nemesism // spencer reid angst

secrets

Spencer woke up three hours later thrashing in Derek's arms. At first, he couldn't comprehend what was happening. Spencer lashed out at the hands grabbing his shoulders, fighting against them as hard as he could.

"Get off me! Get off me! Stop, I don't want it! Get off, get off, get off!" Spencer screeched and continued to thrash and fight. He didn't realize that he was safe in the bed with Derek; he could only see that damned shed in Georgia. Spencer felt his voice going out, the scraping in his throat becoming unbearable. It didn't take much longer for him to begin to hear Derek's voice filtering through the panic.

"-pencer, hey, it's okay. You're okay. It was a dream, Spencer. Come back to me, pretty boy." Spencer's eyes shot open and he slowly stopped thrashing as the situation became clearer. He looked at Derek and immediately felt ashamed and embarrassed, quickly pulling away from him. He closed his eyes and let his head fall into his hands.

"I'm- uh. I'm sorry, Morgan. Sorry you had to see that." Spencer's voice crackled on its way out, absolutely destroyed by the yelling. He was still breathing heavily and Derek watching him didn't make it any better. Derek was watching him, watching him, watching him, and he couldn't stand it. Before Spencer realized what he was doing, his hands were pulling at his hair while he gasped for air. Derek tried to stop him by grabbing his hands, but he pulled away and gasped, "Don't touch me, please.".

"I'm sorry, but I have to. I can't let you hurt yourself." Derek sounded so serious that Spencer couldn't help but let out a wet laugh at the irony of the statement. He knew it threw Derek off when the grip on his hands loosened. Spencer pulled back from Derek quickly, so quickly he almost fell off of the bed. Having control over his hands again, he began hitting his legs as he shook his head back and forth violently.

"No, no, no Spencer, you can't do that." Derek reached out to touch him again, but Spencer was so far gone in his panic that he scrambled all the way off the bed. He's scooting back into the corner of his room the second he hits the ground. The pain of the impact on Spencer's arm is searing, but instead of ignoring it, he used it to his advantage.

Spencer cowered in the corner in a ball, legs pulled up with arms wrapped around them and head down. He grabbed his hurt arm with his other hand and squeezed. Spencer began to breathe slower as the pain brought him back to reality. He didn't know how long he sat there before he lifted his head back up. Derek was still sitting on the bed watching Spencer with a strange type of sadness in his gaze.

"How often does this happen?" Derek spoke slowly and quietly.

"Most nights. This was just worse because I panicked because, um, because I was embarrassed."

"How long has it been going on?"

"Since it happened."

"Oh, Spencer. You should've said something. We could've helped you."

"Why do you think I was doing drugs? It won't," Spencer's voice tripped over a sob, "it won't stop. I had to make it stop."

"Spencer... I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, I've got other ways to cope now."

"Yeah? What are they? Maybe I can help." Derek's tone dripped with suspicion and worry, and Spencer realized he may have said too much.

"Oh, just- just small things. Like, um, reading?" Spencer knew how pathetic he sounded, but his brain was still recovering from the panic attack and therefore not functioning well.

"Spencer. I can't help you if you aren't honest with me." It was easy for Derek to spot the lie. It was what he had been trained for, what he did for a living.