Work Text:
There were many things Spencer kept hidden from his teammates.
His mother was one thing he kept hidden, for a time. He was loathe to admit this, but he had been ashamed — scared, really — that the knowledge of his mother would make the others doubtful of his abilities. Fearful of the fact that he might teeter over the edge and into insanity. Unfortunately, Garner had ruined that secret part of his personal life the moment he sent his mentor and Unit Chief a severed head.
After that, the secret he kept closest to his chest was his crush on Elle. He hadn't wanted to risk their friendship, because she meant the world to him, and he definitely didn't want to risk their ability to do their job — especially because he was so certain she would reject him, and that would mess with the dynamics of the team. He'd pushed his feelings for her deep down, pretended he never had them, and was subsequently heartbroken when Elle left. He never really stopped loving her, but after a while, his romantic feelings had faded into something akin to a familial type of love.
Mostly because he'd developed an entirely new crush on another one of his coworkers. Curse his bisexuality — but he couldn't help it. It was Derek, after all — the man who was always so effortlessly kind, strong and protective, always willing to lend a hand, or an ear, or a shoulder to cry on. Even more so after Elle's departure.
It wasn't uncommon for the two of them to share soft moments during slow days, or breaks in the cases they worked. It also wasn't uncommon for them to go share a drink after work — although, Derek was usually the one getting drunk. Derek was really the only person other than Hotch who could hug him, or lay a hand on his shoulder, or cling to him in the moments he needed it the most.
It was starting to get to the point that Spencer was certain his crush wasn't really a crush, but a hopeless type of love. He'd worked up the confidence to say something, but, of course, a case had to interrupt their moment, and then they were whisked away to Georgia.
And then his luck ran out, and he was kidnapped. Tobias Hankel defied all laws of nature. He was something straight out of a fiction book, a creature that shouldn't exist, and yet, here he was, baring extended fangs as Spencer squirmed. He was terrified — begging, hoping, praying, for Derek — for anyone — to break through that flimsy wooden door and shoot the monster hunched down next to him — but nobody came.
Tobias Charles Hankel grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged, exposing his the bare skin of his neck. Saliva dripped from his mouth, onto his skin — Spencer felt sick. He struggled against Charles' grip, but he held firm—
And then all Spencer could feel was pain.
This was his final secret. His biggest secret.
Because, in a dilapidated shed, in the middle–of–nowhere Georgia, Charles Hankel had turned Spencer into something else. Something other. Something non–human.
A vampire.
Spencer could hardly believe it himself — vampires were supposed to be things of fiction, not fact, but he couldn't deny it now. Not when the facts were staring him in the face every time he looked in a mirror.
At first, he tried to stave off one craving by using another. After all, an addiction to blood couldn't be all that different from an addiction to drugs, could it? It worked, for a while. The Dilaudid staved off his hunger, dulled his sharpened senses, made life a bit easier to live — but it wasn't sustainable. It couldn't last.
He was delirious, when it had happened. Walking home from the subway station, feeling like he was seconds away from throwing up, when he'd smelled it.
Blood.
Enough to drive him over the edge.
He'd taken his first human life as a vampire, that night. Had felt the way the pulse of a person faded beneath his lips. He swore it wouldn't happen again.
He got clean. Started hunting animals, just to curb his hunger — and he cried every time he killed one — until his sponsor had caught him one night. He panicked — tried to cover it up, somehow — but John didn't judge. In fact, he offered to get Spencer a more sustainable source — donated blood bags. Spencer was skeptical, of course. He'd expected John to be terrified of him, not… accepting?
It wasn't long after that when Spencer discovered that he wasn't the only vampire lurking in the FBI.
He was thankful for the help — especially because it kept him from going crazy with hunger — and it was… nice, to have someone who could teach him everything there was to know about being a vampire in the modern era. Apparently, you were supposed to learn those things from your sire — the person who turned you — but once John had learned how he was turned, he was more than happy to take him under his wing.
Of course, it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows.
He kept his true nature hidden from the team. When he was hungry, he hid in the bathroom to drink. It was hard for him to explain away his newfound paleness, the coldness of his skin, the fact that he barely inhaled a breath of air.
It was especially hard to hide from Derek. He tried, he really did, but…
Spencer had a feeling the team knew that something was wrong. Maybe they thought he was still addicted, Spencer didn't know. But it was obvious to him. He might be shit at reading social cues, but the team wasn't exactly being subtle about their constant stares and hushed whispers.
