entry 078 - Images
Title: Images
Author: jamie_love13
Beta-Edited: No one.
Pairings/Characters: Morgan/Reid pre-slash, Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, Emily Prentiss, JJ, Penelope Garcia, William Reid
Word Count: 3,100 Words
Rating: NC-17/R
Summary: An alternate way the episode of Memoriam could have gone. What if Reid's dad did hurt him?
Disclaimer: Definitely don't own.
Warnings: Non-Con. Graphic Imagery?
Notes: Okay, so it's my first Criminal Minds fanfiction. Bare with me as I try to get a hang to everything? You should listen to this song while reading, but it's not necessary. Also, I wrote this at around 12:00 - 2:00 in the morning, and it has first person point of view and present tense. Both of which I suck at. I don't enjoy the ending but I hope you enjoy the story!
“I know you’re awake, Spencer.”
“No….no, I don’t want to be here,” He says to the therapist, his body tossing and turning roughly as he watches his father stroke his arm, which then reaches the hem of his shirt higher and higher. As the shirt’s hem reaches his neck, Spencer begins to clench his fists together, not wanting to go through this for another night, not wanting to feel his father like this once more. His knuckles are white, and he tries to calm himself down by stating statistics in his head, but the voice inside falters when his father’s hand reaches his pants and tugs on them, wanting them off. His fists clench tighter and in the background, he can hear someone speaking.
“5….4…..3…..2…..1…”
***
Spencer Reid sits up in bed quickly, a fresh sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his eyes wide with fear and hurt. He can see the images of his nightmare in his head clearly, flashing by quick enough that he has to close his eyes and calm his breathing down. It doesn’t do much for him though, and it’s one of the few times that Spencer curses his eidetic memory. He clenches his eyes tighter, as the images are becoming too much for him - images of blood as bright as apples, bruises as big as any male adults’ hands, a tight pressure coming from behind him, a pain so explosive he can only scream, a hand quieting his mouth, tears slowly coming down his cheeks. Ever since he returned from Vegas (and seeing his Dad for the first time in years), the nightmares have returned, and have reappeared many times throughout the course of his sleep and his regular thoughts. For the past few days, he’s tried so hard to stop the flow of images from coming but he knows that it’s affecting him, and his work. His team has started to notice, and Spencer hates the looks they give him. They’re his family, and he trusts them with everything he knows, but he just can’t with this - never this.
Rossi knows. His mind says and Spencer opens his eyes at the thought, knowing the truth in them and knowing that of course Rossi knows. Rossi was there with him when he went into the hypnosis office, when he went under, when he started letting the memory come into his mind from the dark recesses of his mind.
Morgan’s suspicious. Spencer’s mind continues, and at that thought, his eyes close again, his head shaking in denial and his body trembling as he briefly remembers the feeling of his father’s hands on him. He never wanted Morgan to be suspicious about anything, especially after Spencer learned about Buford. He likes Morgan - more than he should - and for Morgan to realize just how tainted, how used, he is, Spencer can’t deal with it.
He opens his eyes and looks over to his clock, and when the time shows 7:15, he can feel his body stretch, can feel his mouth open in a yawn due to a poor amount of sleep in the past few days, and slowly stands up from the bed before making his way to the shower. He turns on the water, all the way with the hotness and only a quarter of the way with the coldness and then strips, not looking at himself in the mirror, not wanting to see the reflection of the scars, or the bruises that will - or will not - be there. It doesn’t help though, because even as he’s stripping, he can still see every single bruise he’s ever received from his father, even if it’s been years since they last showed.
He closes his eyes again, steps into the shower and lets the hot water pound into his skin, redness beginning to appear from the heat of it. He doesn’t know how long he spent in the shower, just knows that in the time frame alone, he could recall three different instances of rape, and his body shudders with the knowledge. The images are back, different ones though. He can see hands, and they’re squeezing, or pushing, or stroking. He can hear his name being repeated, panted, sighed, shouted and he hates it all, and pounds his fist into the shower door, cracking the glass.
He lets out a sigh, opens his eyes and can see a spot of blood. When he looks at his closed fist, he can see even more blood, but not a lot, and gets out of the shower, drying himself off, his skin reddening even more with his thoughts - must stay clean, must get dirt off, must not let it show - and knows he’ll have to hurry to get into work on time.
