The sounds of dying animals floating in from outside had bothered him at first. Despite all the work he'd done over the years with macabre scenes and unpalatable cases, it had bothered him. Even through all his previous assignments, it's not as though he'd ever been forced to sit there and listen to them die.
He was shocked to find that the second round didn't bother him nearly as much. The second time, he was covered in bruises. In his own blood, his own bile and sweat. The bottoms of his feet ached like he'd been stomping on rocks for hours, his muscles were all painfully taut and his heart rate hadn't fallen below 110 BPM in hours. Somehow, he didn't feel as much sympathy for the animals' quick, painless deaths.
He'd given up on crying. First of all, he didn't have nearly enough water in him to, even if he felt like it. But despite the fact that he definitely did still feel like it, he couldn't. He was bone-tired. He felt like a dried up river, just filled with sand and mostly unmoving.
He liked to convince himself that that was why he'd stopped fighting the injections. That he was just too tired, he didn't have the energy in him to push against Tobias and try to shuffle away like he used to, the motivation to argue with him over how it wouldn't help. And that was true.
But both of them knew that wasn't the full truth. Tobias had told him from the start.
"It helps. Trust me."
And he'd been right.
Spencer had been so sure that he'd get through this no problem, that it was just a little bump in the road. That his team, his family, were already on the way to retrieve him.
And then there were bigger bumps. And he felt like an idiot for not remembering that he'd never been able to rely heavily on his family. He took care of them, not the other way around. That's the way it's always been.
Spencer bitterly reminded himself that he could barely even do that. Was locking his mom up his way of caring for her? Her own son couldn't even stop her from devolving?
Maybe the first day, he would've cried about that. Maybe he would have tortured himself over it for hours, or however long he had before Tobias- Charles?- came back. Instead, he stared into the darkness of the camera lens. The red blinking light from before had since dimmed.
He wondered how long it'd be until it was turned on again. How long it'd be before he had another chance to aid in his escape.
He really, really hoped it wasn't too long. For one thing, Hankel was becoming increasingly unstable. Tobias was disappearing more and more, his father was getting angrier, and Raphael seemed to be happy to let Charles do anything he wanted to the man.
Beyond that.. Spencer wasn't sure how much longer he'd last on his own.
His body was slowly giving up. He didn't have much physical strength in him. It felt like he had to lift the weight of the world just to pick his head up. His mouth was exceedingly dry, his stomach ached pitifully. Not to mention how nauseous the smell of the fish alone made him. He was sure he'd feel better even if he was thrown off a cliff. Sure, Tobias did what he could to help him but it wasn't nearly enough. Of course it wasn't.
And his willpower was draining. He started craving the injections moments after one had just worn off. He'd even started begging for a new dose. When Charles bossed him around, he didn't even try to protest before obeying.
He figured maybe if he listened, the pain would be more tolerable. Maybe Hankel would go easy on him.
He never did. Yet Spencer couldn't help himself from hoping regardless.
He needed hope. He could feel the end approaching. It was like the worst tension build out of all the books he'd read in his lifetime. Tobias was quieter and more defeated, like he knew about some rapidly approaching fate Spencer didn't.
"Confess your sins!" That command would never leave him. He knew it. He could feel it reverberating around his head long after Charles had disappeared into the darkness to slaughter more animals.
Only the last time was different.
Spencer, of course, hadn't known it was the last time while it was happening. But he did know that something had changed.
He had something to confess.
He sobbed dryly, spilling at the harbored guilt he'd been holding since he'd been put up with the responsibility of his mother's primary caretaker at ten years old.
He was never able to help her. He'd spent days, weeks, years trying to find a way to cure her, to even make it easier for the both of them to deal with. He did everything he could. He researched doctors, possible causes, remedies, medication, therapy, anything. Nothing helped. He watched his mom devolve.
He'd given up a while before he'd turned eighteen, but the day he became a legal adult is the day he'd surrendered to the truth.
He couldn't help his mother.
Presently, she was a lot better off for it. She was happier at the sanitarium. She was, he knew she was because she told him. The doctors had told him, too, who were able to make life easier for her.
But it'd taken him a long time to convince himself he'd done the right thing. It'd taken her even longer. She'd been furious with him, going on about how she'd been betrayed and he was going to ruin everything. That had never left him easily.
He knew it was a mistake to spill that the second he saw the gleam in Charles' eyes.
Even though the weight of the shovel felt like he was trying to lug something twice the size of his own body, he didn't fight it. He was so f*cking sick of fighting. The exhaustion, the defeat, the guilt from all the mistakes he'd made.. it was catching up with him.
"Dig faster!" He heard being screamed at him, and a couple days ago, that would've startled him horribly. He'd jump, maybe make an odd noise, and the team would giggle at how skittish he was.
It wasn't his fault. He just didn't handle stimuli too well. It sent him into sensory overload, but he'd been living in a constant state of that recently.
He was done. He couldn't fight anymore. He didn't want to fight anymore. Everything he'd been through, all the bullsh*t he'd put up with in his life. All the bullying, the death, the responsibility, the trauma, it was catching up with him and he couldn't feel enough to care.
In twenty minutes, Spencer Reid would be dead.
As he dug, forcing his arms to cooperate, he wondered how the team would react. Or, really, if they would ever find out for certain.
