Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Adjusting to working with a twenty year old FBI agent took the other members of the team a few months to swallow, but after Spencer solved a cipher in days that led to the capture of a serial killer rampaging across the country he had earned their respect at least, and he was somewhat certain several members of the team were trying to befriend him. Trying being the keyword; Gideon had warned him before even applying to the academy that if he wanted to work for the FBI there were some personal details that should be just that, personal. As though Gideon had taken one look at him and known he was very likely autistic, genetically predisposed to schizophrenia, and had a serious boyfriend. 

With profilers, Spencer couldn’t be certain how effective he was at masking, but he had been doing it his entire life, so he hoped anything that slipped through the cracks could be considered the eccentricities of a child prodigy. Despite the incident, Spencer hadn’t had any further hallucinations, delusions, or anything of the like so he had hesitantly chalked it up to sleep deprivation and/or smoke inhalation. That didn't change the fact that Sam was gone. 

There hadn’t been anything to salvage from their apartment, not a single one of their books intermingling on their bookcase, no photos taken by their friends or of their friends from the mantle or pinned to the fridge, not one flannel that had slowly shifted into becoming Spencer’s because it was soft and familiar and smelled like Sam’s detergent. If not for the ring, Spencer wouldn’t have a scrap of evidence Sam wasn’t another delusion his brain had cooked up. 

Fortunately, Spencer had added his name to the lease, so he had collected the payout for the faulty pipes and wiring, which paid for a rundown hotel room for the next two months as he healed from his injuries and crammed the rest of his psychology and sociology BA. Sam’s friends had offered him a place to stay after they heard Sam had ‘left on a trip with his brother to find their missing father’, but Spencer had politely declined, and easily evaded them. Considering his phone had melted into a piece of scrap metal, he didn’t even have to block their numbers. It didn’t afford him the privilege of forgetting theirs in return. 

“Hey, pretty boy, we’re heading out for some drinks, you coming?” Derek asked.

“Not really my scene,” Spencer said apologetically, shouldering his bag. 

“Oh no you don’t,” Elle said. “You can’t keep sidestepping us, Dr. Reid, we’ve got to get to know you somehow. Think of it as mandatory team bonding.”

“Are Hotch and Gideon going to be there?” 

“Doubtful.” 

“Then it’s not team bonding,” Spencer said primly, heading for the elevators.

“Hotch has a pregnant wife, and Gideon is… Gideon,” Derek said. “What’s your excuse, doc?” 

“Social awkwardness?” 

“Nice try, kid, c’mon.”

They waited for Elle to round up JJ and Penelope before they all stepped into the elevator together, the others debating what bar to go to, but it was quickly settled as they all decided that Mo’s was decent. Spencer fell to the back of the pack as they walked towards the bar, but Penelope joined him. 

“I’m so excited you’re coming out with us! Aside from the papers you’ve published there’s barely anything on the web about you which means I need to get my info first hand, so spill!” 

“Um.”

“Shy? Don’t worry, a little tequila will fix that for you. Onwards!” 

She moved to loop her arm with his, and he couldn’t help shying away.

“Not big on touch, huh?”

“Sorry.” Spencer grimaced.

“It’s cool,” Penelope said. “Everyone’s got their things, I mean, I’m a total hugger, but that doesn’t mean you have to be! I did hear a little rumor that you’re a germaphobe, you know, because of your whole ‘no handshakes’ thing.” 

“Some healthcare circles have actually discussed switching to fist bumps rather than handshakes to cut down on the transfer of bacteria. Even though hand washing has become a major initiative through healthcare systems, up to eighty percent of people still retain some kind of bacteria even after washing their hands.”

“So a germaphobe. See? I’m learning so much already!”

Spencer’s lips quirked up. Penelope reminded him of Becky a little, she was lively, outgoing, and confident, she was quirky where Becky had been more mainstream, but he could still see the similarities even if Becky would never wear some of the bright patterns Penelope appeared to be so fond of, or use a unicorn-pen. 

The bar had a decent crowd, but not so much that they struggled to find a table, each ordering a drink from the bar, though Spencer ordered a soda even though the bartender didn’t ask for his ID (which he assumed was solely because of who he was with). 

“You don’t drink?” Elle asked.

“I hear its frowned upon to break the law once you work in law enforcement.”

The others exchanged looks.

Spencer’s face warmed. “I, uh, I’m still a few weeks shy.” 

“You’re joking,” Derek said.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I forgot,” Penelope said. “Can you even be in here?” 

JJ frowned. “Don’t you have to be twenty-three to apply?”

“They made an exception.” 

“You’re twenty?” Elle asked.

“Currently.” 

Derek just shook his head, disbelief painted across his face. “Gideon really just went and plucked you out of a lecture hall, huh?” 

“More or less.” 

“He couldn’t wait a year or two?” JJ asked.

“I suppose he could have, but I’m pretty sure this years reports will show our solved-cases statistic has increased by seven point five percent, if not more considering the fact that the quicker a case is solved, the more cases that can be solved per year offering a higher volume of cases to be solved.”

“He’s got a point,” Elle said. “If Reid didn’t figure out our last unsub had emetophobia and all of the victims had recently thrown up, we never would have found the connection.”

“Not never,” Derek muttered.

“Not in four days,” Elle corrected.

“Yeah, I’ll give you that,” Derek said.

“Still, you’re only twenty, what made you decide to join the FBI?” JJ asked. “You could have done just about anything with your brain and you already had, like, what, two doctorates?”

“All the avenues I was considering were a competition for where I could be the most useful, how I could help the most people, but here? I get to see the results. It’s not years in a lab looking for a cure that may not be found until after I’m dead, but at least here I know I’m helping someone with every case.”

“Now that, that is a good reason, I’ll drink to that,” Derek said.

“Here, here,” Penelope cheered.

They clinked their drinks together.

“Why did you all join?” Spencer asked.

“Someone came to lecture at my college my senior year,” JJ said. “I applied the next fall.” 

“My dad was a cop,” Elle said simply. 

“So was my pops,” Derek said. “I worked Chicago PD for awhile, and there was just this one case… our chief sent in a request, a couple of profilers came down, and we caught the guy three weeks later using their profile. I sent in my application the next week.”

“I was recruited,” Penelope said. 

“Pen’s kind of a genius herself,” Derek said.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Derek Morgan.” Penelope batted her eyes at him.

Derek laughed. 

The conversation moved into discussing other cases; a few from the BAU pre-Spencer, some from Derek’s bomb squad days, some from Elle’s work in sex crimes.

“Alright, enough with the murder,” Penelope protested. “We’re having a night out!” 

Derek held his hands up in surrender. 

“So, Reid, where are you from?” Elle asked.

“Vegas, Nevada.” 

“A Vegas boy,” Derek said. 

“How do you like Virginia?” JJ asked.

“To be perfectly honest, we don’t actually spend a lot of time in Virginia, so I suppose when I am here, it’s been fine.” 

“I hear that,” JJ said. 

“We’ll point you to the best haunts, there’s Mo’s of course, there’s this Mexican restaurant over on third, a judo gym if you’re looking to actually get some hand to hand experience,” Derek said.

“If you’re looking for Derek to snap you like a twig,” Elle said. 

“I bet pretty boy’s got some moves, right?” Derek mimed a few punches.

Spencer rubbed at his forearm through the sleeve of his button down. “I may have also gotten a few exceptions on the physical qualifications.”

“Which only means you need more training,” Derek said. “I run hand to hand refreshers here and there, you should come.”

Spencer took a long sip of soda rather then try to find some way to decline.

Penelope smacked Derek’s arm. “Stop trying to beat up the newbie. Look at him, he looks like he hasn’t been fed in two years!” 

Spencer grimaced. “Thanks.”

JJ gave him a little apologetic smile.

“He’s a kid, he’s probably just had his growth spurt,” Derek teased. “He’ll fill out.”

“Yeah, maybe he’ll start growing into those button downs.” Elle tugged on his sleeve. “What’s this? A men’s extra large?”

“I’m tall,” Spencer protested. 

“You need to go shopping,” Penelope said, then gasped. “We should go shopping!” 

Spencer shrank down in his chair. 

JJ took pity on him. “Are you all settled into your apartment? I know it took me a couple of months for me to get some of the smaller things, I bought a bed frame, a couch, a kitchen table, and then very quickly realized that a coffee maker is also a necessity.” 

“I think a coffee maker was what I bought first,” Spencer joked.

“Are you far? Traffic can be a bitch,” Elle said.

“I take the metro.”

“Nothing to start your morning off right like being wedged between other sweaty commuters,” Elle said.

Spencer shrugged. “I use the time to read, so it doesn’t particularly bother me.” 

“Very in character,” JJ said. 

“Alright, so, twenty year old, fresh out of the academy, just moved to Virginia, do you have family in the area? Friends? More than friends?” Derek asked.

“No,” Spencer said, though the chain tucked under his collar felt heavier. “Which is actually rather advantageous with our work hours.” 

“Keeping it casual is the way to go,” Derek said, and Elle nodded her agreement.

“What about Hotch?” JJ said. “I mean, he makes it work, and he’s got a kid on the way.”

“Exactly. Besides, I need you all to satiate my endless need for drama with your own personal lives!” Penelope added, earning a couple of laughs.

“No drama here,” Elle said.

“Same,” Derek said.

“Oh? So you’re saying how things ended with Susanna was drama free?” Penelope challenged.

“I—“ Derek opened and closed his mouth. “How was I supposed to know it was her birthday?” 

“Oh, dude…” JJ said.

“Not cool, man,” Elle said. 

Derek tried to defend himself while Penelope dragged his ‘dating’ history, but eventually gave in, and just started laughing along. Spencer found himself relaxing as the night went on as he realized the teasing was doled out in even measure to everyone at the table and always by gentle hands. It was a meandering walk back towards the office for the others to get to their cars, and Spencer to get to the nearest metro stop.

“I grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania, like, tiny, and I remember when I left for college I could wait to get out, but once I got there…”

“You do realize I’ve been to college several times, right?”

“I just mean, a new city, new job, it can feel a little bit like starting a new life, and if you don’t have any friends or family around here then it can be a little overwhelming.” 

Spencer made a noncommittal sound.

“So don’t be afraid to make some ties.” JJ bumped their shoulders. “You’re working with a team full of profilers, you’re going to be all up in each other’s business, so you might as well make some friends while you’re at it.” 

“You’re saying I should stop avoiding mandatory team bonding rituals?” 

“I’m saying, I know where the good coffee is.” 

Spencer managed a little smile. “You should have led with that.”

JJ laughed. “Goodnight, Reid.”

“Night.” 

Spencer waved goodbye to the others as he headed for the metro. It was only an eighteen minute ride to the nearest stop to the apartment, and only a seven minute walk. Apartment 606 had a green door, that led into the living room, the bedroom and bathroom off to his left, the kitchen straight ahead behind the living room. His books were stacked along the walls considering he hadn’t bought a bookshelf yet, but at least he had taken everything out of the boxes, though his collection was a fraction of the size it used to be, he was steadily building it back up. Considering that he didn’t plan on having any guests, he had put off furnishing the living room, his kitchen was a step up outfitted with a couple of mismatched barstools, a coffee machine, and a toaster. Putting together a bed frame had been more frustrating than it had any right to be considering he had a doctorate in engineering, but sleeping on a mattress on the floor while it didn’t bother him, also didn’t strike him a something a serious FBI profiler would do. 

Which was the same reason he replaced his oversized sweaters; buying button downs, slacks, ties, sweater vests, and cardigans. If he tried to wear the kinds of suits Hotch wore, he would look like a kid playing dress up, this way he may have looked like a TA, but at least he didn’t look like a student. The long sleeves also covered the scarring; the burns supposedly would fade with time, but they were still pink, and the raised line where the stitches were would never leave. It was true that he had been given exceptions to his physical requirements, but some of the leniency definitely came from showing up to the academy wearing a boot. Hand-to-hand requirements they could wave, but he did have to pass his gun qualifications, which he did… barely. The button down collars also kept the chain around his neck securely under the collar of his shirt. 

Spencer caught a little sleep before the ring of his phone woke him, and he answered if before his eyes opened, a well practiced ‘Dr. Spencer Reid’ leaving his mouth as though he had been awake for hours.

“Reid, we have case.”  

“Yes, sir, I can be there in thirty-seven minutes.” 

“I’ll see you in thirty.” 

The dial tone saved both of them the energy of saying goodbye. Rolling out of bed, Spencer showered quick and cold to keep himself from lingering, shivering as he pulled on slacks, tucking his chain under the collar of his undershirt, and doing up the buttons of his shirt while he walked to the kitchen. He tied his tie while the instant coffee brewed, and pulled on a sweater vest. Travel mug in hand, bag over his shoulder, he exited his apartment, locking the door, and jogging down the stairs. Knocking on Hotch’s door thirty-one minutes after the call had came in, considering both the bullpen, and conference room were empty.

“Reid. Come in.” 

Spencer stepped inside the office, closing the door behind him.

“I thought we had a case, sir?” 

“We do, the others will arrive shortly, but it’s come to my attention you haven’t filled out paperwork for an emergency contact.” 

Spencer faltered as Hotch held out the papers. 

“Oh.” 

Accepting them, he sat down slowly as he read the empty slots where he was supposed to put the information of someone he trusted to make decisions for him if he was physically incapable.  

“I don’t really have any family in the area,” Spencer said. “Is it necessary?”

“It is,” Hotch said. “If you’re injured in the field we’ll need someone to contact.” 

Spencer heard the ‘or killed’ that Hotch tactfully didn’t say. Sitting down opposite Hotch, Spencer picked up a pen, but didn’t click it. 

“It doesn’t have to be family. It can be a friend or partner.” 

Spencer clicked the pen, but the chain around his neck felt like it was holding a cinderblock, and not a pretty gold ring as he scratched Sam’s name and information down. It was unlikely that even if he did get critically injured that the bureau would be able to track him down while he was driving cross country with his brother, and Spencer wasn’t even sure if the number he wrote was current. If he was critically injured, he was already registered as an organ donor should he be brain dead. If he got killed the state would bury him, and his will noted that all of his possessions should be donated, and all his finances allocated to his mother’s treatment. 

“I know it’s sobering to fill out this kind of paperwork, but it is the reality we face.”

“I’ve had a will since I turned eighteen.” Spencer handed the papers back. “It’s just paperwork and preparation for the eventuality we all face.”

“The others should arrive soon, we’ll brief in five.” 

Spencer rose, shouldering his bag, and exiting the office. Rather than return to the bullpen, he settled into his usual seat at the round table, the others beginning to file in. 

“Early as always,” JJ said. 

“Trying to make us look bad?” Derek teased.

“I don’t have to try.” Spencer sipped his coffee.

“Ouch.” Derek put his hand over his heart, while JJ and Elle snickered. 

Gideon followed Hotch in, and the briefing began.

Sam didn’t ask until after they subdued the shapeshifter, and Dean was waiting in the car.

“How’s Spence?” 

Becky blinked. “You don’t know?” 

“Don’t know what?” 

“Spencer… left. After he checked out of the hospital, he finished the rest of his degree in less than two months, and left.” 

“Left? Left where?”

“I don’t know,” Becky said. “No one’s heard from him, we barely heard from him after he left the hospital. We tried to get him to stay with one of us, but he wouldn’t, we couldn’t even text him considering his phone went up, and he didn’t bother saying goodbye or giving us a new number.” 

Sam’s chest tightened. “So none of you know where he is? None of you have heard from him?”

“No, sorry,” Becky said. “I know… I know you’re going through a lot right now, and you’re looking for your dad, and I’m not trying to guilt you, but… but I think he needed you.” 

Sam swallowed. “Yeah, I know.” 

“Then why? I mean, I thought you were going to…” Becky held up her hand, wiggling her ring finger.

Sam felt more like she punched him in the gut. “It’s complicated, but, uh, do me a favor? Let me know if you hear from him?” 

“Yeah, I will,” Becky said. “Take care, Sam, we all miss you.” 

“You too.” 

Sam gave her a hug before climbing in the passenger side of Dean’s car. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Dean said.

“Becky doesn’t know where Spencer is.” 

“Alright, well, don’t pull anything, it would’ve made the news if a twenty-year old genius kicked the bucket, especially in some freaky way. I’m sure he’s fine, probably just transferred somewhere else, you said he was practically addicted to get degrees, right?”

Sam nodded.

“Call your other nerd friends if you’re bugging about it, but I’m sure he’s fine.” 

Sam texted the others, but they all gave him the same story, an array of well wishes, advice, and a little judgment for how he left things with Spencer. A couple of searches told him Spencer was just as allergic to social media as before; no Facebook, myspace, or LinkedIn. There were also no obits or articles, but he did find a few papers he had published previous years, including his thesis. A lot of it was technical jargon that eluded him, but he could hear Spencer’s voice in the wording of it. 

“Anything?” Dean asked.

“No.” 

“That’s good news,” Dean said. “Means he’s living normal.”

Sam nodded, closing his laptop. 

It was another few months before Dean turned on the TV in their hotel, and he saw Spencer a few feet behind a serious looking man in a black suit who was making a press statement about a sniper they had caught in Des Plaines Illinois. It was too far back for Sam to make out anything about him other than the fact that his hair was shorter and he was wearing a god-awful sweater vest over an ill-fitting button down. It could have been the lighting, but it looked like his face was bruised.

“Your boy’s a fed?” 

“A profiler. An agent recruited him from Stanford, even said they would make exceptions for his age, but he hadn’t decided if he wanted to apply or not.”

“Looks like he decided.” 

“He’s in Virginia,” Sam said. 

“Except for when he’s hunting monsters,” Dean said. “Guess I can see what you had in common aside from the sheer dork-levels.”

Sam was torn between pride and gut-deep fear that every day Spencer was chasing people just as dangerous as the monsters he and Dean were tackling. It was easier to keep tabs on Spencer after that, even if he didn’t appear in the news often agents Hotchner or Gideon’s name popped up here and there in relation to different cases. Sam kept clipping sometimes, like a gruesome scrap book, though he was careful not to let Dean see it and tell him he was going all Fatal Attraction.

Chapter Text

“Spencer Reid!” 

Spencer looked up with wide eyes as Penelope marched towards him in her pink platform wedges, looking like she was on the warpath.

“Ooh, you’ve done it now, pretty boy,” Derek teased.

“Start running,” Elle warned.

“Did you really think you could just slip by without telling us your birthday was three weeks ago?” 

“Uh, yes?” 

“We missed your birthday?” JJ asked.

“It’s just a birthday,” Spencer said. “It’s not a big deal.” 

“Uh, it’s your twenty-first birthday, it’s a really big deal!” Penelope waved her hands.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Elle said. “We would have taken you out. Unless you had plans?”

“I did,” Spencer said. “I bought a stack of books, and had a great night.” 

“That’s how you spent your twenty-first birthday? That’s… sad.” 

“We need a redo,” Penelope declared. “We’re going out tonight; drinking, cake, candles, the whole shebang!”

Spencer slouched down in his chair. “Can I pass? I want to pass.” 

“Doesn’t sound optional to me,” Derek said.

“I’ll go tell Hotch!”

“Don’t tell Hotch—“ Spencer straightened up, but Penelope click-clacking up the stairs. “—and you’re already gone.” 

Derek laughed. “When Pen sets her mind to something, she’s unstoppable.”

“If it’s my birthday, shouldn’t I get a say?” 

“You can pick the flavor of the cake,” JJ said, looking up from her phone. 

“I don’t want cake.”

JJ gave him an expectant look. 

Spencer sighed, slumping back. “I like chocolate.” 

“On it,” JJ said with the same seriousness as when Hotch told her to give a press conference. 

Spencer could count the number of birthday he had celebrated on both hands. He had seen photos from ages one to three with his parents smiling at the camera, at each other, at him. Had hazy memories of his forth, clearer of his fifth, sixth, and seventh, but as his mother began to deteriorate she could barely remember whether it was morning or night much less the month, day, and year, and his father was growing more distant as he failed to convince Diana to get treatment. There had been one day in January where Spencer had come home to find a banner strung up and candle stuck in a cupcake for him, she had seemed almost like herself again for three hours and sixteen minutes. At Stanford, his nineteenth birthday had slipped by, but Sam and his friends had gone all out for his twentieth.

Spencer woke up to warm kisses along his neck and the smell of coffee. His sleepy protest only got a warm laugh, Sam carding his fingers through his bedhead as he coaxed him from sleep. 

“Baby…” 

“Coffee?” Spencer mumbled.

Sam laughed. “Yes, your real boyfriend, coffee with an astounding amount of sugar, is sitting on the nightstand, while your side piece is trying to kiss you good morning.”

“Coffee first.” 

Spencer sat up, curling both fingers around the mug Sam handed him, taking a deep drink. It always tasted better when Sam made it. Spencer used to tell his mother exactly how he made her tea because she said it was never as good as when he did it, down to the second he let the bag soak, but it wasn’t until Sam that he understood there was something completely unmeasurable about the way anything tasted better when it was an act of love. 

“Thank you for coffee.”

“I know better than to wake you without it, it’s more of self defense.” 

Spencer scowled into his mug.

Sam had clearly been awake for awhile considering he was already dressed for the day, but Spencer didn’t remember him having a shift that weekend, in fact, it had been one of the few free days he had in the last few months. After a few sips, Spencer tilted his face expectantly, getting a kiss in reply, though Sam smiled into it.

“Happy Birthday, Spence.” 

Spencer blinked. “It’s my birthday?” 

“You forgot? I didn’t know you were capable of that.”

Spencer shrugged, it hadn't exactly been something of note the previous years, taking another sip of coffee.

“Do you want it to be a surprise or do you want to know?” 

“Know.”

“Breakfast is in the kitchen, there’s a used bookstore about forty-five minutes away, so I figured we could get lunch while we were there, relax at home a little, then our friends will come over for dinner, and I got us tickets to the circus.” 

Spencer’s heart squeezed almost painfully in his chest, holding tight to his mug. 

“Sound good?”

Spencer cleared his throat. “Sounds perfect.”

Sam kissed him. “Ready for breakfast?”

“Mhm.” 

Breakfast was pancakes drowned in syrup and a second cup of coffee. Despite Spencer’s protests, Sam cleaned up while he showered and got ready. He enjoyed the bus ride, his hand curled around Sam’s bicep while they talked about nothing particularly important. Spencer never felt lighter than when they were wandering through the bookshelves, pulling them at random to try to find worse and worse quotes to horrify the other with. Sam tried to buy him eight books, but Spencer only let him buy three, barely resisting the urge to read one on the bus ride home after they grabbed street tacos for lunch. 

Spencer found that the little block Sam had built in to give him a chance to refill his social battery was best spent lazily making out on the couch with Sam’s weight squishing him in a way that made his brain go nice and quiet. Their friends laughed at their slightly rumpled states when they arrived with bags of Indian food and a chocolate cake covered in sprinkles in an attempt to hide the wonky frosting. Zach and Emily gave him a framed photo of him and Sam that he hadn’t seen them take, Brady gave him a book on magic tricks which was apparently his only ‘cool’ skill, Becky gave him a sweater that ‘was actually his size for once’, and Jess a a copy of Dmitri Prigov poems in their original Russian. Sam bought him a pair of purple converse that made their friends boo at the lack of romance, but Spencer only smiled as he looked over at the ones held together with duct-tape by the door. It hadn’t occurred to him to buy a new pair even as they started to fall apart, the purple shoes were practically a 14 karat gold watch. 

They walked out with their friends, taking the metro, and walking a little ways to get to the circus. It wasn’t Cirque du Soleil by any means, but Spencer was completely enthralled, talking about the physics of it as they wandered the city afterwards, until a yawn interrupted him, and Sam herded him back home. Spencer had blinked away a few tears when Sam asked him if he had a good birthday once they were in bed, but he tucked his face into Sam’s chest, so he wouldn’t see as he said he had, that he loved him. 

“Reid?” 

Spencer cleared his throat, dropping his hand from where he had it pressed over his chest, the ring digging into his skin.

“Yeah? What?” 

“You just spaced, man,” Derek said. “You good?” 

“Peachy.” 

Fortunately they didn’t bring up his birthday again until he was clocking out, and he found himself being redirected from the elevators up to the conference room. There was a chocolate cake on the table that JJ had clearly gotten delivered from somewhere, and Spencer half wondered if Penelope kept noise makers in her desk. 

“I have been informed we’ve missed your birthday,” Hotch said, looking very serious for someone holding a birthday hat.

“Hotch, no,” Spencer protested.

“It’s an indignity we all must suffer,” Hotch said gravely, fitting the hat on his head, though he looked like he was trying not to smile at Spencer’s apparent misery. 

Spencer waited for them to sing, blew out the candles, and accepted a slice of cake. 

“What did you wish for, genius?” Penelope asked. 

“I don’t believe in superstitions,” Spencer lied. “Did you know it’s one of the most wide spread rituals across the world? The most well-known version being part of an 18th century German celebration called Kinderfest where two candles would be placed in sweets, one representing the light of their life, and the other the years to come. The flame was supposed to be kept lit all day, and they would blow it out at nightfall so the smoke would carry their wishes to God.” 

“How do you hate your birthday and you know this?” Elle asked.

“I like eighteenth century literature, and I don’t hate my birthday.”

“I don’t have to be a profiler to know that was a lie,” JJ said. 

“Are you going to give us the lonely tale of a child prodigy?” Derek teased.

“Quiet you.” Penelope whacked Derek's arm. “Besides, our genius is lonely no more, not with friends like us.” 

The ghost of his own words, echoed in his head, saying ‘I don’t make friends’, but he doubted it would be productive to the work environment, so he just took another bite of cake rather than say anything at all. 

“Alright,” Elle said. “Worst birthdays, go.” 

“When I was twelve, I had gotten a black eye from this girl in my soccer game the night before, so I had a shiner in all of my photos,” JJ said. “Amelia Jones… what a bitch.”

The others laughed and Penelope jokingly offered to ruin her credit score to make it up to her.

“My aunt took me to see a horror movie and I fainted five minutes in,” Penelope said. 

“My dad was a bit a joker,” Elle said. “And when I was six he pretended to smash my face into the cake, but I got a little bit of frosting on my nose and I was furious.” 

“I don’t think I can top that,” Derek said. “I mean, frosting on your nose? I feel pretty blessed now.” 

Elle shoved him.

“Hm, I don’t know, I mean, when I was fourteen I found out the girl I liked, liked one of my friends, but, eh, for the most part I’ve had a pretty good run of it.” 

“My mother used to buy my brother and I’s presents months early, and she accidentally swapped our gifts one year, and considering he was six and I was twelve, and I had some difficulty feigning gratitude for a light up firetruck,” Hotch said to their amusement. 

“I worked a couple of cases on my birthday over the years, but the worst had to be the John Digger case,” Gideon said.

“The serial killer who buried his victims alive and would tell their families where the bodies were less than an hour after suffocation?” Spencer asked.

Gideon nodded. “It was heart wrenching to arrive on a scene where the victim would have been alive less than half an hour ago, but it was this sadistic need that allowed us to catch him as one of the families managed to get to their daughter more quickly than anticipated and revive her with CPR.” 

“What about you, Dr. Reid?” Elle asked.

“I didn’t really celebrate my birthday growing up,” Spencer said easily. “Considering my milestones like high school graduation and going to college didn’t particularly depend on an age factor, I suppose I never really cared about the numbers aside from getting the ability to vote.” 

“I guess that makes sense,” Elle said. “Why would you care about a sweet sixteen when you’re already one doctorate in?”

Spencer nodded. 

“Except twenty-one means you get to drink.” Derek grinned. “Who here wants to bet the good doctor is a lightweight?” 

Several hands rose, and Spencer slouched down in his chair. 

“Don’t worry,” Penelope said. “I’m a lightweight too, all it means is that I get to pay way less to get drunk.” 

“There is that,” JJ said. 

They talked about cases that had landed on their birthdays, holidays, even some cases that were Christmas themed but landed no where near the season as they polished off the cake. Spencer made a half hearted escape attempt at the elevators, but was quickly wrangled by Penelope, and he found himself sitting next to Hotch at a bar called ‘Crimson Rooster’ while Derek and Elle grabbed the first round. They set beers in front of everyone, but Derek held Spencer’s out of reach. 

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to see some ID, pretty boy.”

“Oh come on.” 

Derek grinned. “C’mon, how bad’s the photo?” 

Spencer huffed, pulling his license out of his wallet, and handing it over. He had gotten it renewed a month before his twentieth birthday, it was a somewhat decent photo considering he had some experience, but no one looked good under the DMV lights.

“Corrective lenses, you wear glasses, pretty boy?”

“Contacts.”

“I can see it,” Penelope said. “Adds to the whole nerd-vibe.” 

“Thanks.” 

JJ took the ID from him. “This… this is actually a pretty good photo.”

Elle snatched it. “What? Mine looks like someone just socked me in the stomach, how is this fair?”

His ID got passed around the table, Hotch looked at it with mock-seriousness before handing it back.

“It’s real,” Hotch said, and the others laughed. 

Derek handed him his beer. 

“Thanks.”

“To the good doctor,” Derek held up his beer.

“Here, here!” Penelope cheered.

