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ohdearlordspencerreid · 5 months

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SPENCER REID IS DEAD.

My first Criminal Minds Fanfiction!!

Summary:

What would have happened if Spencer had relapsed after Maeve's death? How would he have coped with his new reality? How would the team pull him back from the brink?

'He knew that his one lifeline was getting shorter, as the immeasurably holy and extensively evil vials of poison that sat on his coffee table, atop a mocking copy of Great Expectations, ran out.'

I put this on Ao3 and didn't get much interaction, so here I am, desperate for validation. Please don't repost anywhere, I'm really proud of this ❤️

Warning:

This is a big sad. Please don't read this if you are not in the mood or in safe headspace to see our baby boy and the rest of the team suffer.

This work does not contain any graphic descriptions of drug use, it is all implied, however it does contain a lot of dark and sad ideas including multiple references to suicide and death. Please be careful and maybe read something happy after this <3

Notes:

In my fanon, as in real life, relapse is a part of recovery, I respect MGG not wanting to continue with Reid’s addiction storyline but it feels unrealistic for Spencer to have stayed sober through all his trauma and stress especially with Maeve's death.

Please be kind, this is my first piece of Criminal Minds fanfiction ever and my first time writing anything in several year, nevermind posting it.

Spencer Reid is Dead- OhDearLordSpencerReid

‐--------------------------------REID-------------------------

He felt like he might melt into the floor, a puddle of pain, anger and suicidal ideation. The world stood still but simultaneously ran past him, leaving him alone, bitter and inconsequential. She was dead.

Spencer’s vision swam as he knelt on the hard wooden floor of his apartment, his week old pajamas sticking to him uncomfortably, personal hygiene had become a thing of the past, so had sleep. The dark circles under his eyes made his face look like a skull, he had torn large chunks of his once soft, honey brown curls from his scalp, he didn’t remember doing it. His mouth was dry, he felt like he had been drinking bleach, maybe the misfiring synapses in his previously exceptional brain were on to something, was that a good idea? He just needed everything to stop.

He barely heard the knocking on his door, the rhythmic sound blending in with the constant and overwhelming pounding of his head. He heard voices outside his apartment, but he couldn't bring himself to care, nevermind open the door. He knew his friends would be worrying about him, he knew they loved him, or at least the part of his brain which wasn't currently tripping on a deadly combination of gut wrenching, life ending grief and dilaudid knew that. The active part of his brain however wanted to be left alone, wanted to sit here as he had for days and rot.

‐--------------------------------REID-------------------------

He didn't know what day it was anymore, he was only aware of two things, that the only person who had ever truly understood him, the woman he loved, was dead. And that his one lifeline was getting shorter, as the immeasurably holy and extensively evil vials of poison that sat on his coffee table, atop a mocking copy of great expectations, ran out. Eventually, he would hit withdrawal. He had two choices, his brain fought to use even a fraction of his usually infinite space and exceptional speed to process his options, feeling increasingly dizzy and hopeless.

Option one, call someone and ask for help.

Pros:

You won't have a seizure from withdrawals and choke on your own vomit and die.

Cons:

You won't have a seizure from withdrawals and choke on your own vomit and die. Let it end.

The team will know you’re being weak again, fucking weak!

You’ll lose your job! Who cares honestly..

Spencer shook his head, feeling his slowly frying brain slosh against his skull.

Option two, go outside and buy more dilaudid.

Pros:

More dilaudid.

No more feelings.

No more thoughts.

Cons:

Going outside.

Being a weak, drug addicted loser.

Spencer began to sob, crying so hard he began to wretch, wretching so hard he had to drag himself off of the floor, running as fast as his shaking legs could carry him to the bathroom and throwing up bile. When was the last time he had eaten? Did it matter? He’d always been too skinny, said his mother. His mother, who had put a goddamn genetic time bomb in his brain. Maybe schizophrenia would be easier than this.

After vomiting bile for several minutes, his nose burnt by the acid, his lungs burning with the effort it took him to keep breathing when he saw no point. He looked back up at the vials, they mocked him.

He couldn't go outside. Not like this. But going outside sober was an even more terrifying prospect, primarily due to the fact that he would be sober.

But he wasn't going to call anyone. As he lay down where he was on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor he made peace with the idea that what would be would be.

