Cops don't like me
Spencer Reid x Childhood Friend! Reader ♯ One Time's Got No Case - Sir Mix-a-lot Pt 2. Wish you were sober. Synopsis: You were the troublemaker he knew growing up. Hanging around with the wrong crowds, having to save you multiple times from getting roped into trouble. You meet him again after an encounter with an UnSub. And you, were not oblivious to his obvious addiction. Genre: Childhood friends to semi-lovers. Hurt/comfort. Bit of crack. Cw: Drugs. Reid’s dilaudid addiction. Addiction in general. Gender neutral reader. Kinda mutual pining. Forced sobriety. It gets kinda deep. Stoner! Reader. Mentions of murder. Kinda ambiguous ending, but happy ending ig. Wc: 3.0k
"Hey there officer."
"Doctor" he corrected you, "not officer." He rolled his eyes in clear annoyance, a groan escaping the back of his throat when he turned around to the sound of your voice.
You rolled your own eyes, pushing yourself off of the wall of the abandoned building you've made as your hideout. "Same thing. Been a while since I last saw you, pretty."
Everyone's eyebrows rose in suspicion, in different circumstances, Derek would've been livid to find out that the team's nerd knew someone like you. He would’ve asked you out for some coffee after the case.
He would’ve, if you didn't spend your free time leaning back in dark, sketchy alleyways.
A rolled up blunt was between your lips, breathing in and savouring the tangy feeling flowing down your lungs.
If you weren’t ass deep in such a violent case, Spencer Reid wouldn’t mind retaliating all of your flirting.
“Reid, you know this chick?” Morgan's voice was very clearly weary, using his hand to fan away the cloud of smoke coming from your mouth.
"Yeah, sold him some molly back in his trainee days." You stood up straight, pushing yourself off of the wall you were leaning on. You carefully walked around the many unconscious people that had fainted in a drunken haze. Dusting your shoulders and scraping the foot of your shoes on the concrete floor.
"I reported you for selling molly." Spencer rolled his eyes.
"You reported the stoner that sat in the back of my class, not me," you cracked a smile, hoping to see the same one staring back at you. Though, of course it never came. The only reason Agent (doctor) Spencer Reid was here in front of you, was because he was on a case. He never took the time to visit you, how unfortunate, just because you happened to get roped into the wrong crowd.
"We don't have time to waste, we'd appreciate it if you cooperated with this investigation." He stepped around you, crouching down to observe the faces of the fainted men behind you. You blinked, gaze lingering Spencer's figure. He was a lot less lankier than you remembered. He wasn't buff, far from it. He was lean, much like he usually was. Though, at least he wasn't concerningly skinny, much like the when you'd see him whenever your parents would send you to his house when you were younger while they went off doing whatever they did.
"Need anything?" You crossed your arms, observing the way his face scrunched in annoyance with each guy he looks at. "I don't sell anymore, but I'm sure I got somethin' somewhere." You'll admit, it was a bit risky joking about drug dealings in front of two people from the literal FBI, but it didn't bother you in the slightest.
From your left, Spencer handed you a photo, you didn't take it, only looked at it intently, wondering where you've seen him before.
"Recognise him?" He asked you, you only respond with a pause, and then a slight shake of your head, "no-- I mean yeah, like a bit." You managed to spit out, ignoring the way Morgan's intense glare was making you feel uncomfortable on the spot. And the fact that you could feel his stares from behind you.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Like, I've seen him before, I just can't really put my finger on it." You put out the blunt while you spoke. Remembering the way Spencer's face would scrunch in disgust whenever you would smoke anywhere near him.
The two men looked at each other with the same look, as if they were speaking to each other through their eyes. You could remember the times you and the shy nerdy boy would do the same. Those times were over now.
"I need you to come with us back to the station."
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You were sat in a room you were all too familiar with. In front of you was a table, across from you was another red chair, and the elephant in the room; your own reflection staring right back at you from the big ass mirror drilled into the wall. You could only imagine the expressions of whatever officers were behind the two-way mirror.
Maybe it was for the best that you couldn't see. Spencer had what you could only describe as regret on his face. Regret that he didn't try hard enough to save you. From the world that you were forced into. Many people would tell him that it was your own decision. That may be true, but he knows otherwise. Your upbringing and his own were very different; he had to start acting like an adult when he was only twelve, and you were practically forced into an adult world.
He wanted to save you, he thought he would cure schizophrenia by the time he was twenty, and he thought you'd be beside him.
Hotch could see right through him, he found out pretty quick that the two of you shared a difficult history with each other. "You should go in alone." He told Spencer, "you'll get something out of them." Because you trust him.
"I live in a not too shabby apartment down the street where I used to sell weed." You slumped down on your chair, arms folded across your chest. Eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, your eyes were rapidly shutting open and close from the sting of the blunt you were smoking an hour ago. "What does this motherfucker have to do with me?"