They clinked their glasses together, and Spencer took a sip of his drink. It was a different brand than the kind Sam ordered, but in all honestly, it tasted the same. He had never particularly acquired a taste for it, it was nice to feel sociable, but he was relatively certain it would always taste like expired liquid bread to him. 

“First drink, Spence, how’s it feel?” JJ asked.

“First legal drink,” Spencer corrected, then winced as he realized Hotch and Gideon were at the table. “I mean, no, of course I would never break the law, not once in my life.” 

The others laughed and Hotch looked somewhere between unimpressed and amused.

“I think there’s a very small number of people who haven’t drank under twenty one,” Gideon said. 

“Still, I didn’t peg a goody-two-shoes like you to do something so… normal,” Elle said.

Spencer frowned. “Thanks.” 

“Tell the truth, doc, were you partying it up at Cal-tech?” 

“No,” Spencer said. “But most of my peers were older than me, even by the time I hit eighteen, so they drank socially.” 

“Rebel,” Elle mocked. 

Spencer sipped his beer. 

“My twenty-first, my friends and I got so trashed, we woke up in the bar… but not the one we had gone drinking at,” Derek said.

“Let’s not do that,” Spencer said.

“What we should do is shots!” Penelope said.

“I feel obligated to remind you we have work in the morning,” Hotch said. “However, if you would like to be hungover that’s none of my business, so long as you’re on time.” 

Penelope pouted. 

Spencer listened to their stories of their own twenty-first birthdays, drunk college shenanigans, drunk mishaps in general, and a couple of very interesting drunk and disorderlies Derek had to arrest (one sans pants). He had two beers which he drank slow, and one shot with Penelope, which he would blame for giving them a very detailed history of authors and their relationships with alcohol and other drugs, but he managed to steer the conversation away from himself at every turn with questions, redirects, or statistics. Gideon left first without any goodbye. Hotch second with a ‘happy birthday’ and the excuse of his waiting wife, and the others started switching to water to sober up. Despite his earlier protests, it was nice just to be in the company of his coworkers and listen to them talk and banter until they decided to call it a night. Penelope and JJ split a cab, while Elle walked towards her own car.

“Hey, kid,” Derek waved. “C’mon, let me drive you home.” 

“I can take the metro.” 

“Wasn’t asking, it’s late, c’mon.” 

Spencer climbed into his passenger seat, buckling himself in, and settling into a space that was so distinctly Derek Morgan. The radio of the four-door truck was set to a hip-hop station, the interior of the truck was clean, but there was a hoodie in the backseat, and it had that indescribable person-smell that you could help associating with different people’s houses no matter what candles, air fresheners, or recently cooked meals. It just was. 

It was as Spencer relaxed into the seat while Derek started driving, music playing softly, that it struck him just how much he trusted him. It was inevitable, from car rides, jet rides, cases worked together, and field work, but what bothered Spencer was that it wasn’t a conscious decision. He had unconsciously relaxed as soon as he closed the door to Derek’s car even though he had been determined to keep his walls intact with the team. He could be friendly, social, trust them within the confines of their job, a basic ‘you have my back in the field and I have yours’, and somehow he was almost dozing off against the window of Derek’s truck listening to him mumble along to the radio. 

Spencer gave him turn by turn directions to his apartment, thanking him for the ride, and climbing out. Derek didn’t pull away until he was inside his building. 

Chapter Text

Spencer was only thirty-nine percent certain Lila Archer was flirting with him until she pulled him into the pool. It seemed statistically unlikely considering her fame, the length of time they had known one another, and the fact that he didn’t look like someone who could play a leading man beside her. That didn’t stop her from kissing him. His heart skipped at the action, a little flicker of warmth in his chest that died out as soon as his brain supplied the fact that the last time he had been kissed was standing in the doorway of his and Sam’s apartment with the taste of Sam’s ‘I love you’ still on his lips as he promised to come back to him.

Spencer turned away. “Lila, Lila, stop, this is inappropriate, I’ve been assigned to protect you—“

“Then you should stay close, right?” Lila joked, trying to kiss him again.

“I have a fiancé,” Spencer blurted out.

Lila froze. 

“Or, I did, um, it’s complicated right now, but besides the fact that it’s totally inappropriate for me to be kissing you while I’m supposed to be on protective detail, I also, can’t…” 

Lila shifted away. “Oh.”

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t be, I… I’m sorry, I thought the feeling was mutual.” 

“You’re a movie star who’s actually nice, I think it would be impossible not to feel some degree of attraction towards you, but…”

“But you have a fiancee… kind of.” 

Spencer’s hand flit to the ring under his collar, opening his mouth to try to convince her to get out of the pool and back to the safety of the house when Elle and Morgan appeared, dragging a paparazzi photographer out of the bushes. 

“Is that what you call protective duty, Dr. Reid?” Elle asked, flicking through the photos. 

Spencer winced, climbing out of the pool, and Lila followed. 

“It’s my fault, he tried to tell me to get back in the house,” Lila said. “Which, um, I will now…” 

Snatching up her towel, she made a hasty retreat back inside while Spencer dripped on the concrete. 

“Player,” Derek said, looking through the photos. 

Spencer flushed. “Shut up.”

Elle pulled the film out despite the paparazzi’s protests, shoving it in her pocket. “You look like a drowned rat.” 

“Thanks.” 

The case was a blur from there; Gideon telling Lila about her manager, the collage, the unsub in the house, Spencer declaring his love, taking her down, saying a quick goodbye to Lila in a far too public eye, and ending up on the cover of a magazine. Derek slapped a copy down on his desk. 

“Thought you might want one,” Derek said. “Lucky they didn’t get the ones of you in the pool.” 

Spencer glowered up at him.

“You gonna call her, pretty boy?” 

Spencer adjusted his collar. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” 

“With our cases even if she wasn’t 2,647 miles away, I would barely see her.” 

And Spencer was still hopelessly in love with the boy who left him with nothing but a ring at the first sign that his biggest fear might come true. 

“I forgot, it’s the 1800s and telephones don’t exist.” 

“I just don’t see the point in pursuing relationships that have an expiration date.”

“All relationships have an expiration date,” Derek said. “We all gotta die sometime, and someone’s got to die first, you can’t let that stop you from forming connections.” 

Spencer tapped his fingers against his desk once, twice before flattening his hands against the wood. 

“Just think about it, alright?” Derek tussled his hair.

Spencer nodded, waiting until Derek had left the bullpen to set the magazine in the recycling. 

Sam turned away when Lori leaned into kiss him. “I can’t.” 

Lori sniffled. “Oh, sorry, um, I thought… I don’t know what I thought… you just, you seemed like you understood.”

“I do, I understand feeling cursed, bad things just seem to follow me, and I don’t want the people I love to get hurt.”

“The people you love?” 

“My fiancé, something from my past came back to haunt me and I had to leave to keep them safe.”

“You must really love her.” 

“I do,” Sam smiled. “Spencer’s… brilliant, and witty, and kind, and so stubborn.”

“So what are you doing here? Why aren’t you with her?” 

“Spencer’s not safe when I’m around, that’s my curse.” 

Lori opened her mouth only to be interrupted by her father, who was interrupted by a hook being shoved through his chest.

Chapter Text

Sam picked at the wrapper of his beer while Dean went to grab them a refill. They had burned the bones of a vengeful spirit, but they wouldn’t leave until the next morning, just to be sure there weren’t any further attacks. 

“Dude.” Dean said with great emphasis.

“What?”

“Behind me, dead ahead of you, is that who I think it is?” 

Sam looked past him, frowning as he looked through the crowd until his eyes went wide. Stepping up to the bar was a familiar slender frame, long hair almost brushing his shoulders, dressed in a boxy-button down, sweater vest, and a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. Spencer was talking to a man who looked like he could be SWAT, the edge of a tattoo visible from under the sleeve of his t-shirt, and a holster on his hip. The man caught the attention of the bartender, placing his order before turning to say something to Spencer. Sam was moving across the bar before he could stop himself, Dean a few paces behind.

“Spence?”

Spencer turned, fixing him with that all too familiar deer-in-head-lights look before it smoothed out into a neutral mask. 

“Sam.” 

Sam’s eyes flicked down to his hand; there was no ring, but Spencer definitely caught him looking. The man beside him was giving him an expectant look.

“This is Sam, he’s a friend from college,” Spencer said without looking away from Sam’s face. “And that’s his brother Dean.”

Sam tried not to let the blow of his words register on his face.

“From Caltech?” 

“Stanford.”

“How many colleges did you go to, man?” Derek asked before extending his hand. “Hey, I’m Derek, Derek Morgan, I work with Spencer.” 

Sam shook. “Sam, nice to meet you. You work at the BAU?” 

Derek looked mildly surprised. “Yeah, we just got off a case in the area, thought we would grab a couple to celebrate. You want to join us for a few?”

Spencer looked a little like he was quietly trying to implode Sam with his mind. 

“I know I would love to hear any embarrassing stories you’ve got on the doctor.” Derek tussled Spencer’s hair, earning a scowl as Spencer tried to fix his hair.

Sam’s fingers tightened around his beer until he thought the bottle might start to crack, mustering up a smile.

“Yeah, I’d love to.” 

Dean raised an eyebrow at him as he started to follow Derek away from the bar once he grabbed the drinks. Sam gave him a mildly panicked look and a shrug, Dean looked at him like he was an idiot, and promptly planted himself at the bar. Sam recognized JJ from a couple different press releases, but the other woman, Elle, as she introduced herself, he hadn’t seen before. 

“A friend from Stanford.” Elle raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t even know Spencer went to Stanford, I thought he got his doctorates from Cal-tech.” 

Ouch.

“I did,” Spencer said. “I got my BA in psychology and sociology at Stanford, that’s where I met Gideon, he was giving a lecture in one of my classes.” 

“What did you study at Stanford, Sam?” JJ asked.

“I was pre-law,” Sam said. 

“Are you in law school now?” Elle asked. 

“Ah, no, I’m actually taking a roadtrip with my brother right now,” Sam said. 

“Our jobs kind of like a roadtrip, except the sightseeing is a little more graphic, but we do get around a lot,” Elle said.

“You guys profile serial killers, right?” 

“All serial crimes,” Derek said. “Rapists, arsonists, bombers, we’ve got every kind.” 

“That’s really impressive,” Sam said, his eyes on Spencer, but he was looking at the table. “I would love to hear about some of your cases.” 

“Only if you tell us what Spencer was like in college,” Elle countered. 

“Deal,” Sam said. 

“What about Theodore Bryar?” Elle said. “The paranoid schizophrenic on the train?”

“Oh, you mean the case where Spencer took off his vest minutes after I explicitly told him not to?” Derek raised an eyebrow. 

Spencer looked away. “I didn’t get shot, did I?” 

Derek gave Sam a ‘can you believe this guy’ look. Sam understood the look as the others told him about Spencer walking into a hostage situation and using close up magic to to trick the Bryar into thinking he had pulled a chip from his arm and then played into his delusion of his invisible friend who told him what to do before he was ultimately shot by another passenger. They also told him about Lila Archer and her stalker (which Sam had seen a magazine cover of, and pretended he hadn’t), a family annihilator, and a sniper Spencer killed with a headshot.

“I didn’t know you were such a good shot,” Sam said, for lack of anything better to say upon hearing your should-be-fiancé killed someone before their 21st birthday.

“I’m not,” Spencer said. 

“It’s true, he had failed his gun qualification a couple days before,” Elle said. “That’s why he wasn’t armed.” 

Sam looked down at the glock on Spencer’s hip. 

“FBI are encouraged to be armed even when off duty to be prepared incase of threat or emergency,” Spencer said. 

Sam somewhat hoped the profilers were unaware of the pistol he had tucked into the back of his jeans, and a little thankful Dean wasn’t at the table considering he always had at least two guns and a handful of knives on him at all times, and he definitely hadn’t gotten a permit like Sam had when he went to Stanford. 

“I keep trying to tell pretty boy here to let me show him some moves, but I guess it just leaves more doors for me to kick down,” Derek teased, tossing his arm around his shoulders.

Sam’s smile strained because while Spencer glared up at Derek, he didn’t push his arm off of him.  

“Alright, Sam, pay up,” JJ said. “How did you meet Spencer?”

“I caught him when he fell off one of the rolling ladders at the library,” Sam said, a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “I had been going over to tell him off, because only staff was allowed on them, but I startled him, and he fell.”

The others laughed, but Spencer just took a sip of his beer, his expression completely unreadable. 

“We bumped into each other in the library a lot,” Sam said.

“No surprise there,” Derek said.

“But we didn’t really become friends until we had an elective together, and after I dragged him to a couple of study sessions with my friends, he finally gave in and started talking to us.”

“Started?” JJ raised an eyebrow. “We can barely get him to stop.”

“Oh no, we studied in silence for awhile, he wouldn’t even give me fifty percent of the table,” Sam said. 

Derek raised an eyebrow at Spencer, but he was turning his bottle around in his hands.   

“C’mon, Sam, you can do better than that, give us real details,” Elle goaded.

Sam throat tightened like it was physically holding back, ‘he crinkles his nose when he’s trying not to laugh’, ‘he was a monster in the morning when he an early class’, ‘I still remember the history behind Twix’, ‘I love him’, and 'I was going to propose to him’. 

Sam cleared his throat. “On April Fool’s day, Spencer convinced all of us that Leland Stanford had attempted to build a railroad underneath campus to connect all of the buildings, and while he had failed, there were still some tunnels and tracks leftover. We spent two hours sneaking into the basements of various buildings before Spencer exclaimed ‘over here’ and led us into a supply closet filled with different jester hats, and started laughing.” 

“Should we be expecting something this April?” Derek asked.

“I hardly think practical jokes would be appreciated in an FBI office,” Spencer sniffed.

“That means you should lock your car or else it will be filled with shaving cream,” Sam said.

“Amateur hour,” Spencer said with a little smile, but it faded as soon as it came, and he cleared his throat. “No, no pranks.” 

Sam’s own smile slipped away, and he could see the others' eyes flick back and forth between them.

“You guys haven’t kept touch?” Elle asked, her voice casual, but her eyes were sharp.

“I haven’t kept in touch with any of my friends from college since I left for the academy; there’s not exactly a lot of spare time when you’re training to be an FBI agent, nor when you become one,” Spencer said easily.

“You should give them a call sometime,” Sam said. “They miss you.” 

Sam could tell by the way Spencer’s jaw clenched that he heard that he was really saying, ‘I miss you’. 

“I need a refill.” Spencer snatched his half-full beer from the table. 

“So do I,” Sam said. “Why don’t I grab you guys a round?”

Spencer didn’t wait for him, settling at the end of the bar, but making no moves to catch the bartender’s attention. Sam settled next to him, his back to the team a couple paces away, and his eyes on Spencer, who kept looking forward.

“Find your dad?” 

“No,” Sam said.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said, and Sam knew it was genuine. “…if you filled out a missing persons report I can look into it.” 

Sam’s chest ached. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that, Spence.”

Spencer tapped his fingers against the counter once, twice before his hand flattened against the surface like a swatted spider. 

“Are you happy at the FBI?”

“I’m saving lives.”

“Yeah, so I heard. Sounds like you’re pretty incredible, but I always knew you would be.”

Spencer’s jaw worked. 

“Spence, I…” Sam said. “I didn’t want to leave.”

Spencer scoffed.

“I didn’t, I swear, it’s just… I can’t explain it right now, but I will, once it’s all over. I promise.” 

“I already told you, Sam, I don’t want any promise you can’t keep.”

“I’m going to keep them.”

Spencer just shook his head.  

“Did you keep the ring?” 

“I told you I would say no.” 

Sam bit down on the inside of his cheek.

“And I told you, you would leave.” 

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Spencer stepped away, flagging down the bartender, and asking for his bill rather than another beer. He was gone before Sam could finish ordering another round for his team, but he still brought the drinks over to the table.

“You lose something?” Elle raised an eyebrow.

“Spence and I had a bit of a falling out before I left,” Sam admitted. “I don’t think he was all that happy to see me.” 

“What happened?” JJ asked.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll leave that one for Spencer to tell you.” Sam mustered up a smile. “But it was really nice to meet you guys, I’m glad Spencer has people watching his back while he’s out there.” 

Dean was leaning against the Impala as he stepped out of the bar. “How was the happy reunion?” 

“Bout as you’d expect,” Sam said. 

“Couldn’t have been that bad.” Dean held up a FBI card. “Because he told me I could call if we needed help looking for Dad.” 

Sam’s heart squeezed. “That’s just how he is.”

Dean clapped his shoulder. “You’ll win him back. C’mon, I want to get some shuteye before we blow this town.” 

Sam climbed into the passenger seat, staring out the window as they drove to the motel like he might watch a glimpse of Spencer.

Chapter Text

Spencer stirred sugar into his coffee, occupying a table at the hotel breakfast buffet as he waited for the others to rise. After staring up at the ceiling for a few hours, he had given up on sleep, and wandered the hotel until the buffet opened. Hotch nodded his hello, grabbing coffee and a bagel before walking back out, likely to deal with the file he had tucked under his arm. Derek grabbed a plate before dropping down next to him.

“You gonna tell me why you gave us the disappearing act last night?” 

“Didn’t feel well.” 

“Which I’m sure had nothing to do with running into your old college buddy?” 

Spencer just gave him a blank look, letting Derek interpret it however he wanted. 

“Sam said you guys had a falling out.”

Spencer tensed. “Oh?” 

“Didn’t give us details, but considering you barely said a word before you disappeared, and you’ve never mentioned you even went to Stanford, it was pretty serious.”

“Not really.” Spencer sipped his coffee. “I was leaving anyway, I saw no reason to keep ties considering how our paths diverged.” 

“That’s a load a bullshit,” Elle said as she sat down at their table. 

“Alright, fine, we had a falling out, what’s it matter? He’s just…” Spencer’s throat tightened around the words. “He was just a friend from college, I only knew him for a year or so.”

“Dr. Spencer Reid doesn’t know the exact day?” Elle raised an eyebrow.

“A year, one month, two days,” Spencer corrected.

“What was the falling out about?” Derek asked.

Spencer rubbed at his arm once before catching himself, and crossing his arms instead. “Doesn’t matter.” 

Derek’s eyes flicked down to his arm, then up to his face. 

“Hey,” Spencer said as he recognized the expression. “Stop profiling me. I mean, isn’t that the deal, right?” 

“Then just tell us, man, we’ve all had our fair share of college drama,” Elle said. 

“Okay,” Spencer said. “Why don’t you tell Derek and I about the person who keeps calling your desk then?” 

Elle opened and closed her mouth.

“Ooh, he’s got you there,” Derek said.

“Don’t ooh as though we haven’t noticed you can’t let anyone drive besides yourself,” Elle waved a finger at him. “What’s that about?” 

“It’s not my fault you’re bad drivers.” Derek crossed his arm.

“Deflection!” Elle accused.

Spencer let them bicker while he finished his coffee. 

His reprieve from his past didn’t last long when their next case ended up flying in his mother when they figured out the unsub had to have known her in some form or another. Seeing her for the first time in years made him feel as though he were thirteen again, and he didn’t know what the others saw on his face as he interviewed her, but he got the information they needed. Not before Elle was shot. 

The minor burns he received from the explosion felt disturbingly familiar, marking up the back of his thigh to match the pink ones on his feet and ankles that allegedly would turn white with time. The ones on his hands and forearms had faded before he left the academy, no more than a slight distortion the skin if someone looked too closely. Though minor, the burns still hurt as he sat in the plastic chairs of the hospital waiting room despite already being seen for his injuries. 

“Reid.”

Spencer looked up to find Hotch standing before him. 

“How are you burns?”

“Superficial,” Spencer said. “I just… I know Elle won’t be allowed visitors, it just seems wrong not to have someone waiting for her.” 

Hotch sat down beside him. “I know.” 

Spencer nodded. 

“I can have agents fly your mother home in the morning if you don’t want to accompany her.” 

Spencer blinked. “Why?”

“I expect the way you looked when you saw her was much the same as I looked at my father when he came home from a bad day at work,” Hotch said.

Spencer looked down. “It’s not her fault, she didn’t know what she was doing.”

“But she still hurt you.” 

Spencer combed his fingers through his hair, tugging once, before letting it fall back in his face. “Did the others pick up on it?”

“Gideon may have,” Hotch said. “But otherwise I doubt it, the strain in your relationship could easily be interpreted as the difficulties of being raised by a schizophrenic mother.”

“It’s not her fault,” Spencer repeated, but he pressed his hand over his chest.

“No, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have the right to take steps for your own betterment.” 

“She’s scared of flying… and the government,” Spencer took a deep breath. “I should go with her.”

Hotch nodded once. 

Spencer dozed off in the plastic chair as his adrenaline slipped through his fingers, but he woke slightly with every person who stepped in or out of the waiting room. A gentle hand on his shoulder made him snap awake, and he looked up to find Derek holding a cup of coffee in front of his face.

“Visiting hours open?” Spencer asked as he sat up, taking the coffee.

“Not for another few minutes, but I talked to her doctor, and he said he thinks she’s going to make a full recovery.” 

Spencer nodded, glancing around. “Hotch?” 

“Took off once I got here, said he had something to do.” 

Spencer frowned. “He waited all night just to leave before visiting hours?”

“Man’s a mystery,” Derek said. 

Spencer wiped sleep from his eyes.

“You doing okay?” 

Spencer nodded.

“You want to talk about it?”

Spencer shook his head.

“Alright, kid, we can talk about later.” 

Derek did coax him into talking about it a few weeks later, not a lot, just that his mother’s condition had started to deteriorate around when he was seven, and he had done his best to take care of her, hiring an in-home caretaker when he left for Caltech, and institutionalizing her once he reached eighteen. And that she was the only family he had. Derek had offered him a couple of stories about his own family back in Chicago, and how he only really went home for his mother’s birthday, who had raised him and his three sisters after his father was killed in the line of duty. Then they had gotten burgers and talked about anything but family until Spencer’s scars didn’t ache so badly anymore.

Chapter Text

Elle wasn’t the same, but Spencer had never been shot, so he couldn’t personally say what it did to someone’s psyche. On a team full of profilers it was impossible not to notice, but it seemed to be an unanimous decision to just proceed as though she wasn’t acting off. It was especially apparent when a child abduction case came in at two am; Hotch had explicitly stated when calling them in to only grab their bags, and they could change on the plane. 

It was odd to witness Hotch in jeans and a t-shirt, the obvious conclusion that he slept in boxers and grabbed the first pair of pants, which was more than Spencer needed to know about his boss. Gideon had also managed jeans and a rather grandfatherly quarter-zip sweater, and his glasses perched on his nose. Derek was wearing sweats and a t-shirt, looking somewhat disgruntled, and smelling a little bit like perfume. JJ had flannel pajama pants, a Penn State sweatshirt, and her hair tied up in a loose ponytail. Elle was wearing low-waisted jeans, a tank top, and was drunk. 

Sitting in the corner of the plane, Elle drank water and coffee in equal measures as Hotch gave them the rundown of the case before dismissing them to change one at a time in the cramped airplane bathroom. Hotch went first, and Gideon disappeared into the kitchenette in search of tea. Spencer felt distinctly naked wearing his flannel pajama pants and Caltech hoodie, not to mention he was certain his hair was an absolute disaster of grand-bedhead proportions. 

“So, what was everyone doing at two am on a Saturday?” Elle asked. “Because from where I’m looking it seems like I’m the only one with a life, except maybe Derek unless he’s changed his cologne to something a little fruiter.” 

“Drink your coffee,” Derek said.

“This stuffs awful, I’m not putting it in my body,” Elle said.

“I’ll drink it,” Spencer said. “Coffee’s coffee.” 

Elle held it out across the aisle, and Spencer reached out to grab it, wrapping both hands around it as he leaned back into his seat and took a deep drink. It was bitter enough to make his jaw ache, but he was also sleep deprived enough that he could drink it without tasting much of it. 

“What is that?” 

Spencer followed his gaze down to realize his ring had slipped out from the collar of his hoodie, and quickly tucked the chain back under his collar.

“Reid, was that a wedding ring?” Derek asked.

“No, um, it’s…” Spencer fumbled for an excuse. “It’s…” 

Derek raised an eyebrow.

“It’s an engagement ring?” Spencer said for lack of a better excuse.

He couldn’t exactly say it was a relative’s considering they had met his mother, and caught a glimpse of his apparent daddy issues, so they would never believe he kept her ring, and they knew he didn’t have other family. 

“An engagement ring,” Derek repeated. “Why on earth do you have an engagement ring?” 

“I…”  

“You were engaged?” Elle asked with wide eyes. “You’re only twenty-one.” 

“…and they gave the ring back?” JJ asked.

Spencer’s jaw worked. “It doesn’t matter anymore. They’re not around.” 

“But you wear the ring everyday?” Derek challenged.

Spencer crossed his arms tight over his chest. “Fine, it’s none of your business then, how’s that?” 

“Spencer…” JJ began.

Hotch exited the bathroom, and Spencer snatched up his bag, disappearing into the cramped bathroom to avoid the eyes following him. Changing into his usual button down sweater vest combo, he made sure the ring was securely hidden under his collar before doing his tie as though that would change the fact that they had already seen it. Running his fingers through his hair was all he could be bothered to do about his bedhead before stepping back out of the bathroom, Gideon caught his eyes as he made his way to his seat, and Spencer could still hear his words in his head. 

Spencer turned his coffee around in his hands, declining to buy any sort of food from the shop considering Brady had once told him he ate like a starving hyena, and he didn’t want to know what Gideon could profile from that. 

“There are certain downsides to the job, of course,” Gideon said.

Spencer frowned. “You’ve already informed me about the various traumas I will be witnessing and the psychological toll of the job.” 

“I meant the restrictions with the FBI itself,” Gideon said.

Spencer blinked. “…okay?” 

“There will of course be a psychological test that you will have to pass to become an FBI agent which I have no doubt you will have little difficulty knowing the right answers to, though perhaps you should be… sparing in your honesty.” 

Spencer tapped his fingers against the table in idle morse code. “I’m not sure I follow.”

Gideon gave his hand a pointed look and it fell flat against the table under that sharp look.

“Oh.” 

“It’s my understanding that you’ve never been given an official diagnosis.”

“No, I haven’t.” 

“It might make for an easier work environment should you decide to keep some of your details personal.”

Spencer swallowed. “Right.” 

“I’m sure you understand, you will already be difficult for many to accept considering your age and the insecurities your intelligence can create in others,” Gideon said. 

Spencer mustered up a little smile. “It wouldn’t be worth mentioning anyway, it’s just a personal detail, nothing to do with anything that would be related to our cases.”

“I’m sure you can think of some other details you would want to keep to yourself as well.” 

Spencer’s eyes flicked back and forth across his face, like there were multiple choice answers written in the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, that he could deduce the right answer from the quirk of his brow. 

“…any family history I have wouldn’t be particularly important aside from medical information, no need to mention that either.”

“And?” 

“And…” Spencer’s stomach twisted up in knots. “And of course any personal relationships I had would be just that, personal.”

Gideon’s little nod told him that he had found the right answer.

The ring felt heavier around his neck now that Gideon knew it was there. Before joining the academy he had cut his hair a little shorter, taken out the piercings he had gotten, and changed his wardrobe to his current TA-like style, but he could tell Gideon disapproved just of the fact that he had kept the ring, even more-so, that he kept a weak spot on him at all times where someone might see it. Running his fingers through his hair, he could feel how it had started to grow out to a more favorable length, tugging once before forcing his hands to busy with his cup of coffee. Gideon’s eyes weren’t the only ones that looked his way, he could tell each of his teammates (Hotch aside) cast a glance towards him as though they were looking for the indent of the necklace under his vest, but his tie covered it any bump. He had checked. 

Derek managed to resist until they were leaving the ME’s office. “You’re really not going to tell me?”

“Nothing to tell.” 

Derek gave him an incredulous look. “You were engaged.”

“Not really,” Spencer said. 

“Not really?” 

“We were supposed to be engaged… and then we weren’t, so.” 

Derek opened and closed his mouth. “You’ve got to give me more than that, man.”

“It didn’t work out, I went to the academy, now I’m here, that’s the story.”

“Then why the ring, man?” 

“I don’t know,” Spencer said. “I went to throw it out… and I couldn’t, so.” 

Derek gave him a sympathetic look. 

“It’s funny actually,” Spencer mused. “I’ve never been particularly sentimental. With the exception of my book collection. My mom was the same, even once she was sick, that was the only thing she hoarded, just books and books. My mom always said that a book was a whole world, and that it was a privilege to keep another universe in your living room.”

“What if it’s a textbook?” 

“Then it’s a world of learning.” 

Derek laughed. “You’ve got an answer for everything, huh, kid?” 

“Not everything,” Spencer said. “But I think I might have one on the case…” 

The killer had been abducting girls ages eight to eleven, sexually abusing them, and then mutilating them before killing them. The bodies of two girls had been found so far, and a third had been abducting eleven hours ago from her bedroom. The mutilations had looked familiar, but it wasn’t until Spencer was digging through the house of the second victim that he found a stuffed bear that had been scribbled on and the stuffing torn from the belly. The second girl had slashes on her face and chest and she had been disemboweled. 

