fic: They're Only Words, and Words Can't Kill Me
Title: They're Only Words, and Words Can't Kill Me
Pairings/Characters: Morgan/Reid
Rating: um, PG? for safety reasons
Warnings/Spoilers: slight spoilers for "Lauren." Blink and you'll miss it.
Summary: "We're going to destroy each other."
Word Count: ~850
Notes: title taken from the song 'Let's Talk About Spaceships' by Say Hi (to Your Mom? idk what they're called anymore). This is me trying to cure my writer's block. You've been warned.
Disclaimer: don't own a thing.
*hey! listen!: idk what's up with lj and i'm getting the feeling i can't do jack shit about it so it will be much easier to read this if you click the title or the comments bc then it will bring you to that lovely white screen where everything is formatted the way i wanted it to be kbye*
Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.
Do people ever really believe this? He can’t see why they would, because he would rather take a punch in the gut then have to stand here and listen to this.
---
Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.
He had said this once, to a bully at school.
The bully had thrown a dictionary at him and the corner cut open his head. His teacher asked him what happened and he had told her he had fallen.
Tattling never got you anywhere. The dictionary had hurt but kicks aimed to his stomach hurt a lot more.
---
“Wait, what?”
“It isn’t working.”
“What do you mean? It’s fine. We’re fine.”
“This is your definition of fine?”
---
Who fights with sticks and stones, anyway?
Kids are much cleverer these days. Kids have fists and kicks and kids have feet that jump out and trip you. Kids gang up and table you. Kids pelt erasers at the back of your neck, never hard enough to really hurt but enough that you know that you’re not welcome. You’re a freak and no one likes you.
He had learned from a young age that books didn’t hurt you and so he had hidden behind them and he absorbed the words. The words didn’t hurt. It was everything else that did. It was emerging from those books to the taunting and the teasing and when that teasing progressed to more that hurt. It was when he left the books that his father left and his mother didn’t get out of bed and they tied him to a flagpole.
Words had never hurt him.
---
Words, on the other hand, had hurt him.
It’s okay when it wasn’t and I won’t hurt you when that’s all it was, was pain. It will be over soon he had whispered to himself but that was a lie too because it still isn’t over. It’s every time he closes his eyes.
---
Sometimes when he wakes up he thinks that Reid is part of his nightmares and he flinches away from him and hisses and yells and it takes him awhile to understand that the arms around him mean him no harm.
“It’s okay,” Reid whispers, and Morgan doesn’t know how to tell him that it isn’t.
---
They’re not fine.
---
“We can work it out.”
“We’ve tried that.”
“You’re giving up.”
“I can’t do this anymore, Derek.”
---
They are not the same anymore. There are obstacles in the way, new ones to add to those old ones they couldn’t get around. When Morgan flinches away from Reid’s touch and when Reid snaps at him, angry, you don’t understand because he doesn’t.
And now there is that ghost that comes between them, the one they couldn’t save, and instead of finding comfort in each other Reid loses himself in words and Morgan doesn’t come home at night.
---
They’re not fine.
---
“I’m not going to beg.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
---
One, two, three.
---
“Please, Spencer.”
So much for that.
---
“I’m leaving, Derek.”
Who knew Reid could punch so hard?
He tries to get a blow in himself.
“I love you.”
Reid doubles over in pain. That was a good hit.
“Stop.”
“I love you.”
“Stop.”
“I love you.”
“Derek!”
There are bruises on his skin and blood in the corner of his mouth. Morgan’s words hit hard but not as hard as Reid’s do.
“I’m sorry. Derek, I’m sorry.” His voice wobbles and Morgan pounces on this weakness, pulls Reid into him, plants kisses on his face that fall like blows. Purplish bruises mar his pretty skin, the shape of Morgan’s lips.
“Stay.”
Long fingers curl against his collarbone. He doesn’t want to fight anymore. All they’ve done recently is fight.
---
Wouldn’t it be easy to fall into his arms and forget?
---
He removes himself from them instead. “I can’t.”
He whispers to avoid his voice cracking.
---
“Stay.”
“We’re going to destroy each other.”
“And if you walk out that door you’ll destroy me. Either way I get hurt. I’d rather you be beside me when I fall apart.”
“I’m sorry.”
Two punches to his gut.
“Then stay.”
“I can’t.”
A kick to his knee and a slap across his cheek.
“Spencer-”
“I’m sorry.”
And then the last blow-
“Goodbye.”
---
If Reid were here, he would have been able to name the bones that are breaking. He would know the significance of the colour of the bruises on Morgan’s skin.
But Reid is not here and so he suffers alone. He stands on broken legs, supports himself on the wall with bloody hands, gingerly walks into their (his) bedroom, tries not to jostle the broken remnants of his ribs.
It smells, overwhelmingly, of Reid. He walks into the bathroom to clean himself up, looks in the mirror.
There are no bruises on his face, no blood on his hands. His bones are intact. There is no outward damage but inside he is bleeding.
