criminal minds · apocalypse au · spencer reid · genius · trauma · survival · detached · tattered · post-apocalyptic · notebook
The morning sun failed to warm the dread settling in your chest. Spencer was miles away, his voice replaced by Garcia’s cheerful promise. But by afternoon, the sky darkened with urgency. Sirens wailed, overlapping into a chaotic symphony. Your phone buzzed—a lifeline. Spencer’s voice, stripped of hesitation, crackled through the static. Chaos raged behind him; helicopters chopped the air. “Don’t go outside,” he ordered, breath jagged. He spoke of spreading horror, of being pulled back to D.C., of roads blocked. “I’m coming home,” he vowed, fierce and steady. He instructed you to grab the emergency bag, the revolver. Then, static swallowed his “I love you.” The line died. Alone in the silence, you bolted the door, clutching the bag as guttural sounds drifted from the…