Of course, right now, since Vegas, he hasn’t exactly cared about being on time for work, and it has everyone second guessing him. JJ and Hotch have asked him if he’s using again and Prentiss won’t even talk to him anymore for fear that he’s going through withdrawal and will snap at her. It hurts, that the people closest to him have no faith in him on not using, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it recently. How couldn’t he have? The images are back in his mind, after keeping them locked away for so long.
Talk to Morgan. He’d understand. Spencer shakes his head at that thought, knowing he won’t ever initiate a conversation about this - about being raped. He knows that Morgan would understand - of course he does - but he doesn’t want to have that conversation with Morgan, doesn’t want Morgan to think of him as the boy who got raped by his daddy - or the boy who wasn’t even good enough for his daddy - doesn’t want Morgan not to like him for that reason alone.
He looks at the clock one more time, sees a half hour has gone by - 7:45 - and grimaces, realizing he’ll probably actually be early. He doesn’t want to walk, doesn’t want to take the bus, or the train, which leaves him with using his actual car. When he gets in and starts the ignition, he sits still for a minute, realizing only a minute late that his phone had been ringing. When he looks at the caller id and sees that it was Garcia, he can only sigh, flinch and close his eyes before opening them quickly not wanting to see any - blood, little boy with brown hair and big glasses screaming and crying in pain, his daddy behind him thrusting - images.
Garcia knows, too and that just sucks. Somehow, he doesn’t know how, she got into his file on the computer during the case. Had seen what his Dad had done, what the neighbours had reported, what made his Dad run for the hills. She’d been trying since then to talk to him about it but Spencer doesn’t want to talk, not about this, not to anyone.
It’s why he doesn’t care about Rossi knowing. He knows Rossi will just file it away in his brain, never to truly think of it again unless he has to, or he’s on a similar case, never to try and talk to Spencer about it, to try and make him feel better.
He doesn’t realize it, too caught up in his thoughts, but he’s driving now. All he sees is bloody sheets, rumpled sheets, his dad in his sheets, and it isn’t until another car honks at him that he realizes not only is he driving, but he nearly got himself killed by not paying attention. It doesn’t matter though, because he’s not early, not late, and just entering the parking lot at Quantico, turning off the engine of the car, clenching his fists on the steering wheel, letting a breath in, letting it back out. He does this for a few seconds, knows it isn’t going to help him, not today, and gets out of the car, pushing his messenger back up onto his shoulder, clutching onto it like it’s a lifeline.
As he makes his way up the steps of the building, he can feel a constant stream of emotions trying to break through, and he has to stop - stop, please stop, please, no no no, please Daddy, no. - climbing the steps in order to take a breather. When he straightens his back, he looks up, surprised to see the whole team there, looking at him, hatred and disgust in his eyes and he nearly has a panic attack at the thought that they know.
When he blinks next though, they’re gone and it takes him a mere second to realize it was just a hallucination, just part of his mind, and if that thought alone doesn’t scare him about becoming schizophrenic, he doesn’t know what will.
He’s finally done climbing the steps though, but instead of walking into the bullpen, he just stares at it through the glass doors, watching as his team, his family, run around doing things. He can see Hotch in his office, working on some paperwork but stopping to look at a photo of Jack every couple of minutes. He can see Rossi in his office, staring into nothingness, his fingers tapping something onto his desk. He can see JJ and Emily, talking about something, smiles on their faces and Spencer can’t help but think that he hasn’t smiled - truly smiled - in a really long time. The thought hits him hard, causes him to take a deep breath in, and he nearly collapses when he doesn’t exhale, but before he can do anything, Garcia is standing next to him and Morgan has appeared from the break room. He sees Morgan look at his desk in the bullpen, sees him walk toward it and stare at it. Before he can profile the stare, Garcia is pulling him away towards her office, and the only thing Spencer can do is follow.
When they finally make it, he sits down and she begins to talk, but he’s not really listening. Everything has been images so far, and Spencer can feel himself beginning to break - to crack - and he knows it won’t be long now until the team looks at him differently. He hears Garcia say something to him specifically, but he’s still not listening to her - he hasn’t been listening to her since she found out about him.
