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“Which one of you is Derek?”
Admittedly, it’s incredibly jarring, because they’re trying to talk the unsub–Jared Weber–down from shooting his brains out across his kitchen floor. They need him alive, because he’s had Reid… somewhere for the past 3 days, and to be perfectly honest the team would probably shatter apart if they never got him back alive. It was an unspoken thing between them, that they were family, and Reid was somewhat of the younger brother.
There’s something wicked in the man's face, something none of them can quite place. Morgan’s head jerks towards Weber instinctively, and there’s a flash of understanding in his wild eyes. It goes from understanding, then quickly back to that wicked expression, a grin splitting across his face and exaggerating the wrinkles that are there. Weber’s nose crinkles, and he laughs, because this has all been a game to him and he knows they all know that. Some sick game, involving mutilated bodies, victims who had been–
Morgan can’t think about the possibility of any of that having happened to Spencer. Not right now. Because it’s not supposed to be Spencer . Pretty boy. His pretty boy. It’s never supposed to be Spencer, but the doctor seems to be some magnet for trouble and one of these days Morgan swears it’s going to be the death of him, despite reassurances from Spencer that he’s okay and that’s all that mattered in the moment. What matters now is that this bastard has him.
“There you are. That makes so much sense…You know,” He tilts his gun side to side vaguely and makes a noise akin to something someone would make while they’re thinking, never actually taking it away from the spot where it’s pressed against his temple, but they remain on high alert regardless. The motion itself reminds Morgan all too much of Spencer snuffing a cigarette out in an ashtray, and he almost can’t believe he’s thinking like this but he misses being able to watch his boyfriend do that. (He’d been trying to convince the genius to quit, but one half-joke about how he could be addicted to other things and he begrudgingly accepted it) The man barks out another laugh, “He screamed for you. He screamed so loud, begging for you to come help him. Thought he must have damaged his vocal cords or somethin’, but he didn’t ever stop.”
Morgan’s about three seconds from charging at this son of a bitch, when he catches Hotch’s eyes and is practically nailed to the floor with the silent yet stern order to Stay . Despite how badly he wants to beat this man within an inch of his life at this very moment, Morgan huffs out a breath and stays put. He’s focused back on Weber now, “Come on, Jared, if you tell us where Reid is, we can tell the judge you cooperated.” It’s a lie, because even if he did tell them, there’s no way this monster is getting anything but a life sentence. Doesn’t hurt to try, though.
Weber seems to ignore this message, and something in his eyes tells Morgan that he knows it’s utter bullshit. There’s another flash in his eye, something the team has seen too many times in unsubs getting off on pain, “Poor thing…” He frowns, pretends to wipe a tear from his eyes with the hand not holding the gun, “He begged me not to drug him when he saw my needles, couldn’t tell up from down soon after that. He’s probably higher than a kite right now, doesn’t even know what’s happening. Gonna start going through withdrawal soon too, that’ll be such a shame.”
The entire team seems to have to tense up in pure rage, and out of the corner of his eye Morgan can see that the hand JJ is using to hold her gun is shaking ever so slightly. The only thing keeping Morgan (or any of them, really) from launching at this bastard is the knowledge that if he dies, the chances of finding Spencer alive drop drastically.
“ Anyway ,” Weber’s finger tightens on the trigger ever so slightly, “You guys are smart, go and find him.”
Before any of them can run towards him, Weber pulls the trigger and drops to the floor, blood splattering on his refrigerator.
—
He’s so cold. And hot. He’s sweating and shaking and there’s… fluids covering absolutely every inch of him. Distantly, he’s able to rule out the shaking, sweating, fever and vomiting as withdrawal symptoms, because it’s something he’s painfully familiar with.
God, Spencer wants another hit. It’s enough to make him temporarily forget where he is, what exactly he’s doing, because dear God , he wants to get high again.
