A year after leaving the BAU, Spencer Reid is restless and struggling to adjust to civilian life. Not finding any fulfillment or respite in it, he decides to take a position with Homeland. On assignment he meets you, a former Master Gunnery Sergeant...
Warnings: canon typical stories, blood, stitches, grief, anxiety, fear, explosions, death, mentions of Maeve, drugged up flirting
Summary: Spencer wakes up in the aftermath of the explosion
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Everything hurt.
Spencer's eyes were on a blurry swivel as he opened them, struggling and failing to focus on anything amidst the dull screaming around him. When he sat up a wet heat pressed against his side, and shakily he patted his ribcage only to pull back a palm stained with blood.
It didn't hurt, and he knew it should. His head rocked back and forth as he struggled to keep it up, and as his vision finally cleared he noticed the shrill ringing in his ears. People were running across the square, shouting and desperately trying to escape the blast zone.
He knew it was just his broken and fractured mind trying to figure out the danger, but as he looked off among the sea of bodies and screaming people, he swore he saw Maeve, smiling sadly at him and pointing to a rock pile. Spencer blinked and she was gone, so he rubbed his eyes roughly with his bloodied hands.
Swallowing heavily, his throat dry and parched even though he could taste blood in his mouth, he looked around for the unit.
Morello, Peanut, and Barretti were pulling people from the rubble and pointing toward safe places for them to run, Garrett and Mercer were running toward the spot of the initial blast, where the boy was no longer.
Groaning, Spencer got to his knees to stand, but they buckled when he spotted what at first glance looked like a rope between some heavy rocks. He scrambled closer, the breath leaving him in a heavy gust as he realized what it was.
One of your braids.
"No, no, no, no," Spencer whispered raggedly. His rifle dangled uselessly around his shoulders as hands slipped along a piece of concrete as he tried to lift it, so he wiped them along the tops of his dust caked pants and tried again.
He let out a grunting yell as he lifted the boulder, letting it tumble down the other side to reveal your face. Even though it was horrific, he let out a sigh of relief when he saw your fluttering pulse along the column of your throat. You were caked in blood and dirt, but luckily your helmet had prevented too much damage from the exploding walls.
He cleared as many of the rocks from you as he could before cradling your head in his hands. You groaned but your eyes didn't open, and Spencer took that at least as a good sign.
"Hey, hey," he whispered, patting your cheek and wiping away some of the blood with his thumb. "Y/N, look at me, huh?"
A jagged gash trailed along the left side of your head, starting at the height of your cheekbone and going deep into your scalp as whatever shrapnel had ripped through your helmet strap and around your skull. Your skin was already starting to bruise, and there was more blood spattered across your shoulder and side.
