Ramblings of a nerd

“Where are we?” Dean asked, far too happy for this hour, in Sam's most humble opinion. For a second, Sam just looked at him, dazed and confused. Did Dean really forget where they were? Did he hit his head last hunt or something? 

“Florida?” Sam mumbled, confusion and the last remnants of sleep lacing his voice. Like the overgrown puppy he was, Sam tilted his head in confusion. Whatever could Dean be on about. 

“Exactly, Sammy, Florida. And there's no case. And no way am I going digging for a new case right now. Not when there's sand, sea and babes out there, calling for us. Can you hear it Sammy?” Dean was practically vibrating. For a man who'd faced down monsters and said hi to death like an old friend, Dean was just an overgrown kid at the end of the day. “Come on. When was the last time you even went to a beach? Had some fun?” Sam stopped and thought about it. When was the last time he just… Stopped. There was a beach trip his friends at Stanford organised once, but even then, he kept his nose buried in some prelaw book - much to Jessica's disappointment - because Sam Winchester, according to Dean, was allergic to fun. 

Sam hardly had time to argue. Dean was dumping out his duffle bag onto the bed, disassembling guns and hiding the parts, then grabbing swim trunks (which he had for some reason) and suncream. It was settled, for once the Winchester boys were going on vacation. 

When the sea and sand came into view, Sam was out of his element. This was Dean's domain. Half naked people, drinks and a general feeling of who gives a shit (see also relaxation). John had made sure that Dean and Sam knew that everything and anything could be a monster trying to attack them, so it was hard for Sam to let his guard down. Especially with what happened to Jess, he now knew that the supernatural could certainly be anywhere. 

Dean was already picking spaces for the boys to set up. It was like he'd been planning this for months. Maybe because he had. He hadn't had the chance to feel the sand between his toes, the sea breeze in his hair, and to just be there and present with Sam. This was therapeutic; this was healing his inner child. 

A frisbee went past the two boys and, without thinking, Dean ran after it. He was like an overgrown dog bounding towards it. He managed to catch it mid air, excitedly holding it up like a trophy. The smile on his face was priceless, and as much as Sam wanted to shake his head in mild disapproval, he really couldn't. It was the first time he'd seen Dean happy in a while. Two kids came up to Dean, asking for the frisbee back - two boys, brothers most likely. Dean handed it over no problem, he wasn't going to be a dick to kids. But something in his heart broke as the two ran off to their parents. It dawned on Dean that it was a normal thing for parents to do. Taking their kids to the beach, interacting with them, loving them. Sure, John took Dean and Sam out when they were younger. Sometimes it was to a beach, but only because some spirit was pissed, and they sure as hell didn't go to get ice creams after. 

So Dean did what he did best. Shove his emotions down and don't talk of it again. 

“Come on, Sammy, we're getting ice cream,” Dean decided with that same confident voice he used on hunts. It was almost silly in this context - Dean treating ice cream as serious as choosing what ammo they needed for a hunt. Yet, despite them being fully grown adults, Dean had taken on his usual older brother mantle, making sure Sam had a good childhood. In this case, making sure Sam had at least some good memories on a beach. 

The two brothers strode with all the purpose of hunters entering a haunted house knowing they were the scariest thing there. In reality, they were just going to a small ice cream cart, not going to stop the yellow eyed demon from opening the gates of hell. 

“Go on, Sammy, my treat.” Dean nodded towards the different flavours, his mouth practically watering. How there could be so many flavours, he wasn't sure, but it just made this beach day feel a bit more magical. 

“I guess I'll have vanilla,” Sam shrugged. Dean looked at him as if he suggested that Megadeath was better than Metallica. 

“All those flavours there and you go for vanilla?” Dean questioned. 

“What? It's a good flavour,” Sam defended. He would not let his brother judge his ice cream taste. “And, for the record, it's actually a pretty sophisticated flavour even if everyone thinks it's simple.” Dean just rolled his eyes and muttered something about getting a real flavour. Despite all that, he still got Sam his vanilla ice cream while he got the ‘unicorn dream’ ice cream which looked like a kid had been handed a box of crayons and went to town on the piece of paper. 

They both sat on beach towels while they ate their ice cream. While he'd deny it til the day he died (and stayed dead), Sam cracked a small smile. This was nice. Just him and his brother, sat, eating ice cream while Dean made a mess of himself. 

“Dude, you're supposed to eat the ice cream, not wear it,” Sam teased, looking over at Dean who was covered in the sticky, sugary goodness. However, Dean looked thoroughly unbothered. 

“And you're supposed to be having fun,” Dean quipped back, mouth full of ice cream cone. That earned an eyeroll from Sam. Underneath it though was a slight fondness. He was just happy seeing his older brother happy. 

Without warning, after he'd finished his icecream, Dean took his shirt off. He stood up, looking very proud of himself, and let the sun soak his skin. 

“Going for a swim. I better see you in there at some point,” Dean practically threatened Sam. The type of confidence that Dean had was the kind Sam could only dream of. Taking off his shirt on a crowded beach like that? Sam could never. Dean on the other hand? He was almost proud of it. Spun stories about every scar he had and shamelessly showed off his physique. Sam on the other hand was quite happy to just sit back with his shirt on. 

The water was clear and cold. Just perfect, Dean thought to himself. He practically bounded into it, not caring how he looked. To others, it might have looked odd. A twenty seven year old man practically sprinting into the water like a kid. As he splashed about, the laugh he let out was free and unburdened, one that he thought died when Mary died. He was allowing himself to heal. Allowing himself to be a kid. 

He overheard a few kids arguing nearby. One of the kids had a ball under his arm, looking very official. He was clearly the group's self proclaimed ‘leader’. Bossing the rest of the boys around, he said something about not having enough people on the team and that one of them would have to sit out. 

“Hey, what's going on here then?” Dean asked, wanting to defuse this. Every kid deserved fun memories at the beach. 

“We were going to play volleyball, but we have an odd number so one of us has to sit out,” the leader said with a confidence that reminded Dean of himself. 

“Well, I'll play for one of the teams then,” he suggested, shrugging his shoulders as if he'd just solved world peace. The boys looked at him skeptically, then back at their mum's on the shore. Dean followed their gaze and saw an apologetic Sam, probably explaining that, no, Dean wasn't going to do anything inappropriate to their kids, that he was just an overgrown kid with a shitty childhood. It must've worked as they looked somewhat convinced. So that was how Dean ended up playing water volleyball with a group of local kids. 

Sam watched from the shore, quite happy with just sitting there. This was his idea of fun. Finally seeing Dean happy after all the shit they'd been through recently. Despite the fact that Dean had actively told him not to, Sam had brought a book. It wasn't anything related to hunting or lore for once. It was one that had been sitting on his bedside for years, never having the chance to actually read it, until today. That was, until, a wet, sandy Dean came running over. He practically begged for Sam to get into the sea with him, and how could Sam say no? They were already having such a fun day. 

Which was why Dean was now trying to dunk Sam under the water. Maybe a few years ago John would've had them practice holding their breath under water. Now though? This was just siblings being siblings. 

“Come on, Dean, now the salt water's gonna mess up my hair,” Sam pouted. 

“Now the salt water’s gonna mess up my hair,” Dean mocked with a grin on his face. That was all it took for Sam to go charging at him, attempting to tackle his brother into the sea. Dean's laugh echoed and even Sam found himself smiling as their bodies collided, knocking down into the ocean. For a moment, they weren't hunters, they were just two adults who never learnt how to be kids. 

It was a regular Thursday night. Eddie and Wayne had a small falling out so he was staying around yours for the time being. The two of you being young and in love, your hands were on each other and tongues down each other's throats - that was until a knock at the door startled the two of you. Eddie let out a groan before going to the door. It was late and you weren't expecting anyone: let alone Dustin. Tears were almost spilling over his eyes and instinctively, you let your arms out for a hug. The few sessions of Hellfire you'd sat in on was enough to develop a parental urge over the kids, so seeing one cry was like seeing one of your own kids crying. Dustin could hardly get a word out, but you didn't need to ask. Kids at Hawkins High were cruel, you and Eddie knew that better than anyone else in the city. Dare to be different and be met with the consequences. So Eddie and you stayed with Dustin the rest of the evening, attempting to cheer him up with sweets and jokes. By the end of the night, Dustin was smiling and laughing again.

And now look at him, up on that stage, giving the best damn validictorian speech you'd ever heard. It was a middle finger to conformity, to the world that told him to be different was to be a crime. It was a damn good day to be a freak too. While parents were clutching their pearls, you and Steve were sat together, exchanging glances like proud parents. Several times, you had to stop yourself from standing up and shouting about how proud you were. You had enough stares at the moment anyway, you didn't need anymore.

At the end of the speech, Dustin ripped off his gown while confetti cannons went off left, right and centre. A familiar song filled your ears which only filled your eyes with tears again. The Trooper rang out as Dustin accepted his diploma, flipping Higgins the bird; it was like Eddie was right there with him. At that point, you'd given up holding back: you stood up, cheering loudly with a wide grin on your face. "That's my Dustin!" You cheered, running over to him. The party beat you there, yet you stood there among your fellow freaks and for the first time since Eddie's death, it all felt like home. Like life could get better. You rustled Dustin's hair, proud smile on your face.