He’s absolutely thrumming with need, so much that he doesn’t have time to process the deep shame he’s feeling in the back of his mind, and Spencer can feel his veins pulsing at the crooks of his elbows. If he was able to see, he knows they’d be covered in bruises and track marks. Why can’t he see? He blinks, and then does it again to confirm that his eyes are in fact open, and is taken aback when he can feel cloth rubbing against the tips of his eyelashes. There’s a scratchy feeling sitting by Spencer’s ears, where his glasses would normally be, and he sluggishly comprehends that he’s been blindfolded. (A flash of the image of a man shows up in his memory, as well as whispers of “ Gonna put this on you now, angel. You’ll remember what I look like, yeah? ”)
It makes him think of Alexa Lisbon, and the burns he inevitably got on his back from the goal post because it was in the Las Vegas heat. The drugs make him think of Hankel, and Spencer can still see the peace in Tobias’ face before he died, perfectly captured in his head for the rest of his life.
The fluids that are drying (quite uncomfortably, mind you) between his thighs, make him think of Derek. It’s with a shock when he finally realizes that he’s very much not supposed to be wherever the hell he is right now. Where the hell is Derek?
Spencer’s going through his memory; waking up in bed with Derek, a pleasant ache in his backside and bruises on his hips, getting a call from JJ, the briefing room– the case.
None of this was supposed to happen. Spencer was talking to people from the neighborhood, having split up from Prentiss to cover more ground, trying to find someone who could give them a name. He’d fallen right into the unsubs arms, and now he has no idea where he is.
A sob rips through him as he recalls the past couple of days, the drugs and the cuts and the–
He turns to his side quickly (internally thanking the gods that this monster was kind enough to give Spencer enough leeway in the ropes binding him down to do that) and throws up. He doesn’t even understand how he’s throwing up so much, because he wasn’t given a lot to eat. Of course, it could very well be stomach acid or blood, and it probably is one of the two giving the taste in his mouth, but he desperately tries to ignore that for now.
The feel as well as smell of the dried (and now fresh) vomit that he knows is next to him is overwhelming, and he wishes he had a way to cover his nose. Wherever he is has a putrid smell already, something that smells suspiciously of urine, dead animal, mold. It reminds him of Hankel, the shed that he was in. The burning fish and sheep, dirt and rotted wood–
Spencer takes a deep breath, and now that he’s focused on the fact that he’s vomited, he can feel how rough his throat feels. His vocal cords are raw and probably damaged, and as much as he tries to block out the sound of his own screams ringing in his ears, he can’t.
He hadn’t even meant to scream out for Derek the first time – he was just so high and something in him snapped, once he started he couldn’t stop. He’s slightly afraid that his vocal cords are permanently damaged, but considering where he is and the concerning lack of noise around him, Spencer has bigger problems on his hands.
The profiler part in him boots on as he takes a couple of deep breaths to focus himself. Withdrawals be damned, if he’s able to take a quick mental check on his physical condition then maybe he can find a way out of here. The thought that forces its way up to the front of his mind, the thought that once he’s figured things out there’s a good chance there are more drugs in whatever building he’s in, fills him with a sick sense of determination to get out.
Spencer starts at his toes and works his way up. There’s thick rope around his ankles, probably tied to a bedpost given the almost-soft mattress beneath him, and one of them is throbbing in searing pain, so it’s likely badly sprained (if not broken) which means walking is going to become extremely difficult and could make the injury worse. His legs are aching, and he’s able to feel at least 3 major cuts on both of them each, none of them close to his arteries which makes him sag slightly in relief. This unsub knew what he was doing. He takes in a shaking breath as he reaches his groin, and a sob painfully rips its way up his throat. Firstly, there’s semen everywhere , and he knows – he can feel – that he has a couple of tears due to improper (and in this case that means none) preparation. His torso hurts, a terrible mix of hunger, knife wounds, and the remnants of when the unsub had hit him with a metal bat. He knows that his ribs have to be cracked, and he can only pray none of them are broken. Breathing doesn’t hurt too bad and he’s not currently coughing up blood, so he doubts that one of his lungs was punctured. A shock collar around his neck, the prongs digging into his skin painfully. There’s dried blood on his temple that’s sticking his hair down, and he can feel drying vomit on his cheek which makes his skin crawl. There’s also an unpleasant taste in his mouth (if you could describe blood, vomit and semen as simply unpleasant ) and his jaw aches , the result of the device the unsub used to hold his jaw open when he used Spencer’s mouth-
“ Just so you don’t get any bright ideas and try to bite, angel .”
