Spencer Reid One Shots

Clairvoyant Disease

A/N: triggery af. This is actually quite old but I think I put off putting it on here because I thought they might take it down...
...

Dust begins to fall to the ground
(and you sit there and do nothing)

“Y/N, are you okay?”

You snapped out of your reverie, realising that your boyfriend and colleague Spencer Reid was talking to you. The jet had landed and you were the only member of the team still seated.

“I’m okay… Just tired” you hauled yourself from your seat and collected your bag, walking down the aisle in front of Reid and exiting the jet into the waiting SUVs. Spencer slid in next to you, giving you a concerned look.

“I’m fine Spence, honestly.”

The air is cold and thin
(you’re content with doing nothing)

You weren’t fine, not really. But you weren’t willing to tell him that, he’d only worry. And you didn’t want him to worry, you didn’t want to be a burden to anyone.

This last case had triggered a reaction in you, a series of murders framed to look like suicides. Except the last ‘murder’, a 28 year old woman, had turned out not be that. She’d actually taken her own life, the team finding her journal stashed inside her mattress, a kit consisting of nail scissors and razor blades.

The same kit you had in your bedside drawer, a kit that had been closed for fifteen months and counting.

The kit that you knew you’d be reaching for when you got home tonight.

Thoughts are haunting me as I look around
(but in my life, I wanted more)

You’d done so well. Since joining the team three years ago you’d only had one relapse and that had been when your uncle had died. You’d been taking your pills daily and had managed to rely on breathing techniques when things felt overwhelming, which when you were out the job wasn’t actually that often. It was only when you got home that you sometimes had to sit and make yourself see that you hadn’t made a mistake, YOU weren’t a mistake. You were here for a reason, a purpose.

Yet today, as you were driven back to headquarters, no amount of reasoning with yourself could make you see what that purpose was. And that mentality of not feeling good enough, of not being worthy, and of feeling like everyone would be better off without you, had come slipping back.

This will never end, when I’ll bleed forever
(this will never end)

You knew you should speak to your boss. He knew about your depression, your past history with self harm. He had to know, it was his duty to look out for his team. You and him had regular well being check ins, and you’d assure him that you were still taking your pills and that nothing was becoming too much for you.

Your pills though, had been lost two weeks ago. They’d rolled out of your bag somewhere and you hadn’t refilled your prescription. Deep down you knew that was the problem. The chemical imbalance and withdrawal was messing with your mind and making you focus on everything wrong with your life, everything wrong with the world.

Don’t acknowledge right, just dwell on wrong;
This spot in hell’s where I belong
I’ve come so far - it’s been so long
Don’t know why it started or where it came from

“Y/N?”

You looked up to see Spencer standing by your desk, his messenger bag in hand. He’d finished his paperwork already a while ago and you were done with yours. You just needed to hand it in to Hotch. But you couldn’t face your supervisor right now. You bundled your papers together and sighed wearily.