Work Text:
Spencer keeps his breathing as even as he can when he wakes. After a moment, he wriggles around--there are dashes of sharp pain all up his forearms and the texture makes him gag. He quickly stops; whatever he's tied with is designed to hurt him and sensory hell.
On top of that he's gagged, a scratchy cloth in his mouth, but not blindfolded. He doesn’t open his eyes just yet, continuing to take stock of himself and what little of his environment he can pick up on.
He doesn't know if anyone is in the room with him; they're silent if they are. After another moment, he opens his eyes. The room is small, maybe nine by ten with seven-foot ceilings--he'd be able to reach them if he were standing.
Spencer takes a deeper breath, just slightly, and notes the dull pulse at the back of his skull and the flare in his ribs-he knew at least three were cracked, if not worse. He had to have been hit over the head, he remembers the blows to his ribs (a baseball bat, wooden), but he’d been knocked out pretty quickly after that.
There isn’t anyone else with him, and the door must be behind him.
Spencer can't see what's on his arms, they're bound to the chair behind his back
Either way, wriggling his way out of this would leave him bleeding and likely in a sensory meltdown.
Not the best option when he’s clearly been kidnapped.
Spencer runs through their current unsub’s M.O.; they were considering a partnership. One significantly younger--more reckless, but a steadier hand for killing and torture. The older is the talker, likely selecting and luring their victims, but doesn’t have the stomach for too much violence.
They’d keep him here for a few days, based on how he held out under torture. All of their victims had been dumped after their bodies simply couldn’t handle anything more; it made for a wide range of hold and kill times, and the videotapes they left behind proved that they had little method after the kidnapping itself.
Spencer knows that won’t be a problem for him--he’s been held and tortured before--but the question is if they’ll kill him sooner because he’s an agent. He hadn’t completed a geographical profile, either; with their changing timeline and dump sites, it was very hard to pin down an area of preference for the unsubs.
Hearing footsteps behind him, but not yet in the room, Spencer realizes that the room isn’t soundproof.
With the way some of the victims had been screaming on tape, there’s no way this isn’t an isolated area.
“Hello, doctor.” The squeak and groan of the door nearly drowns out his words. “You look like my sister’s kid, you know? He’s a bit older than you. She disowned him, but I took him in, took care of him.” This is the older of the pair. He’s not to be hurt immediately. “She couldn’t protect him, so I did. And now he’s happy.”
He circles Spencer’s chair, still talking, but careful to keep Spencer from seeing his face. “Daniel thinks we can dump you and run, but your team won’t accept that. It would make a nice point, though. They couldn’t protect you, Dr. Reid. I can still protect you, if you’ll cooperate.” Thankfully, he doesn’t wait for a response. Spencer notes the name, the subtle accent, his speech patterns, the mentions of his sister and nephew.
If he can communicate this to the team, they’ll find him. Garcia will whip up her computer magic and they’ll narrow down their list, figure out where they could be.
“Daniel will be here soon. He’s dropping off the videotapes. I probably shouldn’t tell you that, but when Daniel gets here it won’t matter anyway.” He’s very casual; he doesn’t feel the need to watch his words or be threatening.
He doesn’t think Spencer will live long enough for it to matter.
The tapes are delivered hours before a body drop.
When they get the ones with his name, they’ll know he’s dead.
“I’m going to do things a little differently.” No, no, Spencer doesn’t want him to do things differently. Differently means the team will need to adjust the profile.
Differently means he no longer knows how this is going to go.
“I’m going to set up the camera. When Daniel gets here, I’ll end the recording and drop the tape. If you say anything, I’ll tell Daniel, and he will make it worse for you.”
...That might not be a bad difference, actually.
The time he took setting up the camera gave Spencer a minute to plan without interruption. He’s still gagged, and it seems unlikely his hands will be unbound. The risk the unsub will recognize what he’s doing is low.
He can only hope the team gets the message.
