REQUEST: congrats on 150! for the requests - how about a fic based on 'like real people do' by hoizer? i was thinking something like reader telling post-prison!spencer that who he is now matters much more than who he was in the past, but feel free to take it in whatever direction you want to! 💛💛
Spencer x gn reader
Angst
Content/Trigger Warnings: anxiety, depression, PTSD, implications of drug cravings
Yet another week of seemingly meaningless work at the office while my colleagues, my friends spend their time out in the field, doing the hard work, catching the criminals, seeing the joy of family and friends reunited at the end of a case. I couldn’t help but feel jealousy, resentment. But it was more than the actions of Cat Adams that put me in this place; it was my own ill-advised choices. How can one help but to be completely reckless and desperate for the sake of family? In the end it was sorted out. Here I sit, not behind bars, well, not in the prison anyways. The four walls of the building had become their own kind of imprisonment. I knew it wouldn’t last forever, but it was simply one more thing on the list of problems to deal with and reminders of the past. Of my past.
Coworkers offered kind smiles and gestures, all well meaning. None of it broke through the barrier made up of many types of bricks: anxiety, depression, PTSD, self-loathing, cravings, regret. None of them seemed aware of the newest walls put up, but that’s alright. It keeps them at a distance just the same. It serves its purpose to protect them and myself. Or so I thought. The last thing I expected when they returned from their latest case was the urgency in which my coworker, my dearest friend, pulled me aside into an empty office, fear in their eyes.
“I can’t be quiet anymore.”
I used my silence as a means to beckon them to continue.
“You’re not okay, Reid.”
“That’s what this is about?” I scoffed. “I’m fine. Everyone says so. The therapist says so. Emily says so. And most importantly, I say so. So if you don’t mind-” I moved to make my exit only to find myself blocked by their determination and hard-headedness.
“Sit!” They scold, but their eyes still hold a gentle and caring manner.
We both took our seats on a couch at the far end of the room, leaving enough distance for comfort.
“Look, I’m okay really I just-”
“Stop, Reid.” I felt a gentle hand on top of mine as I found the strength to raise my eyes to meet theirs.
For a moment, I couldn’t be sure how long, we shared nothing but a gaze, silence, and the gentle squeeze of a hand. It said more to me than any words they could have spoken, because at that moment I saw it. I saw myself. My pain, my regret, my anger, I saw all of it in their eyes, in its own form. I knew in that moment they understood more than I could have or would have ever expected.
One moment we sit in silence, but the next is filled with cries that hold pain, once buried deep but now rising to the surface. It’s a nasty business, digging through the graveyard of your past. I never expected to work through any of it, nor did I want to, that is, until they held my hand and didn’t let go, right by my side every step of the way.
“I can’t do this anymore. Sometimes I wish I was just-”
“I know, Spencer. I know.”
We spent days, weeks, debriding every wound, airing out the freshest of cuts so that they may finally begin to heal. Long talks, hard cries, hours spent in silence, in darkness. They did whatever necessary to get me through all of it. I grew closer to them than I ever dreamed possible. We were bonded together as the wounds healed. One day it finally occurred to me, what was it they saw? How was it, amongst a group of profilers, only they seemed in tune to how deeply I was buried underneath it all? Why did they choose to dig as deep as they did, to pull me out? Could it be a darkness in them that sought out the darkness in me?
“Do you think we could pretend?”
“Hmm”
“That I’m okay? That none of it happened? That we can just be- you and me?”
“Maybe, just for now, Spencer.”
Distractions. 
Lips on lips, staggered breaths, wandering fingers, skin on skin.
Wondrous little distractions.
I have been so wrapped up in everything, my pain, my healing, me. Only someone who knew this kind of pain could have understood or been able to help me through it as well as they have. Maybe they have worked through theirs, but what if they haven’t? What if they’re hurting just as badly as I was or worse? Is it not my job to reach out? Don’t I owe them for everything they have done? I know I can’t push. It’s a dangerous game, digging through your past. I trust they'll let me know when they’re ready, if only from the look in their eyes. After all, isn’t that how they knew it was time with me, when I had finally had enough?
“You know I’ll always be here to take care of you, right?” I place a kiss to their forehead, pulling them in impossibly close.
“Oh Dr. Reid, I thought that was my job.”
I feel the way they melt into the kiss, soft and sweet.
I may not be able to put a face or a name to their pain and their past, but seeing my demons reflected in their eyes cuts deep. I would protect them with my life if given the chance, not just from physical danger but emotional damage, scars, wounds that don’t heal. I know they could heal too, if they would only let me help, let me listen.
“You’re so much more, Spencer.”
“More than what?”
“More than all of it. More than your past. “
“So are you.”
Until that time I will be here. I will hold them, care for them, kiss them as though it can cure every ailment, lift every burden, wipe away every tear. We are merely ghosts of our pasts, desperate to feel something good again like real people do.
Ok so I know this has like nothing to do with you and I'm so sorry to bother you about it, but I just came from an Al-Anon/Alateen meeting (first time) and the whole time I was tripping out in cold sweat and my hands were shaking like crazy and I was about two breaths from hyperventilating, and I came home and had a panic attack in the bathroom and long story short I don't know how they want me to come back. Should I go back or not cus I think it could help but it was just really overwhelming.
If you think it could help, I’d try to go back. Because it might be overwhelming now, but it won’t be so overwhelming the next time or the time after that.
If it wasn’t going to help you, in your opinion, there would be no reason to go back. But since you think it might, why not keep trying! The first few steps are always the hardest when it comes to this kind of stuff, but at the very least you can build a support system of people going through the same thing.
I believe in you, friend! If you need to talk, feel free to drop by again. c:
