It's not the first time that he's killed somebody. That dubious honor went to Phillip Dowd, a long-distance sniper serial killer that had cornered him and Hotch and a bunch of people in an ER. And then Tobias Hankel, who had been seconds away from killing him in the grave he'd been made to dig for himself. Both had been necessary self-defense, just like this had been, and yet, it still takes everything he has to swallow back the urge to heave.
The problem with his memory is that he remembers everything. And for most people, they might be able to look at the decapitated head rolling across the floor and think with time, this memory won't be so bad. Not for him. If he lives to be 90, he'll recall it as vividly as if he'd done it five minutes before.
He just decapitated someone. God.
Winchester's voice sounds like it's coming from the end of a very long tunnel, distant and hollow. Spencer sucks in a breath, and gives himself three seconds. Three seconds to freak out and feel horrified at what he'd just done. And then he rubs a hand over his eyes, and kicks himself into action.
"R-Right. Sorry." He hurries to Tara's side, because she looks like she's about to collapse any minute now. On auto-pilot, Spencer wraps an arm around her waist, and starts guiding her out of the dilapidated house, gently coaching her on where to step and where to avoid so that she doesn't trip or fall, constantly reassuring her that she's doing great. The sunlight feels like a slap to the face when they get outside, like he's just spent days in that dark house instead of what couldn't have been more than half an hour. Tara keeps her head down, and Spencer's gaze lands on the car he'd pulled up behind -- his own car is one of the PD's, an unmarked cruiser, and the car in front of it is probably Sam's.
For now, Spencer's just going to go along with Winchester's plan. Get Tara to the hospital. He doubts Winchester is going to consent to be treated by the hospital, so Spencer's going to need to make sure he doesn't die from blood loss. He may be a serial criminal, but he still doesn't deserve to die like that.
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The problem with his memory is that he remembers everything. And for most people, they might be able to look at the decapitated head rolling across the floor and think with time, this memory won't be so bad. Not for him. If he lives to be 90, he'll recall it as vividly as if he'd done it five minutes before.
He just decapitated someone. God.
Winchester's voice sounds like it's coming from the end of a very long tunnel, distant and hollow. Spencer sucks in a breath, and gives himself three seconds. Three seconds to freak out and feel horrified at what he'd just done. And then he rubs a hand over his eyes, and kicks himself into action.
"R-Right. Sorry." He hurries to Tara's side, because she looks like she's about to collapse any minute now. On auto-pilot, Spencer wraps an arm around her waist, and starts guiding her out of the dilapidated house, gently coaching her on where to step and where to avoid so that she doesn't trip or fall, constantly reassuring her that she's doing great. The sunlight feels like a slap to the face when they get outside, like he's just spent days in that dark house instead of what couldn't have been more than half an hour. Tara keeps her head down, and Spencer's gaze lands on the car he'd pulled up behind -- his own car is one of the PD's, an unmarked cruiser, and the car in front of it is probably Sam's.
For now, Spencer's just going to go along with Winchester's plan. Get Tara to the hospital. He doubts Winchester is going to consent to be treated by the hospital, so Spencer's going to need to make sure he doesn't die from blood loss. He may be a serial criminal, but he still doesn't deserve to die like that.
His team is going to have so many questions.