Spencer was never one to be fond of guns, yet he drew them when he ought to, and shot if he had to, typically when staring down the barrel of an unsub's.

He saw blood first, not his. The thud of your body hitting the ground haunted him, even now, standing in the hospital bay with crossed arms and discussing with the doctor, like he knew better — and he probably did.

The rest of the team had to go and would come by later, and even then you still would have to endure a long talking-to from Hotch, so Spencer told them he would stay until you awoke.

Even if he was roughly one to comfort, he'd be there and try. And that seemed enough.

"Hey, you've sustained significant injuries to the abdomen, they’ve operated and removed the bullet itself but there is still swelling and inflammation." Reid spoke fast and hard to catch like he hadn’t spoken to anyone in ages, and your eyes hadn’t even opened properly yet.

"Sorry." He hushed then noticing he was rambling, squeezing your hand in his, shutting up.