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand it so he snatched the phone, accepting the call. He was about to start rambling, about to start infodumping statistics about schizophrenia and the effects and medication because maybe, just maybe, putting it into facts would help. That had always been his coping mechanism, facts and statistics and numbers because they made sense even when everything else didn't.
But before he could do any of this, he was alarmed by the choked sound of Morgan's voice. "Spencer, you need to get to the hospital. Now ."
He had gotten there as soon as he could.
Not soon enough.
She was dead. Emily Prentiss, his best friend and his sister and the only person that went to see foreign documentaries and sci-fi films with him. Emily Prentiss, the greatest agent to enter the FBI with her strength and her wits and her humor.
She was dead.
While he had been on leave, while he had been wasting away in his home instead of helping the team when they needed him, she had been confronted by an unsub from her past. She had tried to deal with it herself, they said, had tried to protect them and she had. She had but she was dead and that was so, so much worse than anything that could have ever happened to them.
But when J.J told them that she was dead, Emily was right there, standing at the doorway with her black boots and coat. She was right there, grinning at Spencer, but it wasn't her smile. It was the smile of the shadows and his stomach dropped because she was right there but she wasn't herself and no, no, no this couldn't be happening.
He ran from the hospital. He ran and ran and ran, not heeding the way the others called out for him or the way the hospital staff tried to stop him. He ran and ran and ran because he had to get away from that thing , that thing with Emily's face, that thing with Emily's skin.
When he stopped running, he didn't know where he was. It was dark and the buildings were tall and it all smelled of trash and that constant rot that was everywhere.
Wait, no. He knew this place.
It was where he had gotten the Dilaudid all those years ago.
It was where he had destroyed his life in attempts to fix it.
It was where he had sworn not to return.
Somehow, in his hands was a small bag of vials and syringes that he recognized instantly. Somehow, his belt was already removed and tied around his arm, the needle already prepared to be plunged into the delicate skin.
"Take it, Spence." He whirled around. It was Emily but it wasn't her. It was Emily but she was smiling the shadow's smile. "It'll make me go away. That's what you want, isn't it?"
He nodded hesitantly. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, knew that it was wrong and against everything he had been fighting for, but he couldn't keep on going without it. He remembered the bliss each time he injected the drugs into his veins, remembered the release that came with the needle. That's what he needed right now-it's what he had always needed, so why had he stopped?
He sank the syringe into his skin, wincing slightly at the sting that was quickly overcome with relief. The shadows were getting blurrier and Emily was fading and the chattering in his ears became quieter and it felt as if he were at peace, as if he were finally gaining the relief he had always needed.
He slumped to the floor, mind swimming as everything turned black.