He’d vomit again if he had anything left to give after remembering the way the man’s rank breath puffed against his ear.
-Back to his body, his arms are trembling and he’s sure that something is fractured. His hands and fingers seem to be fine, just stiff from a lack of use.
All in all, he’s desperate for another hit, in incredible pain, achy everywhere, and he just knows he’s covered in hickeys that don’t belong to his boyfriend. He sags against the bed in frustration, abandoning the hope of getting out of the bindings ( and getting another fix , his mind unhelpfully supplies), and Spencer can only squeeze his eyes shut and hope that the team's looking for him.
—
“He said he screamed.” Derek’s voice is flat, almost uncharacteristically so given the past couple of hours they’ve had, and he’s facing the map that’s pinned to a board in the conference room they’ve taken over, the map that Spencer was supposed to be working on. There’s only a couple of basic marks on it, Reid hadn’t gotten the chance to put everything together (partly because they only had two bodies, which isn’t much to go on but concerning enough to get the FBI involved considering the severity of the mutilation) before he–
Spencer didn’t even have the time to start color coding his strokes, Morgan realizes, and it makes his breath hitch and something in his stomach twist.
“Morgan–” Emily goes to put a hand on his shoulder, but he spins around to face the rest of them. They all notice how his eyes are puffy and he won’t look directly at him, how every bit of him is tense.
“No, he said he screamed,” He glances back at the map for a second, “Reid screamed , screamed a lot , 3 days and not a single noise complaint?”
“So, he’s somewhere secluded, probably in the woods.” Rossi finishes, gesturing to the wooded area of the map, which is by no means small. It narrows the search area some, but not by a lot. “He’d need privacy, space, somewhere he knew someone wouldn’t just come across and risk exposing him. Somewhere that gave him the chance to–”
“Don’t,” Morgan’s trying to stay put together, he really is, but he can’t hear about what Weber’s intentions with Spencer were, and his voice cracks. “Please, Rossi– Don’t .”
“Morgan, if you can’t work this case, we’d understand.” He knows Hotch is trying to be supportive, but he feels like an exposed wire right now and there’s barely anything holding back his rage at the moment.
“This isn’t a case anymore, it’s Reid , and if you think I’m not finding him you’re out of your mind, Hotch.” He doesn’t bother looking at the unit chief, pulling his phone out and dialing Garcia, fingers punching the numbers in aggressively.
“Derek, please tell me you’re calling because you found Spencer and he’s gonna be okay and he’s safe and–”
“Baby girl I–No, we haven’t found him yet. I need you to look for properties in the woods that Weber either owned or knew the person who owned them. He’s keeping Spencer somewhere secluded.” He’s putting a brave face on for Garcia, because he’s always been the protector and no matter how worried to the bone Morgan was, he wasn’t going to let his baby girl see that. She’s the light of the team, the one that can always bring a smile to their faces even in the worst situations.
Garcia lets out something that sounds suspiciously like a sob, clears her throat, and they can hear her typing furiously on her keyboard. When she speaks, her voice is shaky, “I can’t– I can’t find anything– There aren’t any properties in Weber’s name, or any of his relatives or–”
“Garcia.” It’s Rossi, because he’s always been the father of the group, no matter how many times he denies it. (He once quietly confessed to Morgan that as much of a fuss he makes about it, he truly does seem himself as the father figure, especially to Reid. Morgan may or may not have told Rossi that Spencer sees the Italian as more of a father than his biological one ever was. Rossi may or may not have cried slightly over that) “We are going to find him, we need to keep looking.”
The promise is addressed to all of them, and it’s addressed to Rossi himself, something to calm the ache in his chest.
“Right–right, of course–” There’s more typing from Garcia, and when they hear a couple of sniffles and heavy breaths from her, they don’t mention it. They’re in the exact same position that she’s in, one more dead end away from breaking down – running on shitty coffee and sheer will.
There’s a shriek that bursts through Morgan’s phone, and it causes everyone to jump back, Morgan himself almost dropping the device. “I found him! Guys– I found him! This has to be it there’s–”
“Baby girl, please ,” It’s only then that Morgan lets his voice break in front of the tech analyst, because his heart’s racing and he needs Reid in his arms now .
