New Orleans was a beautiful city. At any other time, fourteen year old Spencer Reid would've enjoyed his visit here. He'd been excited about it when his father had first told him they were coming. Over the past year, he'd heard so many things about this city and had wanted to come on his father's many visits down here but he'd known better than to ask to come. Never had he imagined that his father would want to take him anywhere. He made no bones about his distaste for his only son. The disappointment in him was clear every time he looked at the child who had been so clearly stamped a mutant from birth. With silver hair, not quite dull enough to be considered grey, and his mismatched eyes—the right one brown, with little silver flecks hidden in it, and the left one bright silver with little flecks of brown—there had never been a doubt that the boy had been born a mutant. Nor had there ever been a doubt that William despised him for it.

That had only grown stronger when Spencer had hit puberty last year and had come into his mutation, showing a gift for clairvoyance. Not that he knew that's what it was the first time it kicked in. Spencer hadn't realized that his nightmares of fire and people screaming had been anything other than a nightmare—until the next morning when he saw the fire on the news.

Clairvoyance has varying definitions, which Spencer discovered when he researched it. But for the most part he found the descriptions to all agree that it's an enhanced development of a person's 'sixth sense'. The ability to know things even when they're not obvious. It could come in the form of images, visions, or dreams. Some even said that it was just sound for them, a few words whispered in their ears. Some saw in symbols. For Spencer, it was often visions, either awake or asleep. But sometimes it was just this sense of knowing. Like when he saw the woman at the checkout at the grocery store and he'd known, without even touching her, that she was pregnant. With a girl. The woman hadn't started showing until a few months later. Other times, it was just a simple impression of a person. His mother said that what he was feeling was their 'aura'. It gave him enough of an impression sometimes to know that a person was someone he needed to avoid. With practice, he was getting better at it. Stronger.

It wasn't consistent, though. Spencer didn't know if that was because he was so young, new to his powers, or if it was just his own limitations. Or if maybe these powers weren't constantly 'on', so to speak. That last one made the most sense to him. No one could live with that constant state of input. He'd go crazy if he saw visions or auras or countless other things every time he looked at a person. The fact that he seemed to be slowly—very, very slowly—starting to gain control, to actually seek things out instead of just get hit by them, supported that theory. It was just like any other power, something he had to access, not something that was in use twenty four/seven.

Of course, his powers only made his father more distrustful of him and he'd mostly avoided Spencer since then, shooting him looks of thinly veiled disgust when they were forced together. That was why it had been such a surprise when he'd told Spencer that he was coming to New Orleans with him on this trip. But Spencer hadn't wanted to question such a gift. He'd just packed his bag and happily joined his father to fly down here. He wished now he hadn't been so eager.

William had waited until they'd arrived and were at the hotel before he told Spencer why they were here. Or, more importantly, why Spencer was here.

Where had his powers been earlier, huh? How come they hadn't told him about this?

Apparently, William Reid owed one Jean-Luc LeBeau quite a lot of money. Bad enough if he'd been just a simple man. But no, of course it wasn't that simple. He wasn't just a 'regular guy'. He was the patriarch to the damn Thieves Guild, something that Spencer had heard of but had thought was just a myth—right up until the moment he stood in front of his father and was told that he was being sold to the head of the New Orleans Thieves Guild to become a companion to his son as a payment for a debt.

Spencer had immediately argued, of course. Fear of his father wasn't enough to hold his tongue at this. He'd shouted, begged, pleaded, argued, even threatened to go to the police. All it had earned him was a cut on the cheek from his father's ring and the warning that he had damn well better do what he was told if he ever wanted a chance to see his mother again. "You foul this up, boy, and I swear to you I'll make sure you never see her again." William promised him furiously, lip curled up in that disgusted sneer he got whenever forced to directly interact with his son. "That is, if they don't kill us all, cause I sure as hell don't have the money to pay them!"

That had left Spencer with no real choice here. His mother was the most important person in his world, the only person who loved him wholly and unconditionally, and William knew that. He knew that Spencer would do anything to keep her safe. Including letting himself be sold off in some modern day slave trade.

