Fic: A Dark World Dreaming (1/1 Criminal Minds)
Title: A Dark World Dreaming
Series: Of Innocence and Empathy
Author: Frogg
Beta: Adam
Rating: FRT-13, mention of torture
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Damnit.
Word Count: 785
Author's Note: Yet another post-Revelations fic, sometime after A Limit to Generosity.
"He fell asleep again? It was his turn to pick the movie..."
"He's seen it before, JJ, it's not like he can notice something new." Emily reached over and slowly turned the table lamp up a bit, leaving the room cast in shadows.
"Spencer feels safe and protected here. I'd be more concerned if he hadn't fallen asleep," Gideon added, an indulgent smile on his face.
"You do have to admit, it's cute." Garcia reached into her purse.
"Penelope--" Derek's tone was warning; he could feel every twitch and flex of Spencer's muscles against him. He knew this dream, this nightmare. The pattern of pull-relax in the shoulders, the cast vibrating against his knee.
"What? I just want to take a picture." She pointed her cameraphone.
"Garcia, don't." The words were sharp this time, Derek cursing his immobility.
It was too late; the flash went off, temporarily blinding everyone.
"See?" Garcia chortled a little at the photo displayed on screen.
Spencer stirred, mouth opening and closing on silent protest, fingers curling into claws and digging furrows in Derek's tee-shirt.
"It's okay," Derek whispered, trying to sooth his partner and failing. He tilted his head, eyeing Garcia upside down from his position on the floor. "Next time I tell you not to--" He broke off on a grunt, lungs collapsing as Spencer shoved himself off his chest in his haste to get to his feet.
"No!" Spencer lunged forward, tripping over his cast and falling hard on one knee, dragging himself back up on the coffee table. "No...I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
"Spencer?" Hotch stood, reaching out to catch him, only to have Spencer duck and lurch towards the hall.
Derek scrambled to his feet. "Stop, just stop, all of you," he snapped, rounding the couch and wrapping one arm around Spencer's waist, helping support him to the bathroom. "Spencer? What happened?"
There was no answer, no words, just a thin, tormented scream from somewhere in the depths of Spencer's soul. He knelt in front of the toilet, gagging, barely managing to wait until Derek had the lid up before losing what little he'd managed to eat at dinner.
"Spence..." Derek waited, heart heavy and aching as Spencer panted, spitting every few moments.
"I-I missed," he said finally. He hiccuped, swiped at his nose with one hand. "I missed. I didn't kill him, I killed...I s-saw him die..." Spencer's shoulders heaved as what little control he'd managed to save shattered.
Wasn't me, Derek whispered to himself. "Hotch?"
"H-he...forgave me..." Spencer managed between sobs, as though somehow forgiveness was worse than the crime.
"Jesus." Derek felt his own breath catch, his eyes itch and burn. These nightmares were far too real, far too vivid to fade upon waking. Spencer sometimes spent twenty minutes or more fighting off double-vision, a haze of memories overlaid upon reality, unable to say for certain which one was the truth.
A quiet tap on the wall interrupted.
Derek poked his head out the door.
"Can I help?" Hotch asked, holding out a glass of water and a bottle of mouthwash.
"Just a second." Taking the offerings, Derek set the mouthwash down and knelt next to Spencer. "Here." He held the glass as Spencer sipped and spat, sipped and spat, grimacing at the acid taste. Derek could tell the phantom images were still present in every shift of weight, every spasm of Spencer's fingers on his arm. "Done?"
Spencer nodded, letting his partner help him to his feet, then sank against Derek's chest, tears spent and fresh wetting the cotton tee.
Reaching behind him, Derek knocked on the wall. "It's okay, Spence, it's okay, it didn't happen."
Hotch stepped into the open doorway; Spencer stiffened, straightening, and Derek carefully eased away, the three of them crammed into the room making it difficult.
"H-hotch." The name came out in a squeak, Spencer's hands twitching.
"Are you okay?"
Eyes wild, Spencer pulled back, shaking his head.
"Of course not." Hotch held out his arms, smoothly, slowly so as not to startle.
"I-I k-k-ki..." Spencer couldn't finish the sentence, tears pouring down his face as he leaned too far back.
Hotch stepped forward, catching him before he could hit the wall, wrapping him in comfort. "It's okay, everyone's okay, you didn't hurt anyone," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss into unkempt hair.
Derek could all but see reality snap back into focus as Spencer accepted Hotch's support, burying his face in the hollow of neck and shoulder. Briefly resting a hand on Hotch's back in thanks, Derek left the room, shutting the door behind him.
