A rather strange AU where Spencer was created and raised by someone he knows as 'Sir'. The Spencer that the BAU knows is a lie. Who he is, who he was, are nothing like what they know. The only reason that Spencer was there was that he had a job to do. Now he's been pulled from that job and sent on something new. Sir unlocked the binding that he put on Spencer's powers and is sending him to the X-Men under the guise of needing help while, in reality, he wants any information he can to be able to take them down. But will Spencer be able to give him that information? Or, after spending time with them, will he find that for the first time in his life he can't do what he's been ordered to do?
Warnings: violence, swearing, slash, potential non-con
Okay, so more people liked this than I thought would, so I'm going to go ahead and post it on it's own here, away from ACOI. I hope you guys enjoy all the chapters as they come. I'll post them as I get them edited.
Was there anything more miserable about this side of the country than its weather? Spencer cursed the East Coast weather as he continued to make his way along a bare stretch of road. It had been cold enough when he'd started his walk; the rain that had come since then had only made things worse. Now he was drenched down to his skin and shivering. As thunder clapped overhead and lightning arced in the sky, he started to curse out loud. "Bullshit, that's what this is. Bullshit." Another shiver had him crossing his arms over his chest and stuffing his hands in his armpits. He wanted nothing more than to be in some warm hotel room, watching the rain from the warmth of the room, maybe sneaking out onto the balcony for a moment to enjoy the lighting storm. But no, he was out here on this dark, empty road, walking to a place he didn't want to be, assigned with a job he didn't want to have to do.
Want didn't factor in to this. Needs didn't factor in. Sir had tasked him with this assignment and who was Spencer to think of disobeying?
Spencer had been with Sir for as long as he could remember. Even when he'd been allowed to live with other people, to attempt to have a family, he'd still been Sir's property and he was never allowed to forget that. The product of three strong mutants, bred in a clinical setting under direct supervision of Sir, Spencer was born of a test tube and implanted into a woman of Sir's choosing. And since the day he was born, he was never allowed to forget that he wasn't human like the rest of the world. He wasn't even a mutant as others were. No, he was a creation. Non-human. A science experiment. And he belonged to Sir the same as the lab equipment.
He'd been raised to be the perfect tool for his Sir. He had a high intelligence, multiple degrees and doctorates, was proficient in many languages and the accents that went with them, and quite talented in not only hand to hand combat, but weaponry as well, and all of that was before his mutation was factored in.
Could it accurately be called a mutation in a being that was non-human and had been specifically bred for this ability? Spencer pondered that for a few minutes as a way to distract himself from the freezing rain. Sir had bred together these powerful mutants to attempt to get a powerful offspring. Spencer was the only one that he had kept alive once his powers had manifested. He was Omega class, Sir told him. At his full potential, he would be able to destroy half the country with but a thought, Sir said. And what was it that he could control that was so dangerous?
Lightning flashed overhead and had Spencer smiling slightly. His skin tingled in response to the electrical display even as it was dulled down by the water falling from the sky. He had to resist the urge to reach out to that lightning and channel the energy that he could feel. That was his main mutation; electrical control. He could absorb, conduct, create, generate and control electricity of various intensities. With a touch, he could control any objet through its electricity. He could shut down the power grid of an entire city with one finger.
There was also his healing ability, which Sir said was not technically a mutation but more a part of the electricity inside of his body working to keep it from killing him when it was inside of him. But he did possess a secondary mutation that was strong, even if it wasn't as strong as his offensive power. He was an empath. That, out of everything, had created the most trouble for him. Sir had never blocked any part of that power for Spencer, not overly concerned with the effect of emotions on him except to add them to his observations. However, he did teach Spencer how to shield his mind, using that shield to keep the emotions at bay so that they didn't overwhelm him. At least, nowhere near as much as they had used to.
Sir had shielded his mind, however, so that Spencer never fully used his electrical power. While on his last assignment, Sir had kept that shielding on, preventing Spencer from being able to create anything more than simple currents. But once he'd pulled him from that assignment and sent him on this one, his mental blocks had slowly been dissolving, Sir had taught him only enough to keep the charge off his skin. Granted, there were still times that Spencer couldn't keep it off his hands when his emotions got the best of him, but that was what he had these gloves for. Rubber insulated gloves with their leather outside kept him from conducting electricity with his hands and from absorbing it into him.