“Weber’s late husband's family was extremely woodsy, he had a–a cabin passed down from his grandfather– I missed it because he didn’t technically own it yet, his dad did– I sent you the address– Go get him Derek, go !”
The team’s already halfway through the precinct when Garcia hangs up, Morgan leading them to the SUV’s.
—
It’s freezing in the room he’s in, and Spencer wishes he had a blanket. Given the dramatic temperature drop and the time of year it is, he guesses it’s nighttime. Which is odd, because earlier (he’s not able to be as exact as he normally is, but it’s been around 4 hours since he grounded himself, since he started going through withdrawal) there wasn’t any sign of the unsub, and there isn’t any sign of him now.
At first, he thought that maybe he was simply watching Spencer, admiring his work, but he wouldn’t be able to control his urges with Spencer in a position like this. He also would have drugged him, because he loved the turmoil he knew it put the young agent through, and Spencer hasn’t been given any drugs. There’s also been zero sign that anyone was even with him, no sounds of movement or doors opening.
He’s been listening to the crickets outside for around 30 minutes. Spencer wishes he could move, could get off this sticky mattress and shower. Sit with Derek on the couch and read a book, Clooney sleeping at their feet. He wishes that none of this happened, because this seems to just be another attack on him, another trauma he’ll have to face. Spencer’s just so tired , and it’s there, on the disgusting mattress in some disgusting, secluded building, that he considers leaving the bureau.
It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it before, he thought about it after Hankel and during the drugs, after Riley Jenkins and the anthrax. He knows he’s not actually going to leave, this job’s probably going to end up killing him (and soon, he thinks morbidly, if he keeps getting taken by unsubs) and that’s when he’ll finally stop. Spencer loves this job too much to leave, loves being useful and saving people.
It doesn’t stop him from entertaining the idea. He has a couple scenarios.
He wouldn’t necessarily mind being a stay at home boyfriend (he thinks about the word husband and there’s a small thrill that shoots up his spine), cooking for Derek when he got home from work and keeping the house tidy. Taking care of Clooney, or children– He can’t really let himself get too deep into that right now, not when he’s probably going to die. It’d probably be nice for a while, but Spencer thinks he’d get bored. There wouldn’t be enough to keep his brain stimulated, no paperwork to do in record time.
Alternatively, he could go into academics. Become a professor. Spencer loves teaching people, and he knows so much he’d probably be able to teach whatever he wanted to. He’d most likely go into psychology, because the human mind interests him more than it should, he was considering getting a doctorate in the subject.
He croaks out a laugh at that, because when he told Derek about it, the older agent laughed softly and said “Will you ever stop getting PhD’s?” in a voice that could only be described as filled with utter adoration. Love. (He replied with a cheeky “Never” that made Derek kiss him senseless)
He’d probably get bored as a professor, though, too. As much as he was lacking in physical strength, he loved the adrenaline of apprehending an unsub, the sense of accomplishment he felt on the jet.
Spencer’s not going to be able to feel that again, and he’s trying to come to terms with it, he really is, but it’s not really working. He’s going to die without ever seeing his team again. Or Derek, or Clooney. His mom won’t understand what happened, and he’d leave her all alone.
With the unsub gone, he’s either been apprehended, or he’s dead. He wouldn’t leave Spencer here all alone for this long, he’s been around Spencer for nearly the entirety of three days. He’s betting that the unsub is dead, that they cornered him and he killed himself to get out of it. That leaves him abandoned, with a dead unsub and a team that has barely anything to go on. He can only hope that the unsub left them with something that would prove to be enough to find him, but that hope’s steadily fading.
—
“When we go in there, I want to be at the front. Spen–Reid’s not going to want anyone to find him in the condition that he’s in, and he’s probably going to be looking for me.” It’s the truth, but not the entire one. Now that they’re at the cabin, getting ready to go in, he needs to see Spencer.
He’s terrified about what he might find, but he needs to be there for his boyfriend. In any way he can be.
Hotch knows it’s not the entire truth either, but he can probably correctly guess what the entire truth is , and he eyes Morgan for a second. Briefly he thinks about Haley, about finding her, and he relents. He nods, and watches his agent practically run up to the cabin door. He looks towards Prentiss, who’s looking back, and jerks his head in the direction of Morgan. Go in after him. She nods, and jogs to catch up with the man.