Derek can’t take his eyes off the latest tape.
He’s not two steps away from the precinct, and still, no one has been able to catch the guy leaving the tapes.
‘Doctor Spencer Reid’, it’s labeled.
Derek wants to throw up.
The last set of tapes had been bad enough; another victim they couldn’t save. LEOs were searching for her body now.
And now Spencer’s name is on the tape.
Spencer, who’d gotten lost in his head on the walk to the hotel--Hotch had sent them back hours early, because Spencer hadn’t slept in at least a day. Spencer, who’d been mumbling about the case in fitful sleep.
Spencer, who’d gone on a walk, alone, this morning.
Derek should have gone with him.
Spencer has been missing for nine hours, and now...
Now Derek’s not sure he’ll ever see him again.
The team doesn’t even know they’re dating yet--they’d agreed to tell them when they reached six months, but they wanted to keep it private before then.
Derek stares at the tape a moment longer before Hotch steps outside.
“Morgan, I know it’s hard to focus when you’re worried about Reid-” He cuts himself off when Derek holds up the tape.
“This is new.” Derek hardly hears his own voice. He knows it’s hollow. “Hotch-” ‘what if he’s already dead?’ Derek won’t let himself say it.
“We need to watch the tape, Morgan.” Hotch’s voice has softened. “You know he might have a clue.”
When they turn it on, Derek nearly punches the wall. JJ gasps, and he can hear Penelope muffle a sob.
It’s too much like Hankel.
Rossi is the only one who doesn’t crack as they watch. Spencer is bound to a chair, arms behind his back, gagged. There’s blood down his temple and even in the video, his breathing is slightly labored.
“Hello, agents. The doctor here is well as of this filming, but by the time you get it? We’ll see.”
“He’s blinking weird, how bad is his concussion?” JJ mutters, worry in her tone. Derek doesn’t spare her a glance as he leans forward, watching Spencer’s face closely.
“Morse code!” He calls out, at the same time as Garcia. “Back the video up, I’ll mark it down.” Garcia tells him the blinks as he writes out the code.
He feels bad, making her watch so intently, but he can’t stop seeing Spencer’s face during Hankel. They all watch the video again to ensure they didn’t miss anything, and then Rossi takes the paper from him, translating out loud as he reads.
“Isolated area. Unsub two’s name is Daniel. Unsub one has a sister and a nephew older than me who looks like me. His sister disowned the nephew; he took him in.” Derek chokes on a half-laugh, half-sob. His pretty boy has given them what they need to rescue him, again.
“Garcia-” Hotch starts.
“On it.” Her fingers fly over the keyboard, pulling up ‘Daniels’ and men fitting Spencer’s appearance who were abandoned by their mothers as they watch the video yet again, this time focusing more on the unsub’s voice and the room Spencer’s in.
Derek just watches Spencer’s face. He appears calm, but Derek can’t help but wonder if he’s fighting off flashbacks, if the only reason he can’t see his terror is the gag in his mouth.
“Daniel Wood-Ells, he fits for the younger. His mom is Sarah Wood, her brother is Damien Ells. I’ll find more on them.” Garcia spends another minute typing. “Damien Ells owns two houses, his sister’s and his own. Sarah died last month; her house is very isolated.”
“He also fits the profile,” Rossi notes. “An uncle-nephew team.”
“Let’s pay them a visit, then.” Prentiss’s voice is hard.
Derek can’t help but worry the entire time they’re getting into vests and explaining to the chief what’s going on.
What are they doing to Spencer right now?
Is he even still alive?
Spencer bites back a groan as Daniel smacks him again. It won’t be too long before he escalates further, and the way he periodically tugs on his belt suggests what he’s going to do.
By the time the older man gets back, Spencer’s nose is broken and bleeding, the slow trickle from his head wound has sped up exponentially, and he no longer has his thumbnails.