“Morgan,” Spencer held up the toy. “Look familiar?”

“That’s what he did to Cindy Crawford,” Derek said.

“That’s what we were missing,” Spencer said, looking down at the toy. “He abuses them before he kidnaps them.”

“The missing pieces in the profile,” Derek said. “He loves them, cherishes them, then when he realizes that they feel disgusted by him, by what he’s done, he kills them to get rid of his shame.” 

“We need to call, Hotch,” Spencer said. 

With the complete profile they started digging through the adults in the girls lives, considering all three went to the same elementary school there was a decent amount of overlap. Spencer leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, and playing through the interviews he had witnessed Hotch and JJ give the parents.

“Reid?” Elle prompted.

“Thinking.”

Spencer tapped his fingers against the bridge of his nose like that would pull what he was looking for to the forefront of his mind. His eyes snapped open, and he sat upright.

“Mrs. Crawford, she hesitated twice, once when Hotch asked about behavioral problems, and another when she tried to say that Cindy was a good girl.” 

“She was choked up,” JJ said.

“Who would see defaced toys?” Spencer asked. “It would have to be someone who you would let into your house, right? Like a child therapist, or—“

“A school guidance counselor,” Elle said.

Spencer nodded. “You wouldn’t let your kids math teacher into your home unless they were tutoring, and all of the girls had okay grades, but a guidance counselor? 

“And what parent wants to admit their kid’s been hitting other kids on the playground,” Hotch said. “Let’s go.” 

They arrested a Nate Harrison, but there was nothing in his house to indicate where the girl he had abducted might be. Penelope dug through his finances for a secondary location, but she was having little luck. 

“We need to get him to talk,” Derek said. 

“How?” Elle said. “Look at him, he’s not nervous, even when we told him we were searching his house, there was no change in his affect, he knows we won’t find anything.” 

“We can’t scare him,” Hotch said. “He’s intelligent, charismatic, he gets away with hiding in plain sight, and he doesn’t think he’s doing anything wrong, he thinks these girls love him.”

“Right up until he finds out that they don’t, and he forces the blame onto them instead, and starts on a new victim,” Derek said. 

“So we need to show him compassion,” Gideon said.

JJ looked sickened.

“Reid, I think you should take this interview.”

“What? Why?” Spencer asked. 

“Elle and Morgan were the two that arrested him, it’s obvious they have no compassion for him, and you’re far less intimidating than Hotch,” Gideon said.

“Oh, thanks.” Spencer winced. 

“Show him compassion,” Gideon said. “And then once he’s opened up, once he feels vulnerable…”

“Show him disgust and get him to slip once he’s angry,” Spencer finished. 

Gideon nodded. 

Spencer took a deep breath, blowing it out, relaxing his shoulders, and accepting the file Hotch handed him. Slipping into the room, he closed the door gently behind him, offering Harrison an awkward little smile as he approached the table, and sat down across from him.

“Hi, I’m agent Spencer Reid.”

“I’m assuming I don’t need to make introductions considering my name is on your folder.” 

Spencer mustered up another smile. “I know, you’re Nate Harrison, guidance counselor at the local elementary school, we’re holding you as a person of interest in the Delilah Jenkins investigation.”

“Person of interest?” Harrison raised an eyebrow. “The way I got hauled out of my office made me feel a little more like the main suspect.”

“You are our main suspect right now,” Spencer said. “You were one of the few people who had contact with all three of the girls. I understand they had behavior issues you were helping them with?” 

“All three of them had a lot of aggression, pushing on the playground, breaking class property, Delilah even jabbed one of her classmates with a pencil.” 

Spencer widened his eyes. “That’s a lot for a nine year old, did you have any idea what was causing her to act out like this?” 

“I had my suspicions.”

“Such as…?”

Harrison shifted in his seat. “Well, I wouldn’t want to speak badly about her family, not while she’s missing, but they always came across to me as rather cold.”

“Cold?” 

“Delilah… Delilah’s a lovely girl, behavior issues aside, she’s very intelligent and energetic, I think that’s where the issues started, that she was getting bored in class, but when her parents came down on her harshly…”

“She started acting out more because she didn’t feel loved at home.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s so hard to see,” Spencer said. “There’s so many little boys and girls who are missing that love and affection that’s so important when they’re growing up.”

“I see it all the time.”

“I can tell that you really care about Delilah,” Spencer said. “She was lucky to have you.” 

“I’m not sure your superiors agree considering they think I would have done something to hurt her.”

“Why would you hurt her?” Spencer said. “You loved her.”

“Exactly.”

“Unless… unless she didn’t love you back.”

Harrison stilled. “What?”

“Unless she thought you were disgusting,” Spencer rose, putting his hands on the table so he could loom over him. “That you were perverted, sick—“

“No!” Harrison yanked hard on the cuffs.

“Did she cry when you touched her? Was she so repulsed by you and your twisted version of love that she screamed and kicked and fought and destroyed her toys because that’s how you made her feel? Like your love was disgusting? Monstrous—“

“No!” Harrison jumped to his feet, chair skidding back. “I loved her! There’s nothing wrong with me! If she had just loved me back I never would have had to take her! I never would have had to hurt her!” 

Spencer held eye contact as Harrison breathed hard, the impact of his words settling in the room.

“Where is she?” 

“I… I want a deal.” 

“Your deal is; we find Delilah alive and we take the death sentence off the table,” Spencer said.

“No, I want—“

“It doesn’t matter what you want,” Spencer said coldly. “Either you tell us where she is and we find her alive, right now, or you die with her. What’s it going to be?” 

Harrison opened and closed his mouth, but whatever was written on Spencer's face must have convinced him because he stammered out the location of a cabin in the local woods, and Spencer exited.

“Good work,” Hotch said. “Let’s go get her.” 

Delilah was recovered within the hour and on her way to the hospital to recover from dehydration and shock and get treatment for long-term abuse which was painful to tell each of the parents their children had been abused by a man they had sent them to repeatedly. No one particularly felt like celebrating after a case like that, but they did order a pizza to eat while they finished up their paperwork to make up for the skipped meals during the case. Spencer set down his slice as his phone rang, fishing it out of his pocket, and lifting it to his ear.

“Dr. Spencer Reid with the BAU.” 

“Hey, Spence.” 

Spencer’s whole body tensed at the voice, his chest aching where warmth used to fill his ribcage at the sound of his name. Turning his chair away from the table, he rose taking a few steps away from them, his back to the team for a false sense of privacy. 

“Is that how you always answer the phone?” Sam asked.

“It’s my work phone.”

“You gave Dean the number of your work phone?”

“I haven’t had the need for a phone aside from my work phone, and I gave Dean this number to look for your father.”

“Yeah, that’s…” Sam took a deep breath. “That’s kind of why I’m calling.”

Spencer’s jaw worked. “You still haven’t found him?” 

“Not yet.” 

“Did you file a missing persons report?” 

“Dad, uh, Dad wasn’t so good at filing his taxes.” 

Spencer closed his eyes, holding onto the last threads of his patience. “If that was what you weren’t telling me this whole-“

“It’s not,” Sam said. “Tax evasion is just another detail to add to his father of the year resume.” 

Spencer blew out a deep breath. “What do you know?”

“I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“You have quite the ego if you think I would do anything that would risk my job for you.” 

Sam was quiet for a long minute, and Spencer could still picture the little wince Sam would make when Spencer’s sharp words found somewhere soft, Spencer usually followed up with a little soft sorry to which Sam would either shake his head to dismiss or coax him into an actual emotionally intelligent conversation. Spencer could feel the apology sitting in his throat.

“He called us recently, I was wondering if you could trace where he was calling from?”

“Number, date, and time.” 

Sam listed off the information for him.

“I’m putting you on hold.” 

Spencer dialed Penelope, who picked up on the second ring.

“What can I do for you, boy wonder?”

“I have a favor to ask if you’re not busy?”

“For you? Anything.” 

“Can you tell me where this call came from?” Spencer listed off the details.

“Mhm, is it for a case?” 

“No, it’s not.” 

“Telemarketer giving you trouble?” Penelope teased.

“Something like that.”

“Okay, well, this particular call came from a payphone in California, do you want me to send you the details?”

“Yes, please.”

“Alright… sent!”

“Thanks.”

“Glad to help!”

Spencer forwarded the information along to Sam before taking him off hold. 

“I just sent you the information.”

“Thanks, Spence, I really appreciate it.”

“I hope you find him.”

“Hey, Spence—“

Spencer hung up, tucking his phone back into his pocket, and dropping down into his seat.

“Who was that?” JJ asked.

“No one.” 

“No one?” Derek raised an eyebrow. “That was a long chat for no one.”

“A friend need a favor.” 

“Since when do you have friends?” Elle challenged.

“Thanks, real nice.” 

“C’mon, you already told us you don’t keep contact with your college friends. Why so secretive, kid?” Derek kicked his chair.

Spencer glanced over, but Gideon was talking to a local, and Hotch was pretending not to be paying attention.

“Fine, it was my ex, happy?” 

Derek’s eyes widened. 

“As in…?” JJ tapped her own necklace. 

“That’s the one.” Spencer took a bite of pizza.

“You just did a favor for the girl who broke your heart?” Elle asked incredulously.

“Yep.” 

“Why?” JJ asked.

“Because I could help and it didn’t break any laws?” 

“Yeah, I don’t know that I’d be that nice,” JJ said. 

“To the girl who broke off our engagement? I don’t think so,” Elle said.

“We weren’t really engaged,” Spencer said. “And I don’t want to talk about this, so…” 

JJ came to his rescue as she started talking about her weekend plans to try to catch a football game with a couple of her friends so long as a case didn’t pop up, and the others were more than willing to fantasize about having a Saturday off. 

Chapter Text

Spencer didn’t mind Emily, considering she had lived all over she brought a unique perspective to their cases that was quite advantageous, but Elle’s name had just been signed on the list of people who left him and he felt a little hollow to think he had been dumb enough to fall for it all over again. So this time, he was determined to stick to his motto, ‘I don’t make friends’, despite the fact that he never seemed to be able to keep it. Motto aside, he could admit, they made a good team for interviews, which was likely why they got sent to a prison in Pennsylvania to interview Jeffrey Wick, who was suspect in killing at least forty-nine women, but they had only found the bodies of sixteen. They were trying to get the burial sites of the others before he was transferred to death row. 

Emily led the interview, trying to catch him off guard by playing into the victimology while Spencer watched for cues in his speech and body language that might indicate something, anything they could use to bring those bodies back to their families. Slipping out of the interview room, he asked the warden about any inmates he was close to. With a prison hierarchy, Wick may have let details of his crimes slip to the other inmates to boost his status. The warden led him to what he called the ‘lockdown’ wing of the prison, but in Spencer’s mind it was the serial killer wing. He recognized most of the prisoners watching him through the windows of their metal doors. 

“You can speak to them through the glass,” the warden said. “We only let one animal out of the cage at a time, so with Wick out, they’ve all got to stay locked up.” 

Spencer nodded, stifling a flinch when one of them slammed their fist against the glass. There was a wolf whistle and a ‘c’mere, pretty boy’ which sounded entirely different when it wasn’t coming out of Derek’s mouth. He stepped up to one of the doors speak to Garrett Thompson, a serial killer who had killed thirteen women with flower names, removed their organs, and filled the cavity with the same flowers. He also, according to the warden, spent the most time with Wick, which wasn’t a lot, but it was still the best lead he had. 

Thompson was pleasant and polite, his kills were a compulsion, and considering Spencer wasn't the name of any flora or fauna he was safe. Andy Jennings, a sexual sadist, was less forth coming aside from informing Spencer that his complexion looked optimal for bruising. Joe Conrad just looked him up and down before sitting down on his cot, and refusing to speak with him. 

Spencer turned to the next cell, but an alarm blared, red light flashing through the cell block, and he stepped away from the door. The warden was trying to reach someone on his radio, but all Spencer heard was static. 

“Warden?”

The warden tried his keycard on one of the doors, but it didn’t open. 

“Warden?”

“When the prison goes into lockdown, this block closes down completely, even to people who have keycards until the lockdown is lifted incase—“

“In case a guard is killed and their card is taken,” Spencer filled in.

“The radios aren’t working, but I assume there’s been an attempted break out in one of the other cellblocks, and one of my men initiated the lockdown as is procedure,” the warden said. “Just stay calm, agent, it should lift soon.”

Spencer swallowed. “Right, right.” 

The lockdown didn’t lift, instead, the doors began opening, serial killers slowly stepping out into the red flashing light. Spencer’s hand fell to his hip, but his gun was surrendered upon entering the prison, and he was unarmed. Spencer’s heart climbed into his throat, his palms slick with sweat, and his eyes flicking between the seven serial killers beginning to surround them.

The warden drew his gun. “Get back in your cells. Now!”

“Don’t antagonize them,” Spencer said quietly.

The warden ignored him. “Get back before I start putting you animals down before your due date!”

“Warden—“

The warden shot the first one to charge at him, a clip to the shoulder sending him to the ground, but leaving the warden open to get grabbed by two others, the gun falling from his hands. Spencer lunged for it, but an arm encircled his throat, yanking him back against Conrad’s chest, and lifting him onto his toes as he tried to keep his airway clear. Jennings picked up the gun, turning it over in his hands, before aiming it at the warden.

“Open the door.” 

“Like hell.” 

Jennings’ finger began to squeeze.

“He can’t.” Spencer clutched at Conrad’s arm. “It’s lockdown procedure, try his keycard, it won’t work.” 

One of the inmates ripped the card from his keycard, trying it on the door, but it didn’t unlock.

“So get someone on your radio, and tell them to lift the lockdown.”

“His radio’s not working,” Spencer said.

“That’s enough out of the fed,” Jennings said.

Conrad’s arm tightened around his throat, and Spencer tried to pry it back just a centimeter or two to keep from crushing his windpipe. The warden tried his radio again. Again.

“Shame,” Jennings said, and shot him in the head.

Spencer kicked and struggled, but the warden slumped over on the floor, eyes wide and unseeing as blood pooled underneath him. 

“Your turn.”

Spencer couldn’t get a word out before the bullet buried itself in his stomach, his vision going black for one blissful minute before all of his senses came back on and screamed. Conrad released him, letting him crumble to the floor, clutching at his stomach, and gasping as every inhale sent white hot pain flaring all the way to his fingertips. Jennings stood over him, aiming at his head.

“Wait,” Spencer gasped.

“Little fed’s gonna beg,” one of the inmates jeered.

“Look at him, that’s no fed.”

“You don’t want to shoot me,” Spencer managed to get out, using a shaking arm to leverage himself onto his knees. 

“What are you going to threaten me with?” Jennings asked. “Another life sentence? Death row?” 

“You don’t want to shoot me, because it would be too quick,” Spencer said.

Jennings faltered.

“Think about it,” Spencer said. “When are you going to get another chance like this? A victim to enact those urges on that have been building for years and years. I bet you’ve been fantasying about it, right? Thinking over all your previous kills and thinking about what you wish you would have done, how you wanted to stretch it out.” 

“It was too quick.” 

“You hit them too hard,” Spencer said. “They died of internal bleeding, you should have started with the fingers, the hands, the arms, worked your way in towards the center.”

“Yeah,” Jennings said. “Yeah, I always thought I would start by breaking their ankles, and then I’d let them try to run, I always kept them in the woods, they never would have made it…”

“You’ve been in here for so long, I’m sure you’ve had lots of time to think,” Spencer said, forcing himself to look at the others. “I’m sure you all have, I mean, Conrad, you served twenty-one years so far, I bet… I bet you’ve thought about it, and Flores you served twelve, and— I mean, are you all really satisfied with just shooting me in the head and then getting sent right back to your cells?” 

“No, not a chance in hell, not when we’ve got a fed right on our doorstep.”

“And not such a pretty one either, I mean, look at that face.” 

One of them moved forwards, but Jennings shoved them back.

“He’s mine.”

“Why?”

“I’ve got the gun, don’t I?”

“I can change that—“

Fighting broke out both for the gun and over who wanted to do what to him: rape him, cut him, beat him, shoot him, paint his blood across the walls… Spencer inched backwards, towards the door, clutching at his stomach. If the gun went off in the fight, anyone could be the next body on the floor, but even a couple extra feet might save his life. He left bloody fingerprints on the white tile as he shifted back until he could lean against the wall. Pressing his hand over the wound made a scream build in his throat, but he bit down on his lip until he tasted blood, and swallowed it back down. His breathing came in short and shallow, blinking away the spots in his eyes. Sweat cooled his skin, making him shiver as it ran down his spine, and mixed with the blood soaking through his sweater vest. There was no exit wound. The bullet was still inside him. 

A gun shot made him flinch, another inmate falling to the ground, Conrad holding the gun. The others fell away, looking more wary now that several of them were beaten and bloody and one dead on the ground. 

“He’s mine,” Conrad said, his voice quiet, but between the gun in his hand and his imposing build it radiated power none-the-less.

Conrad walked up to him, and Spencer tried to get enough breath into his lungs to find something, anything to say to ward of his impending torture and death. Grabbing him by the ankle, Spencer let out a strangled cry as Conrad dragged him across the floor towards his cell, the others watching with a mix of hunger and jealousy. Conrad had repeatedly drowned and revived his victims typically in churches in a mockery of a baptism. Conrad started filling his sink.

“Wait— wait—“ Spencer gasped up at the ceiling. “I-I’ve already been tested, I— look—“

Weak fingers pried at his sleeve until he managed to show him the cross cut deep into his skin. Conrad’s eyes flicked over it as water started to overflow, and spill over the edge of the sink, dripping onto the floor beside him. 

“I’ve been marked,” Spencer said. “And-and I’ve been tried by fire too, my whole apartment building went down, I still have-have marks on my legs, and—“

“It’s not about testing,” Conrad said. “It’s about sending your soul to the lord with the purity only afforded to the newborn.” 

Spencer swallowed. 

Conrad grabbed him by his hair, hauling him up to his feet, Spencer’s vision flickering in and out, letting out a breathless cry as his wound was jostled. 

“Wait—“

Conrad forced his head down into the water, spilling over the basin as Spencer’s hands slipping from the metal as he tried to get leverage against a man twice his size. The sound of a commotion and shouting were distorted underwater, and he was barely conscious enough to lift himself out of the sink when the pressure was pulled away. Bracing himself against the wall, he clutched at his stomach as he coughed up water. Behind him, several guards had each of the inmates pinned to the floor.

“Reid, hey, you okay?” Emily put a hand on his shoulder.

Spencer coughed. “Fine.”

“Oh good, drowned in a prison sink isn’t a great way to go,” Emily said.

“Yeah, um, I’m a little shot?” Spencer said, lifting his shaking hand, blood dripping from his fingers.

“Shit. I need an ambulance!” 

Emily eased him down to the ground as him as his knees gave out, talking, but Spencer couldn’t hear what she was saying only that she had pressed her jacket hard over the wound and it felt like he had gotten shot all over again—

“—know. I know, I’m sorry, you’re going to be fine, ambulance is five minutes out—“

Spencer tried to stay awake for this ambulance Emily kept telling him about, but he didn’t manage it. 

Spencer woke to the beep of a hospital drilling into his brain, and florescent lights blinding him when he tried to open his eyes. With a hiss, Spencer squeezed his eyes shut. A warm hand covered his face.

“Open slow.” 

Spencer slowly opened his eyes with the hand shielding them from the lights, and it slowly lifted, letting him adjust. Sitting up he could feel exactly where he had been shot, despite whatever painkillers were running through the IV in his arm. Sam was sitting at his bedside, and it was so similar to when he had said goodbye that for a second Spencer felt like he had been catapulted back into that moment. 

“Sam?” His voice sounded rough.

“Hey,” Sam said softly. “I came as soon as I got the call, Dean and I were only like two hours away, but Dean drives like he’s never seen a stop sign before in his life, so we made good time.” 

“What are you doing here?” Spencer asked.

“I’m your emergency contact.”

Shame flooded Spencer and he fixed his eyes on the far wall. “I only put you down because I legally had to put someone, I didn’t even know if it was still your number, and I figured it didn’t matter either way because you wouldn’t come.”

“Of course, I’d come. I would come any time you needed me.” 

“Like when I was injured in a hospital bed after having a schizophrenic break?” Spencer snapped.

Sam gave him that kicked-puppy look. “Spence, I… I had to go, you weren’t safe.”

Spencer flinched. 

“The doctor said you got shot,” Sam said. “It’s mostly muscle damage so it should only take a few weeks, the bullet didn't go too deep, but they did have to cut into you to find it so I’m sure that it hurts like a bitch.”

“Been shot before?” 

“Grazed.” 

“By who?” 

Sam looked away.

“Right,” Spencer wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “Don’t look upon him.” 

“Spence, I want to tell you.” 

“I wanted you to stay,” Spencer countered. “So we don’t always get what we want, do we?” 

Sam looked pained. “I don’t want to fight with you, I came because you were hurt, and I wanted to know that you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” Spencer said. “You can leave.” 

“Spence—“

“I’m sure my team’s around here, anyway, you should go,” Spencer said.

“Right,” Sam said. “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

“What’s to tell?” Spencer said.

Sam rose. “Get better soon, Spence.”

Spencer’s eyes stung as he watched him leave the room, tearing his eyes away before he could see the door close between them. His fingers curled into fists, bunching the blanket around his legs. There was a Twix on the nightstand. Wiping away tears, his anger slipped through his fingers and he wanted to call out for Sam to come back, and just sit as his bedside for five more minutes. Spencer felt frantically along his chest and throat, but the chain was missing. He had been dressed in thin blue scrubs, the cross on his bicep, and the scar cutting down his forearm exposed, and his feet bare under the covers. Looking around the room, he didn’t see his clothes anywhere, nor his badge, wallet, or gun. A knock on the door gave him enough time to fold his arms to conceal the scarring as best he could before Derek stepped inside.

“Hey, kid.”

Spencer blinked. “How did you get here?” 

“Emily called us on the way to the hospital, we got here just a couple minutes ago. Nurse said one at a time, and I drew the short straw.” 

“Ha. Ha.” 

Derek smiled. “How’s it feel?”

“Getting shot?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s like a total badge of honor,” Derek sat down on the edge of his bed. “Bonus points if it leaves a scar.” 

“Great, awesome.” 

Derek laughed, gently tussling his hair. “No, for real, how are you feeling kid?”

“Shaken?” 

“Yeah.” Derek squeezed his shoulder. “I bet.” 

“Do you know where my clothes are? I can’t… I, um, I don’t know where…”  

“They’re turned over to CSI until we’ve got the paperwork done, but I thought you might be missing this.” Derek let the chain dangle from his fingers, ring glinting in the sharp hospital light. 

Spencer curled his fingers around it, the chain pooling in his palm. It felt heavy in his palm. 

It was three days until Spencer could leave the hospital, but despite Sam's friends visiting him, he didn’t tell them when he was leaving. Instead, he called a taxi to pick him up, driving him first to a bank where he got himself enough cash for the next week or so, and then to a cheap hotel. Hobbling into a ground level floor on his crutches, he flicked the lock behind himself, and dropped down on the bed. Aside from his hospital sweats, he had nothing to his name aside from the ring box in his pocket. After institutionalizing his mother, he had sold their house to pay for her treatment, all of the belongings she couldn’t take with her boxed up in a storage unit. 

If he wanted to expedite his degree, he would have to drop his hours at the lab, not to mention he couldn’t work until he was healed anyways. His savings would be stretched thin over paying for the motel, food, clothes, and keeping him afloat while he was at the academy. The ring was a couple hundred at least. Spencer opened the box to look down at the gold band. The note was still folded inside, the ring staring up at him. He hadn’t tried it on. He hadn’t even taken it out of the box. Spencer snapped the box closed, and hurled it across the room, but the thud of it against the wall was unsatisfying in his weakened state. 

Curling up on top of the faded comforter, Spencer bit down on his arm to muffle his scream, burying his fingers in his hair and pulling hard. He only allowed himself fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes to scream and cry, and then he sat up, wiped his face clean, and use his phone to call another cab. It wasn’t particularly an expense he could afford, but on crutches, he would have to spare it. First came the thrift store for three sets of clothes, Target for underwear, shampoo, deodorant, a toothbrush, and toothpaste, and a grocery store to buy bread and peanut butter. He knew how to budget, he knew how to live on bare minimum, and he knew where the nearest casinos were. Only now the threat of getting caught while underage was exponentially more impactful considering he wanted a career in law enforcement. 

He spent every day in the library taking advantage of the computers as he sped through his coursework, getting permission from the dean to graduate without attending his courses as long as he turned in all of the necessary assignments. He finished it in a little under two months, and a few weeks later he was packing his bags for Quantico, though all he really had were a couple sets of clothes and toiletries. The ring box stared at him from the nightstand. Snatching it up, Spencer left the hotel room, limping over to the dumpster, his hand shaking as he held it over the trash. 

But he could still hear Sam telling him that he was with him in sickness and health as though he hadn’t turned tail and fled at the first sign of schizophrenia. 

Wiping at his face, Spencer shoved the box back into his pocket, grabbing his bag from the room, checking out, and calling a cab to the airport. Walking into the academy, the ring was strung on a chain he had bought in the airport during his layover and tucked safely under the collar of his uniform. 

Spencer undid the clasp, hooking the chain around his neck, and fastening it. A little tug on the chain made sure it held tight before he tucked it under the collar of his hospital gown to lay cold against his chest. 

“You really loved her, huh?” Derek asked softly.

“You don’t stop loving people just because they don’t love you,” Spencer said. 

Derek looked a little heartbroken on his behalf. 

“It’s okay.” Spencer mustered up a smile. “It was… it was an inevitability I was prepared for, I just, I thought I had a little longer before the bill came due.” 

“Why was it inevitable?”

“I’m genetically predisposed to schizophrenia.” Spencer fiddled with the chain. “That’s not exactly someone you want to be married to, they said they were okay with it, but… when the cards laid on the table, they left.” 

“I’m sorry, Spencer.”

“Breaks don’t typically happen until twenty-five at least, so if I do end up developing schizophrenia, I’ll still have helped solved a decent amount of cases by then.”

“You don’t know that you’re going to have a break.” 

“No, but I have to be prepared.” 

“Even if you do have a break there’s still therapy and medication and a lot of life left to live, kid.” 

Spencer shrugged. 

“And you’re not alone.” Derek squeezed his shoulder. “You’ve got a team now, alright, kid?” 

Chapter Text

While healing, Spencer was put on desk duty, he always thought he was more for the paperwork than the field, but apparently, two weeks of being forced to sit behind a computer was enough to drive him crazy. Fortunately, the cases had been slow, so he hadn’t been missing out on too much. It would leave a scar, so he supposed he would have something to compete with the one that Derek had shown him on his shoulder while he was in the hospital.

“Spence, isn’t this your friend they just put an APB out on?” JJ asked.

“What?”

JJ leaned over his shoulder to pull up the APB on his computer, Sam looking distinctly unhappy as he held up the board by his face, the lines behind him marking his height at 6’4”. He and Dean were accused of robbing a museum and got sent to Green River County Detention Center to await trial only to escape several days later before Dean could be transferred to Saint Louis for the torture and murder of several girls. Dean was making some kind of face in his mugshot like he expected to be asked to sign it like a movie star’s headshot. He had one prior from when he was fifteen for stealing bread and peanut butter from a grocery store. 

“Your friend’s brother is a wanted serial killer?” Emily asked, leaning over his shoulder.

“No, he’s…” Spencer’s hand laid over the ring under his shirt, pressing it to his skin. “He was studying to become a lawyer, it has to be some kind of misunderstanding.” 

Even as he said it, he knew it sounded like the families of unsubs they had spoken to. 

“All Sam’s wanted for is attempted robbery, he didn’t even steal anything, at worst it’s trespassing,” Derek said, squeezing his shoulder. “His brother probably roped him into it, even when they do catch him, they’ll probably drop the charges if he gives them Dean, he’s got no priors, and a good record at Stanford.”

“Sam won’t turn on Dean,” Spencer said quietly. “Their father wasn’t around a lot, Dean practically raised him.” 

The others exchanged glances. 

“Do you… do you have any contact with them?” JJ asked tentatively.

“No.” Spencer clicked out of the APB. “I haven’t seen or heard from Sam since we bumped into him at that bar.”

“You guys were close?” Emily asked.

“No,” Spencer said. “Not really. Do we have a case?” 

“Just paperwork,” JJ said. “I’ll keep you posted if I hear more about Sam, okay?” 

“There’s no need,” Spencer dismissed, pulling a file off his stack. 

He could tell the others were trying to communicate silently over his head, but he ignored them in favor of his paperwork. Waiting until no one was looking over his shoulder to pull up the Saint Louis murders was excruciating, and somewhat pointless because it could be backtracked that he looked at the files. According to record, Dean Winchester was the lead suspect in torturing and murdering several women, but was found shot dead in Rebecca Warren’s house. Becky. Zach had originally been held as the lead suspect after Emily was killed, but released as they named Dean as the real culprit, especially considering after his ‘death’ the murders stopped. Except Spencer had seen Dean alive in that bar, and even given him his card. 

