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Everything was so dark . There wasn’t any light seeping through cracks or crevices, mainly because there weren’t any cracks or crevices. They had been filled in, what felt like eons ago, with kernels of Earth. He could no longer hear the sound of soil tapping against the wood a few inches before his face, and even though he knew that conserving oxygen was in his best interest, he couldn’t stop himself from screaming.
Clawing at the coffin’s lid without regard for his bleeding fingers or the splinters that had made a home in them, he cried out for help. “Let me out! Please…” His voice wavered as sobs weaved their way into the folds of his vocal chords. Panic set in at the absence of any sound beyond his own screams. He couldn’t tell if the unsub had long finished the task of filling his grave, having ventured far away to restart the cycle of kidnapping to bury another victim alive.
He’d hoped he had left his team enough clues, but he found that hope dwindling with every passing second he spent confined in a locked pine box under countless feet of soil with only the company of Darkness and Silence..
Spencer banged against the lid of the coffin as hard as he could. “Please!” He screamed. “There has to be someone who can hear me!” There was a raspy edge to the sound of his cries. His vocal chords were tired and damaged after what felt like an eternity of screaming. It wasn’t long before his pleas came out as exhausted whispers, as he’d lost both strength and his voice. His voice was completely gone and worn away just like his life, he thought. His consciousness began to drift away.
Just after he closed his eyes, but before he could succumb to the exhaustion that threatened to claim his body, he heard what he thought was a faint, muffled gunshot. He couldn’t be sure. For all he knew, he’d been hallucinating it as a result of his brain fighting for his life while the rest of his body couldn’t. “I’m...in here,” he breathed, though he knew that no one could hear him given how quietly the words came out.
The world went quieter and darker, which Spencer hadn’t thought possible. He could no longer hear his shallow, rapid breathing or the sound of his heart forcing rushes of blood through his veins. He couldn’t perceive time or feel his limbs. The little ache that had started to settle into his fingers was gone, and he couldn’t feel the wetness of his own tears on his face anymore. Everything was still…
Until it wasn’t anymore.
There was light again, but not much - only enough that he could make out some shapes. Of what, he couldn’t perceive. He didn’t try too hard, though. He was pretty sure this was the beginning of the rest of his afterlife, which he wasn’t in a rush to start.
The shapes moved a little, and scent filtered in. He could smell cologne, sweat, and gunsmoke . Recognition prickled at the back of his brain, but it was fleeting. He wasn’t able to hold onto it long enough to glean meaning from the collection of identified smells, let alone form an understanding of what was even happening.
In the wake of the absence of smell came a sharp feeling of intense, radiating pain in his ribcage so overwhelming he could only cough to combat the weight of the pressure.
The shapes before him moved a distance away and the pain let up a little. Recognition returned as sight, smell, and now sound filtered in. He heard a horror-wracked voice choke out, “Reid?”
His eyes focused enough for him to make out that the shapes in front of him formed an outline of kind eyes dancing with slowly receding panic. A bright light shone into his own eyes, causing him to squint in response. After a brief moment of adjustment he could see that the eyes before him were a very deep, rich brown surrounded by a warm, reddish-orange terra cotta brown. Dark eyelashes and expressive eyebrows completed the frame. “D-derek?” He stuttered out, not at all surprised at the weakness of his voice.
Derek’s eyes crinkled the way they always did whenever he smiled. Fresh tears accompanied those eye creases this time, along with a sniffly chuckle. “Pretty boy,” he breathed around the lump that was stuck in his throat. He smoothed a hand over Spencer’s soft, sweat-drenched hair, making sure to appreciate how sweetly some of the curls clung to Spencer’s face. He silently thanked God for that small sign of life, as he did for others like the faint redness lurking beneath Spencer’s otherwise pale skin, and the rise and fall of the hand which still rested on Spencer’s chest.
He thought back to the numerous times he’d used his hands to fight for that same rise and fall to no avail. Just the thought of being subjected to the unyielding stillness of death attached to the face before him made him tremble. He swiftly swiped the lithe boy before him into a tight embrace.