He doesn't know how they expect him to be fine. He doesn't know how they expect him to cope. He's never been good with feelings, with preventing himself from getting overwhelmed and breaking, they knew that. They knew he felt like his life was over when he was sent to prison. And yet now, mere weeks after he's been released, they're acting like everything's normal again, as if his entire being wasn't changed by his experiences. He was in there for three months, for God's sake, for something he didn't do! And every second of every day, he was so damn scared, so terrified that he might never get out of there alive.

He never quite figured out how to keep the past in the past, how to forget about the things he went through and move on. He never found a healthy way to let out his frustration. Maybe that's why he's standing over a dead body, in a daze, a bloody knife in his hand. Feeling so eerily similar to the death he was framed for.

It takes him a few moments to process what he's done, breaking out of his haze of anger, and he can hardly remember how he got here. All he can remember is being so angry and alone and traumatized, and now there's a dead man in front of him. He just killed a man. He just killed a man.

He stumbles backward, dropping the knife with a gasp, and before he can even think about what he's doing, remind himself that nobody should know about this or he'll go back to prison, he's picking up his phone and calling you, the one person on the team that he trusts the very most.

"I did something bad, I- I did something really bad and I don't know how to fix it-" he rambles, stumbling over his words, and you're already picking up your keys and hurrying for your car to come find him.

"Spencer, what happened?" You ask once again, but he's in so much distress that he can hardly answer, his breath loud and shaky on the other end.

"I did something really bad," he repeats over and over, and you're left to speed as fast as you can to his apartment, to help him with whatever it is he did.