Eventually, the crowd started to thin out yet Dustin stuck with you. Since Steve's Beamer got destroyed in the upside down, you'd became Dustin's ride. You knew where he wanted to go without even asking him. "You ready to head out?" you asked, nudging his shoulder playfully. Dustin nodded and followed you to your car. While Dustin climbed into the passenger seat, you went into your boot and grabbed a small box of cassette tapes and handed them to him. Neither of you had to say anything: you both knew they were Eddie's. It had became a tradition to listen to Eddie's tapes - a way to keep his memory alive.

The drive to the cemetery was filled with the music of Metallica, a band you assumed crept into Dustin's top five after Eddie's legendary performance of Master of Puppets. "That was very metal of you," you said, smirking softly as you drove, breaking the silence. Dustin let out a shy laugh. Your tone carried more than just the words alone. They screamed 'he would have been so proud of you'. You knew how much Eddie's death effected Dustin. He'd become a different person; it was like he was becoming Eddie. Yet, after the near death experiences in dimension X, it was like a wake up call. A reminder that Eddie would've wanted him to keep living life as Dustin, not an echo of Eddie. "He needed recognition, even if the school didn't realise that it was a dedication," Dustin shrugged.

The two of you pulled up the the cemetery and walked the familiar path to Eddie's grave. The town had better things to do than vandalise it at the moment, so for once, it was clean. Dustin took his usual spot in front of the grave and you sat next to it, resting your head on it, as if you were resting your head on Eddie's shoulder. You let out a small sigh of content. Finally, life seemed normal again. No monsters, no near death experiences, just life.

You stayed quiet while Dustin spoke to the grave - a show of respect. It was great that Dustin was handling the grief in a more health way now. Plus he knew that if he was having a bad day, he could always come back to you for support.

"You know, I loved Eddie's battle vest," you said in a break in the silence as you looked down at it, "And what it stood for. A middle finger to conformity. Wayne gave it to me after everything. Said he'd seen me eyeing it up before, figured Eddie would've wanted me to have it. But I think I have to disagree with Wayne there." With that, you shrugged off the battle vest, looking down at it with a fond smile on your lips. In your heart, you knew this was the right decision. So, without wasting another minute, you handed it over to Dustin. "I think Eddie would've wanted you to have it." "Are you sure?" Dustin asked, hesitantly accepting it at your nod. Yeah, you were sure. Dustin needed that jacket. "Hell yeah. Besides, after today's speech, you totally earned it," you smiled. Cautiously, Dustin pulled the denim vest over him, trying it on like it was some historical piece. "Bitchin'," you nodded in approval.

The two of you stood up after spending more time at Eddie's grave, talking like the friends you'd become, reminiscing on the good times. "You ready to go, Henderson?" you asked, "Mike'll kill me if I drop you off to DND late." Reaching out to touch Eddie's grave, Dustin nodded. "Yeah, let's get going."

Wayne had already left for work. Eddie knew that from the tread from boots in the carpet; the unmistakable smell of cheap coffee from the kitchen and the fact that his keys weren't on the hook. All these things that were out of place were also comforting. It meant that the world was still going on, the same morning routine, the same things out of place. It also meant that this beautiful girl next to him was real. You were real, alive and breathing - all while being madly in love with him.

Eddie had tried his best not to wake you - really, he had. While he could usually be a clutz, your relationship was one of his top three things he didn't want to break; the other two being his guitar and his van. So waking you up out of the pits of your slumber and disturbing your dream world? OK, a bit of a dramatic description, but that was Eddie, overdramatic and always with a theatrical flourish. Either way, he wouldn't dream of waking you. Instead, he just led there, playing with your hair because he needed to be doing something. Under his breath, he sang whatever song or verse that came to his mind at the time. Iron Man turned into Black Dog which then turned into Ramble On which somehow turned into Aces High. Not even Eddie knew how they all linked: sometimes his brain just felt like people shoving quarters into a jukebox and fighting over what song was going to play.

Eventually though, you woke up. Eddie's first thought was how out of place you looked. He knew what your life was like: the large room, the fancy bed, the full kitchen. Then compare it to Eddie's? The makeshift bed, the stale cereal and the fact he had to sleep in the living room? Felt like two different worlds. Yet here you were, staying with Eddie. It had taken some convincing on Eddie's part to get Wayne on board. He didn't exactly want Eddie making a habit of bringing girls to sleep over, however when Wayne heard Eddie talk about you, he had a feeling that Eddie was serious about you.

"Ah, my sleeping beauty is finally awake," Eddie murmured affectionately. The usual dramatic flair was toned down and it felt like a show only you were meant to see. This softer, less brash version of Eddie. You playfully swat him though, not even bothering to hide your smile. "Can a girl not sleep now?" you ask sarcastically as, at this point, sarcasm might as well be your love language. "When a fine lady likes you deprives her boyfriend of her presence, I do believe that I earn the right to complain." And there it was, Eddie's dramatics. Back early in the morning light as if it were never gone. As stupid as it was, it did cause your heart to stutter a little bit. You'd always had a weak spot for Eddie's dramatics. "Well then, I'm pretty sure this fine lady knows how to make up for that," you murmer softly, hooking a leg over his. It was Eddie's turn for his heart to stutter a little and his breath to hitch.

Every little movement you made was sultry, like you knew what you were doing and how to get the perfect reaction from him. Fingers tracing his tattoos, gentle breath against his neck, and barely there kisses. Eddie was already growing weak in the knees. At this point, you were practically straddling Eddie and as he looked up at you, he was convinced he'd failed death saving throws and went to heaven. Your smirk, the way were sat on him, the way his shirt was riding up to reveal the pair of boxer shorts he'd lent you, it was all just so, perfect.

"I haven't even started yet," you smirk, leaning down towards Eddie's lips. His hands reach up to cup your breast as your hair fell around the two of you, creating a shield for your faces. Lips met softly at first, still half asleep and slightly clumsy, before it picked up in intensity. Yeah, Eddie really had died and gone to heaven.

All of this was rather abruptly interrupted by the sound of the trailer door opening. The sound of a potential home invasion was a total boner killer. So as much as Eddie would've loved to keep making out, the threat of the trailer being broken into was, reluctantly, more important. Footsteps creaked, not that it was an achievement though. In a cheap place like this, any movement could be heard. Eddie couldn't do much - not with you sat on top of him. Any plan of him playing hero went out the window, along with his chances of taking those kisses any further. The two of you remained frozen still. The footsteps were measured, as if the unknown visitor was carefully looking for something. If they wanted something of value, they were out of luck. The most valuable thing in this trailer was the drugs that Eddie would sell. Even then, it was only worth good money if you knew who to sell to.

"Eddie? You here?" a familiar voice called out. The two of you let out a sigh of relief as you both recognised the voice. "Henderson?" you asked Eddie, even though you were certain that it was Dustin who'd interrupted. "Henderson," Eddie confirmed with a nod of his head. At this point, Dustin might as well be your child. Somehow, the two of you had ended up adopting him, fostering his love for science, dungeons and dragons and fantasy. Although, most would use the word corrupt instead of fostering his love. "We're in the living room, Henderson," Eddie called out.

Due to the trailers small size, it didn't take long for Dustin to walk in on the two of you. That also meant that there wasn't any time to climb off of Eddie; Dustin had walked in on a scene that looked very reminiscent of the magazines that were stuffed under Eddie's mattress. Not that Dustin even noticed to begin with - he was too busy on his walkie talkie, arguing with Mike about something Eddie really didn't bother to catch. "We still on for that extra session today?" Dustin asked, stuffing his walkie talkie in his bag. "Uh… Yeah," Eddie nodded, racking his brain to try and remember when he'd agreed to that. Probably before he knew you were staying the night. "Just, give me a chance to get ready." With a smirk on your face, you kissed Eddie's neck and rolled off him, letting Eddie get up to throw some clothes on and set up his dungeons and dragons game.

Laying alone now on the mattress, you watched as Eddie trudge off to find clothes and as Dustin started setting his things up. You smiled to yourself. It really felt like Eddie had adopted the Hellfire kids but especially Dustin. So, as Eddie's girlfriend, it was almost like you felt a maternal urge over the kids too. They weren't just Eddie's kids, they were yours now too. "You eaten this morning, Henderson?" you asked, looking over at Dustin again. He hummed and mumbled something under his breath that sounded like a yeah but you knew better. DND consumed their brains - food would definitely be a last priority.

You ran through an old school mates house. All of this was too disorienting to realise that this wasn't the apartment you and Spencer fell asleep in last night. Frantically, you tried to open any door you found. The door that did open lead to a bedroom that you recognised all too well. A lump formed in your throat at the memory of it. High school senior year, a party in protest of the curfew the police had put in place, the night you lost your virginity, the night you found out your boyfriend was a psycho murderer.

The blood all over the bedsheets made you feel sick and once you'd processed everything, then you noticed the body on the floor. An involuntary scream left your lips as you observed the limp body of your ex boyfriend, Billy Loomis. "Come on, you're gonna want to play this game," he said as he stood up. You started backing up, blinking rapidly, wishing you had a weapon. Watching horrified, Billy wiped some of the blood off his shirt, "You know, some corn syrup and food colouring makes excellent fake blood, don't you think?"