~~~the end~~~
Previous: Uncertain Logic
Next: Protective History
or
Crack: More in the World
Series: Of Innocence and Empathy
Author: Frogg
Beta: Adam
Rating: FRT-13, mention of torture
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Damnit.
Word Count: 785
Author's Note: Yet another post-Revelations fic, sometime after A Limit to Generosity.
"He fell asleep again? It was his turn to pick the movie..."
"He's seen it before, JJ, it's not like he can notice something new." Emily reached over and slowly turned the table lamp up a bit, leaving the room cast in shadows.
"Spencer feels safe and protected here. I'd be more concerned if he hadn't fallen asleep," Gideon added, an indulgent smile on his face.
"You do have to admit, it's cute." Garcia reached into her purse.
"Penelope--" Derek's tone was warning; he could feel every twitch and flex of Spencer's muscles against him. He knew this dream, this nightmare. The pattern of pull-relax in the shoulders, the cast vibrating against his knee.
"What? I just want to take a picture." She pointed her cameraphone.
"Garcia, don't." The words were sharp this time, Derek cursing his immobility.
It was too late; the flash went off, temporarily blinding everyone.
"See?" Garcia chortled a little at the photo displayed on screen.
Spencer stirred, mouth opening and closing on silent protest, fingers curling into claws and digging furrows in Derek's tee-shirt.
"It's okay," Derek whispered, trying to sooth his partner and failing. He tilted his head, eyeing Garcia upside down from his position on the floor. "Next time I tell you not to--" He broke off on a grunt, lungs collapsing as Spencer shoved himself off his chest in his haste to get to his feet.
"No!" Spencer lunged forward, tripping over his cast and falling hard on one knee, dragging himself back up on the coffee table. "No...I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
"Spencer?" Hotch stood, reaching out to catch him, only to have Spencer duck and lurch towards the hall.
Derek scrambled to his feet. "Stop, just stop, all of you," he snapped, rounding the couch and wrapping one arm around Spencer's waist, helping support him to the bathroom. "Spencer? What happened?"
There was no answer, no words, just a thin, tormented scream from somewhere in the depths of Spencer's soul. He knelt in front of the toilet, gagging, barely managing to wait until Derek had the lid up before losing what little he'd managed to eat at dinner.
"Spence..." Derek waited, heart heavy and aching as Spencer panted, spitting every few moments.
"I-I missed," he said finally. He hiccuped, swiped at his nose with one hand. "I missed. I didn't kill him, I killed...I s-saw him die..." Spencer's shoulders heaved as what little control he'd managed to save shattered.
Wasn't me, Derek whispered to himself. "Hotch?"
"H-he...forgave me..." Spencer managed between sobs, as though somehow forgiveness was worse than the crime.
"Jesus." Derek felt his own breath catch, his eyes itch and burn. These nightmares were far too real, far too vivid to fade upon waking. Spencer sometimes spent twenty minutes or more fighting off double-vision, a haze of memories overlaid upon reality, unable to say for certain which one was the truth.
A quiet tap on the wall interrupted.
Derek poked his head out the door.
"Can I help?" Hotch asked, holding out a glass of water and a bottle of mouthwash.
"Just a second." Taking the offerings, Derek set the mouthwash down and knelt next to Spencer. "Here." He held the glass as Spencer sipped and spat, sipped and spat, grimacing at the acid taste. Derek could tell the phantom images were still present in every shift of weight, every spasm of Spencer's fingers on his arm. "Done?"
Spencer nodded, letting his partner help him to his feet, then sank against Derek's chest, tears spent and fresh wetting the cotton tee.
Reaching behind him, Derek knocked on the wall. "It's okay, Spence, it's okay, it didn't happen."
Hotch stepped into the open doorway; Spencer stiffened, straightening, and Derek carefully eased away, the three of them crammed into the room making it difficult.
"H-hotch." The name came out in a squeak, Spencer's hands twitching.
"Are you okay?"
Eyes wild, Spencer pulled back, shaking his head.
"Of course not." Hotch held out his arms, smoothly, slowly so as not to startle.
"I-I k-k-ki..." Spencer couldn't finish the sentence, tears pouring down his face as he leaned too far back.
Hotch stepped forward, catching him before he could hit the wall, wrapping him in comfort. "It's okay, everyone's okay, you didn't hurt anyone," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss into unkempt hair.
Derek could all but see reality snap back into focus as Spencer accepted Hotch's support, burying his face in the hollow of neck and shoulder. Briefly resting a hand on Hotch's back in thanks, Derek left the room, shutting the door behind him.
~~~the end~~~
Previous: Uncertain Logic
Next: Protective History
or
Crack: More in the World