Spencer walks into the precinct at five in the morning, coffee clutched in his hands. The third shift is still doing their last rounds of the shift, and he’s the only agent in the room.
“It’s it true?” Spencer turns away from the board, clapping his marker to look at the woman who’d spoken, “Oh, are you alright?”
“It’s just a superficial wound, I’ve been through worse,” Spencer responds, turning back to the board.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she says softly, “is it true? Did Sean bully you in high school?”
There’s an odd tone quality to her voice, but Spencer assumes it’s probably due to the fact that it’s five in the morning on a Thursday.
“Yeah, but it happens. People change.”
“Captain’s an asshole,” She says, and Spencer refuses to look at her, scared she’ll see the amusement he’s barely suppressing.
Instead he just shrugs, choosing to ignore her. He hears her walk off, and he lets out an sigh, dropping his forehead to rest against the board.
“Have you been here all night?” Spencer jumps, sending a glare at Emily who is biting back a grin.
“No, shut up,” Spencer mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest as Emily laughs to herself, sitting down to review the case file. “Hey, Emily?”
“What’s up, kiddo?” She looks up from the file as he turns.
“Did you see who was in here before you walked in?” There’s something in his eyes that makes her sit up straighter.
“I just... it’s nothing.” She nods, allowing him to let go of it.
But he doesn’t, because something about her just doesn’t sit right with him.
“Has anyone seen Reid?” Hotch asks, sighing as he sets down a thin stack of papers on the table.
“He left this morning to check out some leads,” Emily responds, eyebrows furrowing, “is something wrong.”
“Did he say where he was going?” Hotch pushes, “anything about it?”
“No,” she can feel herself getting more nervous with each second, and her feelings are reflected on everyone else’s face, “is something wrong?”
“I have bad news and worse news,” Hotch sighs, sitting in the chair behind him, “McCormick is gone, and so is Reid.”
Spencer wakes up with a raging headache , and standing above him is the girl from the office. She’s stroking the side of his face with a grin that leave Spencer more unsettled than he’s felt in a long time.
“What are you—“ she cuts him off, pressing her finger to his lips and he startles when he realises her hand is covered in his own blood.
“I didn’t want to have to take you, but you got too close, Spencie,” she whispers, clearly trying to soothe him but it only serves to fill his stomach with anxiousness.
“Why are you doing this?” He questions, brows furrowed, he’s beginning to fear that once again, someone is causing others pain to get his attention, “I don’t understand—“
She hushed him again, trailing a knife down his cheek. Oh, and there it is, he thinks distantly. There might as well be flashing signs above her head that scream sexual sadist with a side hobby of extreme voyeurism.
She presses the knife into his cheek to draw blood, and pulls away, running her thumb down his cheek and sucking the blood off her fingertip.
Spencer can hears Penelope’s voice in a head clearly, telling him, “oh boy, she took a turn at crazy town and landed in insanity village.”
“Don’t you want to save some for later?” Spencer asks, somewhere between trying to play into her fantasy and also spare his life long enough to get the hostages out of this situation alive.
She giggles manically, before getting uncomfortable close to his face, “Don’t you want to know my name, baby?”
“I want nothing more,” he responds, swallowing nondescriptly, “tell me it.”
“I’m Annabelle Jackson.” She coos, “It’s okay if you don’t remember me, you’ll be able to explore soon enough.”
He watches her walk away and once the door closes he shivers, forcing back a gag as he looks around.
“Okay, so you still expect me to believe that you’re not—“ it’s the unmistakable voice of Sean McCormick.
“Shut up, Sean!” Everyone else in the room is clearly just as fed up with him.
“Did anyone see where she took my gun?” Spencer murmurs, working into moving the chair, “Or alternatively do you know how long she’ll be gone?”
“Little Spencer Reid?” Spencer doesn’t spare a glance up.
“Yes, but ID’ing isn’t helping me get you out of hear. Gun or amount of time?” He sighs.