We all have our secrets. His mind supplies and he can only look up in confusion when he realizes he’s back at the bullpen. Garcia is with him, their arms linked with one another, and his confusion is heightened when he notices the whole team looking at him with worry in their eyes.
He begins to shake his head, slowly at first, backing away as he does so, but a couple of minutes later, Spencer realizes he’s let go of his coffee cup, and his wonderful cup of caffeine and sugar has spilt onto the ground.
“Spence, are you alright?” Spencer looks towards the voice - JJ - and unbidden thoughts and images come to him once more, thoughts of his mother holding him in her arms as he cried, putting his bloody pants into the washing machine, fighting with his father, shaking her head and silencing the noises that she hears throughout the days and nights.
“Spence?” JJ questions him one more time, and he’s hit a wall, his head shaking more violently, his knees bent - he’s on the ground, having a break on the ground - and the team staring at him curiously, with Morgan and Rossi trying to get closer but not making it.
“No, no, no, no, no,” He’s chanting that, noticing the team is looking at one another in confusion, until Morgan’s face so dawning realization that quickly turns into something unknowable for Spencer - something he doesn’t want to see.
“Pretty boy,” Morgan whispers, quiet enough that Spencer looks into his eyes, can only see a slight blur - which is when he realizes he’s been crying - and when he looks around, he sees that everyone has gone back to their respective places while trying to listen into anything that might be said.
“I never-‘’ Spencer begins, but breaks off while quickly standing up from his kneeling position and makes his way towards the washroom. He needs to rid himself of everything, needs to be cleaned of the filth and dirt that he feels. He’s finally reached the sink and has turned the water onto extremely hot, not even bothering with the cold, before putting his arms underneath and scrubbing, scratching, clawing, until the only thing he can see is ---
Blood, blood everywhere. His glasses are skewed off of his face, which isn’t very surprising for the position he’s in. His pants are just below his knees, bunched up around the area where his father clenched them as he let himself go. His shirt is ripped, a piece hanging off of his shoulder, and there are bite marks along his back, some fading, some completely brand new.
He’s crying into his pillow, in complete darkness, his father having left him forty-five minutes before. He hasn’t stopped crying since - he never does - and every few minutes, he’ll scream as loud and hard as he can into the pillow and as loud and hard as his father screams when this happens every night. If he were to listen closely, not focus on himself, he would be able to hear his mother’s sobs of despair, his father’s shouts of how he didn’t ask for this - for a son like Spencer.
His body shakes with the pain, with the emotions, and it isn’t until another hour later that Spencer finally stops crying long enough to get into the shower, to clean him up, look himself over. He hates that part the most - the looking himself over - He hates having to see the bruises his father left on him, hates having to see the blood trail down his legs in rivulets of continuums.
He hates having to see his lip quiver and his eyes go wide and his glasses fall off and into the sink. Hates having to see the tear tracks on his face, and the half-moon prints his fingernails leave behind in his skin from clenching everything too tight, for too long.
Hates hearing his father’s words in his ears every day, every night. He hates his eidetic memory for not letting him forget, for never letting him forget. He hates himself for being weak enough to let it happen, to let it continue night after night, day after day, week after week, year after year. Even once his father has left for good, he can still remember everything.
Most importantly, he hates himself for believing he deserved it, for not telling anyone and getting help. For showing the weakness that he shows.
He doesn’t stop until he realizes that Morgan is holding him, rocking him back and forth in his lap while whispering that they’ll get Spencer help, they’ll help him get through this shit. Spencer can only let out a choked sob at that, wondering why they don’t hate him, why they don’t find him weak.
“It wasn’t your fault, Spencer.” His eyes go wide at hearing Morgan call him by his first name, and he’s surprised to find himself falling asleep in Morgan’s eyes. Surprised to find Morgan actually letting him. In the end though, he knows that it doesn’t matter, knows that no matter what he’s gone through, his team will always be there for him. Will always be his family.
***
Aaron Hotchner is currently sitting at the round table in the conference room, with four members of his team looking at him like someone just hurt their puppy. And in a way, someone did. Everyone is quiet as they think about what they saw, what they realized, recognized, in one of their own.