It was a good thing Sir had helped him learn to keep it off his skin, or Spencer never would have made it from Virginia to New York. He'd had to leave behind pretty much everything but a bit of money when he left his last place, which meant that he hadn't had a car. A train had brought him a bit of the ways and hitchhiking had brought him the rest. There was no way he would've been able to ride with anyone if he hadn't been able to keep the charge off his skin. There would've been a whole lot of walking, then. Luckily, that wasn't the case, and he'd had a ride most of the way. This last car had dropped him off not far from his destination, refusing to drive any closer, and Spencer had finally had no choice but to walk.
Not that his clothes were exactly conducive to walking. In the rain. At night. But, a person does what they have to, right?
A stone caught Spencer's heel, almost rolling his ankle. He cursed as he stumbled. Just barely he managed to keep from falling to the ground. "Dammit!" he snapped. Looking down, he kicked at the offending rock, not feeling the least bit better. Maybe a person did what they had to, but it didn't mean that they had to like it. He looked down at his boots with their thick heel and resisted the urge to sigh. They were perfect for strolling at night, keeping his feet comfortable for hours standing on a corner or in a quick run from the cops, but they didn't exactly lend themselves to long walks on the side of a dark road.
Sir had been very specific on the image he'd wanted Spencer to project here. He wanted Spencer to look young, like someone on the streets who'd had to rely on his wit and his body to get by. Well, this outfit sure did it. The tight, low slung jeans were even tighter than normal from the rain plastering them to his skin. The A-shirt he wore didn't offer much in the way of warmth or protection and he had no jacket to put on over it. The leather bracelet around his wrist felt like it was made of ice; leather did not hold heat well. Even his Fedora was more for looks than practicality. It did nothing to keep him dry, although it did shelter his face just enough to keep his sunglasses semi dry, allowing him to still see. But every bit of him was cold and wet—even the rucksack over his shoulder with his few meager possessions was soaked. The clothes were what he usually wore when 'working' at night because they showed off his frame in its best light. He was tall, but the heels made him taller. His body was long and lean, mostly angles and pale skin. He'd never been able to put any kind of weight on whatsoever and countless times being on the streets and starving when Sir threw him out to fend for himself had put a sort of starved look to parts of him that never seemed to fully go away.
But he was still considered attractive. No matter how much sunshine he went in, he still maintained mostly pale skin—smooth as a baby's, he'd been told. Chestnut hair hung to his shoulders with little flips and curls at the ends, framing a face that could draw eyes with the right help. He had naturally high cheekbones and wide eyes and a mouth that people often told him was just begging to be kissed. Usually he worse sunglasses, sheltering his eyes so that they weren't seen. While on his last assignment, Sir had given him contacts to hide the fact that Spencer's eyes were pure white—a sign, Sir said, that he wasn't human. He was soulless. The only time his eyes had color was when he was embracing his electrical powers. Then, he'd been told lightning seemed to spark inside of them.
Lifting one hand, he sheltered those eyes, trying to see through the pouring rain to gauge how close he was to his destination. When lighting lit the sky once more, he caught a vague glimpse of the mansion in the distance, still a ways away. But it was there. Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Home of the X-Men. And the place of his next assignment.
"You are to go to Xavier's school." Sir had told him before he'd sent him on his way. Gaze raptor sharp, he'd stared at Spencer, making sure he understood. "I want you to infiltrate the school and the X-Men. Become one of them by any means necessary. While there, I want you to gather intelligence on its members, the school, and their technology. Everything that you can so that we can assess their threat level and deal with them accordingly if it becomes necessary. You are not to tell them that you work for me, but the rest of what you tell them is up to you. You will go there under the guise of a young mutant needing help controlling his powers. This at least will not be a lie. I will check in with you every other night for a week to see if you have arrived there safely."
