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I LOVE HIMMMN

the angel of the bottomless pit | s.r.

in which you cope with Spencer's mortality after he's shot in the neck

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: takes place during the events of 9x23 "angels" and 9x24 "demons", shooting, hospitals, mortality, allusions to Spencer's addiction, jareau!reader, nausea, concussion, refusal of medical treatment word count: 4.55k a/n: a reader insert for my favorite cm finale <3 happy day seven of my migraine

You took a deep breath, standing in a group outside of the restaurant in Briscoe County, the team tried to figure out how to set up a line of communication with Preacher Mills when the first shots were fired.

The blue glow of the police cars provided the only light, and you didn’t see the body coming until it had already flown into you. Someone called your name—JJ—but you couldn’t turn to look at her. You toppled backward, so disoriented from the impact that you couldn’t catch yourself, leaving your head to fly into the passenger door of a car, knocking you out cold.

You came to in the ambulance, just barely enough to feel a searing pain on the back of your head, the kind that made your stomach churn with even the slightest movement. Your eyes opened to nothing more than slits, trying to keep a majority of the light from burning your retinas while you searched for a familiar face. Finally, you caught sight of your sister, hovering over you in the ambulance and tenderly smoothing your hair back.

Parting your lips, you wanted to tell her that your head hurt, but as you allowed time for your eyes to focus, you noticed the way her brows pinched together, the way she looked when she was worried.

Begrudgingly, your nurse had provided you with the proper paperwork for you to leave the hospital room. She tried to insist that you needed to lay down and rest, but you didn’t believe yourself to be physically capable of resting, not after your sister talked to you when you woke up.

Spencer had been shot before, but you’d needed to threaten your sister in order to get her to divulge the gravity of the situation to you. He’d been shot in the neck, and from what you could ascertain, it didn’t look good.

You couldn’t let yourself be stuck in a hospital bed while Spencer was on an operating table, so you flashed your credentials at the nurse and convinced her to bring you the AMA paperwork. JJ left your patient bag with you, so you opted to change into your slightly bloodied clothes and scour the floor for your sister.

It didn’t take long for you to find Blake, and where she was, the rest of the team couldn’t be far behind.

JJ didn’t seem to notice you as she walked into the waiting room, blonde ponytail swinging with purpose as she held her hands out. You couldn’t hear the exchange between the two agents, but you took a few more apprehensive steps and listened to JJ sigh, “Spence would’ve read like two books by now. Or three.”

You chucked softly at the remark, only for the lighthearted joke to fall through when Blake shook her head, “it should’ve been me.”

Spencer and Alex had always had a pseudo-familial relationship with each other, with her acting as a surrogate mother, filling in emotional gaps that his mother had never been able to occupy, let it be because of her schizophrenia or the natural separation that Spencer’s intelligence placed between him and the general population. He’d never really had that before.

Keeping your distance, you watched Blake struggle with the circumstances of the evening, and you held your breath as your sister commiserated, “Or me. Or any of us,” she offered, resting her elbows on her knees.

“No,” Blake said, looking up at your sister with an unreadable expression, “he pushed me out of the way.” Your chest tightened, you weren’t entirely sure if it was the head injury or Blakes revelation that was causing your nausea, “If he doesn’t make it…”

JJ’s head snapped up, “He’ll make it.” You agreed with her sentiments—you had to.

Blake nodded in understanding, comprehending your sister’s need to look on the bright side of the situation, “He has to.” Disbelief was plain on her face, “He’s just—he’s too young.”

“Yeah,” JJ continued, “There’s still things for him to do.” She ran her palms along her jean-covered thighs, and you pulled away from the wall, convincing yourself that now was the best time for you to approach them again. That is, until your sister spoke again, “You know, he wants kids… Can you imagine Spence as a dad?”

Your movements faltered. You could. You thought of Spencer as a dad more often than you cared to admit. Imagining him waltzing around the living room with your son on his hip, humming along to Bob Dylan. Wondering what it would be like to find him with his glasses perched on his nose, reading to your daughter, who would be falling asleep in his lap. You weren’t alone with those thoughts though, sometimes when it was just the two of you, curled up in the darkness of your bedroom together, you pitched potential baby names for a child who had yet to be conceived.

“That’d be the luckiest kid in the world,” Blake said, sniffling slightly as her head tilted at just the right angle and her eyes locked with yours.

JJ nodded slowly, “No doubt,” she spoke as you approached, still oblivious to your presence.