"Y/n," he calls out your name, harsh, strict. In a way you've heard only a few times before.
When you were in high school, barely fifteen, when he heard that you had gotten into a cross fight between a few police officers. You and a lot of older kids had gotten caught in a party, a few half-lines of white snorted up your nose. You had gotten off lightly, with a warning. The police never scared you anymore, they infuriated you, but you had no problem going against them. What really scared you, was the way Spencer started looking at you from then on. Like you were a danger. Like he should stay away from you.
If only he did. If only he actually did stay away from you, then perhaps his thoughts wouldn't be consumed with how you were doing, with guilt, with concern. If he did, he wouldn't think of you as much as he was this past decade.
"I know you're smarter than you present yourself as." His eye twitched. It's been twitching, something you'd usually ignore, something you were familiar with. Sometimes, you'd see his eyes shut close harder than it would usually. It would happen quick enough that any other person wouldn't have noticed. You weren't any other person, though.
"Listen, Spence." You started, hiking your leg up on the chair, shifting into a much more comfortable position. "Why do you guys always mess with me?" You muttered to yourself, you weren't referring to him, no, not at all. In fact you'd hope that he'd mess with you, it's been a while since you got to see him. You were mainly talking about-- of course-- law enforcement.
"Why're you messing with me when you know I'm living legit?" You groan out, voice hoarse. "I stopped being a supplier. Dude, I literally have a job now. It's barely hanging on, but at least I have something." You whined out, the atmosphere around the room made you claustrophobic. It was like you were being suffocated.
Not as suffocated as he was, it seemed. His face was flushed, and not in the blushy way his face used to have, it was like he was melting, sweat clinging onto his forehead, barely making it past his hairline before he'd wipe it away. But it was also as if he was cold. He was shivering. Teeth clattering with the occasional body shiver. Damn, he was good at hiding it, wasn't he? You would've missed it if it weren't for the many years of experience.
Withdrawals.
You couldn't help but melt further down into your seat. The amount of guilt washing over you was enough to surpass the guilt clawing it's way to his stomach. Was he turning into you? Did you rub off of him so much that he's following you down the same pat?
No, he wasn't. There's no way he was.
Because there's no way that you would let that happen.
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You were kept in the room for hours, given coffee and water so that you could sober up. Eventually, on hour five, it turned out that you did know the UnSub, he was one of your customers. He's been murdering dealers across the city, and since you stopped supplying for a little over a year now, you moved, and you've long since forgotten his face. Which in turn, spared you his gun.
Emily was nice enough to offer you a ride back to your apartment, "thanks for the offer but, I'd rather go alone." You would not. You'd rather Spencer drive you back, but it didn't seem like he wanted to see you right now, or at all. He hasn't really been a good friend since he practically arrested you. Or took you in for questioning, whatever, it's the same thing. Emily greeted you goodbye with another bottle of water, "take care of yourself" she told you.
You made your way out, trying to ignore the way you felt eyes were watching you. You shook it off, withdrawals, it wasn't the first time you were off on drugs, paranoia wasn't your favourite, but you'd be back on you feet the second your feet hit the floor of your apartment.
You walked to the parking lot, the cold breeze made you halt. You've never been sober enough to actually feel it. I mean, you've been cold, a lot. But you've never had the time to feel it. Truly feel it, you didn't feel like your head was growing lighter by the second. You felt like you could stay on the ground and not fly away. You felt the cold air fill in your lungs, you felt alive.
You felt like you could use a smoke. Two, rolled up by yourself. And maybe a glass of wine. It pains you to feel so.. weird. Normal, as people would call it, though normal to you was completely different from their normal. The wooziness you were used to was normal. The feeling of floating away was normal. The hand on your shoulder was normal--
Wait, no it's not.
You spun around on your heel, eyes wide as hell, hands shooting up to clutch your bag, only to be met with the awkward eyes of the doctor that you've grown fond of.
"Uhm--" he cleared his throat, swallowing the nervousness and nausea down. "I-it's pretty dangerous, I'll uh, I'll drive you home." He stuttered out. A very sudden contrast from the man that was interrogating you hours ago. You were too shocked.. or, too tired.. or, too out of it to say anything, instead you meekly nodded your head. Waiting for him to go in front while you followed his lead.
He slowed down, matching your pace, wanting to walk side by side. The silence was unbearable, you were too much in pain that you couldn't think of anything witty to say. You've never been stuck in silence with Spencer Reid, the way he'd run his mouth on whatever scientific explanation that would flow out. And the way you'd say whatever was on your mind without thinking too much of it, there has never been a moment of silence.
"I'm sorry," even sober, you still said whatever was on your mind. He glanced at you, slowing down even more. "For what?" He asked you, voice softer this time, like the Spencer you knew. The Spencer that might be long gone, all because of you.
"That you went down that path too." Clouds of fog fell out of your mouth as you spoke. It was enough for you to imagine that you were having a smoke right now.