Only half of his time limit had gone by so far. It had taken a full day to extract himself from his previous assignment. He'd had to do tons of paperwork to officially end his stay as SSA Dr. Spencer Reid, Profiler for the FBI. They had been loath to lose him and his team had most definitely tried to stop him. But he'd told them that he was leaving and there had been nothing that was going to stop him. Once the paperwork was done and he once more became simply Dr. Spencer Reid, he'd sold the items in his 'apartment'—a cover maintained solely for the assignment—and he'd canceled the lease. Then he'd left to start his new assignment. Infiltrate the X-Men and report back to Sir. By far, one of his easier assignments. Gathering information wasn't hard for him. It would be gaining the trust of the team enough to be allowed to 'become' one of the X-Men that was going to be difficult. More than that, learning to control his powers would be difficult. Sir dissolving his shields and leaving him exposed to the full extent of his capabilities had guaranteed that he would actually need their help, lending credence to his story, but it left him susceptible to his powers as well. He knew Sir wouldn't have cared about that.
A sudden glare of lights hit the road in front of Spencer. A vehicle came around the corner behind him, their headlights lighting the way. Because of the corner, they didn't see Spencer until they were practically on top of him. The young doctor dodged to the side, his ankle finally wrenching as he stumbled off the road and onto the uneven ground. His hands darted out, just barely managing to catch him before he would have face planted on the ground. Pain exploded in his left ankle.
The air filled with the sound of squealing brakes. When Spencer was back on his feet, he saw the car had skidded to a stop a few feet ahead of him. Even knowing that it wasn't the driver's fault, Spencer still glared at the figures that came rushing over at him, mouth open to snap and snarl at them. His words died an early death in his mouth when he caught sight of those coming at him.
One of the men was large—big enough that he could probably snap Spencer with one hand, despite being quite a bit shorter than him. There was something about him that just screamed dangerous to Spencer's instincts. He'd learned to trust those instincts a long time ago.
The other one was Spencer's height, even with these heels, and he was built more compact than the muscular man with him. Not as lean as Spencer, but lean still. There was obvious muscle in that slender form. There was also something about him that set off Spencer's instincts. The man may have looked smaller than his friend—and definitely much hotter—but he was just as dangerous. Spencer couldn't help bracing his body in preparation for whatever they might do. He thought vaguely of his knives and if he'd be able to get to them in time to defend himself.
"Jesus shit, kid, are you ok?" The bigger man said. He moved right toward him, stopping suddenly when Spencer took an instinctive step back.
The other man stopped beside his friend. "Did y' get hurt, homme? Look at y'! Wolvie, he's soaked t' de skin!" The thick Cajun accent gave the words a warm sound that part of Spencer ached to respond to.
The large man glared at his friend. "Quit calling me Wolvie." He snapped before looking to Spencer again. "What're you doing walking on this road so late at night and in the rain, kid? Is there somewhere we can take you? A place we can drop you off?"
Spencer finally seemed to find his voice in the onslaught of questions. "I'm on my way to Xavier's school." Maybe, if he was lucky, these two were going that way. There didn't seem to be anything else in the distance. The idea of getting a ride and not having to walk the rest of the distance had him wanting to beg and plead. He was cold, tired, and now his ankle was throbbing in tune with his heartbeat.
The two men exchanged a look before they gestured toward the car. "Come on, homme." The Cajun called over the sound of more thunder. "We'll take y' dere."
It took effort for Spencer to grit his teeth and force himself to start moving. His ankle was screaming now that he was walking on it and he had to fight not to collapse, but he made it to their car and gratefully climbed in through the door the Cajun held open for him, putting his wet bag down between his knees as he sat. It wasn't until he was inside and the door was shut that he realized that they'd put him in the front passenger's seat with the big guy driving. Fear clenched in his stomach, ruthlessly shoved down.
When the car turned on, the heaters kicked on as well, almost making him moan. He couldn't stop himself from leaning toward his vent, his shivering body trying to absorb as much heat as possible. The big guy noticed and cursed suddenly. He yanked his jacket off even as he started driving down the road, tossing it to Spencer once he was free of it. "Here, wrap up in this. You're soaked straight through and you've barely got any excuse for clothes on. How long you been walking out there?"