As you stepped back, silent sobs wracking your body, you trip on something that looks like a fake rock. As you look down, you realise that you're not in a bedroom anymore. You're on your college stage. More memories flood your brain. Everything felt like it was crushing you. Memories, thoughts and adrenaline pressing you into the ground. But you couldn't give up. Giving up meant death.

A familiar voice made you turn around, only to be met with the barrel of a gun pointed right at you. Billy's mom. Everything was too much, you couldn't hear what she was saying over your racing thoughts. All you could make out was something about how all you Prescotts are constantly ruining her family.

Your phone went off in your pocket and as I looked down to get it, you heard that familiar, taunting voice again. Only now you were in Spencer's living room. Spencer was in front of you, tied to a chair with duct tape over his mouth. "I wouldn't do that if I was you," the voice, taunting as usual, warned as you stepped forward to untie Spencer. Then, from behind Spencer, you saw it. The mask that was ingrained in your mind. The mask you saw everywhere after someone made that shitty movie series about the real murders you were involved in. Grabbing whatever you could, you started throwing things at the masked figure, tears if fear and frustration falling down your face. "What do you want?" you cried, fear tinting your voice as the figure continued to approach you. "The answer is simple," the figure said and you could hear the smirk even if you couldn't see the face, "You." At that last word, he raised the knife in his hand and plunged it in your artery. Blood came spurting out like a macabre fountain. With panicked eyes, you looked over at Spencer, his pale skin being painted by your blood as the realisation set in. You were dying. You were bleeding out.

You were awake.

You jolted up with a scream. Instinctively, your hand went up to where the knife was supposed to be. It wasn't there. Looking to your side was a very sleepy Spencer. Not tied up. Not covered in your blood. On the bedside table, your phone lay silent, no miscalls and no text messages. It was just a dream. A very realistic dream.

Spencer could hear your frantic breathing and stirred in his sleep. He watched through half lidded eyes as you scrambled for your phone and your chest rapidly rise and fall. The signs were there. He'd seen them in himself more times than he could count. You'd had a nightmare. Again.

It had been a good few years ago, but the case that had brought you into his life. The Woodsborro murders. They were infamous. And Spencer was one of the agents that the BAU sent down to study the serial killing. It had taken a while for you to trust him, even longer for the two of you to start dating. Spencer didn't blame you. Your first boyfriend was a psycho killer and your second one was killed in front of you. Trust issues were valid. Still, Spencer had whisked you away to Quantico, vowing to keep you safe. Even from nightmares.

"Hey, hey, hey," he said calmly, "You're safe. No ones going to hurt you with me around. Just take a deep breath." He'd learnt the hard way to not just hug you in times like this. You needed to come down from the adrenaline fuelled nightmare on your own. "He had you, Spencer," you managed, sinking into the pillows a bit more, "He killed me in front of you. I… I saw my blood just all over your face." Spencer watched as you breathed heavily. God, he wished he could just absorb all your trauma. You'd been through far too much.

Once you'd settled a bit, Spencer put his arm around you. He didn't need to pull you into him, you snuggled up with him all on your own accord. Stroking your hair, he held you close, breathing softly in an effort to help keep you calm. "What if he comes back, Spencer?" you asked, panic in your voice. It was a genuine concern, Spencer could tell that with the fear tinting your voice. "He won't come back, you're in a different state now, you've got the FBI in your back pocket. Anyone who tries anything is stupid," he murmured softly, kissing the top of your head. As he spoke though, he knew it was a lie. A famous serial killer? There was bound to be copy cats. But Spencer didn't want to worry you with any of that. He just needed to reassure you, to calm you. The two of you would be able to talk about that more in the morning, but right now, Spencer knew you just needed comfort.

You nestled against Spencer, listening to his sweet nothings. He was your safe space. Whenever you thought you were being watched or stalked, he'd always believe you, then help you look into it. Never once would he call you paranoid or crazy. With all his experience in the job, he knew better than to dismiss concerns like that. He made a promise to you and he intended to keep it. That's what he thought to himself as he watched you drift asleep in his arms.

While you slept, Spencer realised how shaken your nightmare had made him. Paranoid was not the term he wanted to be described as. He preferred the term cautious. When you worked with serial killers everyday, could you blame him? So, after you'd settled down again, Spencer checked his phone. Nothing. Checked your phone. Nothing. He reminded himself that his apartment was fairly high up, that people couldn't be looking through his window. But it was just that feeling that he was being watched. He looked back down at you again, sleeping like an angel. Just overthinking. That's what he thought to himself.

That just left Bob feeling incredibly out of place. He couldn't remember the last time he wore a suit and he could hear the Void in the back of his mind. "You're not good enough, they can see through you right now. You'll always just be Bob, the worthless drug addict." He tried to pay no attention to the words the Void was feeding him. I am enough, I have worth and I am a valued member of the team, he repeated in his head. Mantras that Yelena had given him. They didn't help, but he liked to think they did. Like if he gaslit himself enough, maybe he'd believe those mantras.

"You polish up real nice," a familiar voice said, coming up next to him. Bob had taken to hiding away in the corner by the snack table. The last thing he wanted was to be introduced to another suit who didn't care about him, just the marketablity of him. Turning to see the source of the voice, he was met with the sight of you. He almost choked on the mini cucumber sandwichs he was stuffing down his throat. You looked… Incredible.

Recently, you and Bob had gotten close. Too close for Valentina's marketing angle, not that the two of you cared. But Val did. So, she implemented rules. Like how you weren't allowed public displays of affection tonight as it might 'ruin the image'. So the two of you just had to look like friends. Really good friends.

"Thank you," Bob managed, coughing up breadcrumbs. He brushed the front of his suit off. He didn't need Val to lecture him about the importance of appearances… Again. "You look… You look nice." Was nice what he was supposed to say? No, absolutely not. But between almost choking on a sandwich and how incredible you looked, his brain short circuited.

"You're just saying that." You brushed off his compliment. It was a problem the both of you shared. Never quite being able to accept compliments.

Before he even had a chance to protest your dismissal of his compliment, you'd already started talking again. "This whole night is bullshit. It's like we're Val's shiny new toys that she needs to show off. I'd rather try and lift Mjölnir than talk to one more person about how brave I am for 'sacrificing my life for the greater good'. They both have very predictable outcomes: a waste of time."

That drew a snort from Bob. At least he wasn't the only one who hated these events. He had you. He always had you.

"You know, I think I'd rather get bitten by an alligator again then have to be introduced as 'Robert Reynolds, world's mightiest hero' by Val again," Bob laughed softly. He said it as if it was normal. Florida men, am I right? "Again?" you asked, a soft laugh that was music to Bob's ears. "Yeah-" he looked down at his feet, almost debating if he could tell the story in this high class setting- "I was high on meth one day and thought it would be a good idea to try and get an alligator drunk. It ended up biting me. I was pretty lucky that it was just a bite and didn't take my arm off." "That was you?" The disbelief on your face caused Bob to chuckle softly. To him, it was just another one of his high escapades. He forgot that to others it sounded a bit nuts. "Yep. I was also the Florida man who stopped running mid police chase to drink a capri sun because, and I quote, 'smoking crack makes me thirsty'. If there was ever a campaign against doing drugs it would be me and my Florida man headlines."

He was about to dive into another one of his drug fuelled headlines before Valentina pulled you away, saying she found someone for you to talk to. You mouthed save me and subtly reached for Bob as if you were being permanently separated. That was met by a fond eye roll and a small wave as he watched Valentina no doubt over exaggerate everything you've ever done. While he waited for you, he found the mini cupcakes which he decided that if no one else was eating them, he'd be the one to eat them. If there was one thing he did enjoy about these god forsaken events, it was the food.

You came back about ten minutes later, looking drained. If he could, he'd tuck you under his chin and just hold you close, letting your social battery recharge. But he couldn't because of Val's stupid rules.

"I'd rather fight an inter dimensional racoon than talk to anyone else here tonight," you huffed, taking your spot next to him. That cause him to quirk an eyebrow. "What happened to lifting Mjölnir?" Bob asked sarcastically. "The wounds the racoon would leave me with would at least remind me that I'm real and not some PR robot," you shot back, like you'd really thought about it. Most likely because you had, while you were being talked to like you were the world's saviour, when in reality your team was just a group of mentally unstable individuals who desperately needed therapy.

The two of you were seeing how many mini cupcakes you could fit in various pockets or bags you had on your persons when Valentina came over with a group of people who were looking at you like you were rare zoo creatures. It felt like she was just targeting you two tonight.

"And this is Robert, who I was telling you about. Also known as The Sentry, Earth's mightiest hero," Valentina introduced - totally disregarding you - and you could see the puzzled looks the guests were giving Bob. Yeah, scrawny former addict Bob did not look like he could be Earth's mightiest hero. Bob didn't even feel like it sometimes.

He quickly shoved the cupcakes he was holding into his suit pockets and hastily held out his hand for a handshake. His hand was met with skeptical looks which he then quickly retracted. You just stood to the side, trying not to laugh. It wasn't funny, not really. It was hell nights like these. But seeing Bob trying to be all important (you swore he was trying to take the piss out of their pseudointerllectual questions just for your entertainment) you felt a strange sense of kinmanship. A bond forged in awkward conversations and misunderstood social cues from the city's elite.

