When Spencer came through he wasn't 100% sure if his eyes were open or not, he felt like he opened them, they stung a little from the air, but he couldn't see anything. He went to lift his arm to wave his hand in front of his face and hissed through his teeth, the hot pain shooting through his entire body. He tried to relax, tried to use his other senses to figure out where he was. His back was sore, well his whole body was sore but his back was laying on something hard.
The ground?
He wrinkled his nose, the stench of garbage finally being realized. It was strong, how had he not noticed it before? It was actually burning his throat It was so strong. He slowly decided to test his body again, he could wiggle his toes.
Ok good, his calves were shaking but he could maybe tighten them?
His butt and stomach could be tightened, even if the movement made him nauseous.
He tightened his hands into a weak fist, before slowly moving his arms to cross his chest.
Ok, if he moved slowly, he thinks he could move.
A sharp stabbing pain shot through his chest, making him wince. His hand sprawled across his chest and he felt something cold, and wet? Lifting his hand slightly he felt whatever was on him, still clinging to his hand. He put his hands beside him, trying to get a good grip on the ground. Slowly he tried to lift his shivering body into a sitting position. The pain shot through his whole body and he felt his head get light before he fell back and smacked back into the pavement. Luckily he didn't get very high so it wasn't a big fall, but it still made his ribcage curl inward more. The fire burning at every curve and edge of his body.
He tried to take in a deep breath, the air dragging against this throat and bringing new tears to his eyes. The air pushed against his lungs, settling at the bottom and making him very aware of all the bronchi.
You can't really feel those. You just know that they are there so you think you can feel them.
Good to know that he can still scold himself?
He put his hand on the ground again, the tiny pebbles digging into his flesh. Holding his breath he tried again. His head swam, the world tilting around him and making him dig his fingertips into the ground more to stay stable.
He was shocked at the moan that tumbled out of his mouth, the sound was foreign to him, and didn't sound anything like him. He was able to make himself sit up this time, shuffling enough to lean back against whatever it was behind him.
It felt like a brick wall.
He reached his hand out to feel around, the tightness of his muscles making the bones creak. His fingertips tapped the side of something cold, metal. The smell was coming from that direction, so it's probably a dumpster.
After a few minutes he tried sitting up more, the wave of dizziness made him drop his head, his chin touching his chest. His mouth filled with saliva, and the burning sensation shot up his throat.
He tried again, this time gritting his teeth while forcing himself to sit up more. His whole body jerks with a violent shiver before falling back into small vibrations. His shoulders curling in and out while trying to get warm.
Shirt?
He wasn't wearing a shirt. His fingers grazed his leg and he then realized he wasn't wearing anything but his boxers.
Great.
He was lost, ill, and practically naked, somewhere in a big city.
His fingers dug into the crevices of the wall behind him, trying to get a grip so he could stand up. His legs protested, the muscles tightening and shaking so much that he collapsed back onto the ground. Heat shooting from his tailbone and up his spine, making his eyes sore. He blinked a few times, reeling from being able to feel his eyeball as a whole.
That was a weird feeling.
Come on.
He had to move.
He didn't know how long he's been here, he didn't even know where here was.
He reached back up, his body jerking again with a harsh shiver. His hip hitting the ground first and taking in his full weight.
He needs to get up.
His teeth pushed together so harshly that his jaw stung, his hand reached out and grabbed the side of, yes, it felt like a dumpster. He was able to get himself up this time, leaning against the wall. His arms wrapped around himself, the chilled air reaching his bones.
He wrinkled his nose, where was he supposed to go? He didn't know where he was, he didn't have a phone, he couldn't really be caught walking around like this.
Slowly exhaling he tried to get the kink out of his back, the movement made his head swirl, the ground rising quickly toward him. He lurched forward, a grunt leaving his lips when he steadied himself on the dumpster, his shoulder twisting painfully backward.
