Glitters and Sparkles and Garcia’s Lair
Content Warnings: Age regression (100% SFW), regression, soft caregiver/little dynamic with and without main caregiver, slow emotional processing, parental comfort, vulnerable Reid, comfort-heavy, cranky and bratty Little behavior, Regressing in public.
Universe Explanation: This AU is set a few months after Spencer Reid’s kidnapping by Tobias Hankel. In this universe, Spencer is an age regressor who uses his regression to cope with trauma and past addiction. At this point in time, everyone but Garcia knows about this ( THIS WILL CHANGE IN THIS ONE). Aaron Hotchner is not only Spencer’s caregiver during his Little time but also his adoptive father. In this timeline, Haley and Jack do not exist, and David Rossi has been part of the BAU from the beginning. Hotch and Rossi are not yet in a relationship, but Reid relentlessly teases his dad about his obvious crush.
Author’s Note: Today was destined to be a chaotic day..First, Aaron slept through his alarm, making him and Spencer wake up late.
Second, Spencer woke up in that little, fine line of in-between headspaces. He had gone to bed while big, he was fine! It was rare that he instantly woke up little or in-between. But, to make matters worse, Aaron was so focused on getting himself and his son to work that he didn’t even notice it!
Now Spencer had to be the best actor he could be and pretend he was fully big! At work, of all places! He can do that..! Right..?
Glitters and Sparkles and Garcia’s Lair
Spencer trailed after Hotch like a baby duck that had taken a wrong turn on its way to the pond. His badge bounced lightly against his sweater vest, and he swore it sounded louder today. Too loud. Loud enough for everyone in the bullpen to hear the thump-thump-tattle-tale of not big enough today, not really.
He kept his eyes glued to the carpet, hoping that if he didn’t make eye contact with the world, the world wouldn’t notice he was two wrong blinks away from curling into someone’s lap.
Hotch strode ahead with the energy of a man speedrunning parenthood and federal leadership at the same time. He was raking fingers through his hair, muttering something about budget meetings and case files that were definitely, absolutely, irreversibly not where he left them.
Spencer tried to walk like a grown-up. Big steps. Regular arms. No swaying.
He failed.
By the time they reached Garcia’s office( Hotch said something about some files or something about…Net something security or…Meh, Spencer’s brain was way too marshmallow soft to remember), the rainbow glow spilling from her doorway tugged at him like a warm hand. The sparkles, the screens, the soft hum. It was like standing on the threshold of Candy Land with a warrant.
Garcia spotted them instantly, swinging around in her chair with a grin that carried its own glitter trail.
“Well, hello, my favorite dynamic duo! Come forth, come forth, bring me your administrative chaos so I may work my magic.”
Hotch sighed the sigh of a man clinging to sanity by a coffee-scented thread. “We need the network logs from last week. I didn’t get…” He paused, finally looking at Spencer. “Reid, you okay?”
Spencer jerked upright. “Me? Yes. I’m… perfecto. Optimal. Functioning at adult capacity. Nothing is… unusual.”
He said it all in one breath. On one foot. Because he had, without thinking, begun rocking.
Garcia’s eyes softened. She picked up her neon pink mug and leaned forward, studying him with forensic-level affection.
“Sweetie,” she said gently, voice dipped in honey and stardust, “why do you look like you’re three seconds away from teleporting directly under my desk for a nap?”
Spencer’s face flushed a shade of rose best described as embarrassed flop-sweat pink. He stared at the floor. The carpet was safe. Nonjudgmental. Carpet didn’t know anything.
Hotch finally, belatedly, put the puzzle pieces together. He knelt a little, tilting his head with that soft-dad concern he usually reserved for nights when Spencer’s hands trembled too hard to hold a mug.
“Spence,” he murmured, voice low and steady, “Hey, pumpkin, you’re feeling tiny right now?”
Spencer shook his head. Then nodded. Then shrugged in a tiny unhappy swirl, the kind that meant his words were stuck somewhere behind his ribs.
Garcia blinked. Twice. Then her jaw dropped.
“Oh my god… he’s little right now?!” she whispered, like she had been given access to the world’s rarest, most fragile secret. “Wait. Is he…? Is this a thing? A regular thing??”
Hotch hesitated. A heartbeat. Two. His expression flickered through guilt, protectiveness, worry, and the quiet resignation of a man who had absolutely, positively messed up this morning.
“Garcia,” he said, steady but soft, “can we talk? Privately.”
But Spencer tugged gently on his sleeve with a tiny, lost sound he probably didn’t realize escaped his throat.
He whispered, voice small and gravelly: “Dada… no close door.”