“Uncle Dami, help me move him.” Daniel puts the blindfold back on him; he’s unbound and moved from the chair to the floor--it’s stone, uneven; gravel no doubt leaving marks on his face.
He wants to cry--it’s too much , the throbbing in his thumbs and head and gut and his arms have that wire digging into them, now, as they pull it tighter, and the floor is cold and bumpy and that hurts, too.
Then Daniel is bringing his belt down.
The buckle impacts first, just above his left scapula.
The skin splits; his shirt won’t be saving him from any damage.
It’s too much.
The belt cracking in the air, the cold, his arms his hands his head his face-
Spencer loses track of how long he’s on the floor.
His mind automatically counts each lash as it hits, but it’s in a detached sort of way, only aided by Daniel’s gleeful call each fifth strike.
When Daniel gets tired (lash 61--why hasn’t he passed out yet?) they move him back to his original position; they don’t bother taking the blindfold off this time.
Spencer curls up as much as he can while bound to the chair, humming through the gag to stop himself from sobbing.
Derek doesn’t know how he manages to wait until the unsubs are in custody before going in the basement alone. There’s only one closed door. Derek opens it cautiously, and immediately radios for Hotch.
“Hotch, bring wire cutters.” He keeps his voice low, not wanting to overwhelm Spencer more, and not wanting to startle him into moving and hurting himself worse. “And definitely a medic, but keep it to the two of you. He’s already on the verge of a meltdown.”
“Got it. How badly is he hurt?” Derek forces himself to categorize Spencer’s wounds.
“How bad, Morgan?” Hotch says again, and Derek realizes he’s been silent a moment too long.
“Broken nose, blood coating the right side of his face.” Derek steps closer, circling the chair as he continues to speak. “His head is still bleeding, and-” Derek freezes when he sees Spencer’s back and arms in full. “He’s been whipped. His shirt is still on, I can’t see everything, but his back has got to be a mess, Hotch.” Derek winces at his voice crack. “His arms are torn up too, they bound him with barbed wire.” He barely pays attention to Hotch’s voice over the radio as he approaches Spencer.
“Hey, Spencer, it’s me, it’s Derek. I’m gonna untie this blindfold now, okay?” Now that he’s closer, he can hear Spencer humming through the gag. He gets them both off, touching Spencer as little as possible.
As soon as they’re both off, Spencer tries to rock forward and whines in the back of his throat when he can’t.
“Hey, hey, baby, it’s okay, I’m here. You can’t move quite yet, alright? We gotta get the wire off you first. Hotch will be here soon to help.” Derek keeps up a quiet dialogue, hoping it will help Spencer. He doesn’t touch him--touch is hit and miss on good days, and this is definitely not a good day.
Hotch taps him twice on the shoulder, not interrupting his stream of speech.
“Hey, pretty boy, Hotch is gonna cut your arms free, okay?” Spencer doesn’t seem to notice that Hotch is even there, but Derek knows he’s paying attention. When his hands are free, Spencer clumsily pats Hotch on the arm with a bloody hand, then starts rocking back and forth.
“JJ, is Reid’s bag in the car?” Derek tunes out Hotch as he relays the situation to the team, instead talking to Spencer again. After a few minutes of rocking, Spencer looks up at Derek with pleading eyes, extending a hand. Derek takes it and squeezes gently despite the blood. He glances down--there’s a lot for just the wounds on his arms--and has to turn away.
They’d ripped his thumbnails out.
Derek squeezes again, a little harder this time, and when Spencer relaxes he carefully takes his other hand as well. Spencer’s whole body relaxes at the pressure, and he slumps forward into Derek.
“I got you, baby, I got you.” Spencer’s still humming, but he’s a little more relaxed now.
“Reid. Spencer.” Hotch says softly. “Would you like these?” Spencer glances over Derek’s shoulder; he frees one hand and a moment later Derek can feel him signing against his back.