“It --- no…” That’s Prentiss, and there are tears coming down her face, slow but sure, and he watches her put her head into her hands and let out a sob, so quiet that even he had a hard time hearing it.
“It came out during the Vegas case. He never told us outright but…” He knows that’s Rossi, knows the other man is trying to explain but can’t bring himself to.
“His own father.” JJ says that, and Hotch wants to punch something, but knows they can’t do anything. He sighs quickly, before getting up and pacing for a few minutes.
“We do what we did with Derek during his arrest. Ignore it. Move on. If Reid wants to talk, we’ll let him, but it has to be on his own terms,” Hotch finishes, watching as the others nod their head, looking away, eyes wide and wet. He never thought he’d be going through this again, but he realizes that at some point, he’s going to have to ask Reid to do an evaluation.
If today hadn’t shown anything wrong, another day would have, and maybe with even worse qualities.
“It needs to be female,” JJ whispers quietly, with everyone turning to look at her.
“He won’t trust a male - he doesn’t even trust males normally, barely trusting you guys at first,” She finishes and Hotch finds himself nodding alongside Rossi, wondering who could help them with something this private, this harsh, this heartbreaking.
“I’ll look into it, but I won’t know for sure how long.”
“Maybe we can do it. He’ll talk to us, he’ll prefer us over -“Emily begins but with one look at JJ, Hotch knows that she realizes how absurd the idea actually is. Reid would never want to be evaluated by them over something like this. The thought hurts, but he knows it’s what’s best. Knows it’s what will help Reid cope.
“I’ll see what I can do,” He finishes before leaving the conference room and making his way to his office, but not without hearing the sobs coming from the bathroom. Not without seeing Morgan holding Reid and Reid clutching onto Morgan like a lifeline.
If anything, Hotch thinks the best person might be Morgan, having been through something similar. But at the same time, Hotch knows that Reid won’t like that either.
Sighing, he sits down at his desk and begins going through the task of calling Strauss, calling a psychologist, therapist, and some more people.
For Spencer, all the way in the bathroom, his sobbing doesn’t end, his clutches with Morgan don’t end, and the pain doesn’t end. But eventually, he knows, life will move on.
Author: jamie_love13
Beta-Edited: No one.
Pairings/Characters: Morgan/Reid pre-slash, Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, Emily Prentiss, JJ, Penelope Garcia, William Reid
Word Count: 3,100 Words
Rating: NC-17/R
Summary: An alternate way the episode of Memoriam could have gone. What if Reid's dad did hurt him?
Disclaimer: Definitely don't own.
Warnings: Non-Con. Graphic Imagery?
Notes: Okay, so it's my first Criminal Minds fanfiction. Bare with me as I try to get a hang to everything? You should listen to this song while reading, but it's not necessary. Also, I wrote this at around 12:00 - 2:00 in the morning, and it has first person point of view and present tense. Both of which I suck at. I don't enjoy the ending but I hope you enjoy the story!
“I know you’re awake, Spencer.”
“No….no, I don’t want to be here,” He says to the therapist, his body tossing and turning roughly as he watches his father stroke his arm, which then reaches the hem of his shirt higher and higher. As the shirt’s hem reaches his neck, Spencer begins to clench his fists together, not wanting to go through this for another night, not wanting to feel his father like this once more. His knuckles are white, and he tries to calm himself down by stating statistics in his head, but the voice inside falters when his father’s hand reaches his pants and tugs on them, wanting them off. His fists clench tighter and in the background, he can hear someone speaking.
“5….4…..3…..2…..1…”
***
Spencer Reid sits up in bed quickly, a fresh sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his eyes wide with fear and hurt. He can see the images of his nightmare in his head clearly, flashing by quick enough that he has to close his eyes and calm his breathing down. It doesn’t do much for him though, and it’s one of the few times that Spencer curses his eidetic memory. He clenches his eyes tighter, as the images are becoming too much for him - images of blood as bright as apples, bruises as big as any male adults’ hands, a tight pressure coming from behind him, a pain so explosive he can only scream, a hand quieting his mouth, tears slowly coming down his cheeks. Ever since he returned from Vegas (and seeing his Dad for the first time in years), the nightmares have returned, and have reappeared many times throughout the course of his sleep and his regular thoughts. For the past few days, he’s tried so hard to stop the flow of images from coming but he knows that it’s affecting him, and his work. His team has started to notice, and Spencer hates the looks they give him. They’re his family, and he trusts them with everything he knows, but he just can’t with this - never this.