“Um, she disappears for about an hour,” Alexa Lisbon offers, look rather guilty, “And she took it from your waist and disappeared. It’s somewhere outside.”
“My waist?” He grunts, pulling his legs up to one of the hands that’s tied securely to the chair. He still has the gun that he’d secured to his ankle.
He looks around for anything he can get himself out of this mess in an hour. He pulls at his wrists which are tied so tightly with rope that his fingers have turned white.
And then his eyes catch how loose the bolts on his chair are. He starts kicking at them, ignoring the voices of the other people in the room. He kicks one set off and moves to the other side of the chair, kicking the metal off before throwing the chair backwards.
It breaks with a loud crack and he struggles to catch his breath as he pushes himself up, freeing himself of the rope, throwing the wood to the side.
That was too easy, he thinks anxiously.
“Scale of—“ he stops, realising these people probably don’t have to much experience with people going through psychotic breaks. “Never mind. Was anyone remotely conscious when they came in?”
“You’re bleeding,” Alexa says as he unties her wrists and legs.
“Yes, she took a knife to my face and already had blood on her hands when I woke up,” he says slowly, moving on to Garrett Setter who sits to the side of her.
There’s eight others, and he realises it’s going to take him too long to untie them all, “Alexa, start untying on the opposite end.”
“You remember me?” She gapes and Reid has the sudden urge to slap her.
“It’s hard to forget the girl who tricked me into being tied naked to a flag pole,” He hisses, “Start untying.”
He works around the circle, sighing as Sean insists on taking over the situation.
“I’m going to open the door, stay behind me,” Reid mutters, taking the grin from his boot.
“No, I’m going to lead this— you’re still apart of this.”
Spencer turns around, and it’s only then that Sean seems to realise how much taller Spencer is.
“Stay in your place. I would not have a knife wound in my cheek or one that’s bordering on infected in my thigh if I had any part of this you imbecile,” he growls, turning back around.
“When did Spencer Reid get cool?”
Spencer turns, looking affronted. His face clearly reads, ‘shut up, I’m saving your ass.’
Spencer breaks through the door, walking through before there’s a loud grunt. He turns around to find Annabelle holding a gun to Sean’s head.
“Me for him,” Spencer offers without hesitation, “let him go, and you can have me.”
She looks him up and down, licking her lips and it takes everything in Spencer to fight back a gag.
“How did that go for you last time? What was her name? Maeve?” Annabelle hisses, and everyone watches as Spencer nods, emotionless.”
“Yeah,” he replies simply, “but Annabelle, you’re forgetting I’m not even remotely emotionally invested in anything you do to any of these people.”
“So you want me to kill them?” She grins sadistically, readjusting her grip on the gun.
“No, I want you to kill me,” her eyes widen with lust at the idea. “You can even kiss me while you do it. Let McCormick go, and you can have me.”
“Put down the gun.”
He sets it down, kicking the firearm out of anyone’s reach. He watches as she lets go of Sean and he’s scrambled towards the gun.
“Don’t!” Spencer roars, “Stop trying to be a hero, you just make things worse.”
Sean slinks away and Spencer walks up to her leaning in and presses his lips to hers. When she moves the gun to his head, he slips his hands to his cheeks— and within a fraction of a second, he’s moving the firearm up towards the sky.
He breaks her hold from it, shoving her down and pressing his knee to her back. He sees spare zip ties dangling from his pocket and he pulls one around her wrists as she cries hysterically. He rattles off the Miranda fights, searching her pockets for a cellphone, flipping it open and typing in Hotch’s number as she starts to move around.
“I did this for you!” She screeches, kicking her legs wildly.
“Killing people isn’t the way to get anyone’s attention, especially not mine or the kind you want,” he rolls his eyes, sighing in relief when Hotch picks up, “hey, we’re at—“
“Yeah, she made some calls from your phone before throwing it in the lake.”
“Man, I had pictures of Henry’s second birthday on that.” He hears relieved laughs on the other end.