“Rossi, JJ, you’re with me.” He knows that Morgan is going to be the one to find Spencer, and he wants to keep that crowd as small as possible. They nod, and head towards the cabin.
Morgan barely acknowledges Emily’s presence, too busy with searching every inch of this goddamn cabin. It’s dusty, and smells horrible, but he can barely think about details like that when he just knows Spencer’s here. He’s starting to panic a bit when they’ve searched the entire house, until Emily points towards a basement door that he somehow completely missed. A shock of guilt runs through him before he’s rushing towards the door, opening it.
He turns to the rest of the team, who are waiting for him to move “Just…wait here, please. Call for paramedics.” When they nod, he starts descending down the stairs.
Spencer hears the door open, and despite the logical part of his brain telling him that the unsub is most likely dead, and that this is the team and they found him , he’s beginning to panic. He can’t be entirely sure it’s not the unsub, not after 3 days of torture clouding his thinking and a blindfold over his eyes ensuring he can’t actually see whoever is coming down those stairs. He’s trembling and can hear blood rushing in his ears, and only a part of it is because of the withdrawals–the rest is pure terror.
When Morgan finally makes it down the stairs, he sees Spencer and nearly collapses. He’s tied to a bed, completely naked, trembling and–
He’s covered in blood and semen. There’s cuts everywhere, and he nearly sobs when he sees the shock collar that's around his boyfriend's neck. The entire thing is horrific, and Morgan doesn’t want to think about the blood between Spencer’s legs, doesn’t want to acknowledge what that confirms, so he’s focusing on the shock collar and the blindfold around his eyes.
It makes him think of the Owen Savage case, when Spencer told him about Alexa Lisbon. He can see a vial of drugs and sterile needles on a nearby table and sucks in a breath.
When he starts walking towards Reid, he notices how the younger man’s breathing becomes shallower, and his heart breaks when he realizes he’s panicking. He probably thinks Morgan is Weber, that he’s come back.
“Pretty boy…” He’s speaking softly, right by Spencer (trying to ignore the blood-tinged vomit next to the boy's head), and lays a hand on the cheek that isn’t covered in puke.
It’s the wrong thing to do.
Spencer doesn’t hear Derek whisper the pet name to him, he can’t hear him over the beating of his heart and how much he’s panicking. When the hand touches his cheek, he wails . It’s barely as loud as it was 2 days ago, but it’s loud enough to be heard, despite how raspy and broken it sounds.
“Get away! Get off of me– Get– Get off! ” He’s thrashing as much as he can, and sobs when the hand leaves his face quickly.
Morgan’s horrified, trying to push down his own tears at the pure fear in Spencer’s voice, the voice that’s cracking and completely incomparable to how it normally sounds. He misses 2 weeks ago, when they were on the couch, and Spencer was infodumping about Star Trek while Derek simply listened with the biggest grin on his face. He misses how passionate and confident Spencer’s voice gets, it’s so jarring to hear it now. He’s never heard it this weak .
When he turns his head towards the sound of stairs creaking, he’s met with Hotch blocking off the entrance and a glimpse of someone going back up the stairs. Morgan’s asking a silent question to Hotch, did anyone see him?
Hotch shakes his head, glancing at Reid before focusing back on Morgan. “Get him out of there.” It’s quiet, but Morgan hears it and whips back around to Spencer.
He’s still sobbing, but Spencer is so confused on why the unsub hasn’t done anything , he shouldn’t be taking his time like this. He didn’t in the past, why would he now?
“—ence, it’s me, baby,”
Great , he’s hallucinating now. As much as it hurts his throat he can’t stop crying, and he’s shaking his head back and forth.
“Hey, none of that, please . I’m gonna get this blindfold off of you, mkay? Show me those pretty eyes.”
He doesn’t stop moving, but exhaustion is starting to take over and he slows down. There’s a tugging on the cloth around his eyes, and for the first time in 2 days he’s able to see. It hurts, for one, and he’s trying to get used to the feeling of it when his eyes lock onto Morgan. Despite barely being able to see, he knows the sight of his boyfriend anywhere, and he sobs harder. This isn’t a hallucination
He wants to close in on himself, because he never wanted Derek to see him like this, but the damned ropes are preventing him from moving in the way that Spencer wants to.