Zach had been accused of murder. Becky had been tortured by a serial killer. Emily was dead. Carding his fingers through his hair, Spencer tugged once, twice, before forcing his hands flat on his desk.  Spencer logged out of his computer, rising from his desk, and making his way out of the bullpen, down a floor, and to a rarely used bathroom. Locking the main door, he slid down against the wall, tucking his face into his knees, and burying his fingers in his hair. 

Spencer fiddled with the cuffs of his button down, trying not to feel too much like a kid playing dress up, while Sam looked handsome in his own semi-formal wear. Brady had opted out of a tie, Jess and Becky in dresses, with their makeup and hair done. They had taken Emily for a spa day earlier, ‘just because’, and then out shopping, so she would be picture ready when Zach proposed. They were waiting at an upscale restaurant for the engagement party, but every minute past when Zach said they would arrive made them worry it hadn’t gone to plan. 

“What if she said no?” Becky fretted. 

“She’s not gonna say no,” Brady said for the twentieth time.

“Then where are they?” Becky asked. 

“Right there,” Jess said.

The couple made their way over, both smiling ear to ear, their fingers laced. Brady whooped, earning a judgmental look from one of the servers. Jess and Becky ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ over the ring as though they hadn’t seen it before while Brady clapped Zach on the shoulder and Sam joked that they were worried he would chicken out. Settling around the table, Becky popped the champagne, and poured them each a drink while Emily gently teased Zach about stalling for several minutes before finally managing to get down on one knee. He had paid off the coffee shop they had met in to give him a key, filling it with candles after hours, and bringing Emily inside to celebrate their two year anniversary. 

They listened to both Zach and Emily tell the story of their proposal, the story of how they met, their one year anniversary, and just anything else that came to the happy couple's mind. Brady and Sam contributed a couple stories from the of months of pining on Zach’s behalf. Becky offered her opinions on wedding venues, dresses, and flowers, while Emily just looked happy to be thinking about their wedding at all. They drank champagne, ate salads, steak, and tiramisu and it occurred to Spencer that this was the last year for most of his friends. He could finish his degree at the same time as them, but after graduation, they would all go onto their adult lives; get married, get jobs, have children (eventually). It felt like a rehearsal dinner for the real world, still feeling like kids, but dressed as adults, and looking forward to the future. 

It was a beautiful night as they walked through the city, a little tipsy, and plenty full. Spencer fell in step with Emily who was watching Zach argue with Becky over whether or not fuchsia was an appropriate wedding color. 

“Sixty percent of couples who marry before the age of twenty-five get divorced with in ten years,” Spencer said.

Emily frowned.

“I usually rely on statistics, I trust the numbers,” Spencer admitted. “But it never once crossed my mind tonight that you two would be in that percentage.”

Emily smiled. “Thank you, Spencer.” 

“Congratulations.” 

“I expect I’ll be saying that to you soon enough,” Emily said.

Spencer blushed. “We’ve only been together seven months and three days.” 

“It’s just in the way he looks at you.”

Spencer looked at Sam, only to find him glancing over his shoulder at the same time, and he smiled at him. Spencer’s heart fluttered in his chest, filling him with warmth despite the cool night air. In all of his plans for his life, he had never considered getting married after seeing his parents split, but in the contagious joy of the night a tiny part of him lit up at the thought of another night somewhere down the line where they were toasting to him and Sam. 

Spencer put himself together before leaving the bathroom, and forcing himself to sit at his desk like he hadn’t found out one of his friends had died and that his ex-boyfriend was a wanted criminal. Calling Zach that night to express his condolences, did nothing to assuage his own guilt, but he did feel some relief knowing Zach and Becky had bought an apartment together in San Francisco now that they were graduated, and found decent jobs. 

It wasn’t until two weeks later that he was called into Hotch’s office to find another agent standing inside, looking very serious, and holding a file labeled Winchester. Spencer’s stomach dropped.

“Sir?”

“Reid, this is Agent Victor Henriksen, he’s in charge of the Winchester investigation, he has a few questions for you.” 

“How can I help you?” Spencer asked.

“Can I borrow one of your interview rooms?” Henriksen asked. 

“You can ask him whatever questions you would like here in my office,” Hotch said. 

Henriksen did not look pleased by this answer, but he didn’t protest, gesturing for Spencer to sit. Sitting down, Spencer folded his hands in his lap as Henriksen opened his file.

“I’ve found your name on the lease of an apartment near Stanford next to Sam Winchester’s name.” 

“We were roommates,” Spencer said.

“Really?” 

“Yes.”

“You were roommates in a one bedroom apartment?” 

Spencer’s fingers tightened until his knuckles were white, his jaw locked. 

“Not to mention I have an account from a Kate Denner that you two were much, much more than friends.” 

“Same-sex sexual intercourse has been decriminalized in California since 1976,” Spencer said. 

“I don’t give a shit that you’re gay,” Henriksen said. “I give a shit that you were fucking the brother of a wanted serial killer, both of who are currently on the run.”

“Agent Henriksen you will speak to Dr. Reid with respect or you will not speak to him at all,” Hotch said.

“Apologies,” Henriksen said to Hotch, before turning back to him. “Where’s Sam Winchester?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer said.

“You don’t know where your boyfriend is?”

“Ex,” Spencer said. “We broke up when I applied to the academy.”

“Which was right around the time you ended up in the hospital with stitches, a broken leg, and burn marks isn’t that right?” 

“My building caught fire, I-I had to jump out the window.”

“And the stitches in your arm?” 

Spencer faltered. 

“Did Sam hurt you?” 

“N-no.” 

“Did his brother? Maybe he didn’t like that his little brother was gay.”

“No,” Spencer said stronger. “Sam never hurt me, and neither did his brother. I have no knowledge of any criminal activity, and I’ve had no recent contact with either of them, aside from bumping into them in a bar a few months ago.” 

“Really?”

“It wasn’t a particularly amicable breakup.” 

“Because he’s violent?”

“Because he left me alone in the hospital after our apartment burned down to road trip with his brother,” Spencer snapped. 

Henriksen opened and closed his mouth. “I can see why that might leave you with hard feelings.” 

“Hard feelings? Yes. But I’m telling you, whatever you think Sam’s done? He hasn’t. He’s a good person.” 

“And his brother?” 

“I can’t speak to that.” 

“Right, well, thanks for your time.” Henriksen exited the office. 

Spencer released his hands from their death grip on one another to wipe sweats on his slacks, running his fingers through his hair. He could feel Hotch’s eyes on the side of his face. 

“Gideon knows?” Hotch asked.

“I assume so considering he told me that I should be quite careful with my personal details.” 

“If you hear from him, you will have to report it.”

“I won’t hear from him.” 

“You will also need a new emergency contact.” 

“The only people I have to ask are on the team.”

Hotch nodded. “I’ll put myself down. Dismissed.”

Spencer rose, his heart still pounding as he left the office, and descended the stairs.

“What was that about?” Derek asked.

“Agent Henriksen is in charge of the Winchester case,” Spencer said. 

“Any updates?” Emily asked.

“They’re in the wind.” 

Emily nodded.

Chapter Text

Spencer dialed Sam’s number into the burner phone, watching his thumb hover over the call button. In that cabin, he wondered what sin he was being punished for with Sam’s ring around his neck and his mother’s scars cut into his skin in an effort to keep the demons at bay. His hands were shaking, even if he tried to pressed call he might miss, and then have to find the courage to call all over again. Clearing the number, he called his dealer.

Chapter Text

They might have been a team, but Spencer knew they weren’t family when they watched him show up to work high, and said nothing about it. He knew when he called out sick for three days to get clean, and he didn’t get any calls or texts while he sweat it out on the bathroom floor, and threw up until he passed out from dehydration. They were a team, and Spencer was desperate to prove himself worthy of being a part of it, so when a case where young gay men were being killed, and they needed someone to go undercover, he jumped. 

“I can do it,” Spencer said. 

Hotch raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. 

“Reid, I have watched you crash and burn with plenty of hot girls to know you can’t flirt worth a damn.” 

“First, those weren’t unsubs,” Spencer said, though internally he was saying, ‘I wasn’t flirting, I have an ex-fiancé I’m still in love with’. “And second, I fit the victimology more than any of you do.”

“He’s got a point,” Emily said, though she didn’t look entirely convinced. 

“Do you even know how to flirt with a guy?” Derek asked incredulously.

Spencer bit back his response of ‘more than you do’. “Emily and JJ have flirted with plenty of unsubs they weren’t attracted to, I’m certain I can do the same.” 

“Hotch?” Derek asked.

“It’s the most workable plan we have.”

“The faith you have in me is astounding,” Spencer muttered, but clearly not quietly enough considering the unimpressed look Hotch gave him. 

“You’ll need something else to wear,” JJ said. “I’ll run out and find something.”

“I’ll get Garcia access to the security cameras in the bar,” Hotch said. “Morgan, Rossi, Reid, review the profile, I want to make sure you’re as solid as you can be.” 

“Yes, sir,” Spencer said. 

They reviewed the profile and established their plan until JJ reappeared holding up a paper bag. Spencer took it, disappearing into the locker room to change. JJ had bought him black jeans, a grey tank top, and a faded green jacket. Spencer adjusted the buckle of his belt before tucking the front of the tank top in. It was similar to what some of the victims were wearing, not overtly flamboyant, but a little more feminine than most men would be comfortable wearing. If he wasn’t careful the collar of the tank top slipped to reveal the scar on his chest, and it definitely didn’t cover the cross on his arm, or the matching scars on the inside and outside of his forearm. Shrugging on the jacket, Spencer spent a few minutes fluffing his hair before putting his piercings in.

Spencer tugged at his hair as he frowned at the equation a professor from MIT had forwarded to him, and though he barely looked up from his textbook, Sam held out a spare hair elastic. Spencer twisted his hair up out of his face, tapping his pencil against the page as he tried to figure out an alternative way to solve it than his previous attempts, only to grow more and more aware of Sam staring at him.

“What?” 

“You pierced your ears.”

“Oh, yeah, they wanted it for a shoot in a few weeks so I got them done.” 

Sam reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear, and Spencer’s heart seized in his chest, eyes darting across Sam’s face before shifting away again. Despite Spencer’s protests that he didn't wanted friends, somehow Sam had wormed his way in, though Spencer wondered sometimes if he realized just how far into Spencer’s chest he had burrowed. 

“I like them,” Sam said, a smile in his words. “Are you going to keep them?”

“Seems like a waste not to.” 

“Are we going to get to see these modeling photos?”

Spencer’s face warmed. “If you want.” 

“I want.” 

Spencer glanced in the mirror, feeling almost nothing like that nineteen year old studying in the library and having his heart skip anytime Sam’s elbow bumped his. He didn’t even know if he looked like that anymore. If he looked like the person Sam fell in love with or if he would think he was staring at a stranger if he was here. His hair was maybe the same length, but rather than fill out, his face had only turned from angular to gaunt, and the circles under his eyes couldn’t be that of an overworked student. The track marks on the inside of his elbow had faded within ten days after Hankel had injected him, but there were still scars between his toes from his own hand, and scars from Hankel’s abuse on the sole of his foot. The scar on his forearm from Sam’s Bowie knife still had yet to show any signs of fading, and though the burns scars on his arms were mostly faded aside from a little discoloration here and there where the skin had healed tight and shining, but the same couldn’t be said for his feet and ankles which had faired far worse. Stuffing his clothes into his go-bag, Spencer grabbed his gun, making his way back out into the precinct, giving a little grimace as the others made no attempts to hide the way they were looking him over.

“Do you want me to spin?” Spencer asked dryly.

“He looks the part,” Emily said. “Actually, it’s a little eerie.” 

“Let’s get you mic’d up,” JJ said.

“Yeah, um, where do you expect me to put my gun?” Spencer asked.

JJ gave him a pointed look.

“Seriously?” 

Spencer fit the revolver into the waistband of his pants, adjusting the tank top to make sure it covered the handle of the piece. Though it didn’t really matter because the tech started shifting it out of the way to tape the mic in place. Spencer couldn’t help his flinch as her gloved fingers brushed his skin, but he managed to stand still, even as Hotch and JJ’s eyes found the scar on his chest when the tech pulled his collar down. 

“Um, Spence,” JJ said.

“Yeah?” 

“Necklace.” 

“Oh.” Spencer curled his fingers in the chain, swallowing hard as he pulled it over his head, fingers curled tight around the ring.

JJ held out her hand. “I’ll keep it safe.” 

Spencer forced his fingers to open and drop it in her palm. They tested the mic and reviewed the plan one last time before driving to the bar, though Derek spent the whole ride reminding him of the profile as though he didn’t help make it.

“Derek,” Spencer interrupted. “I’ll be fine.”

Derek’s mouth snapped shut. 

Spencer moved to climb out of the back, but Hotch caught his attention.

“You should probably lose the jacket,” Hotch said apologetically.

“Right.” 

Spencer shrugged out of the jacket, and handed it over before climbing out of the car, and walking into the bar. He let his eyes wander as he made his way up to the bar, sizing up the other patrons before catching the bartenders attention and ordering a jack and coke. Drumming his fingers against the counter, he kept his expression somewhere between impatient and bored, but flashed a big smile once the bartender handed him the drink. Settling into one of the stools, he turned to face the rest of the bar as he sipped his drink, worrying at the straw. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone move towards him, but rather than look, he purposefully cast his eyes off to the other side, pretending to startle when the guy sat down beside him. He was tall, fit, and white which fit their profile well enough. 

“Drinking alone?”

“For the moment.”

“Moments over,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Jack.”

“Spencer.”

They shook, it was a steady hand shake, but Spencer didn’t feel as though he were trying to assert dominance, it was far too short and far too loose for that. Still, he was charismatic and forward which they had profiled about their unsub, so he couldn’t dismiss him outright.

“Are you from around here, Jack?”

“Yeah, I manage a construction crew, we’ve got a project going on down the street.” 

“What’s the project?”

“That’s classified.” Jack winked.

Spencer managed a little laugh.

“I’m kidding.” Jack patted his thigh. “It’s a bank.”

Spencer smiled around his straw, resisting the urge to knock his hand away as it settled on his leg. 

“You local?“

“No, I’m only in town for a few nights to see a friend’s art exhibit.”

“Where’s your friend?”

“They went out with some potential buyers, so I’m kind of on my own tonight.”

“I’ve been told I’m good company.”

Spencer bit back a smile. “Is that so?”

“Five star reviews.” 

Spencer ducked his head, like he wanted to hide his blush. 

“You wanna get out of here?” 

Spencer hesitated. “Ah, I shouldn’t… my friend said that I shouldn’t go off alone, that there’s been a lot of murders in the area?” 

“Yeah.” Jack’s smile dimmed. “There have, I mean, I feel like I’m always reading about this stuff online, but they’re usually not so close to home, y’know?” 

“Yeah,” Spencer said, already aware that the reaction wasn’t that of the unsub. 

The unsub would have asked what else he had heard, played into the fear, or asked something like ‘you think I’m the killer?’, played it off as though he was offended. They spoke for a few more minutes, but Spencer took his own flirtatious tone out of the equation, and Jack seemed to get the hint, leaving him alone at the bar again. The next guy that tried to hit on him was not what he would consider charming as he didn’t bother to offer more than to buy him a drink before trying to stick his tongue down Spencer’s throat. Spencer declined both offers, trying not to think about the fact that the whole team was watching. Something he continued to not think about when someone else’s opener was grabbing his ass when he went to move away from handsy drunk #1. 

“Hey, cutie,” handsy drunk #2 said.

Spencer turned as he pushed his hand away, looked him over head to toe, and said, “Pass.” 

The look on handsy drunk #2’s face was enough to send the bartender into fits of laughter as Spencer found a new seat free of drunks, and a free drink courtesy of the still-laughing bartender. Spencer chewed on his straw as he watched the crowd, only giving half a glance to the man who leaned against the bar next to him as he ordered a whiskey, double. He was tall, a little taller than Spencer, and definitely far more athletic. Dark hair, blue eyes, strong jaw; he was classically handsome.

“How’d you get the scar?” Tall, dark, and handsome asked as he got his whiskey, still facing forwards.

Spencer glanced down at his arm, tucking it in a little closer to his body. “That would be courtesy of my ex, a little parting gift when I went to break it off.” 

“Sounds like a class act.”

“Real charmer.” 

“Steven.” He extended his hand.

“Spencer.” 

His hold was firm, moving his hand up once, down once, and held for a few lingering seconds before letting go. 

“Haven’t seen you around here before,” Steven said.

“I’m only in town for a few nights to see my friend's art gallery,” Spencer said.

“I don’t see a friend,” Steven said. “Unless it was one of those guys that tried to get their hands on you earlier.”

“Definitely not friends,” Spencer said. “Barely acquaintances even, I don’t think I even caught the last guy’s name.”

“They’re all animals,” Steven said. “Dangle a pretty thing like you in front of ‘em and it’s like they forget how to behave.” 

“But not you?” Spencer tilted his head, offering a little smile. “Not pretty enough for you?” 

Steve let his eyes run over him slowly. “Definitely pretty enough, I just have a little more self respect than to throw myself at you.” 

Spencer laughed. 

“You should be careful, you know.”

Spencer raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“There’s been some murders recently, hate crimes the newspapers are calling it. You don’t want to go home with any of these guys, who knows what kind of freaks they are.” 

“I think I can handle myself.”

“Can you now?” Steve looked him over again. 

Spencer shoved him lightly, only for Steven to catch his wrist, and pin it to the bar behind him, crowding up against him. Spencer swallowed down his panic at having his hand trapped, setting his drink aside only for Steven to pin the other one down as well. Heart thumping in his chest, Spencer looked up at him with wide eyes. The smile he wore was picture-perfect, but his eyes, they didn’t reflect the same playful expression, they looked hungry.

“Go on then, show me how you handle yourself.”

Spencer watched his face as he tugged at his wrists, watching the excitement grow as he demonstrated his own helplessness against what was looking more and more like their unsub. 

“Alright,” Spencer said a little breathlessly. “You’ve got me.” 

“See?” Steven leaned in close. “A little thing like you? You’ve got to be careful.” 

Spencer leaned in closer, flashing a smile. “You offering to protect me?” 

“Not your honor.”

Spencer tried not to think about how his hands were pinned as Steven kissed him, instead focusing on falling into the submissive role that he knew would appeal to Steven. Steven pressed him back against the bar until the wood dug uncomfortably into his spine, and he had to lean back a little to keep up with the force of the kiss. It was a conscious effort not to shudder as Steven forced his tongue into his mouth, but he just relaxed his jaw, and went with the motion. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Steven said as he pulled back.

“I thought you just told me not to leave with strangers?” 

Steven’s hand circled his wrist, tugging him away from the bar. “I’m hardly a stranger now, am I?”

“I don’t even know your last name,” Spencer said, even as he went willingly.

“That’s not what you’ll be screaming when I fuck you.” 

Spencer let out a breathless laugh despite the way the words made his stomach knot as he was pulled out into the alley. He knew the others were just outside in the van watching the feed from the cameras inside the bar, but they still didn’t have any proof that this was their unsub aside from the fact that he fit the profile, and they wouldn’t come until he gave the word. Steven slammed him up against the bricks.

“Woah, hey, slow down—“

Steven kissed him again, holding his jaw, though a few of his fingers were on his throat, the other hand shoved into his back pocket. Spencer let his own hands roam, trying to be subtle as he checked his waistband for weapons, even though they knew the unsub was physically imposing enough to subdue his targets without one. Wandering hands ran the risk of getting his wire exposed; he needed to get this guy talking before his cover was blown. 

“Hey,” Spencer twisted away. “Hey, wait a second, slow down, I don’t want to do this in an alley—“

“Don’t pretended like you’re not into it, I—“ 

Spencer squeaked as Steven tried to grab at him through his jeans, and ended up touching his gun instead. Spencer tried to grab it, but Steven was faster, grabbing the handle, and flicking the safety off which was exactly, exactly the problem with storing your gun in the waistband of your pants.

“Is that a gun or are you just happy to see me?” 

Spencer knew he had about five seconds before the others decided to come crashing in and left them empty handed. 

“I carry it for protection. I told you, my ex, he was a bad guy.” 

“Yeah? So am I.” Steve pulled the gun from his waistband, tossing it aside, and grabbing him by the throat instead.

“You-you hurt those other guys you were telling me about,” Spencer breathed, grabbing at his arms. 

“Of course I did,” Steven bragged, his hand tightening around his throat. “I even warned you about it, and you were still dumb enough to follow me out here. You’re a tease, just like they were, you let a guy get so far and then you leave him hanging. Not me. I’m going to get exactly what I want from you.” 

“Wh-what do you want from me?” Spencer gasped, nails digging into Steven’s arms as he tried to loosen his hold enough to talk.

“I’m going to feel the life leave your body over and over again until you’re begging me to make it final, until death seems more like a relief than the not knowing of when you’re going to die, but when?” Steven’s hold tightened. “That’s my decision.” 

Spencer couldn’t get a breath out to say the word, and without cameras in the alley there was no way for his team to know that Steven had him about ten seconds away from blacking out. The lack of blood made his thoughts move slower, but he knew that there was no point clawing at his hands unless he was trying to let his team get DNA evidence from under the fingernails of his dead body. There was a landslide winner for the competition of strength, which left Spencer with only his oxygen-lacking brain as his weapon. Scratching his nails across Steven’s face, he tore at his eye, earning a cry as Steven’s grip loosened. Spencer slammed his knee up between his legs, shoving Steven back.

“You little bitch—“

Steven grabbed for him, and Spencer dove to the floor, rolling onto his back as his fingers curled around the handle of the gun. Steven’s hand curled around his ankle— Spencer shot out his knee, and he collapsed to the ground with a scream. Spencer took a few deep breaths, but his voice still sounded ruined as he said, “Red light.” Hauling himself to his feet, he aimed the gun down at Steven who was clutching at his leg.

“You’re,” Spencer swallowed hard, but it did nothing for his voice. “You’re under arrest, you have… you have the right…” 

His team came into they alley, guns raised, looking mildly surprised to see Steven crying on the alley floor. Hotch called for an ambulance before restraining Steven, and Spencer handed his gun over to Rossi, leaning against the bricks to try to catch his breath.

“Kid, you alright?” Derek stepped up to him.

“Mhm.” 

Derek tipped his chin up, checking the bruising on his throat. “Jesus, why didn’t you call us in?”

“Had… had it handled.” 

“I can see that.” 

After getting Steven into an ambulance, Hotch had some EMTs look over the bruising on his throat, and while he may have difficulty speaking for a day or two, there was no permanent damage, which meant he got to return to the precinct to file a report on discharging his weapon. He could feel his friends’ eyes on him, but Hotch just dropped his suit jacket onto his shoulders without a word. Spencer slipped his arms into the sleeves, filling out the necessary forms, and turning them over to Hotch. 

“You want a drink, pretty boy? Or did you already have enough,” Derek teased.

“Steven?” Spencer rasped.

“Lawyered up,” Hotch said. “We’ll leave it to the locals from here, but that was good work.” 

“Thanks,” Spencer managed.

“I’m vetoing drinking, just hearing you talk is painful,” Emily said. “How do you feel about ice cream?” 

Spencer gave her a little thumbs up. Rossi and Hotch waved them on, saying they would join them once they had finished wrapping up the last details with the locals while JJ directed them to a nearby diner that was supposedly famous for its milkshakes. Spencer greedily swallowed down mouthfuls of cold chocolate ice cream while the others chowed down on fries and burgers. 

“I think you’ve been holding out on us, Dr. Reid, that was some grade A flirting tonight,” Emily said. “Not to mention a hell of a kiss.” 

Spencer stopped drinking, looking up at her with a blank expression.

“You were almost a little too good at that,” Derek teased. 

Spencer kept his face carefully neutral. 

“I think you got hit on more than I do when I go out,” JJ said. “I’m a little jealous.” 

Spencer played with his straw. 

“Where’s all this skill when a hot girl starts hitting on you?” Derek asked. 

“Derek,” Spencer rasped. “I am not interested in any of those girls, and even if I were, I wouldn’t use my profiling skills on someone I wanted to date, it wouldn’t be real.” 

Derek’s eyes widened. 

“Do you have my ring?” Spencer asked.

“Yeah.” JJ looked a little sad as she handed it over. 

Spencer clipped it around his neck, and tucked it under the collar of his shirt. 

“Did you flirt with them?” Emily asked, gesturing to the necklace.

Spencer shook his head. “In fact I told them I had no interest in making friends whatsoever when they tried to talk to me.” 

“You didn’t,” Derek said.

Spencer couldn’t help his little bittersweet smile, thinking about how Sam sat across from him and studied in silence aside from a couple of coaxing questions that eventually got Spencer to open up to him (with the help of a little vending machine bribery). 

Spencer cleared his throat. “I’m just not interested in dating right now.” 

“You were young, Spence, you got to let her go eventually.” Derek bumped their shoulders. 

Spencer fiddled with his straw. “It’s complicated.” 

“Complicated?” Emily coaxed. 

Spencer just gave a little shake of his head, and she sighed. 

“You can talk to us, man,” Derek reminded.

‘No, I can’t,’ Spencer thought a little miserably, because Sam was a man, a man who had proposed to him and left him in the same note, had an arrest warrant out for him, and who was god knows where right now, but every time their paths crossed insisted that he was coming back for him someday. 

“Go on then,” Spencer said. “Tell me about all of your failed dating histories.” 

Emily opened and closed her mouth. “I… guess that’s fair.”

“I didn’t date in high school,” JJ said. “I had my hands full getting a scholarship and getting out.” 

“I wouldn’t call it failed…” Derek said. 

Emily snorted. “Alright, worst dates, go.”

Spencer smiled as he listened to them list off the worst dates they had been on, finishing off his milkshake, and ending up with a second as Hotch and Rossi joined them, adding to the list of romantic mishaps, hello three ex-wives and the life of post-divorce bachelor. 

Emily fell in step with Spencer as they walked back towards the hotel. 

“Hey,” Emily said.

“Hi.” 

“You, uh, you came up with that ex-boyfriend line pretty fast.” 

It was a conscious effort not to rub at the scar on his arm. “And?” 

“And you know what I’m asking Spencer.”

“You can’t ask me that,” Spencer said. “FBI regulations.” 

“Fine, did an ex give you that scar?” 

“No.” 

“Who did?”

Spencer faltered because the real reason was ‘I don’t know’, or maybe the real answer was ‘I did’, or maybe it was ‘the yellow-eyed demon who set the apartment on fire’. 

“I don’t know,” Spencer settled on. “I got attacked when I was at Stanford, he had a knife, knife went right through.” 

“Jesus,” Emily said. 

“Missed anything important, so…” Spencer wiggled his fingers. “No worries, right?” 

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound traumatic at all.” 

Spencer snorted. 

“What about the other ones?” Emily asked.

Spencer shoulders tensed. “Now, that’s really none of your business.” 

“Determined to keep the mystery alive?” Emily asked.

“Determined to keep some privacy in a team full of profilers,” Spencer said, jogging to catch up with Derek.

“Reid.” Hotch caught his attention as they returned to the hotel, and Spencer fell back out of earshot of the others. 

“I know this case put you in a difficult position, but I want to thank you for the good work that you did,” Hotch said. 

“It’s just the job.” 

“The ring,” Hotch said.

Spencer tensed. 

“It’s Sam’s?” 

“It’s mine,” Spencer said. 

“He gave it to you.”

Spencer fiddled with the chain.

“You know you will have to turn him in if he makes any contact with you,” Hotch said.

“I know, sir.”

“That being said,” Hotch said. “I know this job doesn’t make relationships easy, and I can’t imagine the position it put you in to join the team.”

“I do good work here.”

“That doesn’t mean there weren’t sacrifices you felt you had to make to be here,” Hotch said.

Spencer chewed on the inside of those cheek.

“I don’t want you to think that having a life outside of our job is a sacrifice you have to make,” Hotch said. 

“It’s not like we could have even gotten married anyways.”

“You could in Massachusetts.” 

“That’s what he said,” Spencer said quietly. 

“What I’m saying, is that you deserve to be happy, especially considering the year you’ve had, and I don’t think anyone on our team would have a problem with anything that makes you happy.” 

Spencer managed a little smile. “Yes, sir.” 

“Get some rest.”

Chapter Text

Gideon made himself the third person to leave Spencer with only a note, though he wondered if a torn piece of paper with a handful of words even counted, but still, three times was a pattern, and Spencer was the only constant. Rossi didn’t particularly like him, or at the very least didn’t like the way he babbled even when they weren’t on a time sensitive case, and Spencer could feel his eyes on him when tugged at his hair or let his fingers tap a little too long, even the little stims had those dark eyes pinning him. Trying to keep each of them in check left him feeling like he was fraying at the seams. 

A stitch popped loose.

Spencer felt like he was going to scream when Rossi clapped his hands together in front of his face, the sound ringing in his ears, but instead he just turned on his heel, walked up the stairs, into Hotch’s office, and sat down in the corner.

“Reid?” 

“I need to self regulate or I’m going to have a meltdown, can I use your office?” Spencer said, a little impressed that he managed to get the words out in a clear concise sentence.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“No.” 