That was how Spencer found himself here, sitting in the backseat of his father's rental car, being driven to the place that was to become his home for the next four years. Just four years until I'm eighteen, he reminded himself for at least the twentieth time since this whole thing had started. Once I'm eighteen, no one can stop me from getting out of here. This isn't legal. There's no binding contract. Once I'm eighteen, I can leave this place behind and there's nothing they can do about it. I'll be old enough to go and take care of Mom, get her the help she needs, and if Dad still owes these people by then, they can take it out on him. I just have to make it four years. Those words weren't as reassuring as he hoped they would be.

Spencer pulled back out of his thoughts when he felt the car start to slow. His eyes went out the window once more and he looked up at the house they were pulling up to. No, not house. This wasn't a simple house. Manor was the word that came to mind. Mansion was another good word. They were stopping at a gate, an actual wrought iron gate, and someone was there to open it for them once they spoke to William. Spencer couldn't help but admire the house a little as they drove in. It was beautiful. Old, too. A two story house with a long patio on both the first and second floor, supported by giant pillars. There was an old, southern feel to it that spoke of wealth and status in a way that few things truly did anymore. Any other time and Spencer would've been utterly fascinated. He would've stared, taking in all the details, his mind spouting out the facts he'd memorized. Now? Now, all he could do was stare and think to himself that it was beautiful—for a prison.


The inside of the house was just as beautiful as the outside. It reflected the same aura of wealth and status, too. Only, in here, it was just slightly warmer. There was a touch here that spoke to Spencer's other senses of home. This wasn't one of those rich houses where people stayed but didn't actually live. Where it was more museum than home. No, this place was a home to the people who lived here. Spencer could feel the sense of peace and family that spread through here. Not even his own tension could block that out.

Nervously, he adjusted his shirt. His father had made him dress very carefully for tonight. Black slacks and a button up dark blue shirt that his mother had gotten for him. He wasn't allowed his usual sunglasses, which he generally used to hide the shining silver of his left eye, but he was wearing one of the many caps his father had bought for him to wear out in public that he could tuck his silver hair underneath so it wasn't visible. The hat looked strange with the niceness of the rest of his outfit but it kept his hair fully hidden.

They were escorted into the house by the man who had met them at the door. A servant of some sorts, Spencer assumed. They reached a set of double doors and William straightened up, a clear indicator of what, or who, was on the other side. He cast Spencer a sharp look and the young boy straightened up as well, though the urge was there to slouch. Only his father's earlier words and the need it had instilled to do what was necessary to protect his mother were enough to have him obeying and straightening himself up. Detestable as this was, he had to present himself right. He couldn't have the LeBeaus disappointed by him. If they decided they didn't want him, there was no doubt in Spencer's mind that his father would go through with his earlier threats. Hands in his pockets, shoulders squared, face turned down, Spencer followed his father into what he quickly saw was an office.

It was standing there that he got his first look at the LeBeau family. There were three men and one woman there. The family, he would later learn. Jean Luc stood in front of his desk, leaning casually back against it, and beside him was a man who had to be his oldest son. Henri, William had called him. He was the spitting image of his father. The other two took up the two chairs that were in front of the man. On the left was an elderly black woman who radiated an aura unlike any that Spencer had ever seen. Bright and strong, even though he couldn't see the others right now. Hers shone clear and true. She looked up and her eyes bypassed everyone else to lock right on him. Immediately a smile curved her lips and she was radiating such a sense of welcome that Spencer actually found some of his fear slipping away from him.

"Welcome, M. Reid." Jean-Luc's warm voice interrupted Spencer's thoughts and his gaze quickly snapped to the man who had, essentially, bought him. There was none of the cruelness that Spencer had imagined in him. He'd thought for sure that any person who would take on a teenager as a payment to a debt had to be a cruel man. Cruel or sick. He'd expected to get that feeling that some people gave him that spoke of danger and darkness. There was none of that on Jean-Luc LeBeau. He was smiling politely at them and his eyes, when they drifted over Spencer, were friendly and welcoming, with little wrinkles at the corners that suggested someone well used to smiling. They cooled quite a bit when they moved to William, though, and Spencer caught a glimpse of the danger inside the man that he'd expected to see before.