‐--------------------------------REID-------------------------

He must have fallen asleep or passed out because the next moment he heard a frantic banging on his front door, it sounded like someone was trying to break it down. He laughed bitterly, thinking of Derek, constantly having to use funding the FBI could use on better things instead, on reimbursing people for unnecessarily kicking down doors. The thought made Spencer laugh, high and manic, it made him cringe, the sounds coming from his own mouth. He hadn't used his voice in days, weeks? How long had he truly laid on the teak effect floor in front of his front door?

The pounding continued, it frustrated Spencer, scared him that he couldnt tell if the noise was real, or if it was a fiction created by his self destructive, drug addled, fucking Intolerable, all remembering, overdue for a bullet, genius brain. He stormed over to the door, on unstable legs, his knees covered in dark bruises from hours of kneeling, he looked through the peephole. And who did he see but said insufferable prick. Best friend? Unfeeling bastard? Brother?

All of the air was knocked out of Spencer's fragile body as he saw it was really him. It was Derek Morgan.

‐-----------------------------MORGAN---------------------

Derek Morgan paced the bullpen, his phone clasped to his ear, he sighed in frustration as Spencer’s phone went to voicemail, yet again. He resisted the urge to scream, to throw something. He knew Penelope was going to Spencer’s house this morning, to drop off her usual gift basket, she would surely call him if something was really wrong.

If she smelt the all too familiar stench of rotting flesh wafting from under the young genius's door.. Derek shook himself, trying to push away the dreadful thought. Spencer knew he was there, knew he loved him like a kid brother, an annoyingly smart and unsettlingly traumatised kid brother.. Oh god.

Were they going to carry the tall, spindly, blood splattered body of Spencer Reid out of his apartment on a gurney, would he have to see his ‘Pretty Boy’ in a body bag, would he be asked to identify him? Was he still Spencer’s emergency contact? The mental image was vivid, horrifying. Should he have taken Spencer’s gun? ‘No, because this was the ‘Boy Wonder’ he wouldn't need something as barbaric and neanderthal as a gun to end his painfully short and difficult life’, a voice that sounded distressingly like Spencer’s echoed in Derek’s mind. Derek began to lose control of his breathing, began to gulp air like he was trapped in the desert and he wanted to drown in the oasis he found there, mirage or no.

Derek’s head span as his breathing became erratic, he hadn't noticed before that his cheeks were wet with tears, his hands shook as he struggled to regain control of himself. He needed to be strong, he needed to continue to hold this team together. It was his job to chase away the monsters, it was his job to protect the little guy, to keep JJ and Penelope and Spencer safe. He’d failed in his big brother capacity before and he’d never forgive himself if he did it again. Derek desperately tried to center himself, but it was no use, the world was cracking like a Chicago sidewalk taken over by tree roots, his brain screamed like a gunshot heard from the footwell of a police car, his heart ached like it had that day and Spencer wasn't even dead, yet.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned, eyes wide to see Hotch.. Hotch, Aaron Hotchner, surely he would know what to do, what to say.

‐-----------------------------GARCIA------------------------

Penelope Garcia knocked on the door, softly at first as if worried the shock of a sudden noise alone would stop the broken heart of the cowering young man, unbeknownst to her, laying half unconscious behind the door. She waited a few moments and knocked again, this time louder. She heard a pitiful noise from inside, it broke her heart but as sad as it felt to think, at least it meant Spencer was still breathing in there. She called out, her lips inches from the door, when she was met with only a phrase she would not repeat in polite company, telling her to ‘go away’ she put down her basket of blueberries. ‘They are high in antioxidants and serotonin vitamins’ her internal Reid said, somewhat inaccurately as Penelope didn't know all the facts, as though trying desperately to drown out the broken and unpleasant memory of the real Reid only inches away.

Penelope wanted to help, she needed to be able to do something. This was Reid, this was the soft young man who brought her baked goods when she had a bad day. Here was Spencer, who could be surprisingly hilarious, even if it hadn’t been his intention. He was the ‘Pretty Boy’ to her ‘Babygirl’ and he was suffering, in a way Penelope couldn't fathom. There was no system she could hack, no phone to trace, no dirt to dig up, that would get Reid to let her in. Only the echoing distance between them, as extensive as the time, space and regenerations between the fourth and eleventh doctors…

Penelope didn’t want to leave, she was so scared for him, it was so hard to turn off her instinctual empathy and intrinsic sense of duty to fix things and make them all sunshine and rainbows… but she knew she couldn't fix this. Especially if Spencer wouldn't even open the door

‐------------------------------HOTCH------------------------

Aaron Hotchner has seen agents in distress. He had seen it many times. Hell he’d seen Reid in distress many times. The thought made him sad. He felt like a bad boss. A bad friend. A bad father? It was true he did see Spencer as a surrogate son, partially because he knew Spencer needed a father figure, desperately. But if he was being honest it was in large part to that fact that the kid was just so easy to fall in love with. He had endeared Aaron from the get go, the way he walked around as if everything and everyone was a potential threat, made him want to protect the young agent in the beginning. The way he lit up when he got to share a piece of extremely niche knowledge, the pride he felt when they solved a particularly difficult case.