Hotch grabbed his folders, stepping out from behind his desk, and drawing the blinds before stepping out, closing the door behind him. Letting his eyes fall shut, Spencer leaned slightly forwards, then slightly back. Forwards, back. Sometimes spinning in his desk chair, or leaning his chair back to the point where it rocked on his back legs was enough, but it wasn’t quite the same as actually rocking. 

“Here, come sit.” Sam patted the floor before him.

Spencer paused in his pacing. “Why?”

“You’re overstimulated and I want to try something.”

“I’m not,” Spencer lied, even as he sat down in front of him. 

Sam laid his hands palm up on Spencer’s knees. “Grab my forearms.”

Spencer frowned, but circled his fingers around Sam’s arms just below the elbows. 

Sam did the same to Spencer’s arms. “This okay?”

Spencer nodded.

“Alright, just, trust me a little.” 

Sam leaned back, forcing Spencer to lean forwards in turn, then pushed him back as he leaned forward a few seconds later. It took Spencer a few seconds to realize Sam was trying to coax him into a rocking motion.

“Sam…”

“Give it a shot, Spencer.”

Spencer let Sam guide him into the motion, and he couldn’t help a little smile as they picked up speed, rocking back and forth on their living room floor. It turned into a full blown laugh when he almost toppled them both when he pulled too hard on his turn to lean back, and Sam grinned at him. It could have been a handful of minutes or half an hour, but by the time they stopped, Spencer felt like a weight had been lifted off of his chest. 

“Feel better?”

Spencer nodded.

Sam cupped his face with both hands. “You know you’re safe in our apartment, right? That you can stim and nothing bad’s going to happen?” 

Spencer faltered. “I…” 

“I get… I get why you mask out there because there’s plenty of assholes, but here? I don’t want you to feel like you have to do that at home.” 

“Home?” 

Sam pinked slightly. “I mean, it’s home to me, it’s the longest I’ve ever lived somewhere.” 

“The word ‘home’ is an amalgamation of several words meaning residence, dwelling, village, or even world. The old Germanic sense of village is kept in Hamlet.” 

“Yeah?”

“I suppose the roots are still there.” Spencer’s eyes flicked away. “Your village is your community, the people you care about and surround yourself with, the people you chose to share your shelter.” 

Sam smiled. “Dr. Spencer Reid, are you trying to romance me?”

“Is it working?”

“Absolutely.” 

Spencer managed to tie together his fraying threads and exit Hotch’s office in a timely ten minutes, descending the stairs to find the others still talking in the bullpen, a few minutes before they would need to be wheels up.

“There’s the disappearing man,” Rossi said as Spencer grabbed his go-bag. 

“I don’t appreciate loud noises,” Spencer said. “If you would like my attention I would prefer if you just called my name.”

“You ever hear a gunshot?” Rossi teased.

“Yeah, about two centimeters from my skull,” Spencer said. “So, if you wouldn’t mind, you’ll find my name works just fine.” 

Spencer walked towards the elevators, ignoring Emily little whistle at his parting words. 

“You’ll find my name works just fine,” Derek quoted, stepped up next to him. “I’m gonna have to remember that one, it’s pretty snappy.”

“Shut up.” 

“Nah, I like it when you get mouthy, it’s pretty fun to watch when it’s not directed at you,” Derek said.

“You’re just still sore he almost shot you, aren’t you?”

“I think I reserve the right to be sore about that for awhile,” Derek said.

Spencer made a sort of ‘fair enough’ type of gesture as the others joined them as they stepped inside the elevators. The case ended up only taking them a few days, Spencer wouldn’t go so far as to call it easy, all of their cases were difficult for various reasons, but they did go out drinking to celebrate. Even Hotch. 

The explosion made the news. Spencer watched as it played across the TV in the bar, sitting between Emily and Derek. The photos of Henriksen, several members of the local PD, and Sam and Dean’s mugshots. Spencer’s beer slipped from his fingers, shattering on the floor, and seeping into his converse.

“Kid--“ Derek followed his gaze. “Oh shit.”

The others turned to look at the TV. 

“Reid,” Hotch began.

“I need air,” Spencer said faintly. “Excuse me.” 

He could hear Derek calling after him as he slipped through the crowd, the bodies barely a blur around him, until he broke out into the night air. Finding his way into an alley, he pressed his back against the wall, sliding down the bricks. His breathing came in short, sharp gasps, burying his fingers into his hair, he pulled hard, trying to stop the way the world was tilting around him. Pressing his face into his knees, Spencer squeezed his eyes tears soaking into his slacks.

“Reid! Spencer, kid, come on.” 

A hand on his leg made him flinch.

“You’re having a panic attack.” 

Spencer was relatively certain it was a meltdown, but he didn’t have the wherewithal to argue over terminology, only that his tie was choking him, and his slacks felt like sandpaper against his skin, and the hair on the back of his neck made him want to rip it out of his skull—

“Breathe, hey, come on, breathe.” 

A hand tried to pull one of his from his hair, and Spencer jerked away from the touch, his breathing catching in his chest like there were nails pinning his lungs. Derek was trying to talk him down, but it was just more noise, like the cars on the street, and the news reporter’s voice echoing in his ears. Spencer crossed his hands in an X before pushing them out. Repeating it twice, but Derek didn’t know sign, or at least not the sign for quiet, and Spencer couldn’t bring himself to lift his face or even think about speaking. He did understand Spencer clapping his hands over his ears, and fell silent. 

Frantic hands managed to pull his tie free, dropping it on the ground, and undoing the top few buttons in an effort to breathe. Sweeping his hair up off his neck, he tied it up with an elastic from his wrist even though his hands were shaking. Tap-tapping against his thigh and pressing his back hard against the bricks helped bring him down slowly, and there was a part of him that hated Sam for showing him that there was another way to come down than in a pile of frazzled nerves and tears. That his body remembered strong arms holding him tight, the rhythm of Sam’s slow breathing against his back, and soft music in his ears. 

“You with me, man?” 

Spencer nodded, slowly lifting his face from his knees, and wiping his nose on his sleeve. 

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Derek said. “I know you guys hadn’t talked in awhile, but…”

“He wasn’t my friend, Derek.” Spencer pulled his necklace from under his collar. “He was supposed to be my fiancé.” 

Derek’s eyes widened. 

“It’s dumb to keep the ring,” Spencer sniffled. “He left before I applied to the academy, he left me a ring and a little note that said ‘I love you, I’m sorry’, and then I didn’t see or hear from him until that bar, and now… and now he’s dead, and I’ll never know why he left, or why he gave me the ring, or—“

“Breathe,” Derek said softly. 

“Or if he loved me at all.” 

Derek wrapped an arm around him, pulling him tight against his side, and Spencer blinked away fresh tears.

“You know he loved you,” Derek said. “That’s why you kept the ring.”

“All I can think is if-if I did something better, if he didn’t leave, he-he would be in law school right now, and he-he never would have been there, and even if-if he wasn’t with me, he would still be—“

“You’re gonna drive yourself crazy with the what-ifs, Spencer, just let yourself feel the grief right now, because if you push it away, if you try to rationalize it, it’s just going to hit you harder later.” 

Spencer crumpled into his side, crying until he couldn’t breathe, and biting down on the back of his hand to muffle a scream when the hole in his chest from Sam leaving felt like it had torn all the way down his stomach and up his throat. Eventually Derek scraped him up off the alley floor, and got him back to the hotel, but time seemed to stop as he stared up at the ceiling, laying fully dressed on his bed. There was no body to bury if it was incinerated in the explosion, and no family to put up a headstone if Dean had gone up in flames with him. Dean. Dean who had already died and somehow been seen alive months later. 

Spencer shoved himself up from the bed, snatching up his wallet and keycard. Leaving the hotel, he walked until he found a payphone, fitting quarters into the slot. If Sam was dead, then there would be no one tracking his cellphones, if he even still had this one, if it wasn’t incinerated. 

“Who is this?” 

“Asshole,” Spencer said wetly. 

“Spence?” 

“I hate you, I hate you so much.” 

“The explosion, oh, Spence… I’m sorry, we escaped custody a few hours earlier, I promise Dean and I had nothing to do with it, bad luck just… it just follows us.” 

“I thought you were dead. I thought…” 

“I’m okay, Spence, I’m okay, I promise.” 

“You can’t… you can’t just keep running, Sam, what about law school, what about…” Spencer couldn’t bring himself to say ‘what about me’. “What about your life? You need to clear your name.” 

“I have bigger issues to tackle first,” Sam said. “I’m sorry, Spencer, everything just… it got so complicated, and it’s not safe for me to be with you right now.” 

“What are you into? I can help,” Spencer said desperately. 

“You can’t,” Sam said. “Once it’s over… once it’s over, I’ll tell you everything.” 

“I told you I didn’t need to know, I just needed…”

“Psyche never would have been happy without knowing.”

“Yeah? And what trials do I need to go through?”

“None,” Sam said. “The trials are mine.”

“And then?”

“And then… and then you’ll know, and you can decide for yourself if I’m a monster or not.”

Spencer’s jaw worked. “You said you would call.”

“What?” 

“When you left with Dean, you said you would call.”

“Is that smart?”

“No,” Spencer said. “It’s actually incredibly dumb, but I’ll buy the burner with cash and call you from another pay phone to give you the number, and I’ll change it every few months, and so should you.”

“Spence, I can’t get you in trouble.”

“I just, I need to know you’re still out there,” Spencer said. 

“I’ll leave you signs,” Sam said. 

“Okay,” Spencer whispered. 

“Goodbye, Spencer.”

“Sam, I—“ Spencer didn’t know what he wanted to say.

It could have been ‘I love you’ or ‘I miss you’ or ‘I need you’, or ‘I kept the ring’, but nothing came out. 

“I’ll keep my promise.”

Spencer listened to the dial tone wondering how he couldn’t manage to keep his own promises to himself. Laying back in his hotel bed, he couldn’t help wondering if Sam was just keeping his distance until Spencer showed his cards. If Spencer hit thirty without another break and he would find Sam on his doorstep telling him he always loved him. Or if he had run off because Spencer was thinking about applying to the academy and whatever his family was entangled with he couldn’t risk being with him, but then realized having someone on the inside could be helpful. Or if Sam just found some kind of sick joy in stringing him along. Spencer turned the ring over and over in his fingers.

There was no hiding his exhaustion from a team full of profilers at breakfast the next morning, not to mention there wasn’t any point when Derek had watched him have a meltdown, and Hotch knew exactly whose ring he wore, so he just grabbed a cup of coffee and dropped down at the table next to Emily, ignoring the way they were watching him. 

“Alright, kid?” Derek asked, squeezing his shoulder.

“Tired,” Spencer said simply.

Derek gave his shoulder another squeeze. “You want some breakfast?”

Spencer shook his head.

“I’ll grab you some toast.” 

Spencer didn’t bother arguing. Though Emily had never met Sam, she knew at the very least he was his friend from college who had gone down a different path in life, and he could tell that she was picking up that the others knew a little more. Rossi, by the way his gaze was resting heavy on Spencer’s shoulders, was doing his best to piece together what little he had. Spencer was too tired to care what excuse the others had given him for his clumsy exit at the bar. 

Spencer took three dutiful bites of the toast Derek set before him, before burying himself in his coffee, and letting the others fill the air with talks about the plane ride home, the rest of the week's schedule, and other cases waiting for them. Hotch pulled him aside after they landed back in Virginia.

“Do you need time off?”

Spencer shook his head.

“It’s okay if you do.” 

“I haven’t spoken to him since…” Spencer swallowed. “I was just… I was taken off guard, I…”

“It’s never easy to hear someone you were close to has died, no matter how long it has been since you’ve last seen them. It’s okay if you need time to grieve.”

“I don’t need time, Hotch, I just… I just need something to do.” 

Hotch nodded. “Let me know if that changes.” 

Spencer nodded, turning to take his leave.

“Reid,” Rossi called. “Why don’t I give you a ride? You can barely keep your eyes open, you shouldn’t be behind the wheel.”

“I take the metro,” Spencer said.

“Even more of a reason to grab a ride, c’mon.” 

Spencer knew it was just a ploy to profile him, but he didn’t really give a damn if it meant being able to crash at his own apartment within the next ten minutes, so he got in the passenger seat of Rossi’s classic car. 

“I feel like we got off on the wrong foot,” Rossi said.

“You find me irritating,” Spencer said. “You wouldn’t be the first, I don’t take it particularly personal at this point.” 

“Irritating isn’t the word I would use,” Rossi said placatingly.

Spencer gave him a flat look.

“Alright,” Rossi admitted. “It is a little grating to come across a twenty year old kid who quotes your books to your face and can talk for thirty minutes without take a breath. Not to mention, you were clearly looking for someone to fill Gideon’s shoes.”

“I was excited to meet you,” Spencer said. “I liked your books, but you could never be Gideon.” 

“No?” Rossi raised an eyebrow.

“One surrogate father figure is enough for me, especially considering he left exactly the same way, so no, I think I’ll leave that spot vacant thank you very much.” 

“Then why were you so…”

“It’s difficult being the new person on the team, especially when you’re not used to being on the team, I was trying to be welcoming… I didn’t do a very good job when Emily joined.”

“Now you’re making me feel like a jerk, kid.” 

“You are kind of a jerk,” Spencer said. “You almost shot Morgan… and you clapped in my face.”

“I was testing a theory.”

“That I’m potentially autistic?” 

Rossi gave him a ‘well are you?’ type of look. 

“I’ve never been tested and it’s never been an issue, though to be fair, none of my other teammates have deliberately tried to set me off before either, so…”

Rossi grimaced. “Alright, that was… clumsy, I’ll admit that.” 

Spencer shrugged. 

“Prentiss told me that you used to be friends with Sam Winchester,” Rossi said.

Spencer sighed, letting his eyes shut. “Yeah, so?”

“So…?” 

“We were friends at Stanford, I haven’t seen him since I left for the academy aside from bumping into him at a bar, nor had any kind of contact with him. No, I didn’t know he or his brother were involved in criminal activity. Happy?” 

“How are you feeling, Reid?”

Spencer opened one eye, to look at him.

“In Vietnam, after I got sent home, sometimes I’d get word that someone in my battalion had died, and I felt each of those like a bullet. Even the guys I wasn’t close to, or hadn’t seen in a year.”

“Survivor's guilt,” Spencer said. “You felt guilty for being home safe while they were still fighting.”

“Do you feel guilty for not being able to protect your friend? Or do you just feel sad that he’s gone?” 

Spencer closed his eyes again. “I feel like I want a good night’s sleep.” 

Rossi hummed, pulling up in front of his complex. 

“Thanks for the ride.” Spencer unbuckled his seatbelt, climbing out of the car.

“Reid,” Rossi leaned over the console. “I’m sorry about your friend.” 

“Drive safe.” Spencer closed the door between them.

Chapter Text

Spencer drove over state lines before buying a burner phone in cash from a store without cameras. Texting Sam’s number, he wrote, ‘Find a new wind to carry your message. -Psyche’. Another number texted the burner a few days later with only the words, ‘for emergencies only’. 

Spencer couldn’t stop himself from texting back, ‘Like sorting piles of grain?’

‘Or gathering wool.’ 

Spencer’s smile felt pained, like the corners of his mouth had been pulled up by a sewing needle, but he smiled none-the-less, tucking the phone into his work bag. As promised, Spencer didn’t touch the phone for months, kept it with him in his messenger bag and kept it charged, but didn’t call, didn’t text. Neither did Sam. 

A book was left in brown paper wrapping in his mailbox, mailed from Appleton, Wisconsin, and he recognized the handwriting in blue ink. Inside was an aging book on various spirits around the world, the pages yellowed, and binding cracking. Spencer read it three times, ignoring the little comment he got on the plane for reading ghost stories. Another book on Indian folklore a few weeks later. Another on demonology. 

Spencer’s phone rang, while he dug through the boxes they found in a storage unit in Philadelphia. He almost didn’t notice, considering the cell in his pocket was silent.

“Whose phone is that?” Emily asked.

The others shook their heads and glanced around. Spencer dropped down to grab his bag, fishing through the contents to pull out his phone, flipping it open on the last ring.

“Hello?” 

“Spence, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, but—“

“Ask fast then.” 

“Your mom.” 

Spencer tensed up, stepping away from the team.

“You said she used to teach a course on mythology and religion in literature, right?” 

Spencer rubbed at the mark on his chest. “Ask faster.”

“Do you know anything about demon deals, cross road demons, hellhounds, or how to break a deal?” Sam asked.

“I—“ Spencer bit back his own question. “It’s important?”

“It’s really important, I want to explain, I just—“

“Right,” Spencer said quietly, closing his eyes, and thinking back. “Uh, in Greek mythology crossroads were associated with both Hecate and Hermes—“

“Think Judeo-Christian, Spence.” 

“In Western mythology crossroads can be used to summon a demon, it’s in a lot of different stories including 1587 Historia von D. Johann Faust, it’s also in Hoodoo that crossroads represent where communication with spirits take place… in Yoruba the trickster deity called Eshu-Elegba resides at the crossroads…” 

“That’s not quite what I’m looking for.”

“You know it’s hard to know what you’re looking for when I don’t know why you’re asking the question, right?” 

Sam was quiet. 

Spencer blew his hair out of his face. “Fine, um, hell hounds are a guardian or servant of hell, there are supposed sightings of it all over the world and crossing several different branches of mythology and religion; Belgium, Czech, France, Germany, Greece, it’s everywhere.” 

“Any weaknesses in any of the lore?”

Spencer tapped his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “Not that I know of?” 

“Do you know anything about someone breaking a deal with a demon? Anything at all?” 

“Why would I—“ Spencer took another deep breath. “Uh, breaking it? No. The first deal that comes to mind was Bearskin from the Grimm’s Fairy Tales, but it seemed like the Devil only let him live and keep his soul because he knew the outcome was the two sisters deaths, and he got two souls for the price of one, uh… The Black Spider by Jeremias Gotthelf, a woman makes a deal with the devil to give him an unbaptized child, but tries to get out of it by baptizing children immediately after they are born, the children are saved, but she gets turned into a giant spider and kills, like, a lot of people—“

“I’m not really looking for book references.”

Spencer considered throwing the burner phone across the room. “You do know that not a single one of my degrees is in religion right?” 

“But you can recite the Bible word for word.”

“And there’s nothing in it on breaking a demon deal.” 

“Nothing?” 

“Different Christian theologist have conflicting theories on the incarnation of demons, the number of demons that exist, uh, medieval grimoires have stated that each demon has a diabolic signature or seal for their pacts which in some theories can be used to summon or control a demon?” 

“What grimoires?”

“I…” Spencer looked over at his team. “I don’t know, I have a storage container in Vegas that has all of my mother’s old books, you can… you’re welcome to it, but without more information…”

“Thank you,” Sam said. “Spence, I… I really appreciate it, and I want to explain—“

“Don’t.” Spencer cut him off. “I’ll send you the information.” 

“Thank you. Really.”

“Remember when all you wanted from me was forty-one percent of the table?” Spencer asked.

“Spence, I—“

Spencer hung up, resisting the urge to smack his phone against his forehead, only due to the fact that his team was watching. Texting the information, Spencer silenced the phone and shoved it into his bag as he returned to the others. 

“What was that?” Emily asked.

“Unimportant.” 

“The call you just took on a personal cell in the middle of case was unimportant?” Emily raised an eyebrow.

Spencer studied one of the drawings. “I thought it was an emergency.”

“It wasn’t?”

“Can we focus on the case?”

Spencer didn’t check his phone again until they closed the case, though he probably should have waited until he was back in his hotel room rather than under the table of the restaurant as he sat next to Emily. 

“How’s that non-emergency?” Emily asked.

There were no texts or calls. 

“Still none of your business.” 

“Non-emergency?” JJ asked.

“Dr. Reid had a personal call earlier,” Emily said, despite Spencer’s glare.

“Since when do you have a personal phone?” JJ asked. 

“I’m pretty sure your only contacts are in your work phone.” Derek gestured towards the table, though Hotch and Rossi had declined to go out with them for burgers.

“A jab at my personal life, how original,” Spencer muttered.

“A genuine observation, doc,” Derek countered. 

“Wait, is it…?” JJ began.

Spencer tensed. 

“Is it who?” Emily asked.

“…your ex-not-fiancee?” JJ asked with a little wince.

Emily turned to give him a wide eyed look.

“No, uh.” Spencer ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s a… friend.” 

“Oh?” JJ’s eyes widened. “A friend? What friend?” 

“Friend or more than a friend, pretty boy?” Derek teased.

Spencer glowered. 

“It did look a little like a lover’s quarrel,” Emily said thoughtfully. 

“You guys suck,” Spencer informed them. 

“C’mon.” Derek bumped their knees. “You deserve a little happiness. Tell us about them.”

“It’s complicated.” 

“Complicated how?” Emily asked. “Give us something. C’mon, don’t make us set Garcia on you.” 

“They travel a lot,” Spencer said. 

“And so do we,” JJ said. “So it’s complicated.”

“Are there any other kind of relationships with this job?” Emily joked.

“Not that I’ve found,” JJ said. 

Sam didn’t call. After two weeks of silence, Spencer wrote, ‘Have you traveled to the kingdom of Pluto?’ trying to make light of his own fears that silence meant… that silence meant something worse than being ignored, but when the message went unanswered his own words stared bitterly back up at him.

Chapter Text

Four months after Sam’s last call, Spencer came into work to find a bouquet of blue hyacinths on his desk; the others didn’t bother to pretend they weren’t waiting to see his reaction as he picked them up. There was a card tied to it, and typed on the card stock was ‘I woke from a Stygian sleep’ and a number.  

“Those from Austin?” Derek asked. 

Emily whistled. “Damn, you really charmed her, huh?”

“They’re not from her.” 

Spencer pulled the card free, dropping it into his desk drawer, and hovering now that he held the flowers in hand. He could drop them into the wastebasket by his desk, or even the trash a few steps away from the bullpen where he wouldn’t have to look at them, but even as he held them, he knew he wouldn’t. The same way the ring was still fastened around his neck despite trying to throw it into various different dumpsters since the day he had gotten it. He dropped them down onto the edge of his desk, pretending they weren’t there for the rest of the day, and carried them flowers down as he walked towards the elevators, but he couldn’t escape his friends. 

Penelope brightened upon seeing the flowers. “Who left you those, wonder boy? Austin?”

“He says no,” Emily said.

“No one.” 

“Uh huh, and tell me all about no one,” Penelope said. “Is she cute? Is she a brainiac like you? How long have you known no one? Where did you meet?”

Spencer decided silence was his best option. 

“What did the card say?” JJ asked.

“It was the florist's business card,” Spencer lied.

“Boring.” Penelope pouted. “Wait, if there was no card, do you know who sent them? Gasp! Is this a secret admirer?” 

Spencer ignored this. 

“You’re no fun,” Penelope huffed. 

“You want a ride, kid?” Derek asked.

“Yeah, thanks.” 

Spencer laid the flowers on his lap as he sat in Derek’s car, pinching one of the petals between his fingers to feel the softness.

“What happened to Austin?” Derek asked casually.

“Didn’t work out.” 

“Because…?”

“Distance.”

“Come on, man, that’s a cop out, and you know it.” 

“I wasn’t interested.” 

“Spencer, man, you’ve got to let Sam go.” 

Spencer stared out the window.

“I know you loved him,” Derek said. “And I know it was complicated and it hurt you when he left, and more so when he died, but you can’t keep pulling away like this. You deserve to have someone. You deserve to be happy.” 

Spencer plucked the petal free from the flower.

“Especially after everything with your father…” 

“Derek,” Spencer warned. 

With the nightmares, came some old memories, which led to arresting his father for the murder of his childhood friend Riley Jenkins. He couldn’t remember anything further, but he knew from years of profiling that pedophiles often started at home, and he was the right age range. 

“You can talk to me about it,” Derek said. “Of anyone, you’ll know I’ll understand.” 

“Why drive myself insane over something that may or may not have happened?” Spencer said.

“I’m not saying you have to agonize about it, but you do this thing where you put everything that hurts into a box, and then try to tape it shut, but kid, that box’ll never stay closed, you’ve got to deal with it.” 

“There’s too many boxes.” 

“Just start with one,” Derek said. 

Spencer picked at the flowers. “Sam and I met in the Stanford library…” 

Derek drove around the city while Spencer talked, telling him about how Sam bribed him into friendship with Twix, and helped him make some of the first real friends he ever had. 

Spencer hadn’t realized it had morphed into more than just an aesthetic appreciation and a bond of friendship until Sam had stepped up behind him while he was agonizing over an error in the data from the lab and gently freed his hands from his hair so he could sweep it up off the back of his neck and into a ponytail. It was clumsy, with a few strands falling into his face, but Sam was quick to tuck those behind his ears.

“You’re going to figure it out, Spence.” Sam squeezed his shoulders with that steady firm pressure that made it a little easier to breathe. “And you can always redo the lab if you think the data's wrong.”

“Unless of course I make the same error again, and then I’m right back where I started.”

“Then you’ll ask your supervisor.” 

Spencer blinked. “…that never occurred to me.” 

“Because you’ve never had to ask your professors for help?”

“I’ve… asked them questions.” 

“But not for help?” 

“I always just found a way to figure it out myself.” 

“Sometimes it saves a little of bit of pain just to ask for some help.” 

“…will you help me check out more books than the allowed amount?” 

Sam laughed. “As long as you get them back before anyone else needs them.”

“Pinky promise.” 

Sam surprised him by looping his piny with his despite the obvious sarcasm in Spencer’s tone, smiling down at him. 

“I’ve got to get to work,” Sam said. “I’ll see you guys later.” 

The rest of the group, said their goodbyes as Sam gathered up his belongings and left the library. Spencer packed up not too long afterwards; he liked Sam’s friends, but they weren’t the best to study with. 

“Spencer! Wait up!” 

Jess jogged to catch up with him as he exited the library.

“Hi,” Spencer said, for lack of anything else to say. 

Jess fell in step with him. “You and Sam spend a lot of time together, huh?”

“I guess?” 

“He’s nice, right? He started carrying hair elastics around for me and Becky considering we’re always forgetting ours,” Jess said.

Spencer tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. 

“Spencer, listen…” Jess put a hand on his arm, but Spencer shifted away. 

Jess’s smile was a little pinched. “Sam’s nice, and funny, and cute, and I can understand how you would get a crush on him.”

Spencer’s chest tightened, shoulders raising.

“I had a crush practically from the first time I met him,” Jess admitted. “But Sam, he’s your friend, he likes you… but not like that.”

Spencer swallowed. “R-right.”

“Sam and I… we kind of have a little thing,” Jess told him. “And even if we didn’t, he’s not, um, like you.”

“He’s not queer.” 

Jess winced at the word. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but, no, he’s not.” 

Spencer fiddled with the strap of his bag. “Are you going to tell him? About me?”

“No, no, of course not, I just didn’t want you to get your hopes up for something that wasn’t going to happen.”

Spencer nodded. “Okay. Anything else you wanted to talk about?”

“No, that’s it.” 

“Bye.” 

Spencer turned, jogging down the steps of the library building, and hurrying back towards the dorms. There was no particular reason for Jess’s words to sting, when he hadn’t expected anything else, but he still felt like a ruler had been rapped across the back of his knuckles. The sting somehow both felt fresh and faded when Sam’s contact popped up on his phone.

“Sam?”

“Hey, I know it’s late, but uh, you don’t really go to bed at a reasonable time anyways, so…”

“So you know you didn’t wake me.” 

“And I’ve got milkshakes.” 

“Milkshakes? Why?” 

“Do you want one or not? Because I’ll drink both.”

Spencer rolled out of bed. “I want one.” 

“Good, I’m outside.” 

“What if I had been sleeping?” 

“Uh, I didn’t think of that.” 

Spencer bit back a laugh. “I’ll be down in two minutes.” 

“See you.” 

Spencer pulled on his shoes, grabbed his keys, and jogged out of the dorms to find Sam waiting with a milkshake in each hand. Spencer accepted one, letting out a happy little hum as he took a sip. Sam smiled at him, starting to walk away from the dorms, and Spencer followed easily.

“Where we going?”

“Don’t know.” 

“…sit by the fountain?”

“Sounds perfect.” 

Sam pressed his shoulder against Spencer’s and his heart tumbled all over itself despite Jess’s earlier words. It didn’t stop him from sitting down on the edge of the fountain, close enough to Sam to knock their knees together. Sam’s hand rested on the concrete by Spencer’s opposite hip, his arm pressing against Spencer’s back, almost like he had wrapped it around his waist. Spencer leaned forward to steal a sip of Sam’s milkshake.

“What happened to being a germaphobe?” 

“Kissing transfers less germs than shaking hands.” 

“That would be a great pick up line.”

Spencer pinked. “That was not my intention.” 

Sam laughed. “You should try it on someone sometime, I bet it would work.” 

“I don’t date.”

“The same way you don’t make friends?”

Spencer gave him a half hearted glare. 

Sam just smiled down at him. “Maybe someone will win you over with Twix and coffee.”

“I’m not that easy.” 

“Oh yeah? What’s it take to get the heart of Dr. Spencer Reid?” 

Spencer’s heart pitter-pattered in his chest, realizing with a little bit of horror that it was already Sam’s. 

“I’ll let you know.”

“Looking forward to it.” 