You walked over to them, taking as deep of a breath as you physically could before calling for your sister, “J,” you said, bowing your head to avoid looking directly at the fluorescent lights.

Your shoes tapped lightly on the linoleum floor as your sister stood to greet you, “Ducky?” She said, confusion seeping into her tone, “What happened? What did the doctor say?”

Keeping your head tilted down, you waved off her concern, “I signed AMA papers. Have you heard anything?” You bulldozed right through your sister’s worry, returning to what really mattered—Spencer.

JJ shook her head solemnly, “No, he’s still in surgery.” She sighed, knowing she was giving out disappointing news, “You should still be under observation, come here,” she cupped your chin and studied your eyes, “Sit down.”

You sat in the chair that she had previously inhabited, your cheeks warming as your older sister placed an FBI jacket around your shoulders like you were a kid who had run into the snow without a second thought. She had a certain way of caring for you, her little sister, without making you feel infantilized.

The sound of heels clicking on the floor caught her attention, Penelope leaned forward to embrace your sister, “You made it.”

“Yeah,” Garcia said as if there was nowhere else she’d be, “We’re not the only one that’s connected, and he knows somebody with a plane.” She gestured back to Matt Cruz, who greeted you with a small wave, “How is he?”

Your heart panged at her question, she’d likely hopped on a plane immediately and come to see Spencer, just to find he was still in surgery. You pulled your feet up on the chair, hugging your knees to your chest and resting your chin on a kneecap. There was a very good possibility that you’d be leaving Texas without Spencer at your side, and it sounded like a fate worse than death. Losing him caused you physical pain when you even considered the odds. Being shot in the neck seemed like a concrete death sentence.

An unfamiliar person caught your attention, and you looked up at him in hopes that he had news about your boyfriend, only to be disappointed when he spoke, “You all can see Agent Morgan now.”

Then you felt guilty for being disappointed, Derek had been shot, and you were disappointed that he was well enough to be seen, just because Spencer wasn’t. JJ set a gentle hand on your shoulder, sensing your unease.

Everyone assumed you’d stay and wait, and when JJ checked to see if Blake was going too, Alex shook her head and gestured to the surrounding waiting area, “Well, if you don’t mind, I’d really like to stay here.”

JJ raised her eyebrows and pointed at the both of you, “The second you hear anything, call me.”

“Hey,” Garcia said, kind eyes looking between you and Blake, “I’ll be right back.”

They left you and Alex behind, if someone came out and had news about Spencer, you didn’t want to have to hear it secondhand. Comfortingly, she reached out, set a hand on your shoulder, and squeezed, “How’s your head?”

The double meaning of her question didn’t pass you by even in your concussed state, you sniffled miserably, “Busy.” You let your eyes fall shut, taking a deep breath as she moved to rub small circles on your upper back.

She accepted your answer for what it was, recognizing the fact that your ability to analyze your own emotions was stunted, and understandably so. Blake didn’t push when you quieted down, focusing on keeping your nausea at bay while she waited next to you.

“Agents,” an unfamiliar voice greeted, your eyes opened, and your head snapped up—too fast—and stars danced in your vision as you looked at the doctor in front of you.

Blake took over for you, managing the questions and enabling you to be quiet, you lowered your gaze, staring at the doctor’s sensible shoes as they interrupted the patterns in the linoleum. “How is he?”

“Incredibly lucky,” the doctor answered, and you were going to throw up. “Two millimeters to the right and the bullet would have torn through the carotid artery. It nicked some smaller vessels, but we’ve stopped the bleeding,” you wanted him to stop talking. “You can see him now.”

Spencer hated hospitals; you knew that well enough. He’d expressed his thoughts on hospitals rather emphatically a few weeks ago, and you shuddered at the memory of what you now referred to as The Rabies Case.

He was surrounded. You were perched on a chair next to his hospital bed, facing the marred side of his neck, all of the gore disguised behind a stack of bandages. Blake was across from you, sitting a little further from the bed while Penelope arranged figurines that she’d grabbed from your apartment before catching her flight here.

Maneuvering Spencer’s hand so that it rested in yours, you watched his chest rise and fall with steady breaths, reminding yourself that he was alive while his vital monitor beeped with each beat of his heart. You were worried about what would happen when he woke up, for a while, he’d be fine, but once his anesthesia fully wore off, he’d be in a world of pain.

You added your other hand to the pile, warming his cold fingers as Penelope continued her setup, “It’ll be so great if he wakes up… and this is the first thing he sees.”