“Don’t worry about blood, Spencer. They’re wrapped in plastic and you have another pair in at the hotel.” Spencer signs again, and then Hotch reaches over Derek to settle the headphones over Spencer’s head, leaving his right ear free.
“Is it alright if the paramedic comes to see you now, Spencer?” Spencer signs one last time, then taps Derek’s back.
“Okay, we can do that. Morgan, would you help him out to the ambulance?” Derek nods and eases them to standing, still holding one of Spencer’s hands. He wraps the other arm low around Spencer’s hips, to avoid the lash marks.
Spencer’s steady on his feet, for what he’s just gone through. It’s still slow--five minutes to go up the stairs alone--but they get Spencer out and into the ambulance.
Spencer refuses to let go of Derek’s hand, even as they hook him up to an IV and start cleaning the blood from his face and head.
“No narcotics,” Derek tells them. One of the EMTs gives him a look.
“We’ll need to hear that from him.” Spencer is in no condition to be verbalizing anything right now, and even if he were, Derek is one of his emergency contacts and proxies, Hotch being the other.
“There’s a note in his file, they can double-check at the hospital since you don’t seem to believe me.”
“Let’s get going. Mark, you drive.” The oldest of the trio says. Mark shuts the doors and the remaining EMTs continue treating Spencer.
“Do you know all of his medical history?” The woman bandaging Spencer’s head--the one in charge--asks.
“I do,” Derek confirms. He’s been there for a lot of it, because Spencer was so young when he joined the team.
“Honey, you can put those headphones on all the way if you want, I’m doing bandaging your head and they won’t cause any more damage.” Spencer hums and does so immediately, just in time for the sirens to start.
One of the women starts cutting away Spencer’s shirt while the other splints his nose. Thankfully, that’s a clean break, because Derek knows immediately that Spencer’s back is far worse than he’d originally thought--a mess of blood and torn flesh. He looks away after a moment, focusing on the sound of Spencer’s humming.
“Do you know how many times he was whipped?” The second EMT asks. Derek shakes his head even as he signs the question to Spencer.
“61, with a leather belt. The buckle did the most damage.” Derek translates.
“He’s going to need stitches on most of these. You’ll have to talk to his doctor, but skin grafts may also be helpful.” Derek nods. They clean up Spencer’s arms next, and while they’re slathered in anti-bacterial ointment and bandaged, he won’t need stitches.
“They really did a number on his thumbs, huh? Do we have anything to splint them?”
Derek hadn’t noticed before, because there was so much blood otherwise, but it looks like Spencer’s thumbs bled more than the rest of his arms put together.
“The nail bed bleeds a lot.” Derek checks her badge. Amy is her name. “There’s no damage to it, which is good.” She wraps both of Spencer’s thumbs in loose bandages with ointment.
Derek texts Hotch an update one-handed; Spencer isn’t letting go of him anytime soon.
“We’ve got a few minutes until we reach the hospital,” Amy says, and Derek is reminded just how far out of town Spencer was. “Lily is radioing ahead now. They’ll know what to expect, and you’ll be allowed to stay with him.” Derek nods to her in thanks.
“Is there a way I can put my arm around him without hurting him?” He asks. Spencer will not want to go into the hospital on a stretcher. She draws his arm across Spencer’s lower back very carefully, his hand more on his upper thigh than his hip.
When they get to the hospital, Derek walks Spencer in, and they’re separated.
“We need to run scans for internal damage, and you need to clean up.” Derek accepts the pair of scrubs when Spencer signs to him that it’s okay, and is taken to a staff bathroom to shower and change quickly.
“Here for Dr. Reid?” The nurse at the desk asks as soon as he walks up. “They have him down for room 119.” Derek barely remembers to thank her before he’s on his way. Being clean is nice--especially when it’s Spencer’s blood he had on him--but he’s too worried about Spencer right now to really mind.
“Pretty boy?” He knocks softly on the door.