“Are you alright, kid?” Morgan asks, and he can’t seem to mask the concern.
“Awe, do you care about me?” Spencer teases, before sighing, “I’m fine. I have a concussion, more likely than not it’s mild. I also have some sort of wound in my thigh, and the adrenaline is definitely starting to dissipate— but you watched me die once so I’ve definitely been worse off.”
He glances up, giving a once over, covering his mic as he ask, “is anyone hiding any injuries— besides the very obvious psychological ones?”
They shrug and he adds, “They seem fine, but I would bring another ambulance just to be sure.”
“You died?” It’s Alexa, with her perpetually guilty face.
“Yeah, but it’s not a big deal. I’m alive now.”
If he’s being honest, he only brought it up to scare them a little bit.
“How?” She gasps, and Spencer just shakes his head as the cars slid into the lot.
JJ breaks through, securing cuffs around Annabelle, before cutting off the zip tie. She takes Spencer’s face in her hands, “You’re cut, in like four places. Did you know that?”
“I knew about one— I watched her lick my blood off her fingers,” he says calmly, and even if Reid’s not taking pleasure of the terror in all of these asshole’s faces, the team certainly is.
“Someone read a little too much Twilight, huh?” JJ mumbles as she hoists the girl off the ground.
The reference flies right over Spencer’s head as he rises to his feet, his knees start to buckle but Morgan catches him.
“I’m fine,” He pants, “I just got dizzy for a second.”
He starts to walk, but he only makes it a few steps before Hotch and Morgan have to help him to the ambulance.
He’s sitting on the bed in the back of the truck, all of the (bullies who managed to become) victims taking their turns gawking at who little Spencer Reid grew up to be.
“You didn’t let her shoot me,” Spencer looks up from where the paramedic is securing an IV into his vein to see Sean staring at him.
“No,” Spencer confirms, “My job is to save people, and besides, I don’t hold grudges.”
“Then what was that in the—“ the words die on his tongue, and he nods in understanding, “Yeah, okay, that’s fair.”
“I’ve seen so much worse than you, but I’m a profiler Sean. That means I know everything that’s going on inside your narcissistic head,” he states, without missing a beat, “My job is to protect everyone, no matter how poorly they treated and continue to treat me.”
He opens his mouth, but Prentiss moves him out of Spencer’s line of sight, “Leave him alone, I can physically see his blood pressure rising from having....” the words die out as they disappear from view.
“You did good, kid,” Morgan says, hopping into the van, “They need to give you a better check up at the hospital, but we’re going to stay the night so you can be with your mom.”
“Can I eat something?” Spencer inquires, turning to the paramedic.
“Yeah, you’re not going to need surgery,” he says, “I have some lollipops up front if you want one?”
Morgan snorts, but upon seeing Reid’s expression he nods for him, thanking the paramedic as he disappears to grab one.
“I’ll have Hotch bring you something besides jello.”
“You brought me jello?” Reid gapes, “Morgan, you cant lie about— oh my God you brought me jello.”
“You lost a lot of blood, huh?” Spencer nods, opening the cup as the paramedic closes the door, putting two suckers in front of him.
“Lost so much blood,” Spencer says before thanking the paramedic, continuing to slurp down his jello, “Morgan, can you drive me to my mom’s?”
“Sure kid, can I ask—“
“I really need a nap.” He blurts, looking at morgan with desperate eyes.
Morgan chuckles, “start now.”
Spencer slurps the last spoonful of jello, laying down on the bed. He’s asleep almost as soon as he’s prone, and the paramedic looks at Morgan with a bemused look.
“How old is he?”
“Twenty eight, but if you factor in the blood loss and sedative, seventeen.”
“I figured he’d need rest, we’re going to have to get that thigh wound cleaned and the antiseptic is going to hurt like a bitch,” he grimaces.
“He’ll be alright,” Morgan says, ruffling the kids hair, “He always is.”