Author's Note: Wow, I must be on some sort of drug or something . . . tow whole story ideas in one week? And it's not even Christmas yet! (Or maybe procrastinating is just a really good inspiration . . .) Well, for whatever reason, I am back once more; and this time, I brought a Crossover. See, just recently, I was laying in bed, thinking about two of my favorite good boys, and I was hit with the idea - Why not mix them together? And thus, a strange little fic-let was born in my even stranger mind, where little Peter Petrelli (from Heroes) gets the chance to meet (not yet Doctor or Special Agent) Spencer Reid (from Criminal Minds).
This is going to be a three-shot, I believe. I've got parts all planned in my head, and all I need to do now is chain myself to my computer and make them typed down . . . But, anyhoo, it'll all be over a relatively short amount of time. I just wanted to write my boys as, well, . . . boys, and I see no viable way to drag that on for a thousand chapters (by the way, writing as a kid is hard – they talk so strangely!).
But I've been babbling – really, I hope that you guys like this. I'm trying to make it easy for anyone who watches either Criminal Minds or Heroes, but for whatever reason, not both (and really, why the crap wouldn't you watch both?). But if anything is hard to understand, just PM me or complain about it in a review.
Disclaimor(s): I most certainly do own my own story, my imagination, and my creativity (and they're not for sale, so NO ONE ELSE gets to either, got it?). But, most regretfully, I do not own Criminal Minds, Heroes, or the city of Las Vegas. And, believe you me, if I owned Peter Petrelli or Spencer Reid, I would be a bit to busy making them kiss to be on here writing FanFiction. (Saw-ry, but 'tis the truth.)
Reviews, while unnecessary, are still read, appreciated, and responded to.
Do enjoy.
"Leap of Faith"
Days like this were something of a rarity in Nevada. Days where the sun was shining bright, but not hot; days where the sky was crystal clear and turquoise blue. Days where the wind was a light breeze, and not a violent whip, and the smells of the city were carried softly in the wind - baking bread from the little deli around the block, the heady scent of maple from the trees on the street corners, and, of course, that always-there little tinge of acrid smoke, from the layers of smog and gasoline that sifted off of Las Vegas's many thoroughfares.
It was the kind of day where, for the first time since school had started, the teachers at one of Sin City's many elementary schools had decided to let the kids play outside for their half-hour of recess, instead of keeping them cooped up indoors like they had been for the past few weeks. it was simply too nice out. Sunscreen was dispersed, roll call was taken, and then the kindergarten instructors released the kids to the playground, all whooping with joy and running as fast as they could to the kickball court.
Well, most of them were. One child lagged behind the rest of the group; a thin kid, with big glasses and an even bigger sweater he was for some reason wearing in the searing Nevada Heat.
Spencer Reid was not utterly ecstatic that he had almost thirty minutes to spend outside of the classroom. Spencer Reid didn't want to run around the court getting dirty and sweaty. He didn't want to be forced into another painful game of soccer . . . or football . . . or even duck-duck-goose.
Spencer enjoyed books. And old music. And movies, too. But mostly books. He read several volumes week, and could recite them word for word after finishing. His mother said that it was because he was special, and she had arranged for his teacher to allow him extra reading time in class, instead of having a rest-time. Of course, Spencer loved perusing books so much that he would often grab a slime novel or two to take outside and read during his recess. It's what he would be doing right now, ordinarily – except that his teacher, insisting that he needed some fresh air, had gently taken "The Grapes of Wrath" from his much-smaller hands, and scooted him through the door.
So now Spencer was walking as slowly as possible towards the playground, mentally calculating the time he would have to take between each step in order for recess to be over by the minute he reached the edge of the asphalt.
As he trudged, Spencer watched the other kids in his class, already playing excitedly, laughing and screaming with the joy that only small children can really express. He gazed on as Sarah Tillman squealed when her friend Becky Brian found her hiding underneath of the tire swing, and sighed a little to himself as the two girls hugged, before running off to play another round of Hide-&-Seek.
No one ever wanted to play with him. His mom called him "special," but the kids here called him "freak" after the first day. He had gotten into a spirited debate with his very shocked teacher about the history of chess and why it was important that she teach the kids in class to play that instead of CandyLand, and, as soon as the bell let them out of class, and a still rather-pale Mrs. Lindstrom had made them march single-file to the busses, kids started pushing him and shoving him and trying to get him to say more strange stuff, calling him "crazy" and "weird" when he didn't respond. And every day since then had only gotten a little bit worse. And every day since then, Spencer had gotten a little quieter, a little more withdrawn, and a little more miserable.
But his mom and dad were fighting to fix things for him. His mom had called the school multiple times asking about having her son moved to a different class – to which the answer was a firm no. His father, William, was taking a slightly more aggressive approach, and was demanding that Spencer have some testing done, and be moved up a couple of grades – to which he was always told that the elementary policy was to not allow kids to skip educational levels until after second grade. It was an uphill battle, and though Spencer knew that, eventually, he would have to be moved, he couldn't help but wish he could skip class until that day. He hated kindergarten.
Spencer was heading towards a small grove of trees where he liked to hide in the morning (until school started, and, somehow, he was always too early), but was stopped in his tracks by the sight of Becky Brian crouched over underneath a small cedar. She didn't see Spencer at first, too busy giggling through her fingers and peeking out between the branches in search of her best friend. When her eyes finally caught the figure in front of her, the smile was immediately wiped off her face, and she stood, putting her tiny fists on her even tinier waist.