“Are you Derek Morgan?” A nurse inside asks.
“Yes.”
“He’s been asking for you.” Spencer’s laying flat on his stomach. He’s got a cannula now, carefully placed in his broken nose, and blood transfusion in addition to the IV.
“I’ll be Spencer’s doctor for the night. I understand Dr. Kimura is flying in tonight and will be here tomorrow morning?” Thank God she isn’t busy. Derek knows Spencer has a standing lunch date with her whenever they’re in the same city--given that she’s now consulting across the nation rather than working at one hospital only, and with their traveling, those lunch dates are few and far between.
“Yes, that sounds correct,” Derek confirms. It’d taken them a while to realize that Kimura had been asked if she would agree to receive an alert whenever Spencer was admitted to a hospital for an emergency. She’s also on call for the other anthrax survivors, but somehow Derek doesn’t think they end up in the hospital nearly as much as Spencer does.
It’s supposed to help keep things confidential because they can’t tell anyone about the anthrax attack, but Derek’s pretty sure it raises more suspicion than anything.
“His scans came back mostly clear--he’s got three cracked ribs, but no internal bleeding. The oxygen cannula is to supplement his intake as we have to put him on his front with his back the way it is. I see here that he has a note for no narcotics, and that you mentioned it in the ambulance as well.”
“That’s right.” Derek glances down at Spencer, who extends the arm not connected to the IVs slowly. Derek takes his hand, careful to avoid his thumb.
“We’ll be using both a regional anesthetic, injected, and a topical anesthetic when we stitch up his back.” The doctor continues. “Because of the span and severity of the wounds, we’ll be moving him to the surgical theatre for this. You’ll have to scrub in to join.” Derek nods. He’s not leaving Spencer now. “Dr. Reid, would you rather be unconscious or awake for the procedure?”
“Unconscious.” Spencer signs immediately, face scrunching and his hand trembling just the slightest bit. Before Derek can translate, the doctor is nodding and writing it down.
“We’ll take you back after the blood transfusion is complete; it’ll be about another half-hour for this one. After we’ve stitched you up, we’ll do another transfusion.” Spencer signs faster than Derek can follow, but the doctor seems to understand.
“Yes, we can splint your nails, if you’d like. You’re right that the nail might grow in deformed otherwise. Any other questions, from either of you?” Derek shakes his head, and Spencer’s hand does a few ‘nonsense’ (Spencer calls them babbling) motions before he also says no.
“Then that’s all I need from you at the moment. Amy and Lily did very well with you; they always do. You can hit the call button if you need anything.” The doctor puts Spencer’s chart on the end of the bed and steps back out of the room.
It’s only then that Derek realizes he hadn’t introduced himself.
He’s doing that a lot tonight, it seems. Derek slowly rubs his thumb over the back of Spencer’s hand, thinking.
“Morgan? Are you there?” Hotch is asking, and it takes Derek a second to shake himself out of his head and realize that Spencer has answered his phone for him, and put it on speaker.
“Yeah, Hotch, I’m here.”
“How’s Reid?”
“He’s--he’ll be okay. He’s on a blood transfusion now, but they managed to fix up everything but his back pretty decently in the ambulance. They’ll be handling that in a surgical theatre shortly.” Derek answers. “His scans showed a few cracked ribs, but no internal bleeding. I’ve already been informed that Dr. Kimura will be in tomorrow morning.”
“Good. That’s good.” Derek can hear the relief in Hotch’s voice, palpable even over the phone. He grins down at Spencer.
Spencer thought they were overprotective now ? Hotch would probably give Penelope the go-ahead for that bubble wrap suit she was always threatening Spencer with.
“We’ve got a few things to finish up here, and it seems like you’ve got a handle on things there.” Hotch pulls the phone away from his mouth to speak to someone else. “Yes, yes, I’ll tell them.
