give me something to hold on to

before

Spencer is having a bad week. As if his entire life hasn't been one big obstacle, and now this. At first, he thought it was just dissociation, this fog in his head, slowing his thoughts and simplifying his emotions. He knew what to do with dissociation. But of course, nothing is ever that simple for Dr. Spencer Reid.

The first time it happened he just thought he was feeling nostalgic. He pulled an old copy of The Hobbit from his apartment bookshelf and was positively enraptured by the story as if he hadn't read it half a dozen times already. When he thinks back on it, it feels odd, like he wasn't in his normal head. Not bad per se. Just... abnormal.

The next few times it happens, it's for pure reasons. A childhood science show comes on when he's got a day off and he unconsciously babbles off statistics at his television, voice a pitch higher for some reason.

But eventually it happens again, and this time it's triggered by an impending meltdown. Instead of being able to suppress his bubbling discomfort until it boils over like he's so accustomed to doing, he finds himself stimming freely. Something he hasn't been comfortable enough to do in ages. Not even in the safety of his own home.

So, he rocks and flaps his hands and clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He releases tension and discomfort through motion and sound. And it feels good. Hell, it feels amazing. To let go, give in. Let his body regulate itself however it pleases. When he finally calms down, he curls up on his bed and takes a nap, letting the sticky syrup in his mind take over.

He did his research, because who is he if not Doctor Reid? He stumbled upon age regression. A coping mechanism that can be voluntary or involuntary. It allows the regressor to safely retreat from reality to cope with struggles by taking on the headspace of a child. And he thinks that perhaps it isn't as foreign a concept as he originally thought. Its a logical jump for the brain to make, this regressing.

It's all starting to make sense. It all adds up, really. His sudden enjoyment for childhood shows, stimming freely like he did before he learned to mask, even chewing on things (his favorite jumper now has holes in the sleeves). As embarrassed as it makes him, he leans into this childlike side of his. It makes him feel free. Home. He only ever does it when he's off work with downtime and has yet to experience a bad enough negative trigger that he regresses in public or, gods forbid, work.