William stopped halfway into the room, Spencer just one step behind him and off to the side, and he gave that fake smile of his that he always used on clients or people he was pretending to like. "Good evening, Mr. LeBeau. My apologies for being a few minutes late. Traffic got a bit tight on the way over here."

"Not a problem." Jean-Luc reassured him. How William didn't notice the false note to the man's voice, Spencer didn't know, but it made the young teen worry. Had he misread him? Was this man not as nice as he had seemed for that instant he'd been looking at Spencer? Nausea churned in Spencer's stomach. What if this had all been a lie? What if this man didn't really want him as a companion for his son? He was a decently sized guy. Big enough, and strong looking. Plus, he was a trained thief. A master thief. William had explained some of it to Spencer earlier. He probably knew countless ways to get what he wanted. Spencer wouldn't stand a chance against him, he knew. He was too small. Short, still, though he'd been sprouting up lately, and slender as a reed. Underweight, even, according to the doctor. He wouldn't stand a chance against a full grown man.

While Spencer had been busy whipping himself into one hell of a panic, he'd apparently missed something, because William was moving over towards the desk now and gesturing for Spencer to stay where he was. There were papers there that it looked like Jean-Luc was getting William to sign. In no time at all his father had scrawled his signature across the pages and was looking up at Jean-Luc with a broad smile that he usually wore after a hard won case. He stuck his hand out to the man. "It was a pleasure doing business with you."

There was just a slight curl to Jean-Luc's lip that belied his next words. "And with you, M. Reid." He shook William's hand briefly, just a bare touching of palms.

If William noticed the man's slight, he didn't comment on it. He turned around and moved back towards Spencer, still grinning like he'd won the lottery, and was it right that a man should look so happy when he'd just signed away his only child? Spencer wanted to scream at him, to demand to know what the hell he thought he was doing. He wanted to throw himself at the man who had never given a damn for him and beg, screw his pride, to be brought back home. The need for it ran through him so strong that his body gave a slight tremble. When William got close, Spencer couldn't help himself. "Dad…" His voice was a low, pleading whisper, just one word packed full of all the fear that was burning in him right then.

"You do what you're told. Be good." William said in reply, one hand coming up to pat Spencer's cheek right over the mark from the earlier slap. Then, with nothing more than that, he turned back to the others and gave a short bow, politely said "Thank you for your generosity. You have a good evening, gentlemen," and then with nothing more than that, he turned and headed to the door.

Spencer locked his jaw and fought back the cry that wanted to rip out of him. Heat burned in the backs of his eyes, the threat of tears. His father was walking out and leaving him here. He was actually leaving him here. Up until this moment this all had seemed like some sort of hazy dream. Shock, his brain supplied. He'd been numb to so much of it because of shock. But that was fading away now with the realization that this really was going to happen .William had just sold him off to pay a debt and he was actually leaving him here now with a group of strangers that had apparently thought nothing of buying off a fourteen year old!

Apparently he wasn't the only one thinking that. "Dat's it?" A husky voice said. Spencer's gaze snapped up and focused on the other person in the room, the one he hadn't paid much attention to before. It wasn't Jean-Luc's oldest, Henri. This had to be his youngest, the one that William had said was adopted. Remy. The teenager was sitting himself up in his chair and even with his sunglasses on, it was still easy to tell that he was fixing a glare on William.

"I beg your pardon?" William stopped, turning slowly to look over to Remy. His expression was guarded, a little cautious to cover up the temper that Spencer knew how to read underneath.

Shaggy auburn hair slid down into Remy's face and he pushed it back irritably with one hand. "Y' jus' signed away y'r sons life to a family y' don't know an all y' can tell him is to be good? Aint y' got not'ing else to say to him? Like, I dunno, maybe telling him y' love him? Or dat y'r sorry?"

"He knows how I feel about him." William said stiffly. The words sent a pang through Spencer and he tried to hide his flinch.

His efforts to hide it must've been unsuccessful. A sneer crossed Remy's face. "Clearly." He drawled out.

