Chapter Text
It had been a year since Georgia, since Spencer found out how good being numb felt, a few days after, he shot up willingly for the first time. it had been 11 months since pushing Morgan (and whatever feelings had been developing) out of his personal life. It's been 10 months since he ran out of Tobias’ vials. 9 months, 4 weeks since he first bought Dilaudid in a sketchy alleyway from a hospital worker that didn't care for his job. 7 months since his accidental overdose, having to be admitted under a false name to deter the team from finding out. 6 months since he’d dumped the vials down the drain and decided it was too risky to be high where he worked, he was being selfish and putting lives in danger.
In those 6 months, he’d brought back a different addiction; he had found a different way to quiet his mind, one he used to use after his dad left. Now, it has been 5 months, 2 weeks, 3 days, and 7 hours since Spencer first slid that blade across his skin again, initially just high enough that he could slightly roll up his sleeves when cases brought the team to warmer climates. At first, it was just when the cravings were loud, now he keeps a blade in his messenger bag, in the same pocket where the needles used to be, he needed the blade on him at all times. Scars and cuts cover his arms and legs; he can't even fold his sleeves anymore. In the back of his mind, he knew this wasn't a good idea, the team was getting suspicious, they had to have noticed their innocent boy genius wasn't his normal self… but he wouldn’t stop, no.. he couldn't stop.
It was supposed to be a normal Thursday. Spencer woke up, took a shower that stung just right, and got dressed: A light blue shirt, dark blue pants, black belt, mismatched socks, his red tie, and his favorite red cardigan. He fastened his watch over the sleeve of his right arm, it put a grounding amount of pressure against one of the new cuts on his arm. He walked through his home (that looked more like an active warzone rather than his home) and to his door, sliding his gun and holster onto his belt, trying not to think too hard about the weapon now attached to his hip. He slid his shoes on, grabbed his bag, and exited his apartment. He rode the metro and then walked the rest of the way to the FBI building. He was ready to walk into the bullpen for a boring paperwork day… just paperwork.
Though.. as he walked into the bullpen and saw the team in the round table room, he became confused. Spencer didn't get a call about a case? As he walked up, he hoped it was local, or else Morgan would have to take him to his apartment before wheels up, that just couldn't happen, he couldn't be alone with him or let him see the state of Spencer's apartment. He opened the door and they all looked at him strangely, with the faces they reserved for victims' families… What was going on?
“Whats the case?” Spencer questioned curiously as he stood in the doorway, even more closed in on himself than he used to be.
“No case. Take a seat, Reid.” Hotch requested, his tone something Spencer had never heard in the office before, a calm tone probably reserved for when Jack was upset.
He finally understood what was going on when he saw Rossi move to the door, as if he was trying to keep everyone in the room… he was trying to keep Spencer in the room. He took another look around. Penelope looked like she had been crying, JJ too. Morgan tried his best to keep his face unreadable- but Spencer had always been able to read him like a book.
Did they know??
Spencer was so fucked.
But, instead of being asked to pull up his sleeves like he had thought, Hotch put a sample container in front of him… What the hell??
And he said exactly what he was thinking, “What the hell?!” he questioned. They really thought he was that weak, that he was still doing drugs?? They thought he was that weak??
“If it's positive in any form, you’re going to rehab. You need help, I will personally ensure your position at the BAU is protected while you get it.” Hotch elaborates, it’s obvious that he doesn't have faith he's clean.
“It's just a precaution,” Rossi speaks up from the door, arms crossed like a prison guard, he didn't know Spencer well enough to voice any concern.
“You haven't been acting like yourself, Spence.” JJ voices gently from her seat. Emily nods in agreement beside her, as if she had even been around long enough to know what Spencer “normally” acts like. If Elle were here she’d understand.
“I dont think victims of torture come back acting like their old selves.” Spencer snaps, even though he knew he would pass the drug test.
“It’s just a standard five-panel drug test, Reid. If you're not using, why are you so reluctant?” Rossi questions from the door, his face void of any feelings.
“I’m not peeing in a cup for my boss so you all will believe me! Why won't you just take my word?” Spencer asks, crossing his arms around himself.