“I didn’t want to fall in love,” Spencer admitted. “Even after we were together, there was some little part of me that tried to keep that wall up, but he just took it brick by brick until it didn’t seem so scary that it was gone. I told him it was a bad idea to move in together, so he said it could be a trial, but then when the trial was over… I didn’t want to leave. He told me he loved me, I couldn’t say it back for months, and he just… waited. And when I figured out he was going to propose, I told him not to, because… because I knew he was going to leave and he told me that he wouldn’t propose until he knew I would say yes.”

“Then how did you end up with the ring?” 

“Our apartment burned down,” Spencer said. “They said a pipe had leaked into the wiring and set the ceiling on fire. He had gone on a weekend trip with his brother, so I was the only one home, and I…” 

“And?” Derek asked.

“In some cases smoke inhalation can cause delirium and confusion and even hallucinations, so when the apartment caught fire… I saw something.” Spencer twisted his fingers. “I thought I had a schizophrenic break… and I told Sam in the hospital. When I woke up, the ring was on the bedside table with a note that said ‘I love you, I’m sorry’.” 

“He left you because you thought you were developing schizophrenia?” 

“That’s what it looked like.”

“You not so certain anymore?” 

“I’m not certain of anything anymore.” Spencer looked out the window. “Just that I can’t get rid of the ring.” 

“Why else might he have left?” Derek asked.

Spencer ran his fingers along the flowers. “I think his father was messed up in some criminal activity, his brother too, and that’s why he cut contact with them when he went to college. He had a secret, pieces missing from his past, but I told him I didn’t need to know. He could have… he could have gotten pulled back into it.” 

“Do you think he loved you?”

“I think so.” 

“If you were him, your family was tangled up in something bad, and then your apartment suddenly burns down, why would you leave your fiancé?” 

Spencer blinked. “I would think it was intentional, that it was…”

“I’ll say hi to Sammy for you.” 

“A hit. Oh my god,” Spencer said. “I wasn’t hallucinating.”

“What?” 

“I mean, obviously, the memory got smoke addled, but I think there was someone in the apartment, I think someone set the fire.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I got stabbed,” Spencer said.

Derek swerved slightly before pulling over so he could turn to face him. “What?” 

Spencer rolled up his sleeve to show him the mark. “Sam kept a Bowie knife taped behind the headboard, I thought… I thought it was some kind of accident in my smoke induced state-“

“Woah, Spencer, slow down, just tell me what happened from the beginning and we can sort it out from there.”

“It’s going to sound…”

“I don’t care how it sounds,” Derek said. “I’ve been working with you for years now, kid, you’re solid, but I need all the details so we can sort it out.” 

Spencer drew in a deep breath, then blew it out. “I was home alone, Sam was supposed to come back that night, but he hadn’t even though his law school interview was in a few hours.”

“Alright, where are you?”

“I’m in bed, the lights started flickering, and I looked up and there was…”

“Was what?”

“I thought it was a demon.” 

“What did it look like?”

“A man, mostly, but his eyes…” Spencer’s fingers curled into fists. 

“Alright, okay what happened next?” 

“I ran for the door, but I couldn’t get it open, and he was laughing at me.”

“What did you do?” 

“I grabbed Sam’s knife from the headboard, I thought I cut him, but I couldn’t have because he didn’t even react, he just ripped the knife from my hands, and hit me so hard I ended up on the floor, and—“

“Breathe.” 

“And I tried to get away, but he pinned me down, and he—“

“Spencer, breathe.” 

“And he said, ‘Oh I like you, I didn’t think you would put up such a fight.’”

“He knew you?”

“And then he stabbed the knife through my arm to pin me to the floor, and the room was on fire, and he was gone, and I had to get out, I had to get the knife out—“ Spencer clutched at his arm.

“Breathe.” 

“The door was on fire, and there was so much smoke, but the window was open, and I—“

“You jumped out.”

“I blacked out when my leg broke.” 

“And that’s what you told Sam when he visited?” 

“His mom died in a fire.”

“What?”

“His mom died in a fire, god, I never put it together before…”

“So his family is into something shady, his mom gets killed, Sam tried to get out, go to college, live normal, only for the past to come knocking and find you, so…”

“So he leaves.” 

“It wasn’t about you, kid.”

“He was trying to protect me.” 

“Best way he knew how.”

Spencer scrubbed furiously at his face, trying to keep any tears from falling, but the chain around his neck felt lighter than it had in years. 

“And I think,” Derek said gently. “That somewhere deep down you knew that, and that’s why you couldn’t get rid of the ring.” 

Spencer sniffled. 

Derek rubbed his back. “See how good talking to people is?”

Spencer let out a wet laugh. “I hate you.”

“Yeah, I know, you want Chinese?”

Spencer nodded. Eating a load of Chinese food and talking about nothing important was a good way of building Spencer’s armor back up, though it didn’t feel so heavy anymore. Leaving Derek’s brownstone, he bought a new burner, typing the number into it. Four months of silence couldn’t exactly be forgiven with a bouquet of flowers, but a decent amount of Spencer’s resentment had slipped away after talking to Derek so he replied, ‘I didn’t know you were vain enough to open the box, what did you need a sliver of beauty for?’. 

‘For you, of course’.

‘Don’t think I’m so easily won.’

‘You never have been.’

Spencer tucked the new phone into his messenger bag, tossing the old one on his way into work after clearing it of all their communications. He couldn’t start digging into Sam’s case during work hours or even on his FBI computer, but he had always been more of a paper trail person anyway, and he knew where to find the paper records. Once he read them, they lived in his brain, and he created a tangled map of sticky notes on his apartment wall. 

John Winchester’s absent father, his time in the military, his honorable discharge. Mary Campbell and John Winchester’s marriage. Dean’s birthday. Sam’s birthday. Mary Winchester’s death in an unexplainable fire. John dropping off the map with his two boys afterwards, only kept track of by their school records. Spencer didn’t purport himself as an FBI agent as he called administrators, only as a friend who was trying to compile a list of schools his bestest friend Sam had been to as a memorial album. 

Henry Winchester disappeared when John was young, but tracing him as best Spencer could led him to a mention of the ‘Men of Letters’. Spencer couldn’t find any other information on it, but he doubted it was an academy extracurricular. Men of Letters already sounded like the perfect name for a cult, but Spencer was leaning more towards something outwardly criminal for it to pass down generations. An inherited debt would make sense. After Henry’s disappearance, John attempted to lead a different life by joining the Marines (underage), but eventually his fathers enemies caught up to him, burned down his house, and sent him on the run with his kids, never staying in one place too long. Spencer assumed running hadn’t worked or that John eventually ended up trying to resolve his fathers debts somehow, Dean tried to help as he got older, Sam wanted out, but then when John went missing Sam was the next easiest target to find, and killing his boyfriend was a hell of a way to send a message. The same way killing Mary was. 

Spencer just had to toe the very delicate balance of trying to find out what type of danger Sam was in without also alerting to cops to any sort of criminal activity either of the brothers were now entangled in… and hopefully along the way try to find someway to clear Sam’s name. Spencer smacked his forehead against his sticky-note wall. 

“Easy-peasy,” Spencer muttered.

Chapter Text

The next book was on angels, sent to his apartment thankfully, sending presents to the BAU while supposedly dead despite the rather impressive credit card fraud Dean appeared to be running was still pretty dumb. Even dumber was that it made Spencer a little happier for it, a couple of blossoms pressed in his psychology textbooks. A little niggling part of Spencer felt like the religious and mythological books were a bit of a slap in the face considering his history with religion, but now, it felt more like a clue. Considering Sam’s phone call before his four month disappearance, he was relatively certain that whatever trouble he was in either used mythology as a code or might have actually been a cult with mythological elements embedded into it. Either way, Spencer read it front to back, finding one of his mother’s old bookmarks between the pages. 

The next case that brought them near Vegas, he managed to stop by the storage unit before they needed to fly home. After packing up his mother’s house, he hadn’t been back since, but he still knew there were boxes of books missing... and a box he didn’t recognize. Pulling it out of the pile, he opened it up to find an absurd amount of Twix, a Dalek keychain, and a worn soft flannel. Spencer lifted it up to his face, taking a deep breath. There was a scent of gunpowder, but under it was just Sam. 

Spencer tucked his nose into the collar of the flannel, Sam had worn it the previous day, and had left it on the back of the living room chair, but Spencer had snagged it before changing for bed. 

“Not that I’m complaining,” Sam started, watching him from where he sat on the bed.

“But?”

“Why do you have a drawer full of pajamas if you’re just going to wear my clothes?” 

“Studies have actually shown that a partner’s scent can reduce stress levels. The women in the study could identify which of the shirts they were shown was their boyfriends just by smell. Both the women who smelled the t-shirts and a control who didn’t took math tests, and the women who had smelled them had lower stress levels.” 

“And you like it because…”

“It’s yours.” 

Sam curled his hands around his hips, pulling him up to the edge of the bed. “That’s a good answer.” 

“All my answers are good answers.”

Sam smiled into the kiss, sliding his hands up under the flannel, making Spencer shiver at the warmth of his touch, winding his arms around Sam’s neck. Pulling him onto the bed, Spencer didn’t get to keep the flannel for long, but he didn’t mind considering the end result had him loose limbed and basking in endorphins. Wrapping his arms around him, Sam drew his nose along the line of his neck, breathing in. 

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked with a little squirm.

“I think I get it. I definitely don’t feel stressed.”

“I’m sure that has nothing to do with the endorphins and hormones released from sex.” 

Sam laughed softly, rubbing his nose along his jaw. 

Spencer brought the box onto the plane, unable to fit all of the contents into his go bag. 

“What’s that?” JJ asked.

“I put some of my mother’s things away in a storage container, I thought I’d pick some of them up while we’re here.” 

“What did you get?” Emily asked.

“Books mostly.” 

Emily laughed a little. “Yeah, I should have expected that.” 

Spencer ran through his store of Twix slowly, placing one in his messenger bag at a time, and replacing it whenever needed. There was a little part of him that was somewhat embarrassed that the thought of the potential crimes his not-fiancé could be involved him didn’t bother him nearly so much as when he had thought he had left him due to a schizophrenic break. Though after all of the cases he had been on he knew there was a lot of grey areas; good people doing bad things for the right reasons, people trying to protect the people they loved, and people who were just unwell. 

Considering the lack of evidence leading to a thirty party interference, they only sent Spencer and Emily to look over a series of homicides in Bedford, Iowa, where three men beat their wives to death, and each claimed they couldn’t understand what drove them to do it. The locals had requested them mainly to make sure that their cases stuck in court, but they would also be checking to make sure there wasn’t an outside influence that would lead to a forth murder. It had taken some coaxing, but each of them men had admitted to be cheating on their wives with a stripper; same strip club, different physical descriptions, different personalities, and different stage names. 

“Could they be drugging them?” Emily asked. 

“Their tests came back clean. Aside from elevated oxytocin levels.”

“They could have metabolized it.” 

“But why?” Spencer asked. “They have more to gain if the men are alive, a continuous stream of income, gifts, whatever they wanted. If I were running the con, I would use them for every last penny, get them to sign me as the insurance beneficiary, and kill the men instead for the life insurance payout. There’s nothing to gain from killing the wives.” 

“You’re cold, Dr. Reid.”

“It’s just logic.” 

“Alright, well, let’s go talk to the staff at the strip club, see if we can get more information,” Emily said. 

“Actually, I was going to go talk to the ME, see if there’s anything we might have missed on the reports.” 

“You don’t want to talk to half naked women?” Emily teased. 

Spence pinked. “I just think it will be more, um, time efficient if we split up.”

“And I don’t stutter when they start making innuendos?” 

“That too.” 

Emily laughed. “Alright, I’ll take one for the team, meet you back at the precinct to compare notes?” 

“See you there.” 

Spencer had a brief confusing conversation with the ME who said that ‘the other agents’ were already inside, and he kept his hand on his gun as he stepped through the doors. Sam’s hair was longer than he had last seen him, Dean looked the same as his mugshot, and they were both wearing suits Hotch wouldn’t be caught dead in. Both of them gave him wide eyed looks as they stood over the body of the third victim.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Spencer said.

“We didn’t kill her,” Sam said quickly. “Or any of them.” 

“That’s a low bar, Sam,” Spencer said weakly. 

Sam winced. 

Dean looked back and forth between them. “…any chance we’re not getting arrested right now?” 

“If you can tell me in under thirty seconds why you’re impersonating an FBI agent.”

“Spence-“

“Twenty-nine, twenty-eight-“

“Alright, alright, okay,” Dean held up his hands placatingly. “Adam Benson was a high school buddy of mine—“

“Bedford born and raised and you went to twenty-three different schools, but this wasn’t one of them. Try again.” 

Dean opened and closed his mouth. “Uh… we’re reporters?” 

Spencer cocked an eyebrow at Sam, who looked like he wanted to slam his face into the wall. 

“Look, Spence, anything I tell you right now, anything you’ll believe will be a lie, and I don’t want to lie to you.” 

Spencer’s eyes flicked back and forth across his face. 

“If you have to take us in, I understand, but if you do, I think someone else might die.” 

“Who?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Dean said.

“We’re just trying to help,” Sam said.

“Find another way out besides the front because I’m telling the ME you were already gone by the time I got here. If you get arrested, I’m not helping you, whether I believe you’re here for a good cause or not.” 

“That’s fair,” Dean said. 

“Go.” Spencer nodded. 

Dean slipped past him out the door, but Sam hesitated. 

“Twenty-seven, twenty-six--“ Spencer warned.

“Thank you,” Sam said softly. 

Spencer kept his eyes firmly averted. “Twenty-five, twenty-four…”

The door swung shut. 

“I’m an idiot,” Spencer told the empty room. 

Checking over the bodies, he didn’t find anything that wasn’t already written on the ME report, and when he met up with Emily she said that neither the managers or the rest of the staff could think of anyone that matched the descriptions of the strippers.

“So what do we have?” Emily asked. “Shared stripper delusion?” 

“I don’t know. There’s definitely something wrong here, but I don’t know what it is.” 

“We could stake out the strip club.” 

Spencer checked his watch. “It’s only just opened, I want to talk to Dr. Roberts about the blood sample, and then I’ll meet you there?”

“Sounds good.” 

Spencer made his way into the hospital, finding Dr. Roberts in her office, and discussing her samples, but she also appeared to be at a loss as to why the oxytocin levels were so high in all of the men. Exiting the office, a pair of hands grabbed him, and yanked him into a supply closet. Spencer slammed his elbow back earning a grunt, drawing his gun as he turned only to find he was leveling it at Sam’s chest.

“What the hell are you doing?” Spencer hissed. “I could have shot you!” 

“Yeah,” Sam said a little breathlessly. “Take Agent Morgan’s offer up on those hand to hand refreshers?” 

Spencer scowled, holstering his gun. 

“Smith and Wesson 65?” Sam asked.

Spencer stepped into Sam’s space, close enough for them to share the same air, watching Sam’s pupils dilate, leaning in even closer. Spencer pulled the gun from the back of his waistband. 

“Pro tip: FBI don’t carry their guns in their waistbands.” Spencer looked over the gun. “Nor do they have a mother of pearl grip.” 

“I… have a permit for it?” Sam gave him that little sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I know,” Spencer said. 

“You know?” Sam asked.

“I work for the FBI, Sam.” Spencer held out his gun.

Sam tucked his gun back into his waistband. “Kind of thought you might give me a pat down, Agent Reid.” 

“Dr. Reid,” Spencer corrected, tilting his chin up.

Sam grinned, bracing a hand on the door behind him, and caging him in. “Dr. Reid.”

Spencer’s heart kicked in his chest, his body far too familiar with the way Sam was looking at him. 

“Where do FBI keep their guns?” Sam hooked two fingers in his belt loops, tugging him flush against him. “Just the one on your belt? Or would I find more?” 

“By what? Looking at me?” Spencer taunted. 

“That’s not how you find a concealed weapon, Dr. Reid.” 

Sam leaned in, but Spencer turned away with only a breath of space between them, and Sam's lips skimmed his cheek.

"I can't... I'm on a case. I'm supposed to meet my teammate at the strip club to stake it out." 

"Nick Monroe? Dean's already staking it out with him, I mean Munroe thinks Dean's a fed--"

“I don’t know a Nick Munroe,” Spencer said. “I don’t know who your brother’s with, but he’s not part of my team, and we’re the only agents in the area.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Shit.” 

“What?” Spencer asked.

“I have to go,” Sam said, pulling him out of the way to get to the door.

“Sam-“

Sam kissed his cheek quick and ran out the door before Spencer could react. With a curse, Spencer ran after him, but aside from the swinging front door, he didn’t know where he went. He called Emily on the drive to the club, but she said she hadn’t seen anything suspicious. Spencer found her at a table in the back, scanning the club, but he saw neither of the Winchesters inside as he sat down.

“Nothing out of the usual,” Emily said.

Spencer tapped his fingers on the table.

“You okay?”

“What?”

“You look frazzled.” 

Spencer ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m fine.”

Emily didn’t buy it, but she didn’t ask again either which was all Spencer could ever really hope for when lying to a profiler. They stayed until closing, but they didn’t see anything suspicious, and without any other leads, they retired to their hotel rooms. Spencer slept restlessly, memories of Sam morphing with fragments of all the mythology he had been reading. There was a Twix taped to the door of his hotel room come morning, and he had a feeling Dean and Sam were long gone. They stayed a few more days to do their due diligence, but there were no further murders to prove a third party influence, and all of the men were competent to stand trail.

Chapter Text

Spencer swallowed a few times, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat both from the anthrax in his system, and the message he asked Penelope to record for his mom.

“Can I…” Spencer took a steadying breath. “Can I ask you to do one more thing?”

“Anything," Penelope said.

“There’s a phone in the bottom of my messenger bag, there’s only one number on it, if… if something goes wrong, just… just write that I kept the ring, okay?” 

“Spencer-“

“I have to get back to work.” Spencer ended the call. 

Looking through the lab and the ride to the hospital was all a blur, but when he woke there was a steady ache in his body, and even breathing felt like an arduous task, but his head was clear. Derek was sitting at his bedside eating jello. Spencer found the chain around his neck, even though he was wearing hospital scrubs, and he had a little extra gratitude for his best friend. Even more when Derek lent him his zip-up to cover the scars on his arms before the others arrived, and hunted down a hair tie from one of the nurses to get his greasy hair off the back of his neck. 

The others came to visit as soon as they heard he was awake, crowding around his bed, and talking about nothing particularly important, but it was important. It was important that they dragged chairs in from the waiting room, and teased him about how he looked with his hair tied up, but didn’t mention the obvious chain around his neck. Penelope lingered as the others left.

“Okay, I didn’t, I mean, I wasn’t trying to violate your privacy, but, um, I brought you this.” 

She held out the burner phone from his bag.

“I didn’t, like, look at it or anything, I just… I thought you might want to give them a call.”

Spencer curled his fingers around the phone, looking down at the screen. 

“You still love her.” 

Spencer knew his lies were going to start tangling soon if he wasn’t careful. Emily, JJ, Penelope, and Rossi all thought his not-fiancé was a girl from Stanford. Hotch and Derek knew it was Sam, but according to file, Sam was dead, so who would Spencer ask Penelope to sent his goodbye message to?

“Pen, I didn’t… I was feverish, can we… can we keep this between us?”

“Of course.” Penelope kissed two fingers and tapped them against his cheek. “Rest up, boy wonder.”

“Thanks.”

Spencer didn’t call Sam, but he did write a letter. A just-in-case letter, even though he had no way of making sure it would be left for Sam in the event that something happened, but if felt better than just letting the words die with him.

Chapter Text

Sam hadn’t planned on going to see Spencer, only that every ride he hitchhiked, every bus he took brought him closer to Virginia until he was standing outside Spencer’s green door. Taking a deep breath, he knocked twice, telling himself if Spencer wasn’t home, if there was no answer, that he was going to turn around and leave before he could bring anything evil to his doorstep with him.

Spencer opened the door.

His hair was long enough to brush his collarbones, long enough for the little waves to look a little more like curls, and his brown eyes wide. He was wearing a soft sweater, not quite to his old grandpa proportions, but not exactly FBI material either, and worn out jeans. There was a brace around his knee, and he was balancing on crutches.

“Sam?”

Sam tried to muster up a smile. “Hey, Spence.” 

Spencer stepped out of the doorway, and Sam stepped inside his apartment, looking around. There was a towering bookshelf against one wall, a brown cotton couch in the center with a little coffee table between it and the TV, and behind that a kitchen. There were two doors off to the left which he assumed were Spencer’s bedroom and the bathroom respectively. 

“What are you doing here?”

“What happened to you knee?” 

“I got shot.” 

“When?” 

“Three days ago.”

Sam opened his mouth to ask why he hadn’t called, only to think of all the injuries he had accumulated from his hunts, and found a different question instead.

“What happened?”

“I got shot covering the target of a serial killer.” Spencer sat down gingerly on his couch, propping up his leg. 

“You say that so casually,” Sam said a little weakly.

“The surgery went well, as long as I follow instructions, it will heal properly.” Spencer shrugged. 

“I like your apartment.”

“You’re not here to tell me the truth,” Spencer said, like he had known it when Sam walked through the door.

“No,” Sam said. “I don’t know why I’m here. I know that it’s not safe, not really, but I… I think I might be done.”

“Done?”

“I can’t do it anymore,” Sam said. “I’ve made too many mistakes, I’ve hurt too many people, I can’t keep doing the wrong thing and watching people—“ 

Sam cut himself off before he could say ‘die’. 

“What happened?” Spencer asked gently.

Sam just shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” 

“I barely believe that you’ll tell me at all.” 

Sam looked away.

Spencer sighed. “Do you want pizza?”

Sam blinked. “What?” 

Spencer pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’m getting Margherita, but I am willing, however, to hear out an argument on breadsticks verses garlic knots.”

Sam almost managed a smile, setting his bag down by the coffee table, and sitting by Spencer’s feet. “Haven’t we already had this debate?” 

“I stand by my argument.” Spencer sniffed. 

“It’s the principal of the thing, Spence, no one wants to make out tasting like garlic.”

“What does it matter if both people have eaten it? There’s no contamination risk, you’ve literally just had the same food, it’s clearly not a matter of dental hygiene because otherwise people would want their partners to brush their teeth before every time they kissed.”

Sam just shook his head. 

“I’m ordering garlic knots,” Spencer declared, putting his phone to his ear.

Sam felt a little more taped together watching Spencer politely order pizza and garlic knots, his voice lifting a few notes on every please and thank you, just like it did when he was in college. It was almost like seeing fragments of who Spencer was; the crutches and knee brace belonged to SSA Reid who took a bullet for a civilian, the paused episode of Dr. Who belonged to college Spencer who liked to pause it to talk over a three second frame, Plato’s Meno sitting on the coffee table belonged to Dr. Reid, the lovingly conditioned hair belonged to ‘I’m not really a model’ Spencer, and the copy of Proust on his shelf belonged to a Spencer he only heard in stories who listened to his mother read for hours. 

Spencer tossed his phone aside. “There’s soda in fridge, don’t drink the beer, it’s Derek’s, coffee in the cabinet above the machine, and I give you blanket permission to rummage through my cupboards for cups if you want water.” 

“Derek?”

“Derek Morgan, you met him.” 

Sam distinctly remembered Derek Morgan and his arm around Spencer’s shoulders.

“He’s here a lot?” 

“I don’t usually have people over.”

“But you have his beer in the fridge.”

“So?” Spencer cocked an eyebrow. 

Sam rose. “Can I grab you something?”

Spencer shook his head. Sam found a couple cans of Coke in the fridge which wasn’t entirely odd considering Spencer’s affinity for anything sweet, but he had never stocked their apartment fridge with any type of soda, it was only if they went out for food that he would buy one. Aside from the Coke there wasn’t a lot in the fridge, though there were four beers lined up in the door, there were a couple rice crispy treats in the cabinets, and a Tupperware container of homemade cookies on the kitchen counter. Sam set a can of Coke and a water on the table before Spencer before retaking his seat, and taking a sip of his own.

“Haven’t been able to go grocery shopping with your leg?” Sam guessed.

“Not really much of a point,” Spencer said. “With our cases we never know when we’ll be called out so I could buy fresh food today and then have it rot in my fridge for a week while I’m in Arkansa.” 

“And rice crispy treats never go bad,” Sam joked.

“They’re an important nutritional staple,” Spencer said dryly. 

“You’re worse than Dean.”

“Where is Dean?”

Sam faltered. “We, uh, we decided if it was best if we… if we went our separate ways right now, he’s, uh, he’s better off without me.”

“Is that what he said?” 

“Yeah.”

“Is that verbatim what he said?”

“I don’t have your memory, Spence.” 

“Try.” 

“He said he can’t focus because he’s busy worrying about me.” 

“Why’s he worrying about you?” 

“Because I screwed up and now he can’t trust me.” 

“So you think he’s worried because he can’t trust you, and not because he’s worried about you?” 

“I-“ 

Sam tried to find a way to say, ‘of course he can’t trust me, I started the damn apocalypse’ without saying any of that. Spencer’s eyes flicked back and forth across his face like his thoughts were written on his forehead in Sharpie.

“What did you take?” Spencer asked.

Sam tensed. “What?” 

“Alcohol is the most common drug of choice, and because it runs in your family it would be statistically likely, but you wouldn’t like the lack of control that comes with it, I actually doubt you would take any kind of depressant. You would take something that made you feel stronger, a stimulant or steroids…” Spencer’s eyes flicked over his face. “An amphetamine?”

Sam felt flayed open, the can crinkling in his hands as he tried to find an answer to Spencer’s question, but he was saved by a knock on the door. Sam rose to get it. 

“Sit down, I don’t want a wanted criminal answering my door, deceased or not.” Spencer got up on his crutches. 

Sam felt a little like a kicked dog as he stepped out of eyeline of the door. Spencer answered the door, struggling to hold the pizza, and pay at the same time, but the delivery girl was more than patient and told him to feel better soon as he closed the door. Sam relieved him of the boxes so he could walk uninhibited back to the couch. Setting them on the coffee table, he grabbed plates from the kitchen, serving Spencer first before taking a slice for himself, and sitting down. Eating in relative silence, Sam cleaned away the boxes, and packed the leftovers into the fridge before hovering by the TV unsure how long his welcome would last. Spencer pulled something from his pocket, tossing it to him. Catching it, Sam opened his hand to find a one year sobriety coin laying in his palm. Sam looked up at him with wide eyes.

“One year, five months, one week, three days,” Spencer said. 

Sam stepped closer, sitting down on the coffee table as he handed the coin back. “What happened?” 

Spencer rolled the coin along his knuckles. “There was a serial killer in Georgia. JJ and I, we thought he was a witness and we went to interview him. We realized he was the unsub and split up to cover more ground, I followed him into a cornfield, but it was a maze. He knocked me out and took me to shack in a cemetery.”

Sam’s chest felt tight as he listened to Spencer talk with a sort of routine numbness. 

“His name was Tobias Hankel and he had dissociative identity disorder, his alters were his abusive father and an archangel named Raphael both of whom tried to get me to confess my sins so they could kill me. Tobias… Tobias tried to take the pain away… with Dilauded.”

“Spence…”

“They had me for almost forty-eight hours, and shot me up three times, and that was all it took.” 

“How did you get away?”

“After…” Spencer took a breath. “After I confessed my sins, he took me to dig my own grave, I got his gun and shot him with it. My team found me minutes later.” 

“God, Spencer…” 

“I didn’t tell you because I wanted empathy.” Spencer tucked his coin away. “I told you so you would know that I went to work for the FBI high several times.”

Sam opened and closed his mouth.

“How long have you been clean?” Spencer asked. 

“Not long.” 

“Are you craving?”

“All the time.” 

“I’m not going to tell you it gets better, it just… gets quieter. It’s like, you know when our upstairs neighbors moved in?”

“And they played that godawful saxophone?”

Spencer’s lips twitched up. “Yeah, we couldn’t stand it, if it didn’t quiet down we would go study in the library, go outside, go to McDonalds, anything to get away from the noise, and then one day… one day I realized they had been playing for awhile, but I had been so invested in my book I had barely noticed.” 

“It gets quieter,” Sam said.

Spencer nodded. Sam felt the ache in his chest twice as strong as he ever had before, because here was FBI Dr. Spencer Reid who had been through so much in the time they were apart, but he was still the boy he fell in love with offering up the jagged pieces of himself so Sam could see they had the same fracture lines.

“Step eight is to make a list of all the people you’ve harmed and be willing, and step nine is to make direct amends unless it would cause further injury.” 

“I don’t think I can list all the people I’ve harmed,” Sam admitted.

“Are you helping them by sitting on my couch while Dean cleans up your mistakes?” 

Sam flinched.

“You’re welcome to stay,” Spencer said, rising from the couch. “But the guilt won’t go away no matter how far you run.”