Derek was the most obvious about his concern.
Occasional side–hugs turned into full hugs, long and drawn out, with Derek murmuring about how cold Spencer felt. Infrequent check–ins turned into an almost daily concern for his well being. ("Are you sleeping well, pretty boy? You seem tired." or "Are you getting enough sun? Seriously, you look as pale as a sheet."). Random touches became an ever-present presence — Derek was always hovering, never that far out of reach — Spencer was almost never out of Derek's sight, unless it was absolutely necessary, in which case Derek would complain about it incessantly.
Spencer found the worry adorably cute, and he made sure to always reassure Derek that nothing was wrong. He didn't want his coworker worrying about him, and he definitely didn't want Derek to freak out about his newfound undead-ness. Especially with the unspoken tension between them. He didn't want to ruin that.
Of course, his Reid Effect just had to kick in, and his carefully–kept secret unraveled on a case.
The warehouse was eerily quiet, causing a shiver to travel down Spencer's spine. Derek, as always, stuck close, sweeping his flashlight across the dark expanse of shadows, illuminating nothing but metal scaffolding and brick red walls.
He could hear the faint beginnings of a conversation, off in the distant. From the way Derek kept walking, he guessed it was something only he could hear.
"Derek," Spencer whispered, holding out his hand in front of him. Derek paused, looking at Spencer in confusion, but Spencer just shook his head as he clicked his light off, motioning for Derek to crouch down.
Derek followed his lead without a second thought.
The both of them crept towards the source of the conversation — an open room in the warehouse. A crate kept them hidden from their UnSubs — two men, by the looks of it. One of them looked like a biker — he wore a dark leather jacket — while the other one looked like a young college kid. They were arguing about something… the best ways to expel a dybbuk? Whatever it was, it sounded like nonsense.
Derek looked at him questioningly, almost as if he was asking "What the fuck are they talking about?"
Spencer just shrugs.
Derek peeks around the side of the crate, trying to assess the situation, before he motions for Spencer to follow him. Out from behind the crate they come.
"FBI. Put your weapons down." Derek's voice echoes loudly in the warehouse, startling both men and making Spencer wince slightly.
The younger man puts his hands up, while the biker–looking one raises a pistol.
"We don't want to hurt you," the younger one stammers, motioning for his accomplice to put his gun down.
The older man shakes his head, aiming the gun at Spencer. "No way. We can't let them stop us."
Derek begins to shout something, but Spencer barely hears it over the sharp bangs of gunfire and the pain radiating through his side.
He collapses onto the floor, letting out a cry as his injured side connects harshly with the concrete. He hears Derek let out a curse as more gunshots ring out.
The pain — oh, the pain — it feels like his insides are burning, like a fire is spreading through his veins and lighting up every nerve he has. It's like no pain he's ever felt before, and he has a sinking feeling he knows what he's been shot with before he even digs the bullet out of his side.
Silver.
John had warned him about this. Silver was poison to vampires — it effectively halted their cellular regeneration in it's tracks, slowing it to almost suffocating crawl.
His vision blurred as a familiar enemy clawed up his throat. Hunger.
He couldn't. He knew he couldn't, because the only living, breathing soul around was the man he loved, and he couldn't hurt him, couldn't feed off of him like he was some prey animal. But Spencer was between a rock and a hard place, bleeding out across the concrete floor.
Derek was kneeling over him, pressing shaking hands against Spencer's stomach in an effort to keep more blood from spilling.
"Hey, hey— hey, stay with me, stay with me. Help is coming, Pretty Boy, help is coming." Derek sounded panicked, desperate. Maybe the wound was worse than Spencer thought. Spencer whimpered, pain flaring in his side as Derek applied more pressure, almost lost in the sensation of pain—
And then his world narrowed. His senses sharpened instantly, the coppery smell of blood filling his nostrils.
It smelled heavenly.
It's just what he needs.
"No, no—" Spencer whimpered, hands shooting out to push Derek back.
"Spencer, I know it hurts, but I need to—"
"NO!" Spencer shouts, his voice cracking as he cuts Derek off, "Derek, you—you need to leave, you need to—to go, I can't—" His mouth waters as his senses pick back up on the tantalizing smell of blood, and he whimpers, "I can't— I won't hurt you, just—just go, just go before I—"
Derek pushes forward, presses down on Spencer side again, his hands stained crimson. "Spencer, what!? No, I'm not—I'm not leaving you to bleed out, what the hell are you talking about?"
