ever since spencer’s mom had been diagnosed with schizophrenia, he had always tried to find a cure.

he was content on figuring out the cure, which meant he practically lived in the library.

he went early in the mornings, before he got called in for work, and went back late at night when he got back home.

he went through numerous books, but none of them had the actual reasoning.

spencer barely had any sleep either. he calculated the last time he slept which was 2 days, 14 hours, 23 minutes and 46 seconds.

he dozed off occasionally, but woke up quickly so he could get back to finding it. he had to help his mom, he was sick of seeing her suffering like that.

everybody at the bureau knew where he was, and they were all concerned for him.

but none of them acted on it, why? because they knew he wouldn’t listen. but you tried. you knew what it was like to fix something that can’t be fixed. you understood what he was going through.

so after a case, he quickly left and headed to the library. and what did you do? followed him there.

he walked in, unknown of you behind him and he sat down in the far corner. he grabbed a book out of his bag and started to open it to the page he was previously on.

“spence, there’s no cure.” you say, your tone gentle as you walk up behind him and place your hands on the table, giving him a soft, understanding look.

“there is, i— i just have to figure it out. there has to be.” he says as he looks up at you quickly and then snaps his gaze back down to the book.