Sam watched him disappear into the bedroom, door closing between them. Dropping down onto his back, Sam scrubbed at his face, trying to sort through his warring thoughts, but it was to no avail. After a few agonizing attempts to sleep, he got up to dig through Spencer’s bookshelf, only to pause as he recognized several titles. Running his finger along the spines, he couldn’t say exactly why he had sent them, only that he felt Spencer would be safer having the same information as he did. Maybe a little part of him wanted him to figure it out, if anyone could, it was Spencer, but now? The thought of telling him everything he had done was more terrifying than he could have imagined. His fear had always been that Spencer wouldn’t believe him or wouldn’t want to be tangled up in it, but now, if he did believe him, how could he possibly still love him knowing what he had done, knowing all the people he had hurt. 

Sam bumped a painting on the wall, but when he went to straighten it, he saw a sticky note peaking out from underneath. With a frown, he lifted it off the wall to find a map of different color sticky notes with not only Sam, Dean, and John’s names, but their whole family, several of their alias, notes on their credit card fraud, and potential other criminal ties. Leaning the photo against the wall, Sam almost smiled as he read the way Spencer had traced him, some of the fear in the pit of his stomach subsiding as he couldn’t help but look at the sticky notes the way he had collected newspaper clippings of Spencer’s cases. Even if he hadn’t kept the ring, he was still following him. 

Sam snagged Spencer’s keys from the hook as the sun rose, smiling at the little Dalek keychain, before stepping out of the apartment. He mostly bought boxed and canned food, but couldn’t resist getting a couple of fresh ingredients, carrying the paper grocery bags into the apartment, and returning the keys to the ring. Rummaging through Spencer’s cupboards he found a measly selection of cookware, but he didn’t need more than a frying pan to make breakfast. Spencer hobbled out somewhere around the seventh pancake, blinking at him several times. Dressed in flannel pajama pants, a t-shirt, mismatched socks, glasses, and his knee brace, he still looked half a sleep even as he leaned on his crutches.

“I made coffee.”

Spencer sat down at the island accepting the coffee with two hands, and taking a deep drink. Sam set a plate of pancakes, eggs, and sausage before him. Picking up the fork, Spencer turned it over in his fingers three times before taking a bite. Sam ate standing up, leaning back against the counter. 

“This isn’t exactly what I imagined when I saw you next,” Spencer said. 

“What did you imagine?” Sam asked.

“I had a couple different scenarios, including your dead body, prison, another faked death…”

“And?”

“And there’s always a chance that you’ll keep your word.”

“I always meant to, everything just got… so complicated so fast.”

Spencer turned his mug around in his hands.

“Finished?” Sam reached for his plate.

Spencer nodded, letting Sam take his dishes to the sink. Scrubbing them clean, Sam set them out to dry, turning around to find Spencer’s eyes on the living room wall. He hadn’t bothered to put the photo back up over the sticky notes.

“Was I close?” Spencer asked.

“Uh, well, the credit card and insurance fraud is correct.”

“Seems pretty minor to get tangled up in murder, grave description, and robbery.” 

Sam sipped his coffee. Spencer moved to get up only to squeeze his eyes shut, and grip tight to the counter. It was instinct that had Sam rounding the counter to steady him, making sure to keep his weight off his bad leg. 

“You okay?”

“I’m fantastic,” Spencer hissed. “I’m post-knee surgery with only extra strength Tylenol and my wanted ex-boyfriend crashing at my apartment.” 

Sam grimaced. 

Spencer blew out a deep breath. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Sam said. “I’m not sure that I would be happy to see me either.”

“I want to be happy to see you,” Spencer said. “And you want to tell me, but you won’t. So I suppose that leaves us about halfway there.”

“I-“

“Stop making promises,” Spencer said firmly. 

Sam’s teeth clicked together as he shut his mouth. There were two knocks on the door, before the knob began to turn, and Spencer shoved him away, leaning against the counter as he grabbed his crutches. Sam reached for his gun.

“Bedroom. Go.”

“Who-“

“Now,” Spencer snapped.

Sam slipped into his bedroom, but kept the door cracked just a sliver, gun in hand. 

“Look at you, pretty boy, up and at ‘em.” 

“Derek, I told you not to come by.” 

“Yeah, and you’re three days out of surgery, did you really think I would listen?” 

Spencer made a frustrated sound. “I’m fine, so, you can go.”

There was a silence. 

“Two coffee cups, huh?” 

“Derek.”

“Just that thirsty?” 

Spencer didn’t seem to have a come back for that.

“Spencer?” 

“Derek.” 

“Who was here? Because I know it wasn’t any of us.” 

Another silence.

“They’re still here?” Derek asked incredulously. “Who do you have here that’s hiding in the bedroom?”

“No one?”

“Oh, yeah? Why doesn’t no one come say hi?”  

Sam heard footsteps approach, his heart climbing up into his throat.

“Okay, okay, fine, I have a guy in there, okay?” Spencer hissed. 

“Yeah? And why doesn’t your boyfriend come say hi?”

“Because he’s not my boyfriend,” Spencer said. “He’s, um… an acquaintance type person.” 

“Spencer, you do not seriously have a hook up in your bedroom four days after getting shot.”

“How I spend my vacation days is none of your concern,” Spencer said in that haughty voice he only broke out when he knew he was wrong, but also had three doctorates, so fuck you.

Derek did not sound impressed. “You’re on sick leave, Reid, and I know that doctor told you not to do anything strenuous.”

“I’m not doing anything strenuous.” 

Derek sounded like he was stifling a laugh.

“That’s not what I meant! I just… when else am I going to have three days off, and so…” 

“So you’re getting some lovin’ from your boy?” 

Sam bit down on his cheek to keep from laughing, some of his jealously melting away as he listened to Derek tease the hell out of Spencer. 

“Please for the love of god shut up.”

“Why? You don’t want your,” Derek raised his voice. “Boytoy to hear me? Huh?” 

There was a muffled sound of an altercation that left Derek laughing. 

“Leave,” Spencer huffed.

“Jokes aside,” Derek said quieter. “I’m happy for you, Spencer, it’s about time you started moving on.”

“Derek,” Spencer warned.

“I’m serious, kid, you deserve someone who makes you happy.” 

Sam’s smile slipped away, his heart aching.  

“Text me if you need something,” Derek said.

“I will,” Spencer said. “Keep me updated on Hotch?”

“Of course.” 

Sam listened for the sound of the door opening and closing before slipping out of the room.

“Boytoy.” Sam leaned in the doorway, trying for a smile. “Is that what I am?” 

“A wanted criminal is what you are,” Spencer muttered, limping over to the couch, and dropping down onto it. 

Sam grabbed some ice from the kitchen, propping Spencer’s leg up before laying it on top. 

“…Derek has a key.”

“That is how you get in and out of places.” 

Sam chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“Sam.” Spencer massaged his temples. “I’m tired, and I’m hurting, and you’re welcome to stay until you’ve got your thoughts in order, but I really can’t…” 

“Tell me about your team,” Sam said. 

Spencer glanced at him.

“About your cases, about anything, just anything.”

Spencer appeared to consider it for a long second before he started talking. “Hotch is our boss, he kind of looks like the eagle from the muppets? Anyways…” 

Sam couldn’t help his smile as Spencer talked, he talked about spilled coffee in break rooms, and peoples sleeping habits on the jet, and incorrect literature and movie opinions that he had argued about, and the seasons of Doctor Who that Sam had missed which lead to them watching a few episodes, though Spencer slept fitfully through them, exhausted by the pain. Sam let him sleep, but he woke him for dinner and another round of Tylenol. It was too easy to fall right back into their routine, even though Spencer’s edges were sharper than they were before and his words sometimes slipped out with a razor's edge when Sam toed too close to somewhere delicate. 

Sam told him stories of Dean eating some absolutely heinous fast food, a little bit about their family friend Bobby, and trying to learn how to take care of Dean’s car; each story had the truth rising up in his throat. Except, if he told him now, he would have to tell him how he hurt people, and then ran off and left Dean with the mess, even if Spencer believed him… he could lose the delicate thread still connecting them. 

Day three was relatively the same, but with Spencer’s favorite Indian takeout and Star Trek instead of Doctor Who. Clicking off the TV, Spencer turned to face him.

“I’m returning to work tomorrow.” 

Sam’s eyes widened. “It hasn’t even been a week since you got out of surgery.”

“I can still look at crime scene photos from my desk and file paperwork,” Spencer said. “And I think you know that you can’t keep running.”

“You want me to leave.” 

“I know you’re going to,” Spencer said. “And I don’t want to get comfortable.” 

“I could stay,” Sam said.

“Sam,” Spencer’s smile was a ghost of the ones he used to see. “If you were going to stay, you would have told me the truth the second you walked through the door, but you haven’t, because whatever it is, it’s not over yet, and you know it.” 

Sam’s chest ached. “What if I make it worse?”

“You mean what if Dean doesn’t forgive you?”

Sam’s eyes stung.

“Running away isn’t making amends.”

“Don’t I have amends to make to you?”

“Then tell me the truth.”

Sam looked away.

“When I come back from work tomorrow, if you’re still here I’ll know you’re ready to tell me the truth, if you’re gone… then you’ve gone to make amends elsewhere, and mine will have to wait.”

“You don’t deserve this,” Sam said. “You deserve to be happy.”

“Then you should try a little harder.”

Sam let out a broken laugh.

“Goodnight, Sam.” 

“Spence,” Sam called before he disappeared into his bedroom, and Spencer looked back. “I love you.” 

The door closed softly between them. 

Sam called Dean’s number. 

Chapter Text

The next package Spencer received had a leather cord with several different charms on it. Charms might have been the wrong word considering one of them was a silver .38 Special, another seemed to be an Enochian rune that said ‘conceal’, and another looked a lot like one of the scars on his back. Spencer looped it around his wrist a few times rather than layer it with his other necklace, the sleeves of his button downs and sweaters easily concealing it. The next was a book on the four horsemen. The next a small bag of black powder. Spencer was starting to lean towards his religious cult theory. They maintained relative radio silence with the exception of a few texts after Sam heard about a brutal case on the news, or if Spencer just needed confirmation that Sam was alive.

Except.

Except he didn’t text back, and Spencer waited five days before calling, but once he started calling he couldn’t stop calling even though Sam never picked up, and going to work felt like sleepwalking. Answering a knock on the door, Spencer opened it to find Dean Winchester. He looked like hell.

“I didn’t want to have to come here.”

Spencer managed to keep his voice level even as Dean started blurring before him in the doorway, “Is he alive?”

“I tried,” Dean said. “I tried to find a way to save him, I looked everywhere, and I’m still looking, I’ll keep looking until I die, but…”

Spencer couldn’t ask the questions bubbling up in his throat because if he so much as inhaled he felt like he would shatter to pieces. 

“He left you a letter, he couldn’t call you because he thought… he thought he would lose his nerve, and I didn’t want to give it to you because that would be like giving up, but you keep calling his phone…” 

Spencer scrubbed at his face like that would stop the way the tears spilled from his eyes, until he could barely see the letter Dean was holding up, but he had enough wherewithal to step back into the room so Dean could step inside. Dean closed the door behind himself, setting his bag down on the floor, and holding out the letter. 

Spencer shook his head, nails digging into his arms. “I can’t.. I can’t…”

Dean nodded, moving by him to set it on the coffee table. “I can’t imagine what you must think of us, but Sammy… he died doing the right thing, you can be sure of that.”

Spencer’s breathing caught in his throat in a strangled little sob. 

“I’ll, uh, I’ll go,” Dean said.

“Wait,” Spencer managed. “Will you… will you tell me the truth?”

Dean looked somewhat agonized. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.” 

“Just something true, anything true.” 

“He loved you,” Dean said. “God, it was kind of obsessive actually, I found this stalker scrapbook of all your cases.”

Spencer let out a wet laugh. “Look at the wall.” 

Dean looked over at his tangled web of tracking the boys potential crimes. “Shit. Match made in heaven, huh?”

Spencer took a few heavy breaths to try to slow the tears. “Are you… are you doing okay?”

“No.” 

“I’ve got whiskey?” 

“Say less.” 

Spencer fetched the expensive whiskey Rossi had bought him for one of his birthdays that had been collecting dust in a cabinet, pouring Dean a glass, before taking a deep drink from the bottle to feel the burn down his throat. Dean knocked his own back.

“He talked about you, y’know? At Stanford,” Spencer said. “You were kind of his hero.”

“You’re joking.”

Spencer shook his head. “No, he said that your dad wasn’t around much so you took care of him growing up.”

“I did.” Dean poured himself a second glass. “Made him dinner, checked his homework, not that it did much good I was a pretty shit student, forged our dad’s signature on field trips…”

“He also said you dressed up like Superman and jumped off the roof of a shed.”

Dean let out a rough laugh. “Yeah, yeah, Sammy jumped off right after me, broke his arm, poor bastard, I had to bike to the hospital with him on my handle bars, god, Dad was pissed…” 

“Your father sounds like an asshole,” Spencer said succinctly, hiccuping after his next drink.

“I’m kind of coming ‘round to that conclusion, I used to idolize that guy, but… I just don’t know anymore.” 

“Mines in jail for murder, so you don’t have the market cornered.”

“You’re a lightweight, huh?”

Spencer topped up Dean’s glass in return. “Tell me something else.”

“Did Sammy ever tell you about when he was in this play, uh…” Dean snapped his fingers. “Our Town, yeah, yeah, it was cute…”

Dean offered up pieces of their childhood in exchange for Sam’s life at Stanford until they had finished the bottle between the two of them, and Spencer couldn’t quite keep his eyes open, slumping down on the living room floor by the coffee table. 

Waking felt like trying to pry cotton from his eyes, and Spencer struggled towards consciousness at the sound of voices.

“Dean,” a low voice said. “Dean, you’re quite inebriated.” 

“M’fine.”

“I fear you are verging on alcohol poisoning considering your increased habits.” 

“Fuck off.”

The voice said something low and quiet.

“What do you mean came back wrong? Cas— shit, thanks.”

“Ow.”

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me?”

“I was trying to fix it.”

“We could have fixed it together, moron.” 

Spencer struggled to open his eyes, making a little sound that was supposed to be a ‘what’.

“Your companion is unwell.”

Two cold fingers pressed against his forehead and it felt like a lead blanket had been lifted off him as he blinked open his eyes to find a man with dark hair and blue eyes looming over him. He was wearing a trench coat. 

Spencer scrambled back. “Who are you and how did you get into my apartment?”

“Woah, easy, this is Cas, he’s my friend,” Dean said. 

“I’m an angel of the lord.”

Dean elbowed him. Hard. “That’s an inside joke, he’s kind of my guardian angel.” 

Spencer swallowed, his mouth dry. 

“You should not drink to excess,” Cas said.

“Great, thanks for the tip,” Spencer said. 

Cas nodded. 

“I’ve got to go, thanks for the drink, or seven, don’t kill your liver though, alright? I think… just take care of yourself, alright?” 

Spencer nodded slowly. “…you too?”

Dean nodded once, grabbing his bag, and dragging his friend out of the apartment after him. Picking himself up off the floor, Spencer showered off, tossed the empty bottle, made himself a cup of coffee, and sat down on the floor to stare at the letter on his coffee table. It wasn’t until his coffee was cold in his hands that he managed to free a folded piece of yellow lined paper from the envelope. 

‘Spencer,

The only regret I have about what I’m about to do, is that it means I won’t keep my promise to you. Until about twenty-four hours ago, it had still been my intention to come back to you once it was over, to tell you the truth once the danger was over, but I won’t be around once it’s over. The first couple drafts of this letter had the truth written out as best I could, but all the truth would do is drag you into the world that my family got swept up into, and that’s the last thing I want to do. So here it is, you’re right, I’m breaking my promise. I promised to come back to you, I promised to tell you the truth, and I promised to love you until I died, and I only managed to keep the last one. I love the way you can wield a word like a weapon even when I get cut. I love how you told me you didn’t need to know as though you haven’t devoured more knowledge in your life than you have food. I love how you constantly try to help people even when you don’t know how. I love how you used to slip rice crispy treats into my bag because you liked them so much and you wanted to make me happy too. And most of all I loved getting a chance to see the life you’re building saving lives and making your own family. I wanted to call, I wanted to hear your voice, but I knew I would have ran right back to you instead of making amends like I needed to if I did. I know you’ll understand that I was trying to do the right thing, but I hope you’ll understand that it wasn’t at your expense. That it was for you too, even though it wasn’t the amends you needed. 

Love,

Sam.’

Spencer folded it back up gingerly and called out sick from work. 

Twenty-four hours was all he allowed himself to scream and cry and fall to pieces in the isolation of his own apartment before tucking Sam’s letter next to where he kept his own, put his mask back into place, and went back into work. 

Chapter Text

Sam didn’t remember the time he was on earth without a soul, but apparently, it had been about three months where he had been working with their grandfather who turned out to be a rather shady figure. Cas had pulled him out of Hell almost immediately, but failed to retrieve his soul until he finally told Dean that Sam was alive and together they managed to make a deal with Death where Dean had to be a reaper for a day. 

“Spencer’s going to kill me," Sam said.

“Yeah, you should, uh, call him, he looked rough when I gave him your letter," Dean said.

Sam winced. 

“He was… unwell,” Cas said. 

Sam tried calling, but there was no answer.

“He probably got rid of the phone. Cas, can you…?”

Cas pressed two fingers to Sam’s forehead, vertigo tearing through him until he found himself standing in Spencer’s living room. It was actually to their benefit that Spencer wasn’t home, because Sam didn’t know how he would react to a teleporting angel and a supposed-to-be-dead-fiancé appearing in his living room. Cas frowned as his phone pinged, pulling it out of his pocket.

“Dean’s text reads: B has case, leave Sammy to reunite with his boy toy,” Cas monotoned. “What is a boy toy?”

“Dean just means that you should go help him with the case while I wait for Spencer.”

Cas disappeared.

Sam almost laughed. “Goodbye to you too, Cas.” 

Spencer’s apartment looked much the same, except there were various books strewn across the coffee table and floor which made Sam pause. 

Spencer fumbled the book he was holding, trying to catch it by one end of the hardcover, but due to age, it just broke at the frayed bend, and the papers fluttered to floor leaving Spencer with only the cover of The Canterbury Tales in one hand. Dropping down to his knees, Sam watched tears well up in Spencer’s eyes as he gingerly picked up the text, still intact due to the secure glue of the spine. 

“Woah, hey, what’s wrong?” Sam knelt down before him.

Spencer sniffled, looking away as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I-I know I’m being irrational, and the level of emotion I feel does not align with what happened—“

“Hey.” Sam cupped his face with both hands, thumbing away a fresh round of tears. “What’s wrong?”

“My mom used to say that a book was a whole world, that destroying one was like taking a life.”

Sam waited. 

“I never… I never had a lot, and I know, rationally, I know that I’m financially stable now that I’m old enough to work without labor laws inhibiting me, but I always had books, and I always tried to take such good care of them…”

“I had this stuffed dog,” Sam said. “And I took it everywhere, and I mean everywhere, I wore it so ragged that it started splitting at the seams and I was devastated. Dean stitched it up, I told him it wasn’t the same, but he told me it was just well loved. That anyone’s whose toys didn’t look raggedy as hell were lonely sons of bitches, yeah, he said that to a six year old.”

Spencer let out a watery laugh.

“So I think this book is probably just really well loved, right?” 

“Yeah.” Spencer rubbed at his nose. 

“And I also think you’re really overtired and you won’t feel as upset after you go to bed.” 

“I had another dream,” Spencer admitted. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“Which is why I’m crying over a book in the living room, isn’t it?” Spencer realized.

Sam nodded. 

“Bed?” Spencer asked.

“Yeah, I’ll join you in a second, okay?” 

Spencer nodded, very gently setting the book on the shelf before slipping into their room. Sam found superglue in one of their kitchen drawers, lining up the cover as best he could, and pressing it into place. It creaked and crackled every time Spencer tried to open the book after that, but Spencer had thanked him with a hug and a little tapped I love you, so he didn’t seem to mind.

Sam put the books back on the shelf to keep them out of risk of getting stepped on as he waited for Spencer to come home. The sticky notes had overtaken the wall, too vast to be covered by the picture which was propped against the baseboards. Spencer’s running theory seemed to be insurance and credit card scams being ran as part of a religious cult or organization and Sam found that he had even managed to identify a few hunters they had bumped into who had a similar pattern of crimes. Without knowing about the supernatural it was a pretty well thought out theory, but Sam would tell him the truth when he got home. 

With all of the monsters and demons roaming the country, Sam couldn’t imagine returning to law school, but now that the apocalypse had been averted Spencer deserved the truth and Sam had promised it to him. Whether Spencer still wanted anything to do with him afterwards would be his choice, but Sam wasn’t willing to give up, not after everyone that he had lost in the past few years. At the very least, Spencer would know he hadn’t had a schizophrenic break all those years ago.

Sam hadn’t expected Spencer to be home anytime close to five, but as it crept later unease settled into his stomach, and he left the TV running through different national news channels to keep an eye on any potential cases he might be working. The cabinets were almost completely bare, same with the fridge, but there was plenty of instant coffee and a couple of mugs in the sink; the sugar and grounds caked on the bottom. For lack of anything better to do, Sam washed them, and set them out to dry.

There were clothes overflowing from the laundry bin in the corner of Spencer’s bedroom, only two clean button downs left hanging in the closet. The blankets were bunched at the bottom of his bed, and one of the pillows was on the floor. It wasn’t something that should have caused a great deal of concern, but Spencer had always been gentle with his belongings. He had kept their apartment clean and tidy unless he was actively in the middle of some brain-child that ended up exploding over their living room with sticky notes and loose pieces of paper. All of the curtains through the apartment had been drawn tight. 

Dean called around eleven. “Any sign of him?” 

“Not yet,” Sam sighed, dropping down onto the couch. “I think he’s probably on a case, but I haven’t found any press releases or news stories mentioning his or his teammates names.” 

“You want to come join us on the case? I’ll have Cas grab you.”

Sam ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m going to give it until morning, but catch me up on what you have.”

“Alright, so, it started with a couple of grave desecrations, and then we’ve got a couple of murders with the bodies bled almost completely dry and some, uh, chunks missing from them.”

Sam frowned. “Werewolf? Vampire?” 

“Well, we’ve got one woman writing all over Facebook that she swears up and down that she saw her late husband outside her window, and when Cas and I went to talk to her she told us how she thought it was a sign from the lord that her own passing was coming soon, so…”

“So either she’s nuts or we have some kind of shapeshifter.”

“Exactly,” Dean said. “Cas and I are going over the lore right now, or, we were, he’s checking in with the whole heaven mess right now, but he said he’ll be back soon-“

“I’m here,” Cas’ voice was muted from distance, but Sam could make it out.

“Jesus Christ!” Dean yelped. “Why is it that you always teleport right up my ass?” 

“I am not up your ass.”

“It’s-it’s like a metaphor, dude.”

“Hyperbole," Sam said.

“Yeah, a hyperbole, exactly.” 

Sam bit back a smile. “So… Cas is up your ass?”

“Shut up.”

“Sounds like you two are having fun.” 

“I’ll kill you.”

“Use protection.”

Dean hung up. Sam dozed on the couch, but come morning Spencer still hadn’t returned, and Cas came to zap him over to Fort Benton to work the case. Saving them from having to impersonate any law enforcement, Cas had zapped into the precinct with Dean, taken photos of the files, and zapped back out which turned out to be a good thing because Dean had almost walked into a man in a coffee shop that he swore up and down was a fed from his eyebrows to his suit to the holster on his hip and second one on his ankle. 

“So tread light,” Sam said. 

“And no coffee,” Dean sighed. “Or pie.”

Sam snorted. 

Sorting through the files they quickly discovered that there were discrepancies from the ME’s estimated time of death to the witness reports of when they were last sighted. One of them was even seen days after when they had to have died.

“Ghouls?” Sam guessed.

“Ghouls,” Dean agreed. 

The cemetery was being patrolled by local officers, but the security was lighter than Sam would have expected, though that could have been because they had come to the same conclusion: whatever it was, wasn’t hiding out there, and it had evolved from dead meat to live. They stopped for burgers at an all night diner as they regrouped. 

“Alright.” Dean waved a fry. “So, I’m a flesh eating freak but I didn’t dig my tunnels under the cemetery where I would have all the access I wanted to as many cold ones as I wanted.”

Sam grimaced at his wording. Cas was unbothered, sitting on Dean’s side of the booth, right, right next to him despite the fact that there was at least six more inches of space available to him. Unlike either of them, he hadn’t bothered ordering food, but he had taken a sip of Dean’s soda because 'the molecules were more pleasing than others'. 

“So where is my lair?” 

“What about one of the parks?” Sam asked. “They could have found a cave or already existing tunnel to build off of.”

“Isn’t that kind of remote?” Dean said.

“…can ghouls drive cars?” 

The whole table looked thoughtful. The chime of the bell made Sam glance up, and he caught the familiar build of agent Derek Morgan. Sam slithered under the table, which was no small feat considering he was 6’4”, and ended up partially squished between Cas' knees. 

“Dude, why are you trying to give Cas head in a burger joint?” Dean hissed.

“Those are people from Spencer’s team, don’t you recognize them?” 

“Shit…” Dean flipped up a menu, and tried to slouch down in the booth, somewhat kneeing Sam in the throat.

“—pointless!” Derek said.

“We don’t have any other leads right now,” Emily said. “So let’s just retrace his steps. He came here to grab dinner, we know that because the workers recognized his picture, he ordered—“

“He took the order, thanked them, left, headed to the right,” Derek interrupted. “We know that, Emily, this is a waste of time.”

“There must have been something he thought of that we’re missing because his car was in the opposite direction than the precinct, and it was only his prints on the car.” 

Derek made a frustrated noise, but he looked around the diner. Sam tried to squish himself smaller as the pair made a slow circle, but either they didn’t notice him, or decided a grown man hiding under the table was none of their business. 

“Emily.” 

“The photo.” Emily followed his gaze. “He had been working on the geographical profile before we left, and the car was pulled over by this park.” 

“They’re already combing the park,” Derek said.

“I’m taking the photo, see if the others see anything else.” Emily took the photo right off the wall, and the pair walked out of the joint.

Sam weaseled back out from under the table. “It sounds like there’s another victim.” 

“And it sounds like you were probably right about the park thing,” Dean said. “Unfortunately, it’s crawling with feds.” 

“Yeah.” 

“But you know where your boy is.”

“Working a serial killer case that’s actually a ghoul,” Sam said.

“I’m sure he’s worked several cases that have appeared to be that way but actually had a supernatural cause,” Castiel said mildly. 

“Probably right about that,” Dean said. 

“Could you not contact your… boy toy, for more information on the case?” Castiel tilted his head to one side.

Dean barely managed to stifle a laugh in the back of his hand while heat rose to Sam’s face.

“I’m not going to ask him to break any laws,” Sam said. “…and he thinks I’m dead.” 

Cas nodded. 

“Well,” Dean clapped salt from his hands. “Let’s go try not to get arrested for the hundredth time.” 

Paying for their meals, they gathered their supplies, but left the Impala to have Cas teleport them into the forest in an effort to avoid the locals searching the woods. The majority of the outcropping of rock were along the river, mud sticking to their boots and rocks rolling underfoot as the walked along the bank. It was over an hour of hiking before they found loose rock that Sam could roll aside to reveal a small tunnel. They had to crawl through the entrance, but it widened up for standing room after a few feet. It was only a handful of yards before there was a split. 

“Left or right, Sammy?” Dean asked.

“I’ll take left,” Sam said. 

“Right it is,” Dean turned right, with Cas following on his heals. “Scream if you’re about to die!”

His voice echoed back to Sam as he walked into the gloom. Walking slowly, Sam swung his light back and forth as he moved through the tunnel, machete on his hip. Technically blunt force would also kill a ghoul so long as they were completely brained, but decapitation was the best way to be certain. Rocks crunched underfoot and the skitter of pebbles echoed down the tunnel that twisted and turned at random. There was a snag of purple fabric on one of the rocks, blood streaked against the wall that looked relatively fresh—

Sam snapped his flashlight at the sound of noise ahead of him, lighting up  a tall, slender figure. His long hair was matted with blood, which rolled down his temple, his t-shirt ripped and torn, and jeans dirty. He held up two shaking hands in answer to Sam freeing his machete. 

“Spence?” 

Spencer flinched back as he reached for him. 

“Spencer, hey, Spence, it’s me, you’re okay.” Sam dropped his machete to take his shoulders. 

Spencer grabbed at his arms with his bloody hands, sharp nails digging into his skin. “There was— there was this thing and it attacked me and we have to get out of here, we have to—“

“Spencer, hey, breathe, it’s okay, where is it?” 

Spencer’s big brown eyes met his, opening his mouth to reply— Bang! Blood splattered Sam’s face as an exit wound tore through Spencer’s forehead and buried in the wall over Sam’s shoulder. Sam clutched at Spencer's shoulders as his head lolled forwards, and his body went limp.

Chapter Text

“You look rough,” JJ said, as Spencer took his seat at the roundtable.

“And you look as radiant as ever,” Spencer said after a sip of coffee. “We have a case?” 

“Yeah, several people have been killed in Fort Benton, Montana.”

Spencer nodded, not bothering to ask any follow up questions considering he would be briefed as soon as the others arrived. It was a month and a half since Dean brought him Sam’s letter, and getting out of bed every morning still felt like putting a new layer of Scotch tape over a broken tea cup and hoping it would hold. The migraines could have been entirely psychosomatic, but they still left him throwing up in FBI bathrooms and seeing flashes. Each of his teammates had attempted a gentle prodding as to what was wrong, but all he offered up was a couple statistics on insomnia to fend them off. 