Spencer was easy to fall in love with.

But now, that fear, that anxiety and self doubt Hotch had found endearing in the beginning when Spencer looked like a very tall child in a cardigan and obscenely large glasses, had transformed into something terrible. He had seen it, the ugliness that lingered inside Spencer Reid, he had seen it when he had returned from his break after the Tobias Hankel case, seen the anger and animalistic fear in the usually sweet mans eyes, he had seen the metaphorical foaming of the rabid dogs mouth.

He’d known he’d never have the strength to put that dog down.

It had eased and the dog had become a sweet little puppy again, following Gideon around, playing chess, devouring books, opening up emotionally. Hotch had been proud, in the years since he had only seen glimpses of that pain, of the Spencer that could go feral and rip out his throat, they had always faded. But this time, this time Spencer hadn’t screamed or lashed out or cursed the world. No, Spencer had seen the woman he loved murdered in front of him and shut himself away. Shut himself in a cage, biting and clawing only at himself, wounded and content to tear himself apart, by brain or by vein. Aaron’s dark train of thought was suddenly broken by Anderson, who knocked on his door and told him that he thought Derek Morgan was having a mental breakdown. ‘No, no more’ Aaron thought ‘Oh God please, let them be, let me take their pain’

‐---------------------------------JJ--------------------------

Jennifer Jareau walked into the bullpen and found a commotion unlike anything she had ever seen before. A small crowd was gathered seemingly centered around someone, a crying child? Who was sitting on the floor, JJ approached cautiously, not wanting to intrude if this was a family member of a victim. Her blood ran cold as she saw the shaking, sobbing form of Derek Morgan, the strongest man she knew, curled in a ball on the carpeted floor, clinging to Aaron Hotchner’s shirt like it was his last tether to this mortal plane. She stepped forward, the crowd parting slowly as she approached. She got immediately to her knees, gently placing her hands on either side of Derek’s face, trying to ask him what had happened. When she heard the name Spencer amongst Morgan’s apoplectic ramblings, she felt suddenly faint, the images she had been desperately repressing came crashing down, pinning her to her spot, to this singular breath with their gravity.

Spencer Reid was dead.

Her best friend wouldn’t make it to thirty, he would remain forever young. His photo would join the other ghostly faces lining the corridor outside the BAU office, the wall of those who had died because of this god awful job. He would join Roslyn in her mind as the cold corpse of a sibling, of a soulmate. Spencer Reid would never get his fourth doctorate, never see the return of David Blaine, never tell her another fact about enucleation, never be a father, the one job beyond behavioral profiler or exceptionally overqualified college lecturer, that he would be truly exceptional at.

Spencer Reid was dead…

Until he wasn't, a bright pink blur ripped through the room as Penelope Garcia descended on Derek, her face a mask of supposed ‘eternal and infallible optimism’.

Spencer was alive.

He wouldn't open the door and she’d barely gotten a word out of him. But Spencer Walter Reid was still breathing and suddenly, Jennifer could too.

‐--------------------------------ROSSI-----------------------

David Rossi, didn’t have any children, hell he wasn’t sure if he would even want any. But he enjoyed his role as the fun uncle to Aaron Hotchner’s strict father immensely. He loved seeing the program he and Jason Gideon had built flourish into an exceptional team, a life saving and justice affording safe haven, a real family. Family had always been complicated for Dave, he hadn't felt this close to a group of people, trusted anyone so much since leaving the marines. He knew that he could give his still beating heart to any one of the BAU members and they would treasure it, nurture it, protect it at any cost. That was why he felt so helpless as he sent lavish gifts to Spencer Reid’s apartment, sent him texts offering to pay for him to take time off, to pay for therapy, they all felt like hollow gestures. The fickle attempts at support by a man who was yet to realise that money doesn't buy you happiness. Dave knew this practically of course, but he felt trapped, paralised by his inability to read Reid, the way he had encouraged him to pursue his relationship with the woman who was now being prepared for her funeral, a woman Spencer had loved with such intensity and innocence, far beyond Rossi’s comprehension.