Spencer gratefully stuffed his arms in the coat, pulling it close. It was wet from them coming out in the rain to get him, but it still held the man's body heat and it felt wonderful. Glancing at the clock in the dash, Spencer calculated the time that had passed since he'd been dropped off by the last person he'd hitchhiked with. "I got dropped off on the road about two hours ago." He finally answered. "Been walking since then."
"Two hours in dis?" The Cajun said with what sounded like sympathy. "Mais, no wonder y'r soaked. Y' shoulda found somewhere t' hole up fo' de night, homme. Weather like dis aint de best t' be walking round in."
"Found that out." Spencer stammered out. He saw the mansion coming closer and closer; the guy was driving fast.
Leaning forward, the Cajun stuck his head between the seats and looked over at Spencer. "M' name's Remy, mon ami, and dis be Logan. Are y' sure y'r ok? We didn't hurt y', did we? Didn't see y' till we got round de corner."
"I'm fine, thanks." Biting his lip, he looked from one to the other. They'd probably expect his name now. Well, he'd give them something. "They call me Inanime."
Logan shot him a look right as they pulled up to the mansion's gate. "That don't sound like a regular name."
For a brief second Spencer felt a pang in his heart, there and gone again in a flash. "It's not." He said simply. Long ago he'd grown used to that name. Watching them, he saw the man punch in a code for the gate quickly and realized that he'd been right, these two had been heading here. He said nothing on it as the car made its way up the driveway and into the garage. Only once the car was off did Spencer speak up again. "Thank you." He told them, starting to take Logan's jacket off to hand it to him.
Logan held his hand out and shook his head. "Keep it on for a bit till we find you a place to get warmed up. Come on, kid. We'll get you inside and see what we can do for you."
He couldn't help but give them a strange look as they all climbed from the car. "You two don't seem too surprised to have a stranger showing up in the middle of the night." He pointed out with more bravery than he felt. No matter that he'd developed a hard outer shell, being around people still made him terrified on the inside. He'd just become a pro at shielding it away so that no one knew. When you let others know you were scared, it only handed them a weapon.
Remy flashed him a grin as he shut his door. "Dat's not unusual round dese parts, homme. We learned t' get used t' dat long time ago. Now, let's go find de Professor."
"He or Jean probably already sensed us coming, Gumbo. Wouldn't surprise me if we've got a welcoming committee inside." Logan called to him.
For a bit Spencer managed to follow them even with his pained ankle. They went out of the garage and through the rain to the front door. But when he had to take those few steps up the porch and had to put all his weight on that ankle, it finally had enough and started to collapse underneath him, wringing a sharp hiss past his lips. He startled when hands grabbed him, catching him before he could hit the ground. First instinct was to yank away. But a glance showed him it was simply Remy trying to help him stay upright. The Cajun was looking at him with concern over the top of his sunglasses, letting Spencer see the red on black eyes that the glasses had hidden before. This man was a mutant. He barely had time to log that away before he was being cursed at in Cajun. "Y' said y' wasn't hurt! Couillon!"
"It's nothing." Spencer instantly defended. Habit had him trying to minimize his injury in any way possible. No weakness. "I'm fine."
"Oh, are y'? Den just walk right on in dere if y'r so fine."
Too used to commands like this, Spencer missed the sarcasm and simply took the words as an order. He pulled himself away from Remy's hands and forced himself as hard as could be so that he could take that last step up. It hurt, like sharp knives stabbing into his skin, but he managed to do it and to start toward the door with only a minimal limp. He'd only made it just two steps before Remy was back at his side, grabbing his arm and ducking underneath it. His voice was so much gentler this time as he said. "Stubborn lil shit. Can feel y'r pain, mon ami. Didn't mean fo' y' to really walk on y'r own. Not cruel, me. We'll get y' in and den we'll get Henri t' look at y'. He's our doctor."
Logan opened the door, holding it wide so that Remy and Spencer could limp inside. As Logan had predicted, they were met by a welcoming committee. There was a woman with dark skin and white hair that was watching them with a look that transformed to surprise. There was also a red haired beauty that was practically radiating concern and a