Once he was close enough to the street light at the end of what he determined to be a dark alley, he was able to look himself over. His whole body was covered in goosebumps, the shivering getting more and more painful as it jerked his frame around. He looked down and noticed his chest and stomach, well the whole front half of his body was wet. Covered in what he was pretty sure was vomit. The boxers clung to his thin thighs, the bile making it bunch up and expose more of his pale skin.
Spencer needed to figure out where he was. He needed to figure out what the hell happened, where he was.
He wasn't, he wasn't on a case.
He closed his eyes, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was having a hard time breathing, his lungs burned and they felt full of cotton.
His body slumped forward, his shoulder hitting the cold brick wall as his whole body started into convulsions.
He needed to get out of here, something wasn't right.
It was then he remembered, his eyes snapping open and causing his head to lull to the side.
He relapsed.
Something was wrong, so wrong, this wasn't like usual.
His knees were still shaking and he tried to lean away from the wall, it caused him to backpedal, his numb feet stumbled over each other until he hit the ground in a thud. The pain made his lungs deflate, they already did not have a lot of oxygen in them so hitting the ground made his eyesight dim.
He needed, he needed.
Spencer could breathe. His mouth was open and he could hear the pathetic gasping over the blood rushing in his ears. The air was harsh on his throat, stinging as it dragged down into his lungs, but it couldn't really get into his lungs. Not really, it was like the fall made the cotton fluff up leaving less room for the air to sit.
He felt his stomach lurch, the burning sensation crawling up his stomach, pushing under his itching lungs and leaking into his throat.
He was throwing up, he couldn't move his body, and he was throwing up, again.
He wasn't sure how many other times he had thrown up but it was clear he had a few times. But this time was different, he was awake. He would be aware of how his own body would slowly choke itself to death. The bile would block out the air, he would gasp it back in, it would soak into the cotton in his lungs, caking them to the walls of the organ covering the bronchi.
He would be found by a stranger, his body rigid and cold, the skin becoming ashen and the veins enhancing. The blood pooling around and marbling under him, making his corpse bloat in odd places, distorting him.
They would write him off as a drug addict. Which wasn't far off, that's what he was. Maybe he deserved to die like this, pathetically alone, displayed for the whole world to see how much of a disappointment he was. He tensed his back, trying to arch it off the chilled pavement that bit into his skin.
His body contorted, his mouth opening to heave the congealed cotton. The warmth splattered back onto him, hitting his face and neck. He coughed again, his gasping dragging the bile down into his lungs. The cotton felt like it had caught fire.
This was how he was going to die.
He was trying to relax into it, this is what he deserved after all, for fucking up this much. But his body's natural reaction kept him jerking, his skin cutting itself on the glass and pebbles underneath him. Somehow he ended up on his side, his body curling in on himself, his ribs exposed to the cold air and making him shiver.
The hot acid bumbled out of his chapped lips, sliding down the side of his face and pooling around his cheek between the ground. The texture was nauseating, making his stomach lurch again, as was the smell, but the warmth was slightly welcoming.
He placed a shaking hand on the pavement, his fingers sinking into the chilling vomit, but slowly pushed against the ground. He could hardly move his body enough to move his arm out from under him, let alone lift himself up.
He clenched his sore eyelids shut, willing them to stop burning with tears. He couldn't afford to cry right now, the weakness it would leave behind could potentially be the death of him.
Letting out what was supposed to be a frustrated scream, it came out as a small whimper, making him cringe into himself. He tried to inhale again, the air getting slicked with the emesis and spit, sticking to his lungs like honey.
He somehow found himself on his hands and knees, his forehead pushing against the ground and he could feel the soft skin being pierced by the debris of the city that's been slowly gathered in that alley. He moved his tongue around his mouth, sliding it against his teeth almost painfully hard. He spits onto the ground, his nose burning as the movement made the excess bile move to his nasal passages. Slowly he was able to lift from his elbows, feeling the skin move and the small pebbles falling back onto the ground. His palms dug into the pavement, fingers curling so his nails bent slightly away from them.
Letting out a groan he rocked himself forward, the movement making his stomach roll, the heat climbing back up his body.
