Work Text:
Spencer’s anxiety was making it difficult to hold his gun steady, his eyes blindly searching in the darkness of the warehouse he was slowly clearing. He knew Hotch was just across the main hallway, clearing room after room.
Somehow that didn’t make him feel any better.
Spencer hated the dark. He always had. He couldn’t control the shadows, nor could he force his eyes to focus on nonexistent images conjured up within them. The dark made Spencer feel like he was losing his mind; he had already watched his mother lose her’s, schizophrenia forcing him to make decisions no son should ever have to make.
Spencer pivoted, flashlight searching the room for any sign of life before moving on. The flashlight didn’t help much. The shadows here were thick like blankets of dust, the cold radiating off every surface and chilling him to the bone. Sometimes he felt like he lived in a fucked-up simulation.
“Someone,” Spencer thought, “please turn the simulation off.”
Spencer must have gotten too sucked into his mind, his fear eating him up. The next room he pivoted into, a figure grabbed at him, covering his mouth before he could scream Hotch’s name for help. His gun was tossed into the inky abyss that was the rest of the room, his body following soon after as he was forced to the ground.
“Hotch!” Spencer yelled, taking his chance to get some kind of help before he was attacked. The unsub muttered some litany of curse words, his foot swiftly kicking Spencer in the stomach and rib cage, the air in his lungs forced out in a pained groan.
“Reid!? Reid! You alright?” Hotch called, light glaring off the windows and metal walls, blinding Spencer further. Spencer couldn’t his mouth again as he was snatched up by the collar and punched directly in the jaw, his teeth biting down on the soft tissue of his mouth, blood dribbling onto his tongue.
Just as quickly as before, Spencer was spun around and thrust into a metal wall, his nose colliding into it, a crack ringing in the air from the contact. Blood was now gushing everywhere, Spencer’s eyes struggling to fight back pained whimpers and tears.
“Reid!” Hotch called out again, closer now, footsteps audible just outside the room. Spencer was too confused to call out a warning, the unsub taking Hotch by surprise once the light flashed in his direction. Hotch and the unsub went down in a heap of limbs, trying to wrestle for the gun. Spencer was more focused on the flashlight. He could overcome his fear if he could see more than a few feet in front of him.
Hotch took a nasty blow to the gut, a grunt of pain slipping from his teeth before he carried on, landing a punch to the unsub’s solar plexus, knocking the unsub down and back. Hotch scrambled to his feet, picking up his gun and aiming it at the man on the ground who was gasping for air. “Stay down,” he ordered, breathing hard, his eyes searching for Spencer’s in the dark, “Reid? Are you alright?”
Spencer said nothing, hand cupped under his chin to catch his blood. It did little good, the blood slipping through the cracks of his fingers like sand through an hourglass, beads of blood splattering on the ground, his shoes, and his clothes. Everything was a hazy, shadows blending with Hotch’s silhouette. All he could feel was pain.
Hotch looked back to the unsub, gun trained at his head while he radioed for back-up.
Spencer hadn’t managed to fight the medics like he normally would, his head in too much pain. There was also too much blood everywhere to justify the statement of ‘I’m fine.’ Hotch had rode with him to the hospital, too, ensuring he wouldn’t argue his way out of seeing a doctor.
Hotch held his hand as many times as he was able, whispering about how sorry he was, about how he should have paid more attention before Spencer was yanked into the darkness and beaten senseless. Spencer was over it by the 50th time, cutting off Hotch’s “I’m sorry, sweetheart—”
“Aaron. I’m going to be okay. It’s a minor head injury, a slightly broken nose, and some bruised ribs. I’ve been through a lot worse and we both know it,” Spencer said, leaving no room for argument in wake of his words. Hotch knew he was talking about Tobias Hankel and how wrong that situation had gone, how he hadn’t been able to help Spencer and how bad he felt about it.
“I…” Hotch cut himself off, looking away for a moment, trying to recollect himself so he wouldn’t begin to cry when he had no reason to do so, “I know, Spencer. I know. I just can’t think of what I’d do if I lost you like I lost her…”
Haley. Hotch didn’t want Spencer to die the way Haley had—alone, afraid, helpless. She had died before Hotch had the chance to save her, and he didn’t want to make that same mistake.