Sure, he'd left the hint about the cemetery, but would they get it? Would he just die with Hotch thinking Reid didn't respect him? Wanted him dead, even?
If they did find out, though. He could almost imagine their reactions. He'd known them for a while, after all.
Penelope was always a heavily influenced person. She'd cover her mouth, squeeze her eyes shut as if her not being able to see the truth was the difference between it existing or not, crying until she had nothing left in her.
Derek would flip. He'd probably punch a few holes in a door or wall or two, and let out a shout of anger. Anger at Hankel, at the team, but mostly at himself for not being able to help Spencer. Not long after they met, Morgan had deemed Reid his own responsibility and he'd never understood why.
After that, Derek would probably go to Garcia, wrap her up in his arms and squeeze her and try to pretend he didn't need to be comforted himself.
He didn't even want to think about JJ. He hadn't seen her in what felt like years, but he just knew she was blaming herself for this. Actually, he hoped she wasn't hurt or worse. He had no clue what had happened to her, all alone at that barn.
Hotch.. well. Hotch was never one for emotions. Not outwardly, anyway. He might stare blankly forward, jaw clenched hard enough that Spencer would remind him to be kind to his teeth if he were there, and then storm off. He'd throw himself into his work, rarely letting himself go home, in a desperate attempt to help other people the way he hadn't been able to help Reid.
He hadn't known Prentiss for very long. He briefly wondered if it'd affect her at all. Maybe she would be saddened by the low morale of the team, or maybe she'd just forget him like they all did to most of the victims they encountered.
Gideon.. he didn't really know. They'd always had an odd relationship. He wouldn't be surprised if Spencer dying would be the thing to break him. He had seemed tired lately. Maybe he'd just retire altogether.
Spencer noted to himself that he was almost done digging. And that Charles was getting more and more impatient.
Good. The misery would be over soon.
"Dig faster!" Charles screamed again, his voice booming, easily filling up the emptiness surrounding them.
"I'm not strong enough," Spencer tried to explain desperately. If anything, he didn't want to go out painfully. If he angered his captor, that would be exactly what was happening.
That had clearly angered him. He came lumbering towards Reid, whose eyes- looking up to watch the approaching figure- couldn't help but be drawn just slightly to the right.
Light.
Flashlights? Flashlights.
sh*t! Flashlights!
The overwhelming feeling of relief took him by surprise, and a rattling sob wracked his thin body, fingers gripping the shovel with newfound strength.
Charles turned his head to see what Reid was having such an emotional reaction to.
Spencer looked back to the man in front of him, and with this sudden release of emotion, a surge of anger rushed through his body. How f*cking dare this random guy come into his life and twist it so horribly? He'd done nothing to deserve it. Nothing . He didn't give a sh*t how many sins he supposedly had.
A shaky, watery shout came from Spencer as he forced himself up, Charles turning to look at him as he did so.
Before he could turn fully, a dull thud sounded out, accompanied by a strangled cry and a sickening crack .
The shovel felt right in Spencer's hands, even with the splinters and blisters.
Charles collapsed onto his front, his hands not moving fast enough to catch him.
He rolled sluggishly onto his back, a wild look in his eyes. At the sight of Spencer, towering over him with a stare of fury and a shovel wielded, he slurred, "No, Spencer, it's me! I'm sorry, I-"
Tobias. He hadn't done anything wrong, had he? No. It was Charles who'd tortured him. Charles who'd taken him here.
But clearly, being innocent wasn't enough to save a person.
Spencer brought the shovel down, smashing it into Tobias' face with a satisfying crunch. Before he knew it, he was swinging again, and again, a choked cry escaping from him each time.
He didn't register his name being called close by, nor did he register Tobias going limp, or the blood that had splattered over the dark ground and onto his own clothes.
A pair of arms wrapped around his chest, yanking him away from the mangled corpse underneath him. The shovel fell to the ground.
"No-!" Spencer cried, desperately trying to get out of the grip, but his show of sudden strength had drained the little energy he had left.
A familiar voice filled his ears. "Spence, Spencer. Calm down. Calm down. It's me. It's me, pretty." Derek.
All the fight left him. He clung to the arms around him like they were the last thing he had left, letting himself be lowered to the ground. He barely registered himself forcing out apologies incomprehensibly through his unstable breathing, though Morgan didn't seem too bothered.
"It's okay. It's okay. Deep breaths. I've got you. We're here." He could feel Derek's hand on his chest, but Spencer could barely feel the ground under him, much less focus on the words coming from behind him.
A new figure dropped to their knees in front of him, pulling him closer into the scent of lavender and soft hair.
JJ.
"Oh my god," she voiced hysterically, half to herself, "Oh my god." It was like she was in disbelief that they'd found him. Spencer was in disbelief himself. His clues had been a desperate measure.
Through his tears, he could see the team. Hotch was hovering near the body, looking over it with a pinched look on his face. Reid didn't bother doing the same. There'd be no point.
Gideon was just staring at him, probably assessing him for level of damage. He'd never been the touchy-feely type.
He let himself lean back into the warm chest, one arm around JJ and one arm gripping onto Derek still.
Spencer squeezed his eyes shut and wondered how long it'd take before this was enough.
Or if it would ever be.