“There we are, there’s those pretty eyes. We’re gonna get you out of here, okay? You’re gonna be okay, baby.” His eyes flicker down to Spencer’s neck, and he notices how Derek flinches. “I’m taking this collar off, okay pretty boy?”
He doesn’t wait for Spencer to respond, simply reaches over and undoes the buckle that’s holding the collar in place. When he pulls it back, there’s bruises and electrical burns where the prongs were. Spencer whimpers in pain, squeezing his eyes shut. “I know, I know it hurts baby boy, but we’re gonna get you all patched up at the hospital, ‘kay?” Morgan’s voice cracks, and he has to swallow down another sob. He can break down when Spencer is out of this fucking cabin.
He gets to the ropes next, ignoring Spencer’s injuries entirely to save him from the embarrassment he knows the doctor would feel if he was caught staring. Not that he necessarily wants to look at them, he already got a glance and just that was already enough to shatter him. With his limbs free, Spencer drops his entire weight to the bed and curls in on himself, hissing in pain when he does so.
“ Ow, ow, ow, ow– ” He’s still sobbing, and in pain, and almost certainly non-verbal, but the bit of vocal stimming helps soothe Spencer in ways that he hasn’t been able to do for days.
When Morgan drapes a blanket over his torso and lifts him carefully, a hand gripping the back of his head and arm supporting under his thighs, he sinks into the embrace and stills. His eyes are closed and his head is shoved into the crook of Morgan’s neck, the smell of his cologne helping to calm him down.
Once he finally , truly realizes he’s safe, he starts sobbing again, this time in relief. The hand gripping his head gently pets his hair, whispering things into Spencer’s ear that he’s too tired to comprehend.
One thing does make it through, though, and it’s “ You’re safe now. You can rest, Spence. ” He’s so tired, he doesn’t have energy to argue, and he quickly slips off into unconsciousness.
—
Once Morgan hears Spencer stop sobbing and feels his breathing even out, he looks towards Hotch who’s still standing guard at the bottom of the stairs.
Morgan shakes his head, letting a couple of tears slip out of his eyes. “Hotch…” He has to keep his voice down because he doesn’t want to risk waking Spencer up, but he knows that after the days he’s had he’s probably not waking up anytime soon. “It’s bad . Ankle and arm look broken, electrical burns, he was–” Derek can’t bring himself to finish the sentence, instead choosing to clutch Spencer closer to his chest, like if he brought them close enough together all the bad things that has happened to his boyfriend will disappear and they’ll find themselves back in their bed.
“Morgan.” Hotch’s voice has always been grounding for the agent. It’s deep, and certain, and never waivers. Morgan might be the protector of the team, and Rossi the father, but Hotch is like an anchor. He’s strong, and heavy, and will keep you from flying off the handle when you’re spiraling. Hotch has tears in his eyes now, but his voice doesn’t shake, and it makes Morgan feel human for the first time since Spencer was taken. “You don’t have to talk about it, not right now. Rossi told me the ambulance is here, medics are ready. Let's go.”
He nods, and lets Hotch lead him back up the stairs and out of the cabin. He catches JJ’s eyes, who are begging him for anything , just wanting to make sure Spencer is finally okay . He can’t bring himself to answer, and turns his attention to the ambulance. They take him from his arms, lay him out on the stretcher and start assessing his wounds, but he can’t focus on anything but Spencer. He doesn’t hear whatever they have to say once he tells them no narcotics , and just holds one of Spencer’s hands in his own as they make their way to the hospital.
When they get there, Spencer is whisked away to get poked and prodded by who knows how many doctors, and Derek is left in the waiting room with the rest of the team.
Hours later, he’s been pacing for 30 minutes, and he feels a hand on his shoulder. It’s Emily, offering him a cup of coffee. They both know that Derek won’t drink it, but he takes it anyway and mutters a thank you to her.
“He’s going to be okay, Morgan. Doctors said that there wasn’t anything life-threatening when he was brought in.”
He knows that she’s trying to comfort him, but it really isn’t working. “Then why the hell haven’t we gotten an update in 3 hours?”