"Derek, please—" Spencer begs, but his pleas fall on deaf ears.
He can't do this. His restraint is splintering, cracking down the middle, and he can see it, see the cut on Derek's neck, see the crimson blood slowly trickling down his skin, and he needs it, he needs it so badly—
Derek watches in horror as Spencer's face shifts into something feral — something predatory. Spencer claws at his forearms, jerking against his hold, eyes locked onto his neck hungrily.
"Spencer— what— stop! You're going to make it worse!" Derek snaps, snatching Spencer's wrists in his free hand.
"Derek, please—" Spencer begs, but he sounds far away, like he isn't fully present, "please, I'm so hungry—just—just let me go, please, so I can—I can drink."
Derek freezes — watching in horror as pearly white fangs descend from Spencer's mouth. Spencer's hazel eyes have grown dark — dangerous — and Derek's instincts are screaming at him to run, because he is the prey, and Spencer is the predator.
Derek's heart shatters. He'd known something was wrong with Spencer the moment he got him back from Hankel. Something had changed — Spencer came back wrong.
He thought it was PTSD, at first. Then he feared it was addiction.
He could have never guessed this.
Derek swallows, his eyes locking with Spencer's. "Okay. Okay. If it'll help you heal..."
Spencer surges upwards, grabbing the front of Derek's vest and dragging him forward, burying his face against Derek's throat. His fangs descend, stretching the cut open, letting more blood flow into his mouth.
The coopery tang of Derek's blood settles on his tongue, and all Spencer could think of was how heavenly it tasted. Spencer moans at the taste of it all.
God, it was better than anything he'd ever tasted — warm, sweet, flooding him with a heat the pushed the cold back from his fingertips. He could feel it, too, the way his skin stitched itself back together, his bleeding falling to a complete halt, the sharp pain subsiding into nothing.
Derek's fingers had threaded themselves into Spencer's hair, his thumb stroking the back of his neck in soothing circles. Reassurances spilled from his lips — a myriad of I got you's and It's okay's, I'm here's and Take your time's.
And take his time he did. He sucked at the cut, savoring every drop of blood that landed on his tongue, losing himself in the taste of it all. He barely even noticed the tension in Derek's shoulders, the hiss he let out as Spencer's fangs dug into his skin.
Derek could feel Spencer draining him of his blood. It was an odd sensation — the prick of his fangs, the suckling of his mouth — but he knew Spencer needed it. He would've given him everything, but—
Spencer snapped back into startling clarity, the realization of what he is doing slamming into him like a ton of bricks. He forcefully retracts his fangs, scrambling back away from Derek as he covers his mouth with his hand.
"Why did you let me do that?" Spencer asks, his voice cracking as his eyes sting with tears.
"You were going to die, Spencer. I was—I was the closest source."
"I could've killed you!" Spencer cries out, his chest heaving from the weight of it all.
Derek inches forward, lifting his hand to cup Spencer's cheek. He swipes his thumb over the corner of Spencer's lips, smudging blood across his cheek. "But you didn't, Spence. You didn't."
Spencer's breath hitches, the tears falling freely down his cheeks. "I'm a monster."
"No you're not," Derek murmurs, leaning in to brush away Spencer's tears, "not to me."
Spencer lets out a sob, his forehead resting against Derek's as shaking hands reach up to cup his face. He pulls Derek in, smashing his lips against his.
Derek stills, stunned, but that quickly dissipates as he melts into the kiss, his lips moving hungrily against Spencer's.
He doesn't know how long they stay like that — and he doesn't really care. Gentleness turns into something desperate, and Derek deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue across Spencer's lower lip. Spencer moans, parting his lips slightly, letting Derek slip his tongue into his mouth.
Spencer runs his hands over Derek's sides, lets his tongue dance with his, loses himself in the moment of it all.
When Derek pulls back for air and rests his forehead against Spencer's, Spencer can't help but blurt out the words he's been wanting to say for a long time.
"I love you."
Derek smiles, leaning in to kiss Spencer again. "I love you too, Pretty Boy," he whispers between kisses, "no matter what you are."