Blake smiled fondly at the display on Spencer’s hospital tray, “Yeah, the good doctor will always make him smile.” She was resting her head in her hand, keeping her chin up while she kept an eye on him and, inadvertently, you.

Penelope laughed nervously, “It would be really weird if he wakes up and we’re all just ooh staring at him. So, I’m gonna go stand over here,” she announced, walking over to the window and glancing out of it. Her resolve fell through quickly, turning her head so she could keep an eye on him, even from a distance.

You squeezed his hand, slightly leaning over the bed in order to sweep a few stray hairs from his forehead, freezing when you saw his irises move beneath his eyelids, but sitting back down when he didn’t stir further.

“How’s your head?” Blake asked, minding her volume as she sat back in her chair.

Humming, you laid your head down on Spencer’s bed and closed your eyes, blocking out the fluorescent hospital lights and brushing your thumb over his knuckles, “Fine.”

You rested your chin in one hand, leaving your elbow propped up on the bed while your free hand remained in Spencer’s. Except now, he was holding it back, your fingers intertwined while he spoke with Alex, “When this comes off, I’m gonna look just like Boris Karloff.”

Blake smiled in response, a similar look reflected on your own face, “Yeah, a little green makeup and you’ll have the best Halloween costume ever.”

Your imagination got away from you for just a moment, thinking about Spencer and his proposed Frankenstein costume while he shut his eyes. Looking back at him when everyone went too long without speaking, “Are you okay?” You asked, squeezing his shoulder in an attempt to encourage communication.

“Everybody’s fine,” Blake assured him, “Don’t worry.”

Spencer shook his head almost imperceptibly, “I’m not.”

Tilting your head to the side, you watched him carefully as he kept his eyes closed, probably trying to keep the light from his eyes. “You’ve got that furrowed brow,” Blake observed, cueing you to reach forward and swipe your thumb over the crease on his forehead as if you could dismiss his concerns with just one motion.

He never really answered, interrupted by Garcia returning to the hospital room with a tray in hand, “Hey, hey, hey, look who’s still awake.” She placed the tray in front of Spencer, pushing the figurines out of the way, “Can you tell her she can go now, please?”

Smiling softly at Blake, Spencer’s head bobbed, “I’m okay Alex, go help the team,” he told her, his voice still hoarse from the breathing tube he’d had during surgery. It didn’t seem like he was in a lot of pain yet, but you were keeping a keen eye on him.

“Alright,” Blake said, smiling at the three of you, “I’m out of here.” She placed a hand on the side rail of the hospital bed, “I’m glad you’re awake.”

Spencer tipped his head back, resting it on the pillows that you’d tried to fluff up for him, “Thank you,” he said, watching her leave, returning to the case.

You’d offered your help to Hotch, but you’d done so by jumping up from your chair and almost keeling over in the process, so he told you to stick around here and help Garcia when you could. “Okay,” Garcia took hold of her phone that had previously been resting in the crook of her neck, “Juice, broth, or Jell-O?”

His eyes widened in faux excitement, “Jell-O, my favorite,” he said, reaching out for the spoon and container of orange gelatin, pushing the cup of juice in your direction as he did.

Monitoring his movements, you confirmed your suspicions when you noticed his right eye twitch. He was in pain, and he was putting on a brave face for the two of you. Your head was moving in the direction of a dull throb as opposed to a piercing pain. You knew you couldn’t take his pain away, but you could humor his attempt to take care of you.

Quietly, you took the cup of apple juice in your hands and slowly sipped at it, feeling victorious when Spencer beamed at you.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, but, sure enough, at some point you had set your head down on the edge of Spencer’s bed and let your eyes fall shut. It wasn’t a particularly restful sleep, but you were woken up to the sound of a door clicking shut. Lifting your head, you cringed at the stars that danced in your vision.

“Okay,” she said to someone over the phone, seemingly out of breath. “I did that, now what?”

Frowning, you watched as her brown eyes danced around the hospital room, “Penny?” You minded your volume, not wanting to wake Spencer unless it was absolutely necessary, “What’s going on?”

She doesn’t answer your question, eyes locking onto something in the room, “Yes, yes,” she spoke into the phone. “I can do that; I can do that.” Her lips parted in what seemed like surprise, “That is not gonna be easy.”

You cocked your head at her curiously, meaning to walk over to her, but refraining from doing so. You didn’t want to untangle your hand from Spencer’s.