He needed, he needed Derek.
His whole body was shaking to the point where he was amazed he was even able to get on to his hands and knees. The edge of the boxers crawling up his backside, digging in uncomfortably. His arms bent lower, the muscles coiling and the tremors building up to a painful level. His nose brushed into the spilled bile, the smell becoming overwhelming as it stuck to his skin. He was able to shuffle closer to the wall, gritting his teeth as he leaned against it, focusing on which parts of his body held his weight right now. He dug his shoulder into the brick, hardly noticing how it tore at his skin as he slid up, leaving scrapes all the way down his arm.
Somehow he was standing again, his head swimming as the ground beneath him rolled. His hands gripped the wall, hauling himself up as his body tried to crumple to the ground again.
Through his squinting eyes and matted hair, he could see the opening of the alley. He needed to look down at his feet to see where they went since he couldn't feel them, but he couldn't look down because the ground pulsed under him, he couldn't keep his balance and kept swaying.
He glanced down again, watching as the feet stepped forward, the muscles burning and feeling like they were pulling from his bones. He had to look back up at the alley, the pressure on his chest making his breathing shallow and loud.
By the time Reid got to the end of the alley, he almost burst into tears when he saw a phone booth a few feet away.
By the time the man's trembling hands pushed open the glass doors he had tears soaking his face. The pain in his entire body was immeasurable and if he didn't get help soon, he was going to die.
Unless he was already dead.
The thought made him freeze, what if-
No, he clearly was still alive, even if it was a little, he could clearly feel the air painfully being pushed into his lungs. He could feel every ache and throb in his being and if he was dead, wouldn't that go away?
That was unless he was in hell, he wasn't really spiritual, the concept of God and the devil, made him conflicted. How could he believe there was a God who did all these good things if all he has seen in life was evil? And if the devil was real, then would god also be real? You can't really have one without the other, and that moment in the shed.
Now wasn't really the time to be having this kind of thought process, and the idea of being back in that shed made his already tight chest pang with anxiety.
He stumbled into the phone booth, yelping as the edge of the phone dug into his side. He started openly sobbing when he saw the dropped quarter on the floor. He needed that change, he needed to make this call but he wasn't sure that if he bent over to get the coin if he would ever get back up.
He had nothing to lose, he let his legs give out, his body twisting as it fell, pain making lights flash around his vision, his teeth biting into his lip as he let out a cry. His clammy fingers tried to pick up the coin, his nails pushing between the metal and the grubby floor. The coin shot out from between his tightening fingers, hitting the side of the booth. Spencer let out another whimper, hating how weak he was right now.
Finally, he got the coin into his hand, slipping it into the slot, and arching his neck as he tried to dial Derek's number. He still sat crumpled on the booth floor, the phone now off the hook and swinging in the air between him and the wall. His fingers hardly could push into the buttons, the movement asking too much. By the time he finished dialing what he hoped would be the other man's number, his arm slumped down next to him, wrist hitting the hard cool metal floor with a thud. His shoulder slumped over, his head rolling over so it touched the dirty public phone. Trapping the phone between the wall and his head he waited as it rang.
It rang twice before Spencer heard his friend's voice over the phone.
"Hello?"
"Morgan" Spencer tried to get out but it was gargled, the words hardly above a whisper.
"Hello?" Morgan asked again.
"Derek" Spencer choked out, his body falling forward as a round of hacking up his lungs made him fall over. He let out a sob, he was tired, scared, he needed help.
"Reid?" Morgan's voice was small, digitized, faint as the phone swung back and forth in the booth.
"Help" Spencer gasped, the glass walls of the booth felt nice against his clammy skin, his next words choked out by the next round of bile that rose out of his body. The hot wetness made him wince, matching the hot tears that sunk down his cheeks and neck, mixing in with the dripping bile.
"Reid? Kid?"
Morgan's swaying voice made Spencer let out a sob, he didn't know what to do, he didn't know where he was, or if anyone even wanted to find him. He wasn't even 100% sure he wanted to be found, not like this.