---
Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.
Pairings/Characters: Morgan/Reid
Rating: um, PG? for safety reasons
Warnings/Spoilers: slight spoilers for "Lauren." Blink and you'll miss it.
Summary: "We're going to destroy each other."
Word Count: ~850
Notes: title taken from the song 'Let's Talk About Spaceships' by Say Hi (to Your Mom? idk what they're called anymore). This is me trying to cure my writer's block. You've been warned.
Disclaimer: don't own a thing.
*hey! listen!: idk what's up with lj and i'm getting the feeling i can't do jack shit about it so it will be much easier to read this if you click the title or the comments bc then it will bring you to that lovely white screen where everything is formatted the way i wanted it to be kbye*
Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.
Do people ever really believe this? He can’t see why they would, because he would rather take a punch in the gut then have to stand here and listen to this.
---
Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.
He had said this once, to a bully at school.
The bully had thrown a dictionary at him and the corner cut open his head. His teacher asked him what happened and he had told her he had fallen.
Tattling never got you anywhere. The dictionary had hurt but kicks aimed to his stomach hurt a lot more.
---
“Wait, what?”
“It isn’t working.”
“What do you mean? It’s fine. We’re fine.”
“This is your definition of fine?”
---
Who fights with sticks and stones, anyway?
Kids are much cleverer these days. Kids have fists and kicks and kids have feet that jump out and trip you. Kids gang up and table you. Kids pelt erasers at the back of your neck, never hard enough to really hurt but enough that you know that you’re not welcome. You’re a freak and no one likes you.
He had learned from a young age that books didn’t hurt you and so he had hidden behind them and he absorbed the words. The words didn’t hurt. It was everything else that did. It was emerging from those books to the taunting and the teasing and when that teasing progressed to more that hurt. It was when he left the books that his father left and his mother didn’t get out of bed and they tied him to a flagpole.
Words had never hurt him.
---
Words, on the other hand, had hurt him.
It’s okay when it wasn’t and I won’t hurt you when that’s all it was, was pain. It will be over soon he had whispered to himself but that was a lie too because it still isn’t over. It’s every time he closes his eyes.
---
Sometimes when he wakes up he thinks that Reid is part of his nightmares and he flinches away from him and hisses and yells and it takes him awhile to understand that the arms around him mean him no harm.
“It’s okay,” Reid whispers, and Morgan doesn’t know how to tell him that it isn’t.
---
They’re not fine.
---
“We can work it out.”
“We’ve tried that.”
“You’re giving up.”
“I can’t do this anymore, Derek.”
---
They are not the same anymore. There are obstacles in the way, new ones to add to those old ones they couldn’t get around. When Morgan flinches away from Reid’s touch and when Reid snaps at him, angry, you don’t understand because he doesn’t.
And now there is that ghost that comes between them, the one they couldn’t save, and instead of finding comfort in each other Reid loses himself in words and Morgan doesn’t come home at night.
---
They’re not fine.
---
“I’m not going to beg.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
---
One, two, three.
---
“Please, Spencer.”
So much for that.
---
“I’m leaving, Derek.”
Who knew Reid could punch so hard?
He tries to get a blow in himself.
“I love you.”
Reid doubles over in pain. That was a good hit.
“Stop.”
“I love you.”
“Stop.”
“I love you.”
“Derek!”
There are bruises on his skin and blood in the corner of his mouth. Morgan’s words hit hard but not as hard as Reid’s do.
“I’m sorry. Derek, I’m sorry.” His voice wobbles and Morgan pounces on this weakness, pulls Reid into him, plants kisses on his face that fall like blows. Purplish bruises mar his pretty skin, the shape of Morgan’s lips.
“Stay.”
Long fingers curl against his collarbone. He doesn’t want to fight anymore. All they’ve done recently is fight.
---
Wouldn’t it be easy to fall into his arms and forget?
---
He removes himself from them instead. “I can’t.”
He whispers to avoid his voice cracking.
---
“Stay.”
“We’re going to destroy each other.”
“And if you walk out that door you’ll destroy me. Either way I get hurt. I’d rather you be beside me when I fall apart.”
“I’m sorry.”
Two punches to his gut.
“Then stay.”
“I can’t.”
A kick to his knee and a slap across his cheek.
“Spencer-”
“I’m sorry.”
And then the last blow-
“Goodbye.”
---
If Reid were here, he would have been able to name the bones that are breaking. He would know the significance of the colour of the bruises on Morgan’s skin.
But Reid is not here and so he suffers alone. He stands on broken legs, supports himself on the wall with bloody hands, gingerly walks into their (his) bedroom, tries not to jostle the broken remnants of his ribs.
It smells, overwhelmingly, of Reid. He walks into the bathroom to clean himself up, looks in the mirror.
There are no bruises on his face, no blood on his hands. His bones are intact. There is no outward damage but inside he is bleeding.
---
Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.