“Youve been closed off ever since Georgia.” Morgan spoke up, his voice filled with a protective worry that went far beyond the boundaries of a coworker. “you won’t roll up your sleeves around anyone, you go straight home at 5, you wont even talk to me, Reid you have to see how suspicious that seems.”
“Listen Reid,” Hotch said with a sigh, clearly wanting to get on with this, “either you consent to this voluntary drug screening, or you get 5150’d and they will do a test anyways. You know this is just because we’re worried”
Spencer grabs the container off of the round table, “fine, I’ll do the test. Just know I'm expecting an apology when it comes back negative.”
After an embarrassing bathroom trip where hotch was stationed outside of the door, they meet back in the round table room, waiting for the rapid test to finish. “I just want you to know if this comes back positive, it's not a failure.” Hotch told him.
Spencer just stood there, waiting for the results to show with his arms crossed. When the test was ready he saw Hotch throw him a confused look after reading at the results.
“I’ve been clean for 6 months, for your information.” Spencer said, his voice dry and bitter.
“Youve got to understand why we were concerned, Spence you've barely spent any time with us outside of the office!” Penelope told him softly, fidgeting with one of the many rings on her fingers. “...Im worried about you, boy genius, you have to understand that.”
Penelope's vulnerability almost got him to admit to his secret, he almost broke right there seeing one of his best friends still this worried about him. But no. He couldn't break. And of course that pit in his stomach makes him return back to anger.
“So what? Wanting a break from the people I'm around everyday makes me an addict?” he snapped, making Penelope flinch slightly at his turn in emotions.
“Thats enough, Reid. This conversation is over for the time being, we all have paperwork to do. Morgan has volunteered to take you home tonight, you will let him.” Hotch interrupted, his authoritative tone making no room for argument.
That's the exact thing Spencer wanted to avoid, he didn't want Derek seeing the state of his apartment, but Hotch gave him a glare that said not to push it. So, he didn't. He let the work day go on as normal.
…or as close to normal as it could be with everyone glancing at him every 30 seconds.
Derek accompanied him home just like he was supposed to. When they got into the apartment, he ignored the reaction to the state of it and beelined it to the bathroom with a quick mumble of “ill be right back.” Despite the fact he wouldn't leave his bathroom looking like a biohazard scene, he had to make sure everything looked normal.
Inside the small bathroom he tried to study it from an outsider perspective. The box of razor blades under his sink made sense, he obviously shaved, it wasn't like he had a different brand of blades specifically for slicing his skin open… The first aid kit right beside them could be seen as suspicious, maybe that was the paranoia talking, but he still shoved it to the back of the cabinet to make it seem like it wasn't used often, a “just in case” type of deal. Before he left the bathroom he flushed the toilet and let the sink run, so Derek didn't question his unnecessary bathroom trip.
When he walked out he immediately went into his room to change, not even glancing at Derek. He honestly wanted to avoid him as much as possible tonight.
Spencer changed into a baggie hoodie and a pair of black sweatpants, he took a minute to grab a stim toy off of his nightstand before returning to the livingroom, where Derek apparently took it upon himself to start cleaning.
“You don't have to clean up my mess for me, I'm already taking up your time with Hotch’s insistenting you stay with me. Also the books are alphabetical by author, not title.” He told Derek, who was putting books back on his shelf in the completely wrong order.
“Just thought it'd be nice for you to be able to see your coffee table, pretty boy.” Derek had replied back, already taking a look at the spines of the books to fix the mistake. “Youre normally on top of putting your books back if you don't need them for something, you can surely understand why I'm doing this.”
“I understand, it's just not your job to clean up after me like this. It's not like you're my boyfriend or anything.” he snapped back, sitting down on the couch and tucking his feet up to his chest, fidgeting with the toy in his hands.
At that Derek sighed and stopped what he was doing, taking a seat beside him, but giving him room to breathe. “Youre right, I'm not your boyfriend. But before everything it kinda seemed like I was on track to it. Then Georgia happened, and now you're not yourself.”
“I’ve already stated that most kidnapping victims don't bounce back to their old baseline personality after the fact. This is who I am now and you're gonna have to accept that. None of you acted like this after what happened with Elle”
“Spencer, Elle shot a rapist in cold blood after what happened to her and then she disappeared. Your situation is nothing like Elle’s. I just wish you'd talk to me, man. I can tell you're still struggling.”