“Oh my god, what?” You were beginning to tire of the one-sided phone conversation, “Okay.”

She hung up the phone and met your gaze, “We have to get him out of here.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, “Uh, have you lost your mind? No.” You were not going to take your boyfriend—who had just been shot in the neck—out of his hospital bed and, presumably, into the wheelchair that Garcia was unfolding.

Quickly, she gives you the reader’s digest version of what’s going on, assuring you that this wouldn’t be the plan unless it was absolutely necessary.

Sighing, you turned your head to Spencer, sleeping peacefully as you squeezed his hand and set your free palm on his shoulder, “Hey, baby,” you whispered, not wanting to startle him. “Spence,” you said gently, watching his eyebrows furrow as you carefully woke him up.

You felt awful, he’d just gone back to sleep after getting his post-op antibiotics, and here you were, waking him up again because the person who shot him in the neck wanted to finish what he’d started. He moved slowly, and you didn’t have the heart to rush him even while there was someone looking to kill him.

Penelope took control, starting to wheel Spencer out while he rubbed at the base of his neck, she stood in the doorway, staring at the fire alarm on the wall and likely calculating how many karma points she’d lose from pulling it.

Sighing, you reached behind her and pulled the alarm yourself, flinching at the loud noise that came as a result. “Fuck,” You cursed, a wave of nausea rolling through you as you set a hand on Penelope’s shoulder, using her as a guide while she wheeled Spencer toward the elevator.

At least once you were outside it was darker, the warm Texas night surrounded the three of you as you watched the hospital personnel frantically try to get everyone to safety. You glanced around at other patients, wheeling their IVs around, worry flooded your chest until you made a full turn, face to face with Spencer again. He was safe.

You crouched down and rested your head on his blanket-covered lap, “Does your head hurt?” He asked you, a hand moving to settle on your shoulder. Normally, he’d smooth down the hair on the back of your head, but he refrained from touching the tender area.

Humming a confirmation, you smiled to yourself as Spencer moved his hands to either side of your head, acting as blinders to prevent any light from bothering your eyes. The two of you made quite a pair, you were sure of it.

Penelope was nervously tapping her heels on the cement, and even though it irritated your headache, you didn’t ask her to stop. The team had an understanding of Garcia, right now she was in a gray area. She didn’t usually travel, and she was worried about Spencer, so you let her tap her heels.

You lost track of how long you were stuck squatting outside of the hospital before the firefighters called the all-clear, allowing people to filter back through the hallways. You lagged behind Penelope as she pushed Spencer through the hospital, “You okay?” She asked him, peeling back the covers of his hospital bed.

“I’m just really tired,” he said, climbing into the bed and smiling at you as you took a seat on the cushioned seat on the other side of the room. You fluffed up a spare pillow and rested your head on it, your eyes hooded with sleep, but you kept them open to watch Spencer settle.

She nodded, helping him pull the covers back over himself, “Of course you are. You need to get some sleep…” her voice trailed off as a nurse entered the room. “Oh, but how can you sleep? ‘Cause you’re in a hospital where people are always poking you.” Penelope watches the nurse with intense curiosity, “He had his meds an hour ago.”

The nurse didn’t falter, “Yeah, post-op antibiotics.”

Poor Spencer just wanted to sleep, but now you were on high alert, slowly getting up from your perch as Penelope said exactly what you were thinking, “Yeah, he had those too.”

You remembered when they came in to do it because you checked the bottle over to make sure Spencer wouldn’t have an allergic reaction to the medication, he turned his head, wincing as his neck rotated, “Which ones? Carbenicillin?” Your stomach lurched, “No, that’s not right. I have a severe reaction to beta lactams. I can’t have that.”

Begrudgingly, the nurse flipped open Spencer’s chart and looked over it, “That’s not in your chart.”

Once the nurse put the syringe in Spencer’s IV, you trudged over to the hospital bed to assess the situation, “What are you doing?” Spencer asked, pulling out his IV before smacking the syringe from the nurse’s hand for good measure.

It wasn’t until the nurse bent over to grab the syringe that you saw it, a gun tucked into the waistband of his scrubs. Shit, where was your gun?

“Garcia, he has a gun,” Spencer said, leaning back into the pillows as Penelope produced Spencer’s revolver from his patient bag.

Her hands trembled as she held the gun out, and instinctively, you took the gun from her hands and fired the shot, your head immediately dropping to the sheets of the bed as a high-pitched squeal flooded your senses. “Oh my god, I’m gonna throw up,” you groaned, picking a spot to stare at in hopes that the world would stop spinning.