She sighs, before leading him to a hospital chair and pushing on his shoulders until he’s sitting down and looking up at her with an annoyed expression. “I don’t know, Morgan, but pacing around the waiting room isn’t going to do anything to speed it up. Plus, you know Reid, he’s the most stubborn person we know– especially when it comes to stuff like this.”
Morgan truly appreciates Emily, regards her as an honorary sister. She’s been able to bring a lighthearted energy to every situation, and he can’t help but relax ever so slightly in the uncomfortable chair. He smiles sadly at the mention of Reid’s stubbornness, because she’s absolutely right and he really, really needs to stop getting hurt. Morgan has joked with him before that he’s going to start growing gray hairs with all the danger that Spencer seems to attract. “Yeah, you’re right.”
It’s just a little over half an hour later when a nurse comes through the doors and into the waiting room. “Family of Spencer Reid?” They’re up before she can finish the sentence.
“Is he okay?” Derek is the one that reaches her first, looking down slightly to meet her eyes. She’s obviously exhausted, but there’s a glint in her eyes that Derek can only recognize as pride in her work, because he’s seen it before in his own eyes – in the team’s eyes.
“Mr. Reid–”
JJ cuts her off before she can continue, “It’s Doctor.” JJ is to Spencer like Emily is to Derek, and she’s been defending his title since he started working at the BAU. ( “He’s earned it three times over, he should be called Doctor.” is what she used to say, not that anyone was disagreeing with her)
The nurse – her name tag says “Carla” – spares a glance at JJ to let her know she’s been heard, and then looks down at her chart to read. “ Doctor Reid is going to be okay, ultimately. He was extremely dehydrated as well as malnourished when he was admitted, so we have him on fluids. His left ankle is broken, and both legs sustained some pretty serious cuts, as well as superficial ones. There are more lacerations across his torso, and 3 of his ribs are cracked from something we identified as a blunt object. The electrical burns from the… shock collar were treated, and there should be little scarring. His left arm was fractured, so we’ve reset the bone and put it into a cast – like the ankle. There was also a small wound on his head, but nothing to be worried about, and a drug test confirmed there were traces of heroin in his system, so he’s going to have to stay with us while he detoxes.”
She skipped something, a very big something, and when she makes eye contact with Derek he knows why. “You must be Derek Morgan.” Carla waits until he nods before continuing, “You’re listed as Doctor Reid’s significant other as well as his emergency contact, come with me.”
Carla looks towards the team who are sitting back down in the waiting room chairs, “You all will be able to visit Doctor Reid in the morning, I suggest you go to…whatever hotel you’re staying at and get some rest.” Then, she turns around and walks back through the doors.
Morgan turns towards them, quickly promises to update them all as they begrudgingly get their things together, and then follows after her. It takes a couple of minutes before they reach the room Spencer is staying in, and before Derek can open the door Carla stops him.
“Mr. Morgan, Doctor Reid had multiple anal tears as well as traces of semen in both his mouth and rectum. I figured your colleagues didn't need to know that bit.” She looks at the door to Reid’s room, and forces herself to blink away the tears in her eyes. She doesn’t look back at Derek, who has the same look on his face. “I heard the man who did this killed himself.”
“He did, yes.”
Carla turns her head towards Derek, not really looking at him, “What a coward. Doctor Reid should be sleeping right now, but take care of him, Mr. Morgan. He’s going to need you.” Derek nods, and doesn’t meet her eyes. Instead, he thanks her and waits for her to walk away before pushing the door open.
When he finds Spencer, he finally lets a sob escape his lips. He just looks so small in the hospital bed, swamped by blankets and various machines that tell Derek that Spencer is still alive. He speeds over to his lover, sitting in the chair next to his bed, and grabs Spencer’s hand to hold in his own. It twitches, just barely, but Spencer doesn’t wake up and Derek lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
Back in the cabin, where Spencer was having a meltdown and still looking so roughed up, Morgan wasn’t able to calm down. Yes, they had found Spencer, and he was going to be okay, but he couldn’t let go of the ball of nerves in his stomach. Even now, seeing Spencer cleaned and taken care of, the ball isn’t entirely gone, but it’s diminished enough to where he feels like he can finally relax.