Stiffening at the implications of that, William fought for a moment for control. When he spoke again his spine was ramrod stiff and so was his voice. "Will that be all?"

"That'll be everything." Jean-Luc said smoothly.

There was a moment where, as William turned, his eyes briefly met Spencer's. It was the first time in many years that Spencer could remember his father actually meeting him eye to eye without the usual disgusted flinch. Normally the man couldn't stand to look at Spencer's multicolored eyes. But he did now for just the briefest of moments. Then, before anyone could say another word, he turned away and was gone, striding right out the door. Spencer stood there and stared after him and felt the last little thread of hope that he'd been clutching finally fall away. This was really happening. He was really being left here. I wonder if Mom knows. What's he going to tell her? She'll be devastated when he comes home without me. Sorrow hit Spencer like a fist to the gut.

He heard movement from over by the desk that abruptly reminded him that he wasn't alone here. Spencer quickly gathered together what little pride and courage he could muster and he turned back to face the LeBeau family with his spine straight and his chin lifted as if in preparation or even a dare for a blow. The fourteen year old tried to make himself stand just a little taller and look just a little less afraid. He had no idea how he looked to them, or how miserably he failed at hiding his fear. The others could see it in his wide eyes, in the slight tremble to his slender body.

Jean-Luc's heart ached for the boy. He wanted to go to him, to reassure him that he was safe here, but he knew not to. The years after adopting Remy had taught him quite a few things about how to handle skittish children. He had a feeling that Spencer's fears were just the same as Remy's fears had been when he first came here. With that in mind, he didn't go to the boy, but chose instead to stay leaning against his desk, giving Spencer a bit of space between them. His expression softened, as did his voice. "I don't know how much y'r Papa told y', Spencer, but I'm Jean-Luc LeBeau and dis here is m' family. Dis here is m' oldest, Henri, and his younger brother, Remy." He gestured to each boy as he introduced them. "And dis woman here is Mattie."

"Tante Mattie, chile." The woman said in a voice warm and thick. She smiled brightly up at him. "Y' call me Tante Mattie, jus' like de rest of dem."

Because Spencer had been raised with manners, no matter the situation, he didn't say any of the things that were bouncing around inside of his mind. Instead, he dipped his head ever so slightly and spoke respectfully, just the way his mother had taught him. "It's a pleasure to meet you all, sirs, ma'am."

A scoff and a snort broke the formal air that had fallen over the room. Henri reached over and smacked his brother's shoulder, offering him a taunting grin. "Would y' look at dat, Rem! Bout de only time in y'r life anyone's ever gonna call y' somet'ing as nice as 'sir', yeah?"

"Bite me." Remy shot back lazily, tipping his head back to flash a smirk at his brother.

Jean-Luc rolled his eyes and let out a soft sigh. "Boys…"

"Désolé, Papa." Two voices said simultaneously.

The look on their father's face was one of fond exasperation. "Brats." There was no sting to the word, though, and he was smiling when he looked back at Spencer. "Ignore dem. Dey like to bicker. Y'll get used to it. Now, I know dere's a lot dat we should all talk about, but it's been a long day and I imagine y'r tired. Remy, why don't y' show Spencer where he'll be sleeping? We can talk more in de morning after everyone's had a good night's sleep and some breakfast."

"D'accord, Papa." Remy said. He pushed up from his chair and Henri moved with him, following over as Remy made his way right up to Spencer.

The youngest LeBeau looked at their new guest and offered him a cheeky smile that held just a hint of the devil to it. Spencer found himself wanting to smile back without quite realizing why. It took a lot of effort to keep his lips from curving. He wasn't going to smile at the man. He wasn't going to like him. These people had bought him. Why on earth would he want to be friendly to them? Maybe he had to be polite, just to make sure that this whole deal wasn't ruined, but it didn't mean he had to be friendly. Yet that resolve was hard to hold on to with Remy smiling at him like that. Then the teen stopped right beside him, just inches from him, and any resolve Spencer had flew right out the window. Remy looked down at him, sunglasses tipped down just enough that Spencer saw his red and black eyes for the first time, and in the moment that their eyes connected it was like a jolt ran through Spencer.