It was then as he stood in the lobby of Spencer’s apartment, trying to gather the courage to go up and see him that Dave realised one thing Spencer had that he had never been able to grasp, besides a comprehensive knowledge of string theory, quantum theory and the difference therein, vulnerability. Spencer was able to be truly vulnerable with those he loved.. That vulnerability usually lent itself to him as compassion, as a strong sense of justice and as an infinite capacity to love others, to fight for them. But right now? That vulnerability was slowly sucking every happy memory in his seemingly limitless mind, right now that vulnerability was a weakness. And so, too, David was weak. He walked back to his car, silently begging any god or holy being that would listen to give him even a tenth of the strength Spencer had, even a moment to be truly vulnerable, to show the kid he loved him that he would fight for him.

For the first time in many years, Rossi doubted the existence of god.

The strength didn't come.

‐------------------------------BLAKE------------------------

Alex Blake was new. It had taken a while for the team to warm up to her. But not Spencer. He had met her where she lived, where she was comfortable, in a joining of intellects, a tête-à-tête, a friendly competition of defining obscure words. She had instantly felt a kinship with the boy, she knew he hated being called a boy, a kid, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Not out of malice, but out of a motherly instinct, that had laid dormant for several years. He was sweet and smart, she had often wondered what Ethan would be like, she hoped he would be like Spencer.

She had greatly enjoyed seeing him sneaking around, making mysterious phone calls, after learning that he was calling a girl he liked and not under the thumb of some kind of MENSA mafia that is. Alex smiled at the memory of Reid’s blushing face when he had talked about her, the memory tasted sour now, given the dreadful results of Spencer’s first meeting with his mystery woman. She was dead, and Spencer it seemed was content to let himself be buried with her. She knew that pain, the feeling of wanting to drop dead when the person you love is gone…

Alex slowly sipped her coffee, trying to focus on her morning crossword, dreading the phone ringing, signaling another case, but also desperately wanting a distraction. She felt like an intruder, watching Spencer and his loved ones, his REAL family, grieve and worry. She felt like an aunt's new exceptionally dull boyfriend that you have to endure attending your wedding because he's a plus one. She felt she had no right to be as sad as she was, no right to compound her grief for her son with her newfound worry for Spencer. He never asked for that. But she cared, god she cared. She wanted to help him, to help them all, but she feared she would just be a hindrance, an ill fitting cog, ‘the new guy’. She visited Spencer’s house several times, leaving sudoku and crossword puzzles.

She never knocked.

He never opened the door, even if he saw her.

It was like they had a silent agreement, no one was entitled to their pain.

They simply remained, lonely parallels. Broken hearts.

‐-----------------------------SPENCER--------------------

Spencer reeled as he saw Derek Morgan, the real Derek Morgan outside his door, kicking, flailing desperately trying to break down his front door. Derek’s eyes looked hollow, he looked like he hadn't been sleeping. Derek Morgan, the man who could practically sleep standing up during a fire drill. Spencer felt awful, the slimy self loathing he had been feeling since that fateful night, since his teens honestly, slithered up his throat like a giant, blood filled leach. Full of his friends worry, full of wasted potential, full of things that would never be.

Things he had wanted so desperately with Maeve.

Maeve.

It was as if her name broke through to him, he hadn't even allowed himself to think the word, scared he would completely lose his mind. With shaking hands Spencer removed the chain from his door, unlocking it just as Derek kicked it again. Tears streaming down his face, the door hit Spencer hard in the chest, knocking him sprawling to the floor. A small, sweaty, pale, skeleton-esque mess, his arm littered with needle marks, his aura exuding pure shame and grief.

It was then as Derek stood in the doorway, his heart slowly shattering that Spencer noticed he wasn't alone.

The whole team stood behind him in the corridor, full of love and full of fear.

Penelope looked drained of all hope, her skin grey, her pink glasses doing nothing to hide her red rimmed eyes.

Aaron Hotchner’s face was blank, not in the usual serious way he had. In a way that scared him.

Jennifer was shaking clutching a soft purple cashmere scarf, the one from Spencer's desk. It was wrapped around her neck, right next to her sister's locket.

Rossi hovered near the back, clutching his rosary, caught in a muffled prayer, tears freely falling down his face.

Blake was smiling softly, trying to keep it together, physically supporting JJ.

“Help me” Spencer sobbed, falling as he tried to stand, his voice breaking harshly “please, please help me. I need you”

-------------------------FIN------------------------

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