“Sorry about that. Garcia wants you to know that she’s going to swing by the hotel for your go-bags and that she may be bringing a few gifts as well. She’s got one thing to finish here,” Derek has to hold in a laugh at that, he can picture the glare Hotch is giving Penelope, and he knows exactly what expression she’s giving him back. Spencer isn’t quite laughing, but he’s got a little smile on his face. “And then she’ll be with you. Not before Reid goes under, it sounds like, but she’ll be there.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Derek says.
“The rest of us might not be by until tomorrow.” Hotch apologizes. “You know how it is, unfortunately.”
“We do.” Derek glances down at Spencer, who is squeezing his hand. “Spencer says that if you can’t come until tomorrow, you better bring him the good jello, and he wants movie pick next week.” Derek can hear Hotch and the others laughing over the phone.
“We’ll be sure to do that.” Hotch agrees, relief clear in his voice. The others all chime in with their goodbyes in the background.
“I want you to lay with me.” Spencer’s looking up at him sadly, pouting slightly in the way that usually gets him what he wants.
“Spencer, I can’t. You still have open wounds on your back. We can say what the doctor says after you’re all stitched up, okay?” Spencer bites his lip and nods; Derek knows he knows that.
Spencer wraps his fingers around Derek’s again and squeezes, signaling that he doesn’t want to talk right now.
“Dr. Reid?” A nurse steps into the room. “Someone sent this up for you--they can’t be here yet, but they thought it might help, apparently.”
“I didn’t know nurses made deliveries,” Derek remarks absently, even as he’s holding in a laugh. A Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. It’s the first book Derek ever read to him aloud when he was concussed and on total mental rest--no screens, no books, no work at all.
She laughs lightly. “We do all sorts of things for our patients, Agent.” Derek waits until she’s shut the door behind her to open the book and begin reading.
Spencer doesn’t want to admit it to himself, but he nearly falls asleep to Derek’s voice as he reads. It’s only because he wants to be awake when they come to transfer him to the surgical theatre, even though he knows it won’t really matter, that he doesn’t.
A soft knock on the door interrupts Derek’s reading. He’s not gotten far, but Spencer doesn’t want him to stop reading.
“We’ll be taking you down to be prepped now. It won’t take long, we’re just going to start applying the numbing gel and inject the intermuscular relaxant and pain reliever.” Spencer gives the nurse a thumbs up. “You’ll have to scrub in when we get there.” They say, likely looking at Derek.
Spencer taps Derek’s thigh with his pointer finger, knowing he’ll understand.
“I assume the anesthesiologist will be meeting us in the theatre?” Derek asks, translating Spencer’s question exactly.
“Yes, and the sedative will be a mild one. This will be a fairly short procedure.” Spencer gives another thumbs up before tuning them out. He’s on mild pain meds for now, dosage controlled, but breathing hurts like this. If he could lay on his back it would be much easier
He squeezes Derek’s hand hard as they move his bed to a pre-op room, and even harder when they start putting the numbing gel on his back.
Thankfully, it kicks in pretty fast, and he barely feels the pressure of the needles as they inject him with relaxant (two shots: one between his shoulders, slightly to the right of his spine), and the regional anesthetic (twelve shots--eight of these are spaced evenly down either side of his spine, and the other four are placed near the worst of his injuries.)
The much shorter trip into the theatre is far less painful. He doesn't know when Derek left, but he’s in a different colored set of scrubs and wearing a mask and gloves.
“Alright, pretty boy, I’ll be holding your hand the whole time, okay? Even if you can’t feel it.” Spencer knows that is unlikely--they’ll need access to his hands to fix his thumbnails, and sections of his back will be difficult to reach with someone holding his hand, but the thought is nice.
Derek chuckles. “I’ll hold your hand as long they’ll let me, then.” Derek’s great, but Spencer doesn’t think he can read minds.
“You’re half-signing your thoughts, Spence. I’m just putting together the rest with context clues.”
Oh.
