Here to Misbehave | S.R.

Ch. 27 | The Homecoming

Summary: Reader and Spencer reunite and try to recover.

Content Warning: Hospitals

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The first sound I heard was my own weak gasp, my body jerking awake unceremoniously. The movements caused razor like pains through my stomach, but I couldn't bring my hand to it. Looking down, I realized why it felt so heavy.

Spencer's head was resting against my lap, his hand curled around mine and desperately holding on, even in his deep state of slumber. The memories all came rushing back at once, but I tried to push them away. I didn't want to think about it yet.

It felt wrong to wake him, but the urge to touch him was too strong to resist. My other hand came, slowly and shaking, to rest against his hair. Just as I had been shaken awake, he similarly shot up in bed the second I touched him.

"You look like shit, old man."

The only way to describe the look on his face was shock and confusion, immediately followed by an overwhelming relief.

"(Y/n), oh my god." The words stumbled out of his mouth before he even took a breath. His arms were thrown around my shoulders within seconds, and I ignored the searing pain that blossomed in my stomach when he did. I didn't care if it hurt; I wanted to feel him. "Thank god."

"No clever comeback?" I said with a sly smile, my head burying in his neck and noting that he smelled so much more pleasant than the bleach and blood we were surrounded by. How long had I been asleep?

"No, I don't care," he said quickly, the words flowing quicker than I could process, "You can be as mean as you want to me, I don't care." His words were half said through a chuckle. I could hear the distinct sound of tears hitting the pillow next to my ear.

"I'm never mean to you." I mumbled against him, although we both knew it wasn't true.

It made him comfortable enough that he pulled back, both hands cradling my jaw. He ran his thumbs over my face, laughing once again at the way my lips followed after in a smile that stretched across my cheeks.

"How are you feeling?"

I thought about my answer for a minute, knotting my brows before finally settling on a feeling. "Like I was shot with an assault rifle... then hit by a train."

"Well, one of those things happened." His smile quickly faded at the thought, the tears in his eyes beginning to pool and fall anew. He looked exhausted.

"Was everyone okay? At the bank?" It seemed like the natural next question, something to draw his attention back away from the nature of my injuries. I didn't want to think about them, either. I especially didn't want to think about what drugs they currently had me on to combat the pain that was still drowning out almost all other thoughts.

"Yes." He nodded as he spoke, his hands stroking my hair, face, and arms - anywhere he could reach. Like he was trying to convince himself that I was, in fact, there. "You were a real hero."

The word made me cringe for reasons I wasn't ready to get into. I flinched away from his hand at the sound, grimacing as I corrected the idea. "Stop. I was just looking out for myself."

"That's not true." He was just as ready to combat any self-deprecation, moving his hands down to hold mine in my lap. His grip was firm, and I wondered if it would hurt if it weren't for the drugs. Our arms were shaking from the tension and nerves, his breathing slowly finding a normal rhythm the longer he touched me.

"No, I guess not," I teased, "I had to save my boyfriend's stupid ass."

Maybe I'd made the joke too soon, because Spencer nearly collapsed back in his chair, his head falling back to my lap with a heavy exhale. I didn't need to see his face to know he was hiding more tears from me. It was like the initial relief of seeing me again had faded, leading him straight into the depths of regret.