Garcia’s eyebrows flew into the stratosphere.
Hotch froze.
And Spencer’s ears turned so red he could have powered the entire Quantico grid on shame alone.
Garcia’s eyes darted from Spencer’s flushed face to Hotch’s frozen panic-parent stance. She raised both hands like someone approaching a startled forest creature.
“Hey, angel cakes,” she said softly, trimming her voice down to a feather. “No doors closed. No spooky vibes, okay? We don’t have to close the doors, I promise!”
Spencer peeked up at her from behind a curtain of hair, lower lip trembling in a traitorous little wobble.
Hotch’s stern profile melted into guilt soup.
“Spence, oh my baby,” he murmured, kneeling beside him. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve checked in with you before we left home. You didn’t have to push yourself like this.”
“I tried,” Spencer whispered, toes curling in his shoes. “‘M big. I was. Then… now I’m… not. And we’re at work. We’re at work, Dada.” His voice went tight and watery. “And everyone’s big here.”
Garcia’s heart practically performed a parkour routine in her chest.
“Oh, sugary doctor,” she breathed, stepping closer. “You don’t have to pretend with me, okay? If you need to be tiny and we are still in the office, then that’s exactly who you get to be in my lair. I can handle more than firewalls and federal drama.”
She walked towards Spencer, heels clicking softly like punctuation marks.
“Do you want to sit on my couch? It’s basically a stuffed animal pretending to be furniture.”
Spencer hesitated, head tipping in that floaty-not-quite-here way, then gave the tiniest nod. Hotch guided him gently over to the cushioned loveseat draped in lavender plush throws. Spencer sank into it like he’d been swallowed by a friendly cloud.
As soon as he was down, he curled up, tucking his knees to his chest. His shoulders started to tremble in the way that meant he wasn’t crying yet, but emotion was lining up like an orchestra tuning backstage.
Hotch sat beside him, hand steady on his back.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re safe. And you’re not in trouble, okay? You never will be, not for something like this.”
Spencer sniffed, a tiny squeaky hiccup. “Didn’t wanna be a problem.”
Garcia made a sound like absolutely not incarnate.
“Listen to me, starlight,” she said, placing a small sparkly stress ball into his hand, “you could not be a problem if you tried. You’d have to fill out a request form in triplicate. You’d need two references, a villain monologue, and a cape. You have none of those things.”
That got the tiniest, wobbliest giggle.
Hotch exhaled in relief.
Then, naturally, this was the precise moment Rossi walked by.
“Hey, Garcia,” he called, leaning in the doorway without looking up, “have you seen my—”
He looked up.
He saw Hotch sitting beside a curled-up Spencer on a lavender couch, Garcia crouched in front of them holding a glitter-stress-ball like a sacred artifact.
There was a very long, very loaded silence.
Rossi blinked. Twice. His expression flickered through confusion, recognition, dawning concern, and something suspiciously tender.
“…Should I get coffee,” he asked slowly, “or is this a ‘go away, Dave’ situation?”
Spencer squeaked and shoved his face into Hotch’s shoulder like a startled fawn.
Garcia slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle an oh no he’s adorable sound.
Hotch groaned very quietly into his palm. “Dave… not now.”
Rossi lifted both hands in surrender. “Copy that. I’ll be in the bullpen pretending I didn’t see anything except, maybe, the cutest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”
Hotch glared. Garcia sparkled. Spencer peeked out with one eye, a giggle leaving his lips.
“Go,” Hotch deadpanned.
Rossi winked at Spencer on the way out. “Hang in there, kiddo.”
As the door swung shut again, Garcia settled on the floor in front of them, crisscross applesauce, eyes warm.
“Alright, my loves,” she said gently. “What do you need? Juice? Snacks? Blankets? A Pacific Rim Jaeger to guard the door?”
Spencer sniffed. “…Block… the door? No close it!”
Hotch smiled softly. “I can do that.”
He stood, positioning himself by the entrance like a tall, suit-wearing force field.
Garcia grinned at Spencer. “See? Maximum safety settings activated.”
Spencer’s breathing slowed. His shoulders eased. His grip on the glitter-ball softened into comfort instead of panic.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“So… Want to tell us why we didn’t exactly have to explain to you this whole situation?” Hotch asked, still guarding the door, but his posture was more relaxed now as he watched his son play with the glittery ball in his hands.
Garcia smiled, giggling, “Sir, what exactly do you think I do when I have nothing to find for you guys? The internet is a vast place! You can learn a lot from it!”
Hotch just giggled and rolled his eyes. He may have found a good babysitter for when they are at work.