Once the pack of vultures that were potential donors had left the two of you to your mini cupcake heist, Bob shuffled closer. "Yeah, I'm with you on fighting that racoon," he whispered. "I think Bucky knows one. Apparently it was very interested in trying to buy Bucky's arm off him," You responded. Bob's eyes darted around the packed room. Everyone was distracted. No one would notice if you just… Snuck off. So that's what Bob did. Grabbing your wrist gently, he pulled you towards the door. Before you could reach it, you almost ran into Yelena, literally. As the three of you steadied yourself after almost colliding, you shared a silent moment of understanding. At least you knew Yelena was hating this as much as you were. With a small wink, she let you two go, watching over her shoulder, a fond smile on her lips.

As the two of you made your way back to your room, you felt free from the expectations that hung around that awful gala. So now, in the privacy of your room, the two of you were free to feast on the mini cupcakes you'd stolen from the event. When Val sent Bucky to try and find you two, he found the two of you curled up, asleep and surrounded by cupcake wrappers. Nothing that Valentina needed to know about, so when she asked, he claimed he had no idea what had happened to the two of you.

Unlike the rest of the Thunderbolts* (or New Avengerz as Val was desperately trying to push) you were a lot more quiet. Floating around on the outskirts of conversations, a lot more happy to observe then be involved. It was something Bob could respect.

Before he even had the chance to say hi, you were gone, walking away before he could even fully register what you were doing. He shrugged it off, just thinking that you were aimlessly wandering around the tower. It happened to him fairly often. Days where, despite having what felt like the world at his fingertips, he just didn't know what to do. The Watchtower had state of the art facilities, yet the weight of everything made decisions so hard to make. Those were the days The Void loved best.

Of course, after that great, productive day Bob had, there had to be a low. It was something he'd joke about. The decline started slowly, almost unnoticeable. The way his shoulders began to sag, how he felt so aimless, how things no longer held his interest.

Yelena noticed too. Of course she did. It was like she had a sixth sense when it came to Bob and his mental health. So, like the over protective sister figure she'd made herself in Bob's life, she recommended he took a few moments to journal on the balcony.

The sunlight was a beautiful orange hue as the sun was threatening to set. He took a deep breath, looking down at the half empty page in front of him. He'd managed to at least write half a page about his emotions. That was a start. The rest of the page was covered in doodles, where he argued that art was therapy, even if the doodles were a product of boredom, not necessarily to help his mental health. As he was sat there, content to bask in the setting sun like some cat, he heard the door open. Figuring it was Yelena coming to check on him, he didn't even think about who he was addressing.

"You were right, Lena-" he let out a content sigh- "The journaling really has been helping." When he did turn to look at who he thought was Yelena, he was met with a rather timid looking you. He knew what he was looking at. Someone who was finding everything overwhelming at the moment. He'd seen it in the mirror every other day these past fourteen months.

To be honest, he couldn't blame you. Finding out that you had powers and now you had to fight alongside several mentally ill, well trained assassins (and the wallmart version of captain America) was a lot to handle, he'd been there.

"Oh, you're not Yelena." There was a hint of embarrassment in Bob's voice. He had to stop himself from apologising profusely.

"No, I'm not," you replied, unsure of what to do now. You came here with a very specific plan. A plan you couldn't carry out now because someone had thrown a wrench into the plan. More like someone had thrown a Bob onto the balcony.

The two of you stood there in your trademark awkward silence. In this moment, Bob looked at what you had in your hands. A yarn cake and a hook. He didn't know you did crocheting. Then again, there wasn't a lot he knew about you. You tended to stick by yourself. He really couldn't blame you.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you'd be here," you said, finally breaking the silence. You shifted, careful not to take up more space than necessary. Bob had seen that in himself before.

"It's fine," he shrugged, silence ensuing again. Another riviting conversation between the teams most introverted members. "It's a good spot in the tower. Quiet. Peaceful. Void of people. Well, except from right now." There was a hint of Bob's usual sarcasm as he was stating the obvious. He was just hoping he didn't make this even more awkward.

After a few minutes of you just standing there, Bob offered you a seat, which you promptly took. "Just pretend I'm not here. I don't mind," he offered. You wasted no time grabbing your headphones and putting them in before you started to work. Bob noticed that you often had your headphones in, like you needed them to survive. He then watched, almost hypnotised as you began working. The yarn was floating next to you, no doubt you using your telekinesis in the most mundane way possible. Your approach was always practical, not flashy.

And that was the first evening. While the two of you hardly spoke, there was a silent connection. It happened again the night after. If anyone asked him, Bob would swear it was a coincidence, yet he purposefully sought out your hidden spot to work on your projects. He didn't know why, maybe it was because you just got him, even if you hardly spoke.

It was the third night things changed. Feeling particularly bold, Bob decided to start a conversation. "Where did you learn to do that?" he asked, watching as you looped the yarn over the hook, pulled through and finished the stitch, all while admiring the sky, not paying attention. When it registered that Bob had asked you a question, you took one of your headphones out, which prompted Bob to repeat the question.

"Oh, my nan taught me when I was younger," you mumbled a quiet response. It was odd talking about something that wasn't Thunderbolts* related. That was the kind of talk you were comfortable with. Not small talk.

"Nice," Bob nodded. There was a blossom of pride in his chest. He had started the conversation. Even if it was only a few words said that night, in his mind, it was still a victory.

Over the next few weeks, the two of you slowly opened up. Yelena, ever the observant one, noticed. She thought it was cute, not that she'd say anything about it to your faces. She knew it would end with the both of you being stuttering, blushing messes, she wasn't that cruel.

"Some days, I just didn't know where I'd be when I'd wake up. Although, nine times out of ten, it was some shitty bathroom floor, some bottle of pills or needle abandoned pretty close by." We'd finally managed to break down the walls the two of you had constructed and Bob was opening up about his time before the sentry project. Your fingers worked deftly as you continued your stitches while simultaneously paying close attention to what Bob was saying. He had that usual self depreciation tone to his voice, almost laughing at his former drug habits. He had a fairly dark sense of humour, joking about the events in his life he probably shouldn't joke about. "Everyday was an adventure, I guess," he added with a small, sarcastic smirk. If you were being honest, sometimes you didn't know how to respond. He could just be so blunt about it all and then laugh it off like it was normal.

You found yourself opening up more to him too. Telling him things you never told the rest of the team. You'd talk for hours and hours, your chairs slowly moving closer and closer. And with everything shared, the two of you would just look at each other, with an expression that just read that you got each other.

The feeling you were never good enough, the self loathing you'd hide from everyone, the lack of care when it came to looking after yourselves. All of this while being shared while you worked away at the blanket you were making. The half finished blanket that often found itself draped around the two of you while you worked and talked.

"Thank you, thank you so much," the woman panted, "I would've been a goner." Spencer couldn't speak. He was taking a moment to just watch her. Pretty ladies like that didn't normally talk to Spencer, hence why he was just staring at her with awe. "Yeah, no problem," Spencer stuttered out, snapping himself out of the day dream. "God, some people are just freaks," the actress complained, leaning against the kitchenette, trying to catch her breath, "I mean, I get it, I'd chase after me too, I am Lila Archer after all. But biting? Biting is just too far." Biting? Oh shit. Yeah, that definitely snapped Spencer out of his thoughts. He just let a potentially infected woman into his hotel room. As Lila leaned against the kitchenette, Spencer saw it and his eyes widened. On her left bicep was a bite mark, still covered in saliva. However, instead of a red mark, it was green with hints of purple. Small chunks of flesh, the size of teeth, were missing and that was when Spencer realised why no one else was letting her in. "The inside of the mouth is more bacteria filled than the floor, so yeah, the idea of being bitten by a stranger is disgusting. How about you take a shower, you know, help get rid of the bacteria," Spencer suggested. If he could get her in the bathroom, at least maybe he'd be able to contain her.

His plan worked.

For about twelve hours. Just as he was getting ready for bed, he heard a noise from the bathroom. "Lila, you alright in there?" he called out, trying to keep his voice even. He didn't get a response. At least, not an intelligible one. Despite Spencer's sheer intellectual capability, in a moment that could only be described as pure stupidity, he leaned his head against the door to see if he could hear anything. A hand shot through the door, breaking the wood and Spencer let out a squeal that sounded more like a nine year old girl than a twenty four year old man.

Jumping back from the door, he ran towards his nightstand and grabbed his badge and fun before bolting out of the hotel. It was the last place he wanted to be in at the moment. In hindsight, it was a pretty stupid move. His team were in that hotel and he just bolted away from them. He was on his own. But that was a thought to haunt him at a later date. Right now, he was too busy running as far away from the outbreak as possible. This was where he found his first new rule, Cardio. The zombie apocalypse was not forgiving for skinny nerds like Spencer. If he wanted to survive out here, he needed to work on his cardio. As soon as he exited the hotel, he got in the first car he could find. An FBI agent committing grand theft auto, Spencer would've laughed at the irony if there weren't brain eating, decaying, reanimated corpses wandering the city.

