#pinkscorner

New York City. Spencer couldn't help but hate it a little bit.

Sure, he was born and raised in the big, bright, blinding glitter gulch that was Las Vegas— but that didn't mean he was completely desensitized to the noise. Especially since he had spent years reluctantly letting the team cater to him, dimming the lights in the round table room, always printing paper copies of case files, keeping the volume low around the office.

He hated it a little more when the team ended up right across from that big, bold, beat up tower; the old Avengers tower.

Sure, he thought Captain America was pretty cool when he was a kid, but people like him didn’t ever make sense to Spencer. He didn’t understand the science of it all. He wished often he had access to the original files from the experiment that made Steve Rogers the way he was, but it wasn’t possible. So Spencer ignored the itch of his curiosity and turned his attention to someone he could explain.

Tony Stark.

Spencer liked Tony. He could explain the man’s gear and most of his inventions in ways that were real and tangible. He could calculate physics and speed and mass; he could grasp ideas and executions of them with his bare hands and understand how they worked.

To an extent, of course. That’s what he liked about it; there was just enough information to feel smart and accomplished while also being able to push himself to learn just a touch more.

He used to dream of seeing that tower in person, but now it was taunting him— a reminder of the heroes the world lost.

It felt a little stupid that the death of Tony had affected him, but it made sense. It felt better when Hotch and Rossi also mourned a little— made him feel less childish.

”Spencer, what are you looking at?” JJ called out to him, holding an evidence bag. “Come on, we need you over here.”

Spencer shook his head to clear his thoughts, turning away from the tower and heading over to JJ. She smiled at him with a sort of funny look, and he smiled back to try and show her he was just fine.

The case was going fine, everything was normal.

Until Spencer heard the screaming coming from down on the street.

So much screaming.

Hotch looked over at Rossi, a confused expression covering his usual stone-cold one.

”What on Earth is going on out there?” Derek questioned, stepping away from the gruesome scene to look out the window.

It came up so fast that Spencer hardly had time to see it before it overtook him.

The shadow; massive and dark and looming.

”Hotch?!” He called out, looking to the man as everything went dark.

Then, silence.

Spencer’s eyes stayed tightly shut, too afraid to look at whatever the world looked like around him. He couldn’t hear the screaming anymore, instead replaced by the sound of crickets chirping and little owl hoots.

He felt a chill breeze, nipping at chapped lips and sweaty hands and— who was that speaking?

Spencer opened his big doe eyes, hoping for his team, but instead a horrifying sight pulled his heart to the bottom of his stomach.

He saw himself, sitting in the fallen leaves with his deep red sweater vest hugging a heavy breathing chest. He saw trembling hands reaching out to press against none other than Tobias Hankel.

Why was he here? More importantly, how was he here?

The overly logical part of Spencer’s brain told him that this was surely a schizophrenic break— it was finally happening.

But it felt so real.

And it kept going, kept playing on like some sick movie that made him sick to his stomach. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as Tobias took his last breath, as he stepped closer to get a better look at the scene.

It was a daze, watching the team pull up and seeing himself fall into Hotch’s arms, but it all grew too clear as he watched them walk away, leaving him all alone with the body.

”Wait,” He called out to the Spencer he was watching. “Don’t do that, just—“

He took full strides forward, shame lurching around in his gut, guilt forming a thick cloud in his mind.

He watched himself lean forward and dig nervously into the pockets of a dead man, swiping the vials of dilaudid.

”Don’t do that!” He shouted, a little more desperate.

He kept walking to himself, getting closer and closer until the man looked up at him, picked up the recently discarded gun, and shot him point blank.

Surprisingly enough, he didn’t feel much of anything until he felt the pure dread full his lungs with the next breath of cold air he took in, finding his feet planted back in the dirt as he was minutes ago.

The scene played again in front of him despite him being frozen in fear, right up until the moment he pushed the dilaudid into his pocket. It just kept going and Spencer was cold and he was scared.

He sank to the ground and wrapped his arms around curled up legs, feeling a tremble wrack his bones as he gave up much quicker than he tended to.

It happened 8 and 1/4th more times before he finally got up from the soil, wiping his tears and ignoring his shaking, and charged for the shack in hopes a fire was still lit inside.

If he was stuck here, surely he could at least be warm.

Oh, god, was he stuck here?

His hand reached the shabby door and as he tugged on the handle, it opened to a dark room and he stepped inside before fully processing what was going on.

This wasn’t right, no. This wasn’t the place it was meant to be.

Spencer wished he didn’t know exactly what he was looking at down to the address.

He turned on his heel to go back to the graveyard, but instead of the door to the shack, he was met with a solid concrete wall.

“Tell her you don’t love me.”

He swore his insides twisted up like a knotted twizzler, he swore his heart had been shot through with a nail gun.

It felt sort of sick when the tiniest wave of relief washed over him as his eyes met Maeve’s face for the first time in so long. For just a fraction of a second, he thought maybe he could stand to stay here, but then he was reminded of what here really was.

”I don’t love her.”

He knew by now, from his quick pattern recognition, not to interfere. Being shot once was enough for him, thank you.

Instead, he made an effort to block out the sound of the gunshot as it blew through Maeve’s head. He curled up in the littlest ball his lanky body could manage and tried not to cry.

Three times. Three times, he heard the shot; heard his own broken sobs. Each time, he felt heavier and heavier with the shame of everything he didn’t do.

He didn't save her, he wasn’t good enough.

Spencer wasn’t sure if he was ever going to see home again, lost in this terrifying loop of the worst moments of his life, and he didn’t even know where it was coming from. He didn’t know how to get out, didn’t know how to stop it.

”Tell her you don’t love me.”

Hands over his ears didn’t do much, it was all so loud.

”I don’t lo-“

Bright lights, loud, loud, loud noises.

”Spencer? Spencer?!”

Emily.

”Emily? Emily, help me!” He cried out, too afraid to open his eyes once again.

There it was, the screaming, the car horns honking. Was this really New York again?

”It’s okay, Spencer,” Was Emily crying? “We’re all okay, we’re back. You’re safe.”

Spencer sighed in a heavy way he couldn’t describe, his body going lax as he tried to keep himself together.

”Maeve,” he mumbled, suddenly missing her a little bit.

”Maeve?” Emily repeated.

”Emily, I’m scared.”

”Me too, Spence. Me, too,” Emily said softly, leaning closer to combat the sounds of crying.

Tears, so many tears.

Spencer wanted to go home.

“Are you real? You’re real, right?” He asked.

Emily hugged him tightly, and he didn’t miss the way she shook like a leaf.