Criminal Minds Fic: With the Memory of an Elephant

[snowdarkred]

Title: With the Memory of an Elephant
Author: snowdarkred 
Rating/Warnings/Spoilers: PG, extreme bullying, stream of consciousness, spoilers for Elephant's Memory.
Words: ~1K

Author's Note and  Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds, obviously. Writing kid!Spencer was fun, if a little harder than I imagined. I hope that I did alright. Tell me what you think! :D

Summary: This is what Spencer Reid remembers: Jeering peers, harsh hands, humiliation, cold metal, and the complete absence of stars.

With the Memory of an Elephant

 

 

Spencer Reid is scared. Spencer Reid is terrified. It doesn't matter that, years from now, he will face down serial killers, gang members, and rapist, this is what he will remember as the scariest moment he will ever experience. He is twelve years old, and he is frightened for his life.

 

He shuts his eyes, trying to block out his assailants' jeering faces, but he can still hear them, and he can still feel their hands and feet striking him. He turns in on himself, curling as tight as he can to present an even smaller target, but all that does is make them more determined. It's a point of pride for them, though what sense of accomplishment they achieve from beating up someone years younger than them, he cannot fathom. It's just another one of those “human” traits that he does not understand.

 

He tries to focus elsewhere, anywhere but here. He concentrates on the smell of freshly mowed grass and the aging paint on the field house. He lists the Fibonacci sequence in his head, getting all the way to F₂₀ before a blow makes him lose his place.

 

He's dragged up from the ground; clumps of grass go with him because he refuses to let go of his only purchase. They grab him by the hair and pull him away from the wall of the field house, so that he won't have that tiny illusion of safety. He opens his eyes, desperate to find a friendly face, someone who will stop this from happening, but instead all he sees is Karl Jenkins pull a length of rope from his backpack. Spencer's insides jolt in fear, because this situation just became ten times more dangerous. The crowd of students watching is swept up by the excitement, and all Spencer can think of is statistics about group dynamic.

 

There are too many of them, but he fights anyway. He kicks out and catches Harper Hillman in the shin. She grunts in surprise, looking startled that he had fought back for the first time. She darts forward and slaps him across the face with a resounding smack. Spencer's cheek stings by the force of it. Cheerleading buildings strong muscles. Her actions are cheered on by the observers, boosting her confidence.

 

Seth Johnson pins his arms, and Spencer tries to bite him. He's smacked again, and he tries to scream – praying that for once in his life someone, a teacher, anyone, with help him. He thinks that he spots an adult in the parking lot, clearly within hearing distance of the rowdy crowd, but the figure ducks its head and scurries away. Spencer's used to that.

 

Seth holds him still. Spencer's adrenaline jumps as Karl approaches him, rope in hand. The football player wraps the rope around Spencer's neck, forming a makeshift leash, which he then yanks stiffly. Spencer is in full panic mode now; it only takes four pounds of pressure to strangle someone, and Karl can bench press over a hundred.

 

He stops resisting. His focus shifts from getting away to staying alive, because it is apparent that this group is out for blood. They drag him across the football field, yard after yard, the rope tight around his neck. He closes his eyes again, not wanting to see who is participating. He doesn't want to come to school tomorrow and face them; Spencer doesn't want to see any of them ever again.

 

He goes through all the US presidents in his head, first in chronological order, then in alphabetical. He lists their wives, their children, even their pets. He lists their causes of death, and then orders those by the number of years they had been out of office when it occurred.

 

He does anything to distract himself, to drown out their taunts. Alexa Lisbon says, “Let's see what's under those ugly rags,” and gets the response that she was gunning for: There are cheers of agreement. Spencer keeps his eyes closed as they strip him, hands harsh and invading. He tries to meditate, to block out how violated he feels. He doesn't want to remember this, but he knows that he will be cursed with it for the rest of his life. Even if he didn't have an eidetic memory, nothing will be able to keep this from imprinting each humiliating and degrading detail into his consciousness.

 

They tie him to the goal post, the metal rough and cool against his bare back. A few enterprising teens dig up some rocks from beneath the bleachers and throw them at him. A few connect, but most miss, thankfully. As the sky darkens, the crowd slowly disperses, drifting away one by one. They leave him there, naked and bruised. Each breath hurts. He tries to squirm free, but they wrapped the rope around him in such away that all he really succeeds in doing is choking himself. He can't get his hands loose, and it takes him an hour to worm his feet completely free. It takes him even longer to work through the rest of the tangle; he thinks that Karl, at least, used to be the Boy Scouts. Then he blocks all thoughts of the football team and the cheerleaders and everyone else, because he doesn't want to think about what they did to him.

 

He'd been there for hours when he finally gets free. The sky is dark, and the stadium lights are off. The incandescent glow of Las Vegas blocks the stars, but Spencer looks for them anyway.

 

His mother used to tell him, before she stopped taking her medication, that the great explorers had used the stars to find their way. She had taken him out one night in her car, driving them outside of the gasping fingers of suburbia until they reached the desert. From there, they had stargazed, and she had showed him where each constellation was and told him the stories that ancient cultures made up about them.

 

Spencer dresses slowly, taking care to work around aching ribs and sore wrists. He can barely move. He hopes that they avoided his face, because while he can't afford to miss another day of school, he can't afford to draw the social worker's attention anymore than he already has. If they take him away, his mother will deteriorate even more, and he can't allow that.

 

He straightens his clothes and begins to walk home.

---

Tell me what you think! Also, I had surgery yesterday, so if you spot any errors, please tell me. I think I caught them all, but I can't be sure.

 

Comments

[yumi-wuves-yaoi.livejournal.com]

Wow that was intense!! And amazing!
Aww sorry about the surgery. Hopefully you are doing better.
I found one tiny little error.
"It's a point of pride for them, though what sense of accomplishment they achieve from beating up someone years younger than him, he cannot fathom."
The HIM in this sentence should be a THEM. Since you are talking about the bullies not Spencer.

Have an awesome day!!
-Yumi ;3

[snowdarkred.livejournal.com]

Thank you for reading! I'm glad you liked it. :D

And thanks for catching my error; my mind's a little hazy right now....

[yumi-wuves-yaoi.livejournal.com]

:D
You're Welcome!! I totally understand, I had my wisodm teeth out a few weeks ago. ugh