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The case had drained them all, but Spencer Reid felt it more than most. It had been one of those gruelling, mind-breaking cases—the kind that crept under your skin and settled in your bones. The kind that made your chest ache in ways you couldn’t quite explain. He had barely slept, barely eaten, his mind running calculations and theories on an endless loop, each one more frustrating than the last.
The unsub had been meticulous. Brilliant, even. They had left behind just enough to taunt, to mock. A move, a countermove. Every time they thought they had the upper hand, the unsub slipped right through their fingers.
It had taken six days, and Spencer had spent nearly every hour hunched over files, crime scene photos, patterns, maps, his hands shaking from too much caffeine and not enough sustenance. He had promised himself he’d eat something later, but later never came.
The jet ride back to Quantico was silent. No one spoke. No one had the energy to. Emily stared out the window, her jaw tight. Morgan had his headphones in, but he wasn’t listening to anything—just using them as an excuse to not engage. JJ was curled into herself, her fingers tracing over the edges of her phone, unread messages from Henry staring back at her.
And Spencer—he just sat there, staring at nothing, feeling the weight of failure press against his ribs.
When they landed, he barely remembered how he got to his desk. His limbs felt heavy; his head fogged over. His hands trembled as he reached for his bag, intending to head home, to sleep, to pretend that for just a few hours he wasn’t drowning in his own mind.
Then, out of nowhere, a wave of dizziness slammed into him. His stomach lurched, his vision blurred, and for a split second, his whole body felt weightless.
His mouth moved before he could think. “I’m gonna pass out. Be right back.”
Then the world dropped out from under him.
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Spencer’s eyes fluttered open, and he found himself staring at the bullpen ceiling, the fluorescent lights nearly blinding. Voices swirled around him, sharp and urgent, but it took a moment for them to stop sounding like muffled echoes in his ears.
“Jesus, Reid, you don’t just say something like that and then drop!” That was Morgan, his voice hovering somewhere between exasperation and genuine fear.
“Are you okay? What the hell was that?” Emily’s face swam into view, her brows furrowed with concern.
JJ was kneeling besides him, her hands hovering like she wanted to help but didn’t know how. “You scared the hell out of us, Spence.”
Spencer blinked slowly. He felt lightheaded, disoriented, his body heavy like he had just run for miles. His throat was dry when he finally croaked out, “I did give you a warning.”
Morgan let out a sharp breath. “That was not a warning, kid.”
“Yeah, we usually prefer more than a two-second heads-up before you faceplant,” Rossi added, crossing her arms.
A shadow loomed over them. Hotch.
His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his jaw, the way his arms were crossed just a little too tightly, spoke volumes. “Can you sit up?”
Spencer swallowed, pushing himself up with Morgan's help. The dizziness returned instantly, and Hotch’s hand was suddenly at his back, steadying him before he could tip over again.
“You’re going to the hospital,” Hotch said, his voice firm, brooking no argument.
Spencer stiffened. “I don’t need to go to the hospital.”
Hotch’s glare was razor-sharp. “You just passed out in the middle of the bullpen. You don’t get a say in this.”
Spencer opened his mouth to protest, but Morgan cut in before he could. “Man, just listen to him for once. You scared the shit out of all of us.”
JJ nodded. “What if this happens again? What if no one’s around next time?”
Spencer hesitated. The logic was sound. Still, the idea of going to a hospital, of sitting in a sterile room while doctors poked and prodded him, made his skin itch.
“I feel fine now,” he tried weakly.
Hotch sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before crouching in front of him, his voice dropping to something quieter, steadier. “Reid, you don’t just collapse for no reason. Something is wrong.”
Spencer glanced around at his team—their faces were tight with concern, even Morgan’s usual teasing gone, replaced by something far more serious.
Hotch exhaled sharply, then stood. “You’re not going alone. I’m taking you.”
Spencer’s eyes widened slightly. “That’s not necessar—”
Hotch shot him a look. “It wasn’t a suggestion.”
Spencer sighed, realising there was no winning this. He pressed a hand to his forehead. “…Can I at least get my bag?”
Hotch gestured to Emily, who had already grabbed it. “Taken care of. Let’s go.”
Spencer let out a soft groan, but when Hotch extended a hand to help him up, he took it.
And as they walked out of the bullpen, Hotch’s presence steady besides him, Spencer realised that maybe, just maybe, letting someone else be in control for once wasn’t the worst thing in the world.