Spencer closes his eyes when the anesthesiologist tells him to, but he’s out long before they get to ten.
Spencer wakes up warm.
He takes a minute to revel in it before figuring out where he is, exactly.
“Waking up there, baby boy?” Derek’s voice is close, right in his ear. Spencer tilts his head up to look at him. “There you are. Penelope’s come to visit, and the doctor said you have to stay on your front until at least the morning.”
Spencer pouts at him.
“I know, I know, you hate sleeping on your front.”
“Okay, I got coffee for you, just the way you like it--” Penelope hands Derek his coffee before realizing Spencer is awake. “And you, boy wonder! I got you something too!” Spencer can’t follow her with his eyes as she moves to grab something.
“You can’t use it properly quite yet, but it might make a good pillow in place of hot stuff.”
She sets a large plush down next to him.
“It’s weighted, so please don’t try to lift it yet. But it’s super soft, and I made sure it’s a material you like.”
“Thank you, Penny.” Spencer smiles at her easily. “Derek, move.”
“What was that, Pretty Boy?” Spencer knows without looking that Derek is raising an eyebrow at him.
“Move, please. I want to use Penelope’s gift and you are in the way.” Derek laughs.
“Okay, pretty boy, whatever you say.” Derek is careful, hardly jostling Spencer at all as he slips out from under him. Penelope sets the plush under Spencer’s head and Spencer immediately wraps his arms around it and starts stroking the material. It really is perfect.
“I am never sleeping on anything else again,” Spencer announces, quite dramatically for an injured man in a hospital bed. “Thank you so much, Penelope. Do you think a spring wedding will suit?”
Penelope laughs all through her answer, tone bright. “Well, we’ll be cutting it a bit close, but I’m sure everyone will understand. Dark purple suit for you, I think.”
“Pretty boy? Baby girl?” Derek asks. “Are you both betraying me now?”
"Maybe, maybe not." Penelope laughs again. "You'll see."
"Well, I'll have you know it's generally considered polite to plan a wedding without both partners being involved",” Derek says.
“Bold of you to assume I haven’t been planning your wedding since your first date.” Penelope sniffs. “Now, come on, Derek, go drink your coffee and change. I’ll keep boy wonder company.”
Spencer hears Derek leave, and Penelope pulls a chair up by Spencer’s head.
“Can I touch you?” She asks softly. Spencer considers this for a moment and nods. She starts carefully running her fingers through his hair.
“We’re having a girls’ night when you’re out.” She tells him. “It’s been too long and we were all terrified for you, Spence.” They’re quiet until Derek comes back, presumably having changed into his sweats and a t-shirt. He sits carefully by Spencer’s legs, hand on his ankle.
“I see you’ve both been behaving.”
“I always behave,” Penelope says, dramatically--Spencer’s not looking at her, but he’d guess she has a hand over her heart. It’s just such a Penelope thing to do--no one else he knows does mock dramatics the way she does.
“No, we’re just showing you good behavior.” Spencer retorts at the same time. The bed shakes a little when Derek laughs, but Spencer just smiles.
“Alright, troublemakers, it’s late. The whole team will be here tomorrow and Dr. Kimura, so let’s get what rest we can.” Spencer hums as Derek’s thumb starts tracing circles on his lateral malleolus. Between that and Penelope playing with his hair, he’ll be asleep very soon, and they know it.
It’s a little unfair, but Spencer can’t do much of anything about it.
“We’ll still be here in the morning, pretty boy.” He hears Derek whisper. “We’ve got you.” Spencer hums again, already more asleep than awake.
“And tomorrow, we’ll watch Dr. Who and eat all the jello you want,” Penelope adds, a touch louder. Spencer can’t stop himself from smiling at the glee in her voice, despite where he is.
He doesn’t bother trying to follow their soft conversation after that, simply letting their familiar voices drown out everything else until he finally, finally, takes that final step from semi-wakefulness into sleep.