Rossi knows. His mind says and Spencer opens his eyes at the thought, knowing the truth in them and knowing that of course Rossi knows. Rossi was there with him when he went into the hypnosis office, when he went under, when he started letting the memory come into his mind from the dark recesses of his mind.
Morgan’s suspicious. Spencer’s mind continues, and at that thought, his eyes close again, his head shaking in denial and his body trembling as he briefly remembers the feeling of his father’s hands on him. He never wanted Morgan to be suspicious about anything, especially after Spencer learned about Buford. He likes Morgan - more than he should - and for Morgan to realize just how tainted, how used, he is, Spencer can’t deal with it.
He opens his eyes and looks over to his clock, and when the time shows 7:15, he can feel his body stretch, can feel his mouth open in a yawn due to a poor amount of sleep in the past few days, and slowly stands up from the bed before making his way to the shower. He turns on the water, all the way with the hotness and only a quarter of the way with the coldness and then strips, not looking at himself in the mirror, not wanting to see the reflection of the scars, or the bruises that will - or will not - be there. It doesn’t help though, because even as he’s stripping, he can still see every single bruise he’s ever received from his father, even if it’s been years since they last showed.
He closes his eyes again, steps into the shower and lets the hot water pound into his skin, redness beginning to appear from the heat of it. He doesn’t know how long he spent in the shower, just knows that in the time frame alone, he could recall three different instances of rape, and his body shudders with the knowledge. The images are back, different ones though. He can see hands, and they’re squeezing, or pushing, or stroking. He can hear his name being repeated, panted, sighed, shouted and he hates it all, and pounds his fist into the shower door, cracking the glass.
He lets out a sigh, opens his eyes and can see a spot of blood. When he looks at his closed fist, he can see even more blood, but not a lot, and gets out of the shower, drying himself off, his skin reddening even more with his thoughts - must stay clean, must get dirt off, must not let it show - and knows he’ll have to hurry to get into work on time.
Of course, right now, since Vegas, he hasn’t exactly cared about being on time for work, and it has everyone second guessing him. JJ and Hotch have asked him if he’s using again and Prentiss won’t even talk to him anymore for fear that he’s going through withdrawal and will snap at her. It hurts, that the people closest to him have no faith in him on not using, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it recently. How couldn’t he have? The images are back in his mind, after keeping them locked away for so long.
Talk to Morgan. He’d understand. Spencer shakes his head at that thought, knowing he won’t ever initiate a conversation about this - about being raped. He knows that Morgan would understand - of course he does - but he doesn’t want to have that conversation with Morgan, doesn’t want Morgan to think of him as the boy who got raped by his daddy - or the boy who wasn’t even good enough for his daddy - doesn’t want Morgan not to like him for that reason alone.
He looks at the clock one more time, sees a half hour has gone by - 7:45 - and grimaces, realizing he’ll probably actually be early. He doesn’t want to walk, doesn’t want to take the bus, or the train, which leaves him with using his actual car. When he gets in and starts the ignition, he sits still for a minute, realizing only a minute late that his phone had been ringing. When he looks at the caller id and sees that it was Garcia, he can only sigh, flinch and close his eyes before opening them quickly not wanting to see any - blood, little boy with brown hair and big glasses screaming and crying in pain, his daddy behind him thrusting - images.
Garcia knows, too and that just sucks. Somehow, he doesn’t know how, she got into his file on the computer during the case. Had seen what his Dad had done, what the neighbours had reported, what made his Dad run for the hills. She’d been trying since then to talk to him about it but Spencer doesn’t want to talk, not about this, not to anyone.
It’s why he doesn’t care about Rossi knowing. He knows Rossi will just file it away in his brain, never to truly think of it again unless he has to, or he’s on a similar case, never to try and talk to Spencer about it, to try and make him feel better.
