✓ | sick of losing soulmates [SPENCER REID]

8.2

8.2
( with or without you. )

☆ ★ ☆

iris

"Shit — SPENCER! Shit, shit, shit. Spencer! REID?"

The noise of a gun doesn't have a set sound; it isn't exactly a bang, or a pop, or a boom, but it sounds more like a deafening and startling mix of all three. Loud enough and sudden enough to scare the very life out of Iris.

Rapidly, she races as best as she can, mostly hobbling at a quick pace on her right leg because of her goddamn fucking left one that's already crying out at the fact she's running, in the direction of Barton's front door — and, oh, God, Spencer, shit. "Reid!" she cries again, pulling her gun from its home in her holster and bursting into the dizzying, blinding sunlight.

Her eyes find Spencer's instantly: he's slumped on the grass, cradled by Barton, and, oh God, he's bleeding. Wide eyes meet hers, her heart lurches, and she feels like the months they've spent apart have spun straight out of her mind and she doesn't care about that, about any of that, about her fear or embarrassment, because she only cares about him.

"Shit, Spencer," she curses again, and she's already lurching across the grass and she's nearly half-way over to him when —

"Get away from him!" a voice bellows and she whips around, eyes widening at the sight of the shooter. Not a typical serial killer, that's for sure. He's simply a bald, white man around fifty, sobbing as he trudges up the grass toward them, one arm raised to point the gun in Barton — and Spencer's — direction.

"Stay down!" Iris yells, swinging up her arms to aim her own weapon. "Drop the gun!"

"He killed my son!" the man, presumably Myers, sobs.

"He did not kill your son — your son was killed by a car accident!" Spencer reasons. Okay, at least he can still talk. That's good. Iris wants to glance his way, see where the bullet's hit him, but she dare not look away from Myers for fear the gun will go off and hit Barton or Spence.

"Shut up!" Myers sobs.

"I'm gonna ask you again, Mr Myers. I don't wanna shoot you," she tries to reason, holding worry-induced panic off with only a grim force of will. "Please, put your gun down!"

Sirens wail and scream in the distance. Myers hesitates, listening and thinking, but his tear-glossed, scrunched up eyes never leave Barton.

"Don't do it!" Iris urges.

"I'm sorry," he says through a heavy, sharp exhale of defeat, and he raises his gun.