Spencer was scared out of his mind, because the unsub they were dealing with — who slashes people’s throats — now had his knife to your throat, holding you with your back to his chest and arm locked so you couldn’t escape without getting fatally injured. Spencer had his gun on you, but it was still nerve-wracking, still terrifying because one wrong move could end up with you on the ground.

He was pleading in his head, trying to get a good shot to take but his hands were trembling ever so slightly— please, don’t make a move. He pleaded in his head for the unsub to not move a single muscle, to keep you alive and safe, please.

“Drop the knife.” Fuck, the words didn’t feel like they were coming from him, but they were, that was his voice, and Spencer was trying his hardest to keep it authoritative— to keep you alive.

Please, drop the knife, drop it, he wouldn’t be able to handle being the reason you’d die.

His feet were glued to the floor, begging you internally to stay strong and not cry otherwise he’d cry too, but you were being so, so strong. “T-Think about it, make this easier for yourself.”