Spencer needed a plan. However, how could one plan for a zombie apocalypse? Not even the most well prepared individuals like Spencer could plan for something like this. That realisation hit him the same time he realised that he was utterly screwed. He had no food or water and he doubted the local 7/11s would be open. He also had limited ammunition and a revolver. If he wanted to survive then he'd need to be better prepared. So he decided that he'd try and get to Vegas. Born and raised there, at least he knew his way around there.

The drive was horrifying. Usually, Spencer hated driving. Spencer especially hated driving in an apocalypse. As he was trying to get out of LA, he saw someone else trying to do the same. Only difference between the two of them? Spencer was wearing a seat belt. And thank god he was wearing a seat belt. When the car next to him had to break quickly to try and swerve out of the way of a zombie, they went flying through the windscreen. Blood coated the glass fragments and now the zombies had a tasty snack. His fourth rule was still very applicable for an apocalypse: wear a seatbelt.

After driving for a while, Spencer found a deserted service station. He needed a break from driving and he figured he could use the supplies. So he pulled into the car park and made sure his revolver was loaded before heading in.

It was eerily quiet. Not even the cheesy cover music was playing on the speaker. It was, for lack of a better word, dead. That just crept Spencer out. Silently and slowly, Spencer wandered down the aisles, grabbing a few essentials: water, snacks, a first aid kit, a lighter with a few cans of aerosols to make a flamethrower if worse came to worse and he also grabbed a bottle of hand sanitiser - old habits died hard. Spencer had grown so accustomed to the silence, he didn't even notice the shuffling of another entity in the service station. He figured he was hearing things. So when he turned around to be face to face with a zombie, he was frozen with fear. He hardly had time to react when he heard a loud bang and then he was covered in blood. For a few more moments, he just stood there, covered in blood from head to toe.

"You're welcome," he heard a voice. He couldn't see, the blood covered his glasses. The voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he pulled his glasses off, wiping them in his bloody sweater vest. He looked up and saw you stood there with a smoking shotgun. You stood with an air of nonchalance, as if you hadn't blown the brains out of a zombie and saved his life. Before Spencer had a chance to thank you, you pulled out a pistol and another shot rang out through the empty service station. "Gotta double tap, make sure they're actually dead," you explained as if it was common knowledge. Spencer wasn't sure why the zombie wouldn't be dead, especially looking at the state of it. The flesh was already peeling off the body, revealing bones and muscles that were green with some kind of infection and where the head used to be was jaggerer pieces of decaying flesh, a broken neck bone and blood. A lot of it. However, Spencer did make a note of what you said. That would be rule number two. Instead of double washing his hands, he'd have to double shoot things to make sure they were dead. "That all you got?" you asked, eyeing his revolver. Spencer could already see the judgmental look in your eyes. He was already aware of how under prepared he was, he didn't need your criticism too.

"Yeah," Spencer nodded, still in a little bit of shock from the near death experience. "God, you're screwed." Spencer was already mentally profiling you. Guarded, blunt, and (more of a personal opinion than a professional observation) kick ass. He could do with someone like you to survive in the new reality. "Can you help me?" he asked, the words fleeing from his mouth before he had a chance to think about them. A soft laugh escaped your lips as he looked like a lost puppy. You thought about it for a second. Spencer wouldn't last a second with brains alone, he needed the strength, the athleticism. So what was the harm in helping him? Besides, at least you'd have some company. "Why the hell not," you shrugged, "Grab what you need and meet me back outside."

So Spencer did. He wished he had a spare pair of clothes, but the blood stained look was here to stay for now.

"Here's the rundown my crime fighting cuties," Penelope said, bringing up the photos of the latest victims, "Henry Heart and Vanessa Anderson were found dead in Henry's hotel room in Palm Springs." With a press of a button, the screen changed. Gone were the victim's smiling faces, replaced with the gory scene of the crime. This was the usual for you. Gory scenes and the darkest corners of the human psyche. "And the cherry on this disgusting cake is the fact that this has happened to six other people, all in the same set up. A call girl and a gambler. The girls all laid to rest, the men with 'Temptation' carved in their arm. All kinds of yuck," Penelope said with a small shiver. "The women being laid to rest could be a sign of remorse," Derek offered. Spencer went to open his mouth to talk but you were one step ahead of him. "The blankets almost look like angel wings, that could be symbolic of the unsub thinking they were pure, hence the men being labeled as temptations." Spencer couldn't help but smile like a lovesick fool as you spoke. Of course, he always appreciated your inputs, but after the past few months, he found himself appreciating them more, watching the way your lips moved to form words. "But they weren't exactly pure," Emily countered, "They were call girls. I don't know about you, but that profession isn't exactly the most pure out there." "We could be looking at a woman unsub. Seeing the women as victims of circumstance and blaming the men for them being in that position," JJ shrugged. "Whatever it is, we need to get to California. Wheels up in 30," Hotch said, dismissing the room.

Spencer was hobbling back to his desk, still on crutches from his gunshot injury. His physio therapist said he was getting on well. So well that he was allowed back on the jet. Sure, he wasn't involved in any of the take downs, but at least he could work in the local PD. "Hey, Spence," you smiled, catching up to him, "You need a hand with your to go bag?" What the two of you had, Spencer wasn't entirely sure what it was. You'd been on two dates, well one official and one accidental, yet neither of you had really talked about the feelings that were there for each other. "Uh, yeah, that would help… That would help a lot," Spencer said, trying not to stutter and stumble over his words. Another soft smile directed to Spencer from you. One more and Spencer was sure he'd go into cardiac arrest. "It's just under my desk," Spencer pointed with his crutch. As you bent down to grab it, Spencer awkwardly averted his gaze. He didn't say it so he could see that. Truthfully, if he was thinking it through, he would've insisted that he could've done it. But it was that damn smile of yours. You grabbed it and sprung back up with a smile. "Ready to go?" you asked, completely oblivious to the effect you had on him. "Y… Yeah," he nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Casinos, huh, pretty boy will be right at home then," Derek teased once they were in the air. This was inevitable. It seemed every case that involved gambling, casinos or Vegas, Spencer would be subjected to the teasings of his coworkers. He'd grow accustomed to it now. "Very funny, Morgan," Spencer rolled his eyes. Before Derek had a chance to reply, Hotch's usual authoritve tone cut across the jet cabin. "Reid might prove to be a valuable asset in this case." "Right my fine feathered friends," Garcia's voice filled the speakers, "I have sent everything I have found on your victims to your tablets. We have our Henry and Vanessa. Henry was divorced and decided to spend his prenup on a little gambling trip and Vanessa had been working as a call girl for three years and lived alone. Then we had Oscar and Ella. Oscar was on his bachelor trip and was supposed to get married last week and Ella, similar story to Vanessa, living alone and working as a call girl for three years. In fact, it's the same story for all the call girls. Then the other two victims were James and Michael. James was married and his wife didn't even know that he was in Palm Springs and Michael was halfway through a rather messy divorce." The team mulled over the information. There was a connection between all the male victims, marriage. That was definitely something to take into consideration. "It's not just me who sees the whole marriage connection?" Emily said, looking up from her tablet. There was a mumble of agreement from the rest of the team. "That does seem to be the only real connection these victims have. I think it would be wise to follow that lead. Derek and Emily will go and speak to Henry's ex wife, JJ, Rossi and I will go to the latest crime scene, and you two can start working on the geographic profile." Hotch dished out roles and you couldn't help but smile at Spencer. Just the two of you in the local PD, pouring over maps. You'd be lying if you said you weren't happy with that.

After initial introductions, you and Spencer were getting settled, finding maps and colour coding certain areas. "The hotels are all in a comfortable distance," you observed, noting the proximity of the crime scenes. "However the unsub definitely has a vehicle. That's just too far to walk and still have the energy to kill someone," Spencer pointed out. You hummed in agreement. "It's rather funny that I'm working the geographic profile with you, considering my dislike for geography," You said with a soft laugh, placing a pushpin in the map, marking a potential next dumpsite, "I've always been more partial to history." With that, Spencer perked up. History? He loved history. "What's your favourite era?" he asked before being interrupted by a local police officer. There went a potential bonding experience.

The case was dragging on. It was late, far too late and the team was surviving on shitty coffee and fast food. Henry's ex wife wasn't much help. She didn't want anything to do with him so that was a dead end. It wasn't like they could follow up with Vanessa either. Hence why the team was sat, half asleep at the table, wishing for a lead. "Get some sleep everyone," Hotch said, a tired tone in his voice, "You two can go to the casino tomorrow, see if anyone saw them leaving." Hotch pointed to Spencer and you. That would be nice.

The next morning, the two of you were heading down to the SUV, a spring in your step. There was no reason for it, but something just felt right today. The two of you climbed in and you made sure that Spencer was alright with his knee brace. "You're not going to get us kicked out, are you?" you teased, poking fun at the fact he was banned from all of the casinos in Las Vegas. "You're just as bad as Morgan, you know," Spencer quipped back with a soft laugh. "Come on, Spence, you can't expect us to work a case in a casino and us not poke fun at the fact you're a Vegas boy." That earned a weak eyeroll from him. You could see he didn't really mind.

