Spencer Reid | One Shots

down side of me

tw: dilaudid, drug addiction

I knock on the door again, not wanting to just waltz in like I own the place. Maybe he's in the shower.

It's take-out night, when Spencer and I get together to watch the new episode of Doctor Who and chow down on food. Tonight is Japanese food night! But Spencer seems to have forgotten. It's not like him to forget. Maybe I was so eager to see him that I'm here a day early? Did my stupid crush on the boy get me over-excited once again? I try to recount my week and check the receipt on the paper food bag. Saturday. It's the right day...where is he?

I fumble with the bag of food and my laptop bag while trying to find the key to his apartment on my keyring.

"For emergencies," He'd told me when he entrusted me with it a few months back. Emergencies like when he's out on a case and a pipe bursts. Stuff like that. He'd put me down as his emergency contact with the leasing office.

I push open the door and step inside. The lights are on, so...he's here.

"Spence?" I call, kicking the door shut and heading to the counter to set down the food. "Did you forget about take-out night?"

No answer.

I try to shake off the sick feeling I'm getting. I toss my laptop bag onto his couch, heading toward his room.

"Spencer," I knock on the bedroom door, listening in closely.

"I-I, uh, I'll be right out!" The boy calls back. "Just give me a few minutes,"

He sounds almost frantic...rushed.

Something's not right. Oh, god...I really hope he's not beating off in there. Couldn't have done it well before I came over?

I go to turn around when I hear a clatter from in the bedroom. Like he'd dropped something on the floor. I hear him mutter a swear word and some light steps.

I turn the knob and push the door open to see Spencer searching for something on the floor on his hands and knees. He's faced away from me. My eyes find his bed where a needle and a stretchy, rubbery strip sit. A tourniquet? No... he's not...

God, please tell me he hasn't relapsed.

When I see him sit back on his knees, holding a tiny glass bottle, I rush behind him and catch his wrist, taking the medicine from him and toss it across the room.

"Y/N!" He shouts, going to get up. I wrap my arms around him, gripping my wrist with my hand tightly so that he can't move out of the position he's in. "L-Let me go!"

"I can't do that, Spencer," I tell him in his ear.

He pushes back against me and tries to undo the lock I made with my hand and wrist. His nails scratch at my skin as he tries to pull my arms away from his chest, no fault of his own...he's going through a withdrawal and he needs a hit, and I'm keeping him from it. I'm an obstacle right now, not his friend. He's focused on getting his hands on the little glass bottle, not on if he's hurting me.

"Please!" He cries, giving a final push back against me before his hands drop and he stops struggling. "Please,"

He's begging, and I can tell he's crying by the sound of his voice. The hoarseness.

I keep my arms tight around him and position myself so that I'm sitting on my butt. I help him to do the same, knowing that it'll start to hurt if he's on his knees for too long. When he's sitting cross-legged, I wrap my legs around his waist and rest my forehead on his back.

I can feel him crying, his body shakes and bit as he does.

"I need it, Y/N, please..." He croaks. "Please, just..."