"What path?" He scoffed, you looked at him, eyes watery and red. Was it from last night's weed, or from deep in your heart, you didn't know anymore.
"C'mon man." Your hand shot up to ruffle through your hair. "The fuckin' drugs." You said, voice void of any accusation, it was only tired.
"That's none of your business." He practically spat at you, any gentleness in his tone was gone, there was a layer of malice. Of defense.
"Oh but it is, Spence," you laughed out, "you've spent your years knowing me to make sure that I don't go back to my old habits, yet you're doing it yourself."
His eyes twitched, it felt like bile was bubbling up his throat by now. "You don't know that."
"I do." You stopped, body turned right at him. "The twitching, the fidgeting, the sweating and shivering at the same time, the heavy breathing, you think I don't know shit?" You couldn't stop your legs from inching closer towards him, "because believe me, I do."
You were practically face to face, his breaths were staggering harder than you've ever heard him do. Another moment of silence passed between you, the sound of the wind being the only noise whirling around your ears.
"I don't understand why you care so much." He eventually sighs out, exasperated, he couldn't believe someoen found out, someone like you, no less.
"Of course I care!" You were unsure where the sudden shift of your tone came from. "I care because you did when I was in the asscrack of my own. When you spewed speeches upon speeches on how I could quit, on alternatives I could use, you even threatened to tattle if I didn't stop!" You were coming from a place of nostalgia, from your childhood, from the many times he'd fight tooth and nail to help you.
"It didn't even help." He looked sadder than he was just now, the guilt creeping back up in to his head, the thoughts that he didn't try hard enough.
"Obviously it didn't help," you flailed your arms in dramatic effect, "nothing did, but that was because I was too far gone. You still have a chance to deal with this."
"You don't know that!" The immediate outburst made him stumble backwards, away from you. "You don't know anything about me."
"Maybe so, but the second addiction gets involved, I'm the first in line" you stepped closer to him "and you, Spencer Reid, are deep into it, aren't ya?"
"I'm not an idiot Spence, you might think so, but I'm not. I'm just a little dazed out twenty-four seven." Your hands landed on either side of your hips. "And I don't want you to go down the same hole I did."
"I couldn't be saved, but you still have a chance."
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The both of you were in your apartment. The conversation you had still lingering between the two of you. The tension closing in, making you feel as claustrophobic as you were in the interrogation room. A heavy silence fell on the both of you.
You were coming back from your bedroom, a fresh set of clothes in between your hands while you took in the sight of him drenched on your couch. It started raining the second you reached the climax of your 'argument' urging the both of you to run back to your apartment, pausing the conversation for later.
Later had passed, and you tossed the clothes his way. You made your way back, seeing the way his leg was bouncing up and down while his hands trembled over his lap.
You went back out, slamming a half empty bottle of chewing gum on the table in front of him. He looked up at you, confusion laced on his face.
"Regulates cortisol levels." You remembered the way he himself would toss you numerous alternatives, gum never helped you, but you had a lot of others. "Reduces anxiety, right? Get your cravings in check."
You sat in front of him on the coffee table. Seeing the way he kept his eyes on the tub, refusing to meet yours. You wanted to reach out, push his hair back, it was getting long. Touch his face, the eye bags were prominent, darker, sunken in. You could tell he's been through shit. You wanted to reach out, but you didn't, the smell of smoke still clinging to your fingers, you didn't want him to smell that. Not now, especially.
He didn't take any, only grabbing the tub and fiddling with in his hands.
"I don't think you're an idiot," he recalls the previous confrontation. Where you insulted yourself, something you've done frequently his whole time knowing you, even before you started drugs. It was just another factor adding onto your already fragile mental state, something that he couldn't save you from. "You're just someone who's been through a lot."
"Yeah well," you faced the other way, blinking the discomfort away from your face. "So did you." You snatched the tub from his hands. "You were a child prodigy that went to college at thirteen." Opening the tub, grabbing one, two, three, pieces of gum and tossing it into your mouth, "you got bullied real bad." You said in between chews.
"You were forced into this world."
"So were you. Truth is, we've been failed by so many people, it's only inevitable we turn to somethin' like this, don't you think?"
He looked down, head lowering, focusing on the floor.
"We don't have to."
"You don't have to, I'm already far gone. I can't go more than one and a half days without immense pain from my own withdrawals." Your fingers twitched to the direction of your cabinet, the space where you kept your stash.
"And I don't want you to go through that. Not you."
You cared about him too much to even imagine him in the same pains you were in.
"Anyone but you."
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I've only ever done cigs, so do forgive me for any inaccuracies. This was kinda inspired by the episode where Ethan implied himself to be an addict as well, and he was the only one that lwk noticed Spencer's addiction. (S3xE2).
Also I feel like my writing has improved a lot. I think.
Lmk if you want a part two, I don't have a lot of ideas of what they'd do after, I'd love any suggestions though.