As you were driving, you could see Spencer subtly grabbing at the handle above the door. You weren't that bad at driving but Spencer seemed to think otherwise. Mentally, he was doing all the stopping distance calculations, seeing if you guys would be safe. You had to admit, it was endearing. Reaching over, you patted his thigh, "Relax, genius, I'm not going to get us killed." Your laugh echoed through the car but all Spencer could focus on was the section of this thigh that felt like it was on fire. He hadn't expected that. Your hand, his thigh. He was a grown man for Christ's sake, he shouldn't be getting this flustered.

Spencer hobbled in after you, the familiar sounds of slot machines and the eyesore of a carpet overstimulated the young genius, yet he prevailed. "Lookie, lookie, you two feeling lucky? Wanna expand your fortune?" a voice asked, emerging from the rows of flashing machines. "We're FBI," You said, pulling out your badges, "We wanted to ask if we could have a look at your security footage from a few nights ago." "Well, she's got you on a tight leash, has to she?" the man said, only paying attention to Spencer, "Or are you one of those lads that like being bossed around?" You could feel your blood boiling at the disrespect. You'd never liked casinos, this owner was only giving you a further reason to hate them. Trying to get a word in, the owner held a hand to your lips, "Let the wounded puppy talk," he said, a sarcastically sweet smile on his lips. The audacity of this man. It was clear he wasn't going to speak with you. "I'm Dr Spencer Reid, like my partner said, we're with the FBI. There was a couple that was killed in the hotel across the road and we just wanted to look through your security footage to see if we could gather any information," Spencer explained, trying not to stutter. It was clear he was far from impressed with this man's attitude. "Yeah, I heard about that. Real shame really. She was pretty too, brought in quite a few regulars even," the owner said with a shake of his head, "This way then, agents."

There was something off with the casino owner. He was just slimy. Openly sexist, dodgy dealing and so condescending. Spencer had an almost instantaneous disliking towards him. The office where they kept their security footage was small and dingy. It was awful. Spencer could barely fit with his crutches. But you two squeezed in together. Spencer tried to ignore how close you were to him, how your arm was brushing against his, how the desk chairs were so close together you might as well sat on his lap. God he felt like a schoolboy with a crush all over again. After sifting through hours of footage, you couldn't exactly see anything. It was a busy night and most people were focusing solely on their winnings. You let out a small groan after the footage ended. Yet another dead end.

When you explained it to Hotch, he was just as frustrated as the two of you. This killer was good, that much was clear. It was yet another night of shitty coffee and fast food when Emily suggested an idea. "How about we go undercover at some nearby casinos. I mean, Reid has figured out an area of comfort, him and I could go to one and Derek could go with you to another," Emily suggested. Hotch seemed to be debating on that idea. Undercover. It wasn't something they usually did, but if it would help draw out the unsub then they had to play their cards right. "How about I go with Emily?" Derek suggested, his usual tomcat smirk appearing. Spencer knew what he was doing. Setting him up to go off with you. Spencer wasn't sure if he wanted to throttle or thank Derek. Having you dress as a call girl, draping over him like a blanket most of the night. It was a dream come true. If it wasn't for work. Instead it would just be a nightmare. "I can't go into the field, I'm on crutches," Spencer protested. "You can have a cane. Looking like one of those really high class gamblers," JJ suggested. That earned a murmur of agreement from the team. You were one of the few that were quite. You too weren't sure if you wanted to throttle or thank Derek, although you were leaning more on the throttle side. "Then it's settled then," Hotch nodded, "Morgan and Prentiss, you take this casino, you two take the other," he added, pointing to the map. You and Spencer had the more high end casino, meaning the both of you would be dressed to the nines.

"Do I have to wear this?" you complained from the bathroom stall, pulling up the dress Garcia had sent over to you. Of course, the local PD didn't exactly have a proper changing room, therefore you and Emily were getting ready in the bathroom of the precinct. Not exactly glamorous, but you had to work with what you had. "Oh come on, it can't be that bad," JJ chuckled with a soft shake of her head. Opening the bathroom door, you stood there, a slightly disgruntled look on your face. The dress you were wearing was stunning. Tight with a slit at the leg and it was strapless. Something that would definitely turn heads. The attention you would draw to yourself was something you were already dreading. "I feel stupid," you huffed, heels clicking on the tiled floor. Emily came out of her stall, not complaining at all. She seemed to be getting into this role effortlessly. "You look stunning," Emily pointed out, heading over to the mirror to do her makeup.

Spencer felt so out of place changing into his suit. It was too tailored for his liking. He'd much prefer the comfort of his cardigans. "Are suits always this itchy?" Spencer complained to Derek. That earned him a laugh, which, in turn, earnt an eyeroll from Spencer. "I'm being serious. It's like a sensory overload in this thing." "Kid, relax," Derek said with a soft chuckle. He walked over and fixed the lapels on Spencer's suit. At the proximity, Derek could see the worry and stress in Spencer's eyes. Telling him to relax just wasn't going to work. "How can I relax? The label of my shirt is itching the back of my neck and I'm going undercover. I shouldn't even be in the field," Spencer began to ramble. Derek put his hands on Spencer's shoulders to stop him from getting to much into his own head. "Hey, pretty boy, this isn't all about the suit, is it?" Derek asked, a knowing glint in his eye. "I mean, partly it is because have you felt how uncomfortable this suit jacket is? It's like I can feel every fiber personally annoying every skin cell," Spencer continued to press. "It's because you're paired up with-" Before Derek could finish the sentence, Spencer cut him off. "Where would you… No… You're making things up," Spencer stuttered, his voice raising a few octaves. That only confirmed Derek's theory. "Why do you think I offered you and them up?" Derek chuckled. So Spencer was right. This was Derek's plan all along. "I'm going to kill you," Spencer mumbled. "Oh you can, pretty boy," Derek smirked, "After we catch this unsub."

Spencer was still fiddling with his suit, waiting for you to come out of the bathroom. His crutch was  replaced by a rather expensive looking cane and his suit looked far too expensive than normal. He was not ready for how stunning you looked. It was like his breath was taken from his lungs. "I don't like it," you mumbled and your voice snapped Spencer out of his trance. "What?" Spencer asked, trying to hide the disbelief in his voice. Spencer definitely liked it. It was far from your usual style, but you still looked beautiful. "It's too…" You pause for a second, trying to find the right word, "Flashy." You kept pulling at the dress, trying to make it more modest. That was mission impossible. "Damn, mama," Derek smirked, clearly amused at how out of your element you were. "Can it, Morgan," you retorted, "Lets just get this over and done with."

The casino was filled with bright lights and loud noises. Pair that with the suit he was wearing, Spencer felt like he was in his own personal hell. Sure, he'd grown up in Vegas, sure, he'd been banned from every casino there, but this? This was horrendous. He could physically feel the pressure mounting on him. He took a deep breath, preparing himself to stay on alert.

He took a seat at one of the poker tables. You were on the other side of the casino, draping over some random man. Spencer had to quell the jealousy in his stomach when he saw you acting so seductive so effortlessly, but with someone else. You were just doing your job. Spencer, predictably, was winning hand after hand. Straights, flushes, all because of the card counting. Of course, he had to throw a few games. Make it seem more believable. But other than that, it was fun for him. Just doing math and winning. He made sure to make a few jokes about the divorce mentioned in his cover story, loud enough for the potential unsub to hear.

"Hey honey," you mumbled loud enough for the rest of the table to hear, "You're on quite the hot streak." You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, effortlessly leaning into him. You looked every bit the call girl. Spencer could feel his heart beat spike. This wasn't the same as your shy touches. No, this was more intense. "You alright?" you whispered into Spencer's ear. "Yeah, I'm just acting," Spencer whispered back. It was good. It was really selling the gambling and call girl facade. "Oh, so you can make your heart race on command?" you teased with a natural playful smirk. This was far from the usual anxious version of you. This was a side Spencer had never seen before.

After a few hours, you'd realised you were being watched. The unsub wasn't moving though. If you were to draw him out, the two of you had to move. "Spence, win this round then we'll make it look like we're going to the hotel across the street. We're being watched," You whispered, watching his cards in his hand. You weren't superstitious, but you couldn't help but feel sick at the sight of the ace of spades. The dead man's card. Your arm remained draped around Spencer as he excused himself from the table. As you two made your way out to the front of the casino, the unsub began to follow the two of you.