You felt someone’s hands on yours as they removed the gun from your hands, people were running into the room, likely to provide medical care to the man you had just shot. “My ears don’t pop for like a week after I fly,” Penelope started to ramble. “If this is like that, that’s gonna drive me bonkers. Am I yelling? Because it feels like I might be yelling.”

“Yes,” you answered her question, she was yelling, and it wasn’t helping the ringing in your ears, which left Spencer to console her.

She took a deep breath and set a hand on your back, “Okay. You’re okay. It’s okay.”

The jet was crowded enough without you taking up another seat. Instead, you opted to sit next to Spencer, taking a spot on the floor as he slept. You wanted to keep an eye on him, the soft whistles from his nose as he exhaled brought you immense comfort. Your eyes followed Penelope as she looked around for somewhere to sit.

JJ walked out of the galley, stopping next to you to hand you a water bottle and smooth your hair back. She smiled at you before making her way back to her seat.

You turned your attention back to Spencer, leaning the side of your head against the wall and reaching out to tuck his blanket around him.

Blake had offered to drive the two of you home, allowing you to take the back seat of the car, using the surrounding seats to block the streetlights from your view. The car was completely silent the entire way to the district, and you don’t get home until it’s pitch-black outside, the warm lamplight reflecting off of puddles from the spring rain.

You’d excused yourself to retreat into the bedroom, leaving the two of them in the living room. Something had been bothering Blake, and you wanted to give them time to talk, coming back after you heard the front door close.

Returning to the living room, you found Spencer standing by the window, likely watching Alex catch a cab. You timidly put your hands behind your back, “Hey,” you said softly, getting his attention.

Spencer turned around, smiling softly as his brown eyes studied you, now in your pajamas, standing in front of him, “Hi, lovely.” He stepped over to you, “How are you feeling?”

The flight had done terrible things to your head, the changes in pressure resulting in you hurling into the jet bathroom. You hummed, wrapping your arms around his torso, “Just… don’t make any sudden movements,” you said softly, practically melting into him as he wrapped his arms around you and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “How’s your neck?”

“Fine, a bit stiff” he answered, blatantly lying to you. For tonight, you’d allow it. Tomorrow, you’d get on him about how he actually felt. He herded you to bed, giving you a place to lay down as he peeled off his own clothes, refraining from taking off his undershirt and choosing to sleep in it.

Your chest ached as you shifted to rest your head on his chest, reveling in the closeness that you felt to him, your ulterior motive being an insatiable need to hear his heart beating. It wasn’t enough for you to hear his breathing or the warmth of his body beneath you, you needed to hear the blood pump through him.

This time last night, you had no idea if you’d ever be able to talk to him again, which you suppose explained the next words that come out of your mouth, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he answered softly, his fingertips tracing shapes along your spine as his breathing slowed and he relaxed into the mattress.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you take a deep breath, “I want to go first.”

Spencer’s movements faltered, his palm flattening against your upper back, “What are you talking about?”

Tears pricked your eyes, and you found yourself grateful for the pain medication your sister had you take just in case. “You’re not allowed to die before me, Spencer. I want to go first.”

“Come here,” He said, pulling you up slightly on the bed and wrapping his arms firmly around you.

Realistically, you knew there was an unfathomable level of unpredictability when it came to human mortality, especially in your line of work, but you couldn’t stop yourself from remembering how horrified you had been when you woke up and JJ told you Spencer was in surgery. You couldn’t stop yourself from recognizing the fact that a world without Spencer Reid was not a world you wanted to be in.

Your thoughts were in hyperdrive, being steered by emotions that you had kept bottled for the last twenty-four hours, and Spencer recognized that. “No one’s dying, honey,” he said, rubbing your back soothingly as tears leaked from your eyes, dripping onto the cotton of his t-shirt.

“Spence,” you whispered, a weak scold. He had almost died. There was no getting around that.

He shushed you, “I know,” he murmured, “I know, but we’re fine.” He took a few, slow breaths, hoping you would follow along. “You can go first, if that’s what you want,” he acquiesced, “but not for a long time, okay?”

Nodding slowly, you moved your head to rest your chin on his chest, “Okay,” you breathed, watching his expression in the curtain-diffused moonlight.

“We still have things to do,” he reminded you, reminiscent of the conversation you’d walked in on JJ and Blake having at the hospital.

He was right.