He doesn’t realize it, too caught up in his thoughts, but he’s driving now. All he sees is bloody sheets, rumpled sheets, his dad in his sheets, and it isn’t until another car honks at him that he realizes not only is he driving, but he nearly got himself killed by not paying attention. It doesn’t matter though, because he’s not early, not late, and just entering the parking lot at Quantico, turning off the engine of the car, clenching his fists on the steering wheel, letting a breath in, letting it back out. He does this for a few seconds, knows it isn’t going to help him, not today, and gets out of the car, pushing his messenger back up onto his shoulder, clutching onto it like it’s a lifeline.
As he makes his way up the steps of the building, he can feel a constant stream of emotions trying to break through, and he has to stop - stop, please stop, please, no no no, please Daddy, no. - climbing the steps in order to take a breather. When he straightens his back, he looks up, surprised to see the whole team there, looking at him, hatred and disgust in his eyes and he nearly has a panic attack at the thought that they know.
When he blinks next though, they’re gone and it takes him a mere second to realize it was just a hallucination, just part of his mind, and if that thought alone doesn’t scare him about becoming schizophrenic, he doesn’t know what will.
He’s finally done climbing the steps though, but instead of walking into the bullpen, he just stares at it through the glass doors, watching as his team, his family, run around doing things. He can see Hotch in his office, working on some paperwork but stopping to look at a photo of Jack every couple of minutes. He can see Rossi in his office, staring into nothingness, his fingers tapping something onto his desk. He can see JJ and Emily, talking about something, smiles on their faces and Spencer can’t help but think that he hasn’t smiled - truly smiled - in a really long time. The thought hits him hard, causes him to take a deep breath in, and he nearly collapses when he doesn’t exhale, but before he can do anything, Garcia is standing next to him and Morgan has appeared from the break room. He sees Morgan look at his desk in the bullpen, sees him walk toward it and stare at it. Before he can profile the stare, Garcia is pulling him away towards her office, and the only thing Spencer can do is follow.
When they finally make it, he sits down and she begins to talk, but he’s not really listening. Everything has been images so far, and Spencer can feel himself beginning to break - to crack - and he knows it won’t be long now until the team looks at him differently. He hears Garcia say something to him specifically, but he’s still not listening to her - he hasn’t been listening to her since she found out about him.
We all have our secrets. His mind supplies and he can only look up in confusion when he realizes he’s back at the bullpen. Garcia is with him, their arms linked with one another, and his confusion is heightened when he notices the whole team looking at him with worry in their eyes.
He begins to shake his head, slowly at first, backing away as he does so, but a couple of minutes later, Spencer realizes he’s let go of his coffee cup, and his wonderful cup of caffeine and sugar has spilt onto the ground.
“Spence, are you alright?” Spencer looks towards the voice - JJ - and unbidden thoughts and images come to him once more, thoughts of his mother holding him in her arms as he cried, putting his bloody pants into the washing machine, fighting with his father, shaking her head and silencing the noises that she hears throughout the days and nights.
“Spence?” JJ questions him one more time, and he’s hit a wall, his head shaking more violently, his knees bent - he’s on the ground, having a break on the ground - and the team staring at him curiously, with Morgan and Rossi trying to get closer but not making it.
“No, no, no, no, no,” He’s chanting that, noticing the team is looking at one another in confusion, until Morgan’s face so dawning realization that quickly turns into something unknowable for Spencer - something he doesn’t want to see.
“Pretty boy,” Morgan whispers, quiet enough that Spencer looks into his eyes, can only see a slight blur - which is when he realizes he’s been crying - and when he looks around, he sees that everyone has gone back to their respective places while trying to listen into anything that might be said.
“I never-‘’ Spencer begins, but breaks off while quickly standing up from his kneeling position and makes his way towards the washroom. He needs to rid himself of everything, needs to be cleaned of the filth and dirt that he feels. He’s finally reached the sink and has turned the water onto extremely hot, not even bothering with the cold, before putting his arms underneath and scrubbing, scratching, clawing, until the only thing he can see is ---
Blood, blood everywhere. His glasses are skewed off of his face, which isn’t very surprising for the position he’s in. His pants are just below his knees, bunched up around the area where his father clenched them as he let himself go. His shirt is ripped, a piece hanging off of his shoulder, and there are bite marks along his back, some fading, some completely brand new.