In the hotel room, that's where you'd decided to catch the unsub. So the two of you were pacing, waiting for the unsub. A knock on the door stopped you in your tracks. "Room service," a man's voice called out. Spencer and you shared a look. You walked over to Spencer, ruffling his hair and clothes, before doing the same to yourself and smearing your lipstick so it looked like the unsub had caught you two in a heated moment. Then, taking a deep breath, you opened the door. There stood a man. He had a crazed look in his eyes and within an instant you clocked him as the man watching the two of you in the casino. "You poor angel," he started, no introductions, just straight up caressing your face, "Look what these men do to you. They taint you. You are pure, you know you are. It is the filth that is the problem. Don't you worry, oh don't you worry you sweet angel, God will welcome you back with open arms." You were immediately uncomfortable with how much he was touching you. Brushing hair out of your face, treating you like a doll. Spencer felt a pang of jealousy but was forced to ignore it. The two of you were in potential danger. "Hotch, we need back up," Spencer mumbled into his earpiece, quiet enough so the unsub didn't hear him. "As for him," the unsub pointed a finger over at Spencer, "He was sinned. He will pay. The good Lord will turn him away from the pearly gates and he will suffer for the sins he has committed. He is temptation, leading good women like you away from the path of God. First getting a divorce, separating a holy union as if it was nothing, and now this. Tempting you like the snake tempted Eve." He grabbed you and started leading you over to the bed. After he'd sat you down there, he pulled out a carrier bag, no doubt planning on suffocating you, giving you the less gruesome death. Spencer wasted no time drawing his gun. "Put the bag down and step away." There was a sense of authority in his voice which was rare. You were just counting down the minutes until backup showed up. "What? Are you going to add murder to your list of sins too?" the unsub taunted. At that brief distraction, you swung one of your legs to sweep the unsub's and watched him crumble to the floor. You rested a heeled foot on him, stiletto pressing down just enough to feel discomfort. The unsub reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife then proceeded to attempt to slash at your leg. "You harlot! You're just as bad as he is," the unsub taunted. "FBI, drop the weapon." The familiar sound of Hotch's voice was a relief. The unsub froze, almost as if unsure what to do. With this newfound opening, you kicked the knife out of his hands and away from him. Hotch walked over and pulled the unsub off the ground, putting cuffs on him as the unsub cried out threats and warnings. "The good Lord will make you pay. You will all pay for your sins when you are burning in hell."

"Hey guys," Spencer said, knocking on the already open doors. You freezed and just couldn't help but stare like a child that had been caught jumping on the bed. "Hey Spence," you managed to get out. "Wicked?" Spencer asked with a soft laugh. Penelope nodded eagerly. "Did you know your partner was a theatre kid? Honestly, I'm jealous of the shows they've seen." Unlike you, Penelope was more than happy to preach about how many shows she's seen. "They're going to Hamilton next week. I am so jealous." Spencer raised an eyebrow, unaware that was your plans. "Yeah, I'm going with one of my friends," You confirmed with a small nod. Spencer's raised eyebrow turned into a soft smile at your sheepish expression.

The day had come and you were getting ready at home. You were always one to dress nicely at the theatre. Then your phone went off. Your friend had to cancel. Great. You had a spare ticket now and you didn't exactly want to go alone. So you messaged Spencer. You explained everything and he was immediately on board. He wanted to share this little side of your world with you.

And so the two of you were sat in the theatre, Spencer adjusting his glasses and wondering why everyone was taking a picture of the stage. You were practically buzzing, hands eagerly around his bicep. The message about silencing phone played and you excitedly squeezed his arm. Then Spencer heard it. Or rather felt it. The beginning notes thundered through the theatre and Spencer was already gripped. It just drew you in and held you in a choke hold.

However, every so often, he'd wince softly. Calling Hamilton's mother a whore? Well, that was most likely a rumour started by her ex husband, Spencer thought. Martha Washington named her feral tomcat after Hamilton? Regardless of the fact that they said it was true, Spencer knew it wasn't easy to prove since there was no evidence of the feral cats records so that was up in debate. He winced again when events were mildly out of order, like how Philip Hamilton was killed after the election of 1800. But you were enjoying it and Spencer was enjoying watching you enjoy it.

The first act was fun. During the interval, you were excitedly gushing to Spencer about different tidbits of theatre facts about the show and before you knew it, it was the second act. You were loving it. Until Stay Alive reprise. Spencer heard you sniff. He looked down, seeing tears fall down your face. The tears only came out more when the opening notes to Its Quiet Uptown filled the theatre. You practically burried yourself in Spencer's side. He gently stroked your arm, trying to soothe you. You couldn't help but feel all warm and fuzzy. Spencer really was a sweetheart.

By the end of it, you were crying back into his jumper, the soft material absorbing your tears. Eliza's gasp only further broke you. You were one of the first one to stand for the ovation. Spencer smiled softly at seeing you in such an emotional state. It was endearing to see you so passionately invested.

"Garcia, this isn't exactly my kind of music," Spencer pointed out. "But you need to spread you beautiful, nerdy wings. Expand into new territory, see other walks of life." Penelope was really trying to sell it to these guys. Derek could see where Spencer was coming from. Your music was far from the kind that Spencer would listen to. However, it would be a nice evening out. "Come on kid, it's just one show. If you don't like it, then I'll buy you a book or something," Derek offered. Spencer thought about it for a few seconds. A new book was tempting. And it was only one evening. "Fine, fine, I'll come along," Spencer finally caved.

Derek and Spencer were not expecting whatever this was. Waiting to get in, they were surrounded by girls. There were a few bored looking boyfriends, shooting them looks of sympathy, but other than that, they were in a sea of women. Derek was in his element. He was winking and smirking at girls that were staring at him, causing them to run off in giggles. Spencer, however, felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb. "I'll go get you guys drinks," Spencer proposed. He just wanted to get out of the loud, packed arena they were waiting in. "Oh no, boy genius, we're not letting you out of our sights. Can't be losing you," Penelope protested, wrapping an arm around his. So the three of them made their way to the bar.

"ID please," the rather bored bartender asked Spencer. Derek was trying to hold back his laugh. Spencer did look younger than he actually was. With a small sigh, Spencer pulled out his FBI badge and showed it to the bartender. "FBI, huh? Impressive." Based on their tone, the bartender wasn't actually all that impressed. It was just small talk, Spencer assumed. Security overheard the word FBI and came over. "FBI?" he asked. Penelope, Derek and Spencer nodded. "We're just here for the show though. None of this is linked to our job," Derek explained. The security guard nodded before telling them to follow him. Penelope was practically buzzing as he lead them into the venue early. "Maybe we need to flash our badges more often," Penelope joked with a very excited smile.

The stadium filled rather quickly and Spencer was very glad they were brought in early. He would not have been able to manage otherwise. Pulling out his little earplugs, he knew he would be overstimulated otherwise. He could still hear everything he needed to, it just quietened all the unnecessary humming. Then the show started. You came running out with a towel wrapped around you before seductively unwrapping it to reveal a baby pink bodysuit. Needless to say, Spencer was not expecting that. "Is she always so provocative?" Spencer attempted to ask Penelope but he was pretty sure his question was drowned out by excited squeels. He was beginning to really feel out of place here, wishing for the comfort of his books.

As the show went on, Spencer found an appreciation in the lyrics. The innuendos and word play was certainly something to admire. He'd had to get over how suggestive your show was, it certainly wasn't something he was used to. It was the third act of the show and security had gathered the three of them and brought them in front of the barrier. Penelope was practically passing out from excitement and Spencer and Derek were confused. Suddenly the noise of sirens filled the stadium and on the screens, Derek, Penelope and Spencer's face filled the screen. "I heard we had some FBI agents with us tonight," You said, eliciting a cheer from the crowd, "And I know that normally it's the other way round but, my god, you're all too hot. I just like, have to arrest you. What's your name cutie?" Spencer felt his cheeks heat up. He was never good at having the spotlight and here he was, in front of thousands. Derek, ever the ladies man, decided that it was aimed towards him. "No, not you, hunk. The guy next to you." Spencer practically froze and if it wasn't for Penelope's nudge, he would've just stood there, gulping like a fish. "Spencer," he called out, his voice shaking a little. "Spencer? Well, I'm feeling really overdressed here, Spencer," And with that, your skirt fell down to show a short skirt. Spencer's cheeks burnt bright red. "That's much better," you said, before one of your dancers handed you a pair of pink, fuzzy handcuffs. "I know, I know you're normally the ones arresting people, but, I mean, you're just too cute, I have to arrest you." You gave him a feignned look of sympathy and handed the handcuffs to security to pass onto Spencer. With your fingers, you made a telephone shape and mouthed 'call me' to him. As he looked down, your number was written on them. Penelope couldn't believe it. Any of it. It was crazy. Spencer was still in awe. You, however, were unshaken and continued your show as always.

"Oh I hear you knocking, Spencer, come on up," you sang and Spencer almost choked on the water he was drinking. You were so fun and flirty, the total opposite of him. And here you were, embracing your sexuality in front of everyone.

"So, kid, what's on your mind?" Derek asked, resting on Spencer's desk. "I was just thinking about the very distinct difference between the 10th Doctor with Rose and the 10th Doctor after Rose. The character arch is actually quite intresting and it really makes you think about-" Before Spencer could continue his little ramble about Doctor Who, Derek cut him off. "Cut it, kid. We both know your British alien show isn't the thing in the forefront of your mind," Derek said with his usual tomcat smile, "So spill. What's got your mind turning to mush?" Spencer began stuttering and stumbling under his breath, trying to get out of the situation. It was still very delicate with you. He didn't even know if you two were dating. "I went on a date," Spencer mumbled and that's all Derek needed to hear before pouncing. "Get 'em, playa," he teased, giving Spencer a congratulatory slap on the back, "Who was it?" Spencer didn't say anything. Hell, he didn't need to. His eyes betrayed him as he glanced over to your desk. Derek's smirk only widened.

You however, were eagerly discussing the date in Penelope's office. "So, spill," Penelope said, handing you a mug of piping hot tea. She sat eagerly, awaiting the details of your little movie date with Spencer. "I mean, you heard about our little accidental date, right?" you asked wanting to make sure that she was caught up with your recent escapades. "The planetarium trip, Derek told me all about it. It's just so you two!" Penelope practically squealed. Seeing your friend so enthusiastic about your dating life was rather endearing. "OK, so this time I just sort of asked him," You explained, taking a sip of tea after you finished your sentence.