“Coffee number two?” Emily guessed. 

“Coffee number two looks like it ate coffees three through five,” Derek added. 

“Coffee number four and a half,” Spencer said. 

“And a half?” JJ asked. 

“I forgot I made coffee number two after drinking half of it, and continued to make more,” Spencer said. “I think it’s still sitting on my counter. Shame.” 

“You’ve got to get some sleep, kid,” Derek said.

“Really? That never occurred to me,” Spencer muttered. 

JJ called the briefing to a start once Hotch and Rossi had settled into their seats, giving them the details of three victims who were missing most of their blood volume which was unsurprising considering the array of lacerations and even a few pieces of them cut off. There were conflicting witness testimonies as to when they were last seen alive, especially when compared to the estimated times of death which left the locals baffled. 

“Renfield’s syndrome?” Spencer guessed.

“We’ll know more once we’re there, wheels up in thirty,” Hotch said.

Reviewing the case on the plane, Hotch assigned them different witnesses to interview to see if they could understand why several of them had said they had seen them hours or even days after the ME’s time of death, but once they landed the witnesses gave nearly the same statement they had given before with enough variation that it didn’t sound rehearsed. 

Circling up with Chinese takeout, they compared statements with one another as they ate. Pushing around his noodles, Spencer set his carton aside, folding his arms on the table, and resting his cheek on them as he listened to them talk. There was a flare in his eyes as he accidentally glanced up towards the florescent lights, and he turned his face in his arms. 

“Reid?” Hotch said.

“Listening,” Spencer said. “Just trying to reduce stimulation and free up some brain space.” 

“Is it working?” Rossi asked.

“I would have to talk to the ME, the easiest way to throw off a time of death would be to mess with the body temperature somehow, but I would need to know exactly what led her to make her estimates.”

“Tomorrow,” Hotch said. “We’ll finish going through victimology tonight and then get some sleep.” 

Spencer kept his head down as they talked, occasionally adding his own thoughts, but he hadn’t noticed anything in the statements that would account for discrepancy between last seen and time of death. 

“Alright, kid, c’mon, let’s go find you a real bed.” Derek clapped his shoulder. 

Spencer winced as he had to lift his head out of the dark safety of his arms, barely resisting the urge to shield his face as they walked out of the precinct. Derek put a heavy arm on his shoulder when he stumbled walking through the hotel lobby, walking him right up to his door.

“You want to tell me what’s actually been bothering you?” Derek asked.

“I’m just… I’m tired.”

“Kid,” 

“No, I mean, I’m tired, Derek. It’s just… it’s just one thing after another, and isn’t it supposed to get easier at some point?”

“Spencer, this job-“

“It’s not the job.” Spencer said with a bitter laugh. “It’s my schizophrenic mother, and my pedophile father, and my apartment burning down, and my dead ex-boyfriend who I can’t talk about because apparently his family is full of criminals, and the fact that I just hit exactly, exactly the age for schizophrenic breaks. I’m tired, Derek.” 

Derek looked a little lost. “What can I do?”

“Save me some coffee tomorrow?” 

“You want me to get an IV, set up a line?”

“Yes, please.” 

Derek laughed, tussling his hair, and Spencer managed a weak smile.

“You know I’m serious, kid, right? If you need something…”

“I know.” 

“Alright.” Derek patted his shoulder before stepping away. “Get some sleep.”

Spencer scraped together a few hours of sleep before making a beeline for the coffee. He was on his fourth by the time he and Rossi went to the ME's office, a little shake in his hands that he was pretending wasn’t there as he looked over the eviscerated bodies. They were in varying states of decay considering they had been fished out of the river, which had washed away any hope of DNA evidence. Handing his coffee to Rossi, he pulled on a glove with a snap, manipulating one of the cuts on the victim’s throat, it was more jagged than some of the other lacerations with some flesh missing from the wound.

“I think the unsub bit them.”

“There’s no bite mark,” the ME said.

“I think they might have bit first then cut when they realized it would be a more effective way of getting blood,” Spencer said. 

“I’ll look to see if there’s any indentation in some of the other layers of skin, but it is unlikely I’ll be able to get enough to match to dental records,” the ME said.

“Worth a shot,” Rossi said. 

“Can you walk me through how you estimated the times of death?” Spencer asked.

Rossi and Spencer listened as she walked them through each victim, but he didn’t hear any abnormalities that could speak to an altered body temperature, rigor mortis, or lividity. Pulling off his gloves, Spencer took his coffee back as they left the ME’s office, drinking the last few sips despite the fact that it had gone cold. 

Derek and Emily had checked the river banks with the locals for any evidence that may have been left to no avail, but they still had locals looking. Hotch and JJ had gone to the victims homes to profile anything they could on why these victims considering they crossed racial and gender lines which made it seem less likely that it was sexual in some way and more likely it was some kind of compulsion. There were signs of a struggle at one of the victim’s houses, but none of the others, leading them to believe the other two must have been abducted at some other location, and they still didn’t know where they had been killed. Despite the forensic countermeasure of dumping them in the river, it didn’t appear as though the unsub had bothered to weigh them down at all. 

“Alright, let’s go over it, what do we have?” Rossi asked.

“Without knowing where the other two victims were taken from its hard to pin down a comfort area,” Spencer said, looking at the map; he had marked the victims homes, places of work, and even two of their running routes, but it wasn’t a lot to go on.

“What we do have,” Rossi reminded.

“Crosses gender and race lines,” Derek said. “So it’s likely not sexual so much as a need for blood.” 

“He also left them partially dressed, the states of undress seemed to only be a way to get access to blood and skin,” Emily said. 

“It’s a compulsion, a need, which I would say doesn’t imply sadism, but the sheer amount of evisceration… wouldn’t it be easier to drain them from only a few cuts? Wouldn’t this waste the blood?”

“He’s playing with his food,” Spencer realized.

The others looked at him.

“His need for blood doesn’t bother him, it feels totally rational to him, and he’s enjoying his meals,” Spencer said. “He’s just… a messy eater.” 

The others looked mildly sickened. 

“It also implies that he doesn’t believe he’s going to get caught,” Spencer said. “If he’s this careless with his food, then it means he thinks he can always get more.”

“He’s organized, has sadistic personality disorder, intelligent, has the physicality to restrain his victims, and arrogant,” Rossi said. “I would say that puts him likely in his late twenties, doesn’t stand out, but considering the blitz attacks not particularly charismatic…”

Hotch’s phone rang, answering it, he frowned as who was on the other line spoke, before thanking them, and hanging up.

“They managed to get a partial bite mark on one of the victims,” Hotch said. “They can’t say for certain, but it matches up with one of the other victims dental records.” 

“That’s impossible,” Emily said. “He never held two of them at the same time.”

Hotch’s frown agreed with her. 

Derek leaned back in his chair with a sigh, scrubbing at his face. 

“…dinner?” JJ suggested. 

“Is there anything open this late?” Emily asked. 

“There’s a twenty-four hour diner I saw when we drove to the ME’s office,” Spencer said, only to find the others looking at him expectantly. “You do realize that I’m a full-fledged FBI agent and not a trainee who you send to grab coffees for you?” 

“Yeah, but you already have our orders memorized,” Emily said. 

Spencer huffed, but got to his feet, waving off their called thank you’s as he made his way out of the precinct. His protests were mainly for show, it didn’t really bother him to get sent to grab dinner and coffee now and again, they had all done it at one point or another. It was also true, he never had to ask what people’s orders were considering they ate together so often it would have been impossible for him not to memorize what they wanted from various fast food places. Placing his order at the counter, he ambled around the diner; it had red booths, neon signs in the windows, and a couple of pictures on the walls. He paused before one of the river, it looked close to where some of the bodies had washed up, but the lighting had illuminated the mouth of what looked like a little cave. He couldn’t be certain that it wasn’t just a shadow, but if it was a cave it would be a perfect secondary location considering the unsub could just roll the bodies right down the river from there and wash his hands of it. 

Collecting his order, he set the bag in the passenger seat, but drove away from the precinct and towards the river. Parking along a stretch of woods, he hiked towards the bank using the flashlight of his phone to light his way. The snap of a twig, had his hand dropping to his gun, and he turned in a slow circle, but there was nothing there. 

“I should call for back up,” Spencer said slowly. “Even if it just a shadow and not a—“

Something collided with him, taking him to the forest floor. Spencer lost hold of his phone, one hand trying to shove his attacker off of him, while the other reached for his gun, but his attacker was far, far faster than he was. The first blow was strong enough that it snapped his head to the side, his ears ringing, and spots dancing in his eyes, leaving him dazed enough that the attacker started tying his wrists. Spencer slammed his knee up between them, hitting something soft, and earning a grunt. He tried to crawl out from under his attacker, but sharp nails dug into his thigh, yanking him back towards him, and slicing through his slacks and skin. His attacker slammed his face into the ground, temple connecting with something sharp, and consciousness slipped from his grasp. 

Spencer woke up hanging by his wrists in a cave, an instinctive struggle told him he was too firmly bound to wiggle himself free, his toes barely brushing the ground, and his shoulders aching. His head was pounding, blood matted in his brow, and rolling down the side of his face. 

“Oh good, you’re awake.” 

A figure stepped into the light, and Spencer had to blink hard because it looked like Andy Drew, their last victim, who he had seen on the slab just hours before. 

“Now, most of my brothers and sisters are content with, hm, scavenging, and honestly, I only took that woman because I was curious, but man, do I see what the fuss is all about, it’s like why have days old leftovers when you can order a nice hot pizza?”

“Your brothers and sisters?” Spencer repeated. “Are you… are you doing this as a family?”

“No,” Andy sighed, running his fingers, though they looked a little more like claws, against the cave wall. “They didn’t get me, once I made the switch they were afraid some pesky little hunters might come along, so they moseyed on out of town, leaving me all by myself, I mean, who does that? Abandons family?” 

Spencer swallowed. “That’s not right, family is supposed to stick together, through anything, right? That’s what families for, isn’t it?”

“Exactly!” Andy tossed his hands up. “See? You get it.”

Spencer nodded. “Yeah, I do, my dad left when I was only ten, and that kind of abandonment, it’s just not right, you deserve a loving supportive family.”

“It would be like if your family walked out on your for being vegan,” Andy said. “I mean, they eat people too, why does it make me a bad person for wanting them while they’re still fresh?”

If Andy was raised by some type of dead-body-eating cult, Spencer knew he didn’t have any chance of de-conditioning years of beliefs in a handful of minutes, but if he could redirect him, make himself interesting enough to keep alive until his team could find him… that was an option.

“It’s hypocritical,” Spencer said.

“Exactly. Exactly.” 

“Is that why you killed your twin?” 

“My-“ Andy looked down at himself, and then laughed. “Oh, right, you’re a fed, huh? Came to look for the missing bodies?”

“I did,” Spencer said. “But mostly I came to learn about you, you’re fascinating.”

Andy grinned. “You have no idea.” 

Spencer’s stomach tied itself into knots, there was just something not right about his smile, too sharp, too stretched, too… inhuman. 

“I guess it’s fine dining tonight with such honored company.” Andy circled him. 

“Don’t you want to hear what we’ve found on you?” Spencer asked, his heart kicking against his ribs. “Don’t you want to know how hard we’re looking for you?” 

“Mm, maybe after I get a taste.” 

Spencer swallowed down his heart as Andy ripped his sweater vest free, almost choking him with how he yanked on his tie, taking a few deep breaths as he reminded himself that their unsub’s sadism wasn’t anything sexual. It was just about the pain. Andy’s nails ran along his throat, nosing along his jaw, and inhaling deeply. Spencer stifled a shudder, looking up at the ceiling as Andy ripped his button up open, dragging the sharp tips of his nails down his chest, and digging in. Spencer bit back a cry as Andy dug slow grooves into his chest, fingers curling into fists as Andy drew his tongue over the stinging marks, cold and slimy. 

“Mmm, you’re delicious.”

“There’s,” Spencer swallowed down bile as Andy licked blood from under his nails. “There’s very few published reports on clinical vampirism—“

Andy laughed. “Clinical vampirism? God, you people come up with the funniest shit to explain what you don’t understand.”

“Then explain-“ Spencer ground his teeth as Andy licked a line of blood from his cheek. “Then explain it to me.”

“You’ll understand it soon enough,” Andy promised, stepping back and licking his lips. “Tell me about who you think I am.” 

Spencer started walking through the ME’s report first, talking about the cuts on the bodies, the partial bite mark, the confusion in times of death, how Andy had them all stumped, but rather than gloat like Spencer expected he just looked amused. Toying. He was toying with Spencer. He was playing with his food. Spencer swallowed hard. 

“What do you think your team would think if they found you with Andy Drew’s bite marks on you?” Andy asked, his cold breath coasting along his throat as he stood behind him; he smelled like rotting flowers. 

“I think—“ Spencer bit down on his tongue until he tasted blood as Andy bit down so hard on his shoulder that blood began to well up, and he licked it away. 

“Tell me more,” Andy said. “Why were you in the woods all alone, huh?”

“I thought you might be taking people into a cave system because it would make disposing them in the river easy once you were finished.” 

Andy laughed. “God, it was like getting dinner delivered when I found you wandering so close to my cave. I was afraid I was going to have to wait until you guys cleared out for my next real meal.” 

Spencer wondered what it said about him that he could still managed to feel embarrassed about being dumb when he had far bigger issues... like a serial killer that was planning on eating him. 

“They’ll be looking for me,” Spencer said. “You should… you should make it last, you don’t know when your next meal will be with the feds circling.”

Andy dug his nails into his flat stomach, but they were too sharp for any human to manage, it had to be… it had to be some kind of enhancement that caused the blood to flow so easily from the shredded skin. Andy gorged himself, blood seeping into Spencer’s waistband, and running down Andy’s chin as he ate. Spencer had been right; he was a messy eater. Tearing himself away, Andy wiped his face on the back of his hand.

“No… no, I should make you last, you’re right. It could be weeks until they leave.” 

Spencer tried not to feel sick at the thought of weeks of this, of his team being forced to chalk him up to ‘killed in action’, and flying home without him only for his body to wash up bloody and bloated a week later.

“Tell me more about your team,” Andy said. “There’s, hm, Agent Morgan? Derek. Derek, you like Derek, huh? You’ve never had a best friend before… though he might share the title with… JJ? Jennifer, hm…”

Andy tilted his head to the side as though he was listening to something, and dread curled up in Spencer’s chest that the unsub could be more delusional than he had profiled, not to mention he clearly had some intimate knowledge of the team.

“Hm, I’m not getting a lot, I think I need another taste.”

“I-“ 

Spencer couldn’t help his cry as one sharp nail sliced his arm open wrist to forearm, white hot pain flaring down to his shoulder and up to the tips of his fingers before they went numb, but the pain flared fresh with each pass of Andy’s tongue. Blood ran down Spencer's arm, soaking into his shredded button down, and dripping onto the cave floor. Spots danced in Spencer’s eyes as Andy pulled back with a laugh, wiping at his face.

“Now, I see, they’re your little family, aren’t they? Derek, JJ, Emily, Hotch, Rossi, and Penelope, they’re all you have in your whole world. Should I pay them a little visit? See if you can still, hm, sympathize with me then? Once your family’s gone?” Andy’s teeth were stained with blood as he grinned at him.

“Stay the hell away from them,” Spencer spat. 

Andy just laughed again and Spencer watched with horror as his bones began to shift under his skin, stretching, and morphing until he was staring at his own bloodstained face. 

“Think they’ll be happy to see you?” Andy stretched his face into a smile. “Or, me?” 

“Stay away from them! Stay the hell away from them!” Spencer shouted, but he was already walking down the tunnel. “Come back! Kill me! Kill me!” 

Spencer struggled against his ropes, kicking out at the air, and nearly dislocating his shoulder, but it held firm. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he closed his eyes and took stock of what he knew. Andy, or whoever, or whatever it was, wasn’t human, had the ability not only to wear his face, but somehow knew his memories as well. A shapeshifter. Spencer’s eyes opened as passages of text from one of the books Sam sent him ran through his head, and he looked up at his bound wrists. He could feel the charms on his bracelet digging into his skin under the ropes. Looking desperately around the cave he saw his badge, revolver, and shredded vest in a pile in the corner.

Spencer tried the ropes again, slower, more methodical this time, and he found that his left hand could move a little easier, slick with blood from his arm. Twisting it slowly, slowly, he managed to pull it free, though it took a couple attempts for his bloody fingers to get his second one free, dropping down to his feet. His knees gave out under himself, and Spencer allowed himself exactly one deep breath before he snatched up his gun, forcing himself to his feet. Staggering down the hall, he emptied the revolver with a clatter of bullets against the floor, ripping the silver bullet free from his bracelet, and setting it in the barrel. Turning down the hall he heard voices, a tall figure partially obscured by his own back. Spinning the chamber, Spencer took aim, and squeezed the trigger. 

It was a sick sort of fascination that he watched his own body collapse limp into the other person’s arms, but it didn’t stay down. Feebly, it tried to rise back up, using both the other person’s arms, and the wall. Not a shapeshifter. A ghoul. Spencer grabbed it by the hair, his hair, and slammed its head against the cave wall, once, twice, three times, until its skull caved in and it fell still to the floor when he released it. Breathing hard, Spencer wiped blood from his face as he looked up at the figure staring at him.

Sam. 

He was holding a machete, but it was low by his hip; his hair was long enough to curl by his jaw, but Spencer could recognize him even by a shaky flashlight. 

“This is the family secret?” Spencer asked breathlessly. “Ghouls?”

“And-and other monsters,” Sam stammered. 

Spencer’s eyes flicked back and forth across his face. “How do I know it’s you? Ghouls can take the form of dead people, and last I checked…”

“I mean, you could shoot me, but I’d die…”

Spencer nodded, stepping over his own body, curling one bloody hand in the front of Sam’s shirt, and pulling him down into a kiss. Sam dropped his machete, one hand cradling the back of his head, and the other wrapping around Spencer’s back to steady him as he lost his footing. 

Sam pulled back slightly, brushing his hair from his face, and cupping his jaw. “I was going to tell you, I went to your apartment, and you weren’t there—“

Spencer stumbled slightly, only Sam’s arm around his waist keeping him from tipping backwards as the adrenaline started to slip through his fingers. Sam looked down at the blood streaked between them.

“You’re really bleeding, I’ve got to get you to a hospi—“

Spencer followed his gaze to where it had landed on the chain hanging from his throat, the ring smeared with blood as the cuts continued to bubble up and bleed. 

“You kept it.”

“You’ll still have to ask.”

Sam laughed, a little broken thing, but his smile was bright. “I will, Spence.” 

The second kiss was soft and slow, but also short because Spencer was starting to shake. Sam swept him up into his arms, and Spencer tucked his hurt arm close, the other holding onto Sam’s neck, but there wasn’t really any need.

“You got stronger.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, a little, killing monsters is good cardio.”

“Wait- my badge-“ Spencer twisted in his arms, only to hiss at a fresh wave of pain, and squeeze his eyes shut.

“We’ll get it later,” Sam said. 

Spencer only nodded, taking slow, deep breaths to keep from throwing up on Sam as he carried him out of the tunnels. 

“I can walk,” Spencer lied.

“You don’t want me to carry you over the threshold?” Sam teased.

“The threshold of a corpse-eater’s cave? Pass.” 

Sam laughed and Spencer could feel the vibration of it.

“I thought you were dead,” Spencer said quietly.

“I know, Spence, I… it’s a long story, but I’ll explain it all, okay? I promise.”

“Don’t-“

“I promise,” Sam said firmly. “But you need medical attention.”

Spencer let his cheek rest on Sam’s shoulder, taking a deep breath of cheap laundry detergent, and gunpowder, and Sam. As they walked deeper into the woods, Spencer could hear distant voices, and flashlights peeking though the trees. Sam set him gently on the ground, by the base of a tree, but looked hesitant to actually leave even as the voices grew closer.

“Go,” Spencer said. 

Sam kissed him quick before disappearing back into the trees. Taking a deep breath, Spencer called out as he heard an unfamiliar voice calling his name and soon he was surrounded by flashlights and cops talking over one another. 

“Spencer.”

Hotch shoved his way through the others to crouch down in front of him.

“Can you stand?”

Spencer nodded. 

Hotch wrapped his jacket around his shoulders before helping him up to his feet, putting his good arm over his shoulders when Spencer swayed so they could limp back towards the road.

“It’s a cave system,” Spencer told him. “That’s where he’s keeping them, but I don’t know where he went, he left me alone, and-“

“Hospital first,” Hotch said. 

Hotch rode with him to the hospital where they cleaned his cuts, stitched him up, and informed him that while he had a mild concussion there shouldn’t be any long term damage. JJ sat down on the edge of his bed while Hotch asked the doctor a few follow up questions.

“The others wanted to be here, but they’re out looking for the unsub,” JJ said apologetically. “Can I ask you a few questions?” 

Spencer winced as he shifted up against the headboard. “Hit me.”

“Why did you drive to the woods?”

“I saw a picture of the rock outcropping in the diner, it was close to where the bodies had washed up, and I thought I saw a cave on the cliffside which would have made for an easy secondary location and disposal site.”

“And you didn’t call us because?”

“I wasn’t sure if it was an actual cave or just a shadow of the light in the picture, so I went to check.”

“By yourself?”

“I only got a couple of yards into the woods before I thought about it, but when I took my phone out, something— someone knocked me out.”

JJ nodded. “That fits with where we found your phone.” 

Spencer ran his fingers through his hair, bandages wrapped around his wrist to cover the rope burn, and taped all the way up one forearm over an impressive line of stitches. It made the stab scar on his other arm look like a paper cut. 

“I woke up in a cave, he had my wrists tied over my head, my feet could barely touch the floor.”

“Did you get a good look at him?”

Spencer shook his head. 

"Anything at all," JJ pressed.

"It was dark."

“Okay, what happened next?”

Spencer couldn’t help the shudder that ran through him, while his wounds had been disinfected, they had still swabbed for saliva first, and he didn’t think he would feel clean until six or seven showers later. 

“He… started feeding.”

JJ’s expression pinched. “I kind of… I kind of need details.”

“He cut me and then drank the blood,” Spencer said. 

“Anything else? Anything at all?” 

Spencer shook his head. “He said he was going to make it last because he didn’t know when he would get to feed again with the heat from the FBI being in town, so, I guess I got lucky.”

“How did you get free?” 

“He left,” Spencer said. “I don’t know where, but the blood made it slippery enough that I could get my hand free. I got my gun, but he wasn’t in the tunnels, I think my badge is still back there somewhere…” 

“Okay.”

“I walked back towards the woods and called out when I heard the LEOs.” 

“The others are trying to find the caves now from the directions you gave Hotch in the ambulance,” JJ said. 

“If they can’t find them, I could… I could go back, I know where they are.”

“No,” Hotch said firmly. 

“They’ve already given me a pint of blood, and I’m all stitched up, I don’t need to stay here.” 

“Once the doctors give you the okay to leave you will either be escorted back to the hotel or to the precinct by one of us, those are your options.” 

Spencer winced. “Because I didn’t call for backup?”

“It’s not a punishment, Reid,” Hotch said. “You’ve just been attacked by a serial killer.”

Spencer pictured the way he had bashed his own skull in, and prayed Sam and Dean had gotten rid of the body before his team found the tunnels. JJ stayed with him while the doctors finished running their blood tests and made sure he was steady on his feet. Deciding to go to the hotel was an easy decision considering that’s where the showers were, but after a thorough scrubbing and a fresh set of clothes, they returned to the precinct where Spencer sipped on a soda and tried to pretend like he was still working the profile rather than trying to process that ghouls existed, and likely, a great many other things. And that he kissed his not-fiancé who was apparently not dead. 

It was nearing seven am when the others returned to the precinct looking exhausted, but they all asked him how he was and fussed over the cut on his temple. Derek looked furious as he started digging back into the profile despite Hotch’s order to get some rest.

“We’re going to catch this bastard,” Derek said.

“Derek,” Spencer said. “I’m fine.” 

Derek ignored this.

“Uh, hey, guys?” JJ got their attention. “I just got a call from the ME, the, uh, the bite mark on Spencer’s shoulder? It’s Andy Drew’s.” 

“That’s not possible,” Rossi said. “He’s lying in the morgue.” 

The others exchanged glances, but they were looking for answers that the others didn’t have. Except Hotch, who was looking right at him. Spencer held perfectly still under his gaze.

“You lied, didn’t you?”

Spencer tensed.

“It wasn't that dark in the cave,” Hotch said.

“No,” Spencer said. “He looked exactly like Andy Drew, and I mean, exactly.” 

“Call Garcia,” Hotch ordered. “Have her check each of our victims for twins.” 

It was a pointless call. None of them had twins, or even siblings, or half siblings. It was another few days of raking through the case, but there wasn’t anything more they could do, but give the locals the profile. Derek argued that they should stay longer, but Strauss called them back when Hotch tried to extend their stay another few days, and they ended up on the plane.

“I’m sorry we didn’t find him.” Emily put a hand on Spencer's arm. “But the locals have the profile.” 

“He’ll get caught eventually,” Derek said, but he was glaring out the window.

“It’s okay,” Spencer said. “Really.” 

The others didn’t look convinced, but they didn’t push him any further aside from Derek insisting on giving him a ride back to his apartment. Spencer climbed the stairs, unlocking the door and stepping inside to find it nicer than when he left. His books had been replaced on the shelf, the cups clean and drying on the counter, though his bedroom was untouched. On his coffee table was a sticky note with only a number written on it. Pulling his old burner from where it had been collecting dust in his bedside table, he plugged it into charge, finding several missed calls as it turned on. Spencer dialed the number, his heart kicking in his chest as he listened to it ring. It rang out. Spencer felt like he had been kicked in the chest.

“Spence.”

Spencer jumped, drawing his gun, and leveling it at— Sam. Sam who was standing in his living room with Dean on his left, and Dean’s friend Cas on his right.

“Nice reflexes,” Dean said. 

Spencer’s eyes flicked over to the deadbolt on the door. “How did you…?”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “Cas, uh, Cas can teleport.” 

“I’m an angel of the lord,” Cas said seriously.

Spencer stared at him, which Cas apparently took as a need to prove his word as the shadow of great dark wings appeared on the walls, and his apartment shook, lights flickering. 

Dean patted Cas’ chest. “Put those away, buddy, you’re going to freak him out. Freak him out more at least.” 

Cas frowned, but the wings disappeared.

Sam looked a little sheepish. “You ready for the truth?”

Spencer set his gun down on the coffee table. “Ready.” 

It was a long story, but somehow easier to swallow than Spencer expected, though that could be because only days earlier he had blown his own brains out with a silver bullet. 

“Okay,” Spencer said once they finished.

“Okay?” Sam asked.

“I believe you,” Spencer said. “I would have liked to hear the truth a lot sooner, but considering the whole apocalypse I think it can be excused.”

Sam let out a weak laugh. 

“I can hide you from the angels,” Cas said. “They shouldn’t be a threat to you, but if you would like the protection I can provide it.”

“By that he means he’s going to burn it into your ribs,” Dean warned.

“The pain will be fleeting,” Cas assured. 

Spencer looked down at the bracelet missing from his wrist. “Yeah, okay.”

Cas pressed two fingers to his forehead, but he frowned. “You are already hidden.” 

“I am?” 

“It’s… an old rune, but effective against both angels and demons.” 

Spencer shifted the collar of his shirt down to show him the scar on his chest.

“Yes,” Cas said. “I haven’t seen it for centuries, but I recognize it. It’s… hard to describe. It conceals your soul, you cannot be found by either angel nor demon or their magic.”

“That’s handy,” Dean said. 

Spencer fixed his collar, but he didn’t bother tucking the ring back under, Sam's eyes lingering on it.

“Alright, Cas, let’s leave these two crazy kids alone,” Dean said.

“They are both adults.”

“I- let’s just go, man.”

“Very well.”

Spencer watched Dean and Cas disappear. “I’m going to need awhile to get used to that.”

“You’re taking this a lot better than most people do,” Sam said.

“It’s honestly better than some of the alternatives I had come up with in the absence of the truth.”

“I never wanted to get you caught up in this… in this life,” Sam said.

“Why?” Spencer asked.

“It’s dangerous.”

“And catching serial killers isn’t?”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“Sam,” Spencer said. “I would have died in those tunnels if I didn’t know the lore on ghouls.” 

“I can’t… I can’t leave the life, I’m not the same anymore.”

“Do you still love me?” 

“Always.”

“Then I suggest you stop worrying about things out of your control, and start worrying about how to win your boyfriend back after leaving him alone in a hospital room with a ring, an apology note, and nowhere to go.” Spencer jabbed his finger into his chest.

“Fiancé,” Sam corrected.

“If that was how you propose then you have as much sense of romance as the killers I hunt.” 

“You kept the ring.”

“Do you see me wearing it?”

“Still just as difficult as ever, huh?”

“More so.” 

Sam kissed him. “I love you.” 

“Prove it.”