“I’m just having trouble adjusting back, Derek. That's it.”
“If you say so. I won't push it.” Spencer was thankful for that.
Derek picked up the newly uncovered tv remote and turned on the TV, keeping his word not to try and get through to him despite the fact that he can tell something else is up. The channel is already set to Star Trek reruns so he doesn't bother to switch through them.
By the time the second episode was coming to an end, the physical distance between them shrunk, Spencer now leaning his head on Derek's broad shoulder
“You know, I still feel the same way for you as I did pre-Georgia, Spence” Derek told him in an almost whisper.
“I didn't think your feelings changed, I just didn't want you having to deal with all of the fallout that happened afterwards.” Spencer said, the stim toy in his hands still being fidgeted with.
“You should've let me decide that for myself.” he replied, putting one of his hands across Spencer's shoulder.
“I was an addict, Derek. When I wasn't in the office or on a case I was high as a kite, you didn't need to see that.”
That was the most Spencer has ever told someone about his struggles after Hankel, and maybe that made him feel a little lighter. The way Derek is rubbing his arm makes him want to break down completely. He hid his face in the man's shoulder, hiding the tears that definitely weren't forming in his eyes.
“When you started shutting me out, stopped rolling up your sleeves around the others.. It really worried me, baby.” Derek confessed, letting the old pet name slip right off his tongue.
“I'm sorry. I’m better now, I'm not using. I'm just still struggling with things.”
“I can tell you're still struggling, and that's why I'm staying with you tonight. You might not be using but you're still hurting, Spencer. Please tell me what's wrong, it hurts to see you struggling like this alone.” He all but begged, emotion filling his voice.
Spencer took a deep breath, maybe it was time he stopped struggling in silence.
“...When I was a child, after my dad left, I started to hurt myself.” Spencer whispered, the confession sounding incredibly small in the quiet apartment. “At first it was just hitting myself, or scratching at my skin. One day I got into his old shaving kit and I found the blades for his razors.” Spencer told him quietly.
“Baby… I’m so sorry.” Derek replied softly.
“Did you know about ten to twenty percent of people who engage in non-suicidal self-injury during adolescence relapse as adults?”
“Spencer, why didn't you tell me this was how you were dealing with things? I could've helped, or been there for you.”
“I didn't want you to see me as one of your projects that needs to be fixed! This is just how I’m coping with it.” he replied
“But it's not a healthy way to cope and you know that.” Derek told him, it was gentle, but still stern enough to show he’s serious, “We need to tell Hotch, he can get you help that won't interfere with your job..” .
“No! I'm trusting you with this, Hotch cannot know, he’ll kick me off the team!”
“He was willing to pull strings to send you to rehab, what makes you think this is any different?”
“Because it is different! I didn't choose to start using drugs, it was forced upon me. I chose to start cutting myself again, he’ll realize I'm fundamentally unwell and he won't want me on the team.” Spencer said sharply, standing up to pace the room.
“Spence, stop, take a breath. Come here, will you let me see? Just so I can make sure you're okay, then we’ll figure the rest out together.” Derek replied calmly, raising his hands slightly to show he's not a threat.
Spencer listened despite the voice in his head yelling at him to not, to not let Derek in anymore than he already has. He walked over and lifted up his sleeves, showing the man all the scars and day old cuts on his arms. It was ugly, really. The raised scars in different shades going from white to a purplish color, his new cuts being held together with butterfly closures.
“Some of these are really deep, they probably needed stitches, Spencer.” Derek said worriedly as his eyes scanned the younger man's arms, turning them over slightly just to find more, “is this- is this it? are they only on your arms?”
“Yes,” Spencer lied, keeping his gaze steady, “I only cut my arms.” Of course one of the best profilers could fool his teammate/best friend/whatever they were. The scars on his thighs need to stay just between him and the blade, that secret might come in handy eventually.
“We really do need to talk to Hotch about this, he won't kick you off the team. I promise you I won't let him.”
Spencer tore his gaze away from him. “You know you can't promise that, Derek.” Spencer replied, pulling his sleeves back down. “But- I'll think about it. Maybe.”
“That's all I can ask, pretty boy.” he said with a comforting smile.'