"They asked you?" Derek repeated what Spencer had told him, slightly impressed that you had the confidence. "It was… Awkward," Spencer said slowly, trying to find the best words, "But a good awkward."

"I thought I was too blunt," you continued your explanation, "And there was this slightly awkward air about us." Penelope was eagerly hanging into every word you were feeding her. She lived for this gossip. Especially when it involved you and Spencer. The two of you were like her own personal romcom unfolding in front of her. "Go on, tell me more," Penelope encouraged.

"They offered to take me to see that new Dorian Gray film," Spencer explained, a small blush painting his cheeks as he looked down at his hands. The still couldn't believe it had happened. "And let me guess, you told them all about the deviations from the book?" Derek teased light heartedly.

"He did not," Penelope gasped, trying to reign in her excitement. "Yeah, every so often, he'd whisper contextual information about the book and such," you admitted, a blush matching Spencer's unbeknownst to you. It was sweet. Like the two of you gossiping about school child crushes sharing with your best friends. "You two nerds are made for each other," Penelope declared which made you roll your eyes.

"It sounds like you had a nice night then, kid," Derek said with a nod of approval. "Yeah, it was nice," Spencer said with a soft smile. He wasn't exactly use to this. The office gossip was usually about others, not him. But Derek was almost like his older brother. Telling Derek about your date felt like getting approval from your big brother. "There was one other thing, too," Spencer added.

"I brushed his hair out of his face," You told Penelope with a smile on your face. "You did not!" Penelope gasped. From all of these details you were telling her, it felt like she was planning out yours and Spencer's wedding in her head. The two babies of the BAU, hopelessly in love. "Yeah, I did. He was just talking and it fell in his face. I… I wasn't thinking." A soft smile took over your lips at the memory. Spencer's soft hair and his even softer blush.

"That's what was on your mind then." Derek put two and two together. He had a sense of pride when it came to hearing about Spencer's date. Like watching Spencer grow up. "You want my advice, pretty boy?" Derek offered which Spencer eagerly nodded. Spencer would take any advice he could get. He didn't want to mess this up, whatever this was that the two of you had. "Just be yourself." "Just be myself? Have you seen how that usually works out for me?" Spencer asked. 'Just be yourself'. Those words always sounded like a trap. No one would want a nerdy, fact spewing boyfriend. They'd want someone normal. Spencer wasn't normal. "Think about it kid. They loved the planetarium date, they asked you out to the film, your geeky tenancies have won over their heart. They don't want some constructed personality to try and make them like you. They want you." Derek's advice made sense. You wanted Spencer for Spencer. That was new for him. New but definitely not unwelcome.

Life was a joke. Stephen King said it best in Pet Sematary, 'life sucks, and then you die'. That was all life was. Misfortune upon misfortune, the occasional good day to help you through it. That's what Spencer thought as he saw you, peaceful and serene, at your funeral. It was open casket. He could see your face one last time. The morticians had done a good job at hiding the bullet hole through your skull. It just looked like you were sleeping. Something that Spencer was familiar with, seeing you curled up asleep, waiting for him to come home from a case. He fixed your hair slightly and lingered a little longer than everyone else. No one said anything. They just watched as Spencer had yet another trauma get added to his already too long list.

Vices were good. They helped you when nothing else worked. They helped you forget, helped you stop feeling. There really was something for everyone. That's what Spencer thought as he considered dilaudid again. To feel the sweet relief of nothing. To let his mind and body go numb. Maybe if he took enough, he'd see you again, in all your beauty. Maybe if he took enough, his heart would finally stop hurting and he'd never have to feel again. Spencer wasn't a huge believer in the concept of an afterlife but if there was a possibility that loved ones reunited in death, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

His job was pointless. He wasn't saving people, he was killing them, slowly. He'd seen it himself. Hotch lost Hailey and he'd lost Maeve and now you. That wasn't saving people. It was killing them. Every day every person he's ever cared about was put in danger. That's what he thought when he was sitting in the back of an ambulance with a shock blanket wrapped around him. The scene swirled around him, a blend of colours and sounds he couldn't distinguish. Condolences from Emily, hugs from Derek, empathetic looks from Hotch. None of that mattered though. The love of his life was gone. In that warehouse slumped dead against a chair. A downside to his eidetic memory - he'd have that image burnt into his brain until he died. Your words would haunt him forever. The last words you ever said, "I love you, Spence." He didn't think he'd ever want to hear those words again.

God has a sick sense of humour. Having his dad leave, having to institutionalise his own mother, being kidnapped, getting shot, hell, even being killed then resuscitated, both of his partners being shot in front of him. When Spencer died, he expected to see God laughing. That's what Spencer thought as he was forced to try and talk the unsub that was holding you hostage down. Little did he know, the unsub had made up his mind. You were going to die. You knew that and in the few moments you had left, you accepted it. "Spence, there's no point, he's going to kill me," you said softly. Spencer ignored you. He could save you. He had to save you. "Look, you don't have to do this," he'd told the unsub. That just caused the unsub to smirk. The sound of the gun cocking echoed through the room. "Spencer, close your eyes," you pleaded. You didn't need him to see this again. He didn't listen, still dead set on talking down the unsub. "Put the gun down," you heard Derek's firm voice, trying to help Spencer. You knew it was the end, that you had moments to get your affairs in order. "I love you, Spence," you said before the trigger was pulled. Derek shot too late, you were already gone. Spencer should've cried out, broke down, but he stood there numb. History having repeated itself.

"That's because everyone skips Nine because they think David Tennant is hot or Matt Smith is hot. While I'm not saying they're not, I'm just saying some people care more about who plays the Doctor than the actual Doctor. Besides, need I remind you of the Empty Child arc or even Bad Wolf?" God Spencer was falling even harder. You were so… Passionate. It was hard not to find passion attractive. "Need I remind you that this is also the season with Boom Town," Spencer countered back, a slightly smug tone about his voice. "There is nothing inherently wrong with Boom Town. That is just a weak episode in a series of great episodes," You protested. Spencer just chuckled and shook his head. "You," he began, pressing a kiss to your forehead before continuing, "Are incredibly stubborn." He couldn't complain though. He'd rather have an incredibly stubborn, Doctor Who loving partner than someone who looked at him weird whenever he went on about Weeping Angels or Cybermen. He felt like he found his twin flame.

The next morning, the two of you arrived at work like usual. To everyone else, the two of you seemed normal. Too normal. No ramblings about obscure books or foreign films. The two of you sat at your respective desks while Derek and Emily watched the two of you work, determined to figure out what was up. "They've been… Quiet," Emily murmured to Derek. "Almost too quiet," Derek agreed with a hum, "What do you reckon got into them?" Now they were going to have some fun. I mean, who didn't love a little workplace gossip? "Spencer spoilt a book they were reading?" Emily suggested. Derek considered it for a second. It was possible. With the number of books Spencer read, it was bound to happen at some point. "Possible," Derek mused, watching the two of you work with your heads down low.

The truth was far more simple. A stupid disagreement. It was nothing relationship changing, no shouting, just the two of you being petty. In a way, it was endearing. Neither one of you had to worry about the other cheating or have an argument about some major issues. No, it was just the two of you debating your favourite British show together.

Derek and Emily couldn't sit in suspense much longer, so they decided to approach Spencer about it. "Hey, kid, everything alright?" Derek asked, leaning against Spencer's desk, as he so often did. "Yeah, you've been a bit… Quiet this morning," Emily added, concern almost lacing her voice. Your coworkers cared about your relationship. It was sweet, it was innocent, it was endearing. So seeing the two of you so quiet was odd. "He's not alright. I mean, he's alright but not all right. He's wrong, for once, that's what I'm saying," you chirped up from your desk next to Spencer's. That earned you an eyebrow raise from your colleagues. A silent plea for you to continue to explain. "Pretty boy? Wrong? Now this is a story I want to hear," Derek pressed with his usual smirk. "He thinks that Nine isn't one of the best Doctors," you said with a small shrug. "He's not bad but come on, how many whovians start with Nine?" Spencer piped up to defend himself. Derek and Emily just exchanged looks at each other. So this was what it was about. At least they didn't have to worry about the office sweethearts breaking up. "I mean, you started with Ten. You didn't even start with Nine," Spencer pointed out. You didn't have an argument there. You let out a small huff which resulted in a small, victorious smirk on Spencer's lips. "We'll let you two lovebirds debate your shows in peace then," Derek said, giving Spencer a small pat on the back with a small smile before heading off with Emily.

"You know, even if you are wrong," Spencer started with a small smile, "I think the fact that you actually like Doctor Who and know what you're on about makes up for it." You couldn't help but laugh softly. It really was nice that you'd found someone who liked the same niches as you. "I am not wrong. Agree to disagree?" you offered. "I guess I can live with that," Spencer hummed, his smile turning into a soft smirk, "If you watch the Fourth Doctor with me as I continue to knit my scarf." "Deal," you nodded, looking forward to tonight that little bit more.

If you're reading this, hello! I really hope you enjoyed this. Criticism is welcome, and I hope you enjoyed the ramblings of this nerd