Just a week, maybe two at the most, and they’d be able to go home together. They’d be able to lay on the couch and watch Star Trek or some random baseball game, where Spencer would be pretending to read a book during it but always ended up making random comments about the sports teams (Spencer would never admit to looking up sports facts, but Derek knew and it made him love the genius that much more) They’d be able to sleep in the same bed, with Clooney at their feet because they could never say no to him joining them. Derek would be able to make breakfast for Spencer and bring it to him in bed, and he’d be able to see that glittering smile.
Before all of that, Derek reminds himself, there’s a lot to do. Spencer’s been through hell and back these past couple of days, he’s going to need Derek as well as his therapist. It’s probably going to get ugly before it gets better, but he’s prepared for that.
He puts his head next to their joined hands, and finally lets himself rest for the first time in 3 days.
—
When Spencer wakes up, there’s an immediate sense of panic rushing through him. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep, not with this unsub around, god that was stupid, stupid, stupid –
“Spence?”
Oh. Oh.
When he finally focuses his previously unseeing eyes, he’s met with a dark hospital room as well as Derek sitting there staring at him, hand intertwined with his. “Der,” it comes out as a whisper, because Spencer realizes he doesn’t have to scream anymore, and he probably couldn’t talk much louder even if he tried to. Spencer grips Derek’s hand as hard as he can, “oh, Der–”
“Hey there, angel.”
Spencer violently flinches back, shaking his head back and forth in a jerky motion, trying to keep his mind in the hospital and not the cabin, trying to keep the feeling of phantom whispers and hands pushed down. He’s only just able to do it, with the help of Derek’s face and hand there to keep him grounded in reality, “Don’t– Don’t call me that, please.”
Recognition floods Derek’s eyes, as well as more tears, and he nods. “Of course…I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry we couldn’t find you.”
It makes Spencer start to sob quietly, making this throat hurt with every hiccup. “It was terrible, Der. It was so bad. I couldn’t–I don’t– god. ”
There’s so much pain evident in his voice that it makes Derek start crying harder, squeezing Spencer’s hand with one of his own and carding fingers through the curly hair with the other. “I know, you don’t have to talk about it, baby, not yet, not if you–”
“I was sober for 3 years, Derek, 3 years and it’s just… gone .”
“Spencer, you didn’t do this, Weber did. He was the one that drugged you, against your will. This is not your fault.”
“I started asking for it, after a while,” it comes out quieter than anything else he’s said, and there’s shame coating it, “I couldn’t–I wanted it.”
Derek sighs slightly, using a thumb to brush Spencer’s tears away. If anything the show of affection causes Spencer to sob harder. “Pretty boy, addiction is messy, I know that and so do you. On top of that, you were going through intense trauma. This wasn’t your fault, and we are going to get through it, together. Just a bump in the road, albeit a major one, that’s all this is. It’s gonna be okay.”
Spencer nods, but Derek can tell he doesn’t truly believe him, not yet. They sit in silence for a while, Spencer playing with his boyfriend's hand and Derek running the other one through his hair, gently working out all the knots.
It’s Derek who speaks first, “Spence, you can talk to me, you know that, right?”
Spencer swallows heavily, looking towards Derek before flicking his eyes back up to the ceiling where he was counting the tiles. “I don’t think I can talk about it now, not yet. I don’t–I don’t want to talk about it.”
Derek nods, “I get it, but you have to talk to someone eventually. I don’t care if it’s me, or JJ, or your therapist, but promise you’ll talk about it? Please?”
Spencer sniffles, too tired to cry any longer, and eventually nods slightly. It’s such a small motion that Derek almost misses it, but he’s glad that Spencer’s listening to him. He kisses Spencer’s hand, “Thank you, baby boy.”
The man in question looks back at Derek, “Hold me?”
Derek almost protests, almost says something about not wanting to hurt Spencer, but one glance at the desperate look in his boyfriend's eyes and he wordlessly gets up into the bed and holds him close. He waits until Spencer is asleep, breathing evening out and muscles relaxing (Derek notices that even in the comfort of sleep, Spencer isn’t able to fully relax, and it makes his chest hurt something awful), before he finally gives in to the exhaustion that’s creeping into the corners of his vision.