Images that he couldn't decipher flashed through his mind. Thoughts, feelings, sensations, all too mixed and jumbled for him to understand or decipher. He'd had visions before that he hadn't quite understood until something happened later on to make it clear. Nothing like this, though. There were so many things that he didn't quite understand, little flashes that lasted just a quarter of a second. One part of it was clear, though. Threaded through it all, underlying every single image, was a feeling of right and home and connection that seared through him like an electric jolt. His whole body trembled with it and his eyes widened. The images faded away, leaving almost nothing behind, but the sensations stayed with him. As Spencer stared at the teen in front of him, he knew, in that way of his that he could never explain, that Remy was someone important. Just as he knew that his being here, them being here together, was the start of something. What that something was, he had no idea. He just knew it was there. For one brief instant it was like he could see the threads of their future slowly weaving together. No longer separate, but together, until one couldn't be seen without the other, little threads turned into a rope strong enough to hold against anything.

Then it all started to fade and the world slowly returned around him. Spencer became aware of the fact that he was just standing there like some kind of idiot, staring up at Remy, whose smile had turned into an amused smirk that almost instantly set Spencer on the defensive. "See somet'ing y' like, petit?" Remy asked mockingly. "Je suis désolé, mais y'r a little young fo' me."

Still reeling from everything, on edge from this whole day, and never having had that great of a filter between brain and mouth to begin with, Spencer snapped back at him without thinking about it, forgetting entirely his resolve to be coolly polite. "Don't think so highly of yourself. I was simply trying to figure out what type of kid needs their father to buy them a friend."

The words were out before he could stop them. He didn't get a chance to apologize for them, either. Henri laughed long and loud and Remy's eyes flashed with something heated and just slightly dangerous. "Least mine wasn't after selling me off to be someone's ami." He snapped back.

That barb struck home and Spencer flinched back from it. He saw the flash of apology in Remy's eyes and drew back from it, not wanting the teen's apology. He could take it and shove it. Spencer wanted nothing from him.

Jean-Luc cut in before things could devolve any further. "Remy." He said sharply, his tone carrying warning to it. "Dat's enough. Take Spencer up to his room. Henri, make sure dey behave."

The LeBeau patriarch watched as the trio left the room, Remy leading the way and Henri bringing up the rear, with Spencer carefully placed between them. The newest addition to their family looked like he was bouncing between angry and utterly terrified, and really, who could blame him? This whole situation was one giant, horrible mess. How on earth had he let himself get caught up in something like this? When William had first offered up his child—his child!—as a payment for his debt, Jean-Luc had been fully prepared to deny him. There was no way he'd take out the man's debt on his child! It had been Mattie's hand on his arm that had stilled his initial reaction. She'd been the one to quietly convince him to accept what was being offered. "I hope y'r right about dis, Mattie." He told her now, looking down at her.
Taking dat boy away from his family, even with a father as horrid as dat one, it doesn't feel right."

Mattie reached over and patted his knee as if he were just a small child. She was one of the few people who could claim such familiarity with him. "Y' trust an old woman on dis, Jean-Luc. He's a good boy, dat one. He'll learn anyt'ing y' try an teach him, an y'll never have no one more faithful to y'r son dan him. Y' saw de way Spencer looked at him b'fore Remy stuck his foot in his mouth. De ties are already starting. De spirits are pleased with dis."

Long ago, Jean-Luc had learned to respect Mattie's 'spirits'. Whatever they were, they had never steered her wrong. When she spoke it was wise to listen to what she said, no matter who she claimed the information came from. Still, he couldn't help but question now and again. Especially with something like this. "Do de spirits tell y' why?"

She shook her head affectionately at him. "It aint fo' us to question why. Y' know better'n dat." She scolded him. "I don't know why dey wanted dis. I only know what dey tell me, an dat was jus' what I told y'. De boy is Remy's. Dis is de way it's supposed to be."

"I just wish I knew what de spirits have planned fo' m' boy."

"It'll all come out in time. Fo' now, be content. Y' done a good t'ing dis day."

Staring at the door that the boys, his boys, had just left, he hoped that she was right.