"Whadda you want?" she hissed at a taken-aback Reid.
"I didn't require anything from you, Becky. I was only approaching this particular sect of the school property so that I could sit in the shade, rest my eyes, and be left to ponder in peace and solitude."
Becky just stared at him, her face scrunching up in confusion and distaste.
"However, if you require the use of these particular facilities, I am more than able –"
"GOTCHA!"
Both Becky and Spencer jumped almost a foot off the ground as Sarah Tillman re-appeared around the side of the tree, grabbing Becky's shoulder and screaming dangerously close to her ear.
"I found you! Now it's my turn to hide!" Giggling in glee, Sarah turned heel and ran off towards the opposite end of the playground. Becky turned to face Spencer again, her scowl more apparent than ever.
"You stupid freak!" She snarled at him, taking a step closer to Spencer, who backed away and promptly stumbled over his own feet. As he lay in the grass, looking up at the furious little girl, Becky continued, leaning in close so that Spencer could hear her anger, but the teachers could not.
"I was going to win, and then you hadta ruin it! Now I gotta share my gummies at lunch, and I didn't want to, and I'mma hafta climb around looking for Sarah, and I'mma get all dirty, and then my momma's gonna be mad, and then she's gonna yell at me, and then I'mma tell her that it was your fault, you stupid stupid freak." Shooting one last death-glare at the bewildered boy in front of her, Becky stomped off to find her best friend, and Spencer remained where he was on the ground, trembling for a few more minutes, and thinking about how he really did hate school.
Finally deciding that the coast was clear, Spencer shakily stood and dusted his trousers off - not that it mattered. The grass stains were already going to have his mother in a tizzy.
Shaking his head, Spencer looked at the little tree grove where he had been planning on hiding for the remainder of his recess, all desire to sit down there and contemplate the universe suddenly gone – stained, perhaps, by the rather sour memory of Becky throwing her little temper tantrum.
Spencer scanned the yard, trying to determine where it would be safest to go. The field was out – there were too many kids from his class there, and Spencer didn't want to be called any more names today. That, of course, also knocked out the options of the jungle gym, the seesaw, the slide . . .
Reid's eyes finally landed on the regular swing set. Ever since the chains on two of the seats had had been broken and became a safety hazard, and a tire swing had been built on the other corner of the playground, the kids never went near the dilapidated old structure – which still wasn't due to be torn or fixed for a few more weeks. It was twisted, mangled, quiet . . . the perfect place for him to hide for a little while.
As Reid started towards the tired piece of equipment, his hazel eyes took in something else – for the first time in a long time, someone was sitting on one of the old plastic seats.
Spencer had never seen this boy before – although he looked to be about the same age as Reid. He was extremely skinny, too, and very pale. Reid knew he wasn't a Nevada native instantly, from the way in which he was dressed; pressed blue jeans and a button down shirt, with a pair of blinding white Nikes to boot. And, of course, the sunscreen he had smeared on his thin little arms also screamed "Not From Here!" But even as Spencer noticed all of this, and noted it in his memory for later, he was distracted and most fascinated by the boy's hair.
It was almost as long as Reid's.
Admittedly, this wasn't something that a lot of people would get terribly excited about, of course. But Spencer was the only boy he knew of with drapes of hair that went past his collar (his mother was always imploring him to cut it, but Spencer liked the feeling that having a curtain of curls to hide behind gave him – it felt . . . safe.). Having his long locks was just another thing that the other kids in his class teased him about, and Spencer took their abuse silently. If he told his mother, she would force him to get it cut.
But here before him, finally, was another boy with long hair. Admittedly, this kid had much darker, thicker, straighter hair, a pin straight sheet of black which looked almost midnight blue in the bright light – but Reid went forth, undeterred. He approached the stranger before him, determined to play nice.
As his footsteps drew nearer, the boy sitting on the swing, twisting and spinning by dragging his foot through the gravel below, heard him and looked up sharply; his eyes were almost as dark as his hair, and he met Reid's gaze full on he approached.
Finally stopping right in front of the boy, Spencer took a second to breathe, needing the pause to collect his thoughts. He tried not to break eye-contact with the kid in front of him, but it was hard; the boy had a piercing gaze, and it made Reid want to look at anything but that powerful stare that he felt was seeing right through him.
He didn't know it, of course, but the boy sitting on the swings was thinking the exact same thing about him.
Finally, biting the inside of his cheek, Reid gave a small, shaky smile, and thrust out his hand.
"I'm Spencer – Reid, that is. I wanted to introduce myself – I mean, I guess that I have to introduce myself, because, well, we've never met – but, of course, you know that, don't you, you being one of us and all – and anyway, I mean, I was thinking that I hadn't seen you around before – h-hence the wanting to greet you personally, and I - I - . . ."
Reid's babbling drifted off as the dark-haired boy continued to stare at him, and he awkwardly shoved his hands in his pockets, blushing. After a moment of silence, where the stranger watched Reid and Reid tried to pretend that he wasn't, Spencer finally shook his head slightly, and staring at the ground, mumbled, "I'm sorry," before making to turn around and retreat.
Before he could even take one step in the other direction, a soft voice called out behind him.
"I'm Peter. Peter Petrelli."
Reid turned back to face the kid – Peter – on the swings. He was still staring at Spencer with those bold and piercing eyes, but his mouth was upturned in a slight smile, and his expression softened as he spoke again.
"Do you wanna play?"
Reid felt a grin breaking across his face as he bounded back towards the old swing set.
"Leap of Faith"