He’s crying into his pillow, in complete darkness, his father having left him forty-five minutes before. He hasn’t stopped crying since - he never does - and every few minutes, he’ll scream as loud and hard as he can into the pillow and as loud and hard as his father screams when this happens every night. If he were to listen closely, not focus on himself, he would be able to hear his mother’s sobs of despair, his father’s shouts of how he didn’t ask for this - for a son like Spencer.
His body shakes with the pain, with the emotions, and it isn’t until another hour later that Spencer finally stops crying long enough to get into the shower, to clean him up, look himself over. He hates that part the most - the looking himself over - He hates having to see the bruises his father left on him, hates having to see the blood trail down his legs in rivulets of continuums.
He hates having to see his lip quiver and his eyes go wide and his glasses fall off and into the sink. Hates having to see the tear tracks on his face, and the half-moon prints his fingernails leave behind in his skin from clenching everything too tight, for too long.
Hates hearing his father’s words in his ears every day, every night. He hates his eidetic memory for not letting him forget, for never letting him forget. He hates himself for being weak enough to let it happen, to let it continue night after night, day after day, week after week, year after year. Even once his father has left for good, he can still remember everything.
Most importantly, he hates himself for believing he deserved it, for not telling anyone and getting help. For showing the weakness that he shows.
He doesn’t stop until he realizes that Morgan is holding him, rocking him back and forth in his lap while whispering that they’ll get Spencer help, they’ll help him get through this shit. Spencer can only let out a choked sob at that, wondering why they don’t hate him, why they don’t find him weak.
“It wasn’t your fault, Spencer.” His eyes go wide at hearing Morgan call him by his first name, and he’s surprised to find himself falling asleep in Morgan’s eyes. Surprised to find Morgan actually letting him. In the end though, he knows that it doesn’t matter, knows that no matter what he’s gone through, his team will always be there for him. Will always be his family.
***
Aaron Hotchner is currently sitting at the round table in the conference room, with four members of his team looking at him like someone just hurt their puppy. And in a way, someone did. Everyone is quiet as they think about what they saw, what they realized, recognized, in one of their own.
“It --- no…” That’s Prentiss, and there are tears coming down her face, slow but sure, and he watches her put her head into her hands and let out a sob, so quiet that even he had a hard time hearing it.
“It came out during the Vegas case. He never told us outright but…” He knows that’s Rossi, knows the other man is trying to explain but can’t bring himself to.
“His own father.” JJ says that, and Hotch wants to punch something, but knows they can’t do anything. He sighs quickly, before getting up and pacing for a few minutes.
“We do what we did with Derek during his arrest. Ignore it. Move on. If Reid wants to talk, we’ll let him, but it has to be on his own terms,” Hotch finishes, watching as the others nod their head, looking away, eyes wide and wet. He never thought he’d be going through this again, but he realizes that at some point, he’s going to have to ask Reid to do an evaluation.
If today hadn’t shown anything wrong, another day would have, and maybe with even worse qualities.
“It needs to be female,” JJ whispers quietly, with everyone turning to look at her.
“He won’t trust a male - he doesn’t even trust males normally, barely trusting you guys at first,” She finishes and Hotch finds himself nodding alongside Rossi, wondering who could help them with something this private, this harsh, this heartbreaking.
“I’ll look into it, but I won’t know for sure how long.”
“Maybe we can do it. He’ll talk to us, he’ll prefer us over -“Emily begins but with one look at JJ, Hotch knows that she realizes how absurd the idea actually is. Reid would never want to be evaluated by them over something like this. The thought hurts, but he knows it’s what’s best. Knows it’s what will help Reid cope.
“I’ll see what I can do,” He finishes before leaving the conference room and making his way to his office, but not without hearing the sobs coming from the bathroom. Not without seeing Morgan holding Reid and Reid clutching onto Morgan like a lifeline.
If anything, Hotch thinks the best person might be Morgan, having been through something similar. But at the same time, Hotch knows that Reid won’t like that either.
Sighing, he sits down at his desk and begins going through the task of calling Strauss, calling a psychologist, therapist, and some more people.
For Spencer, all the way in the bathroom, his sobbing doesn’t end, his clutches with Morgan don’t end, and the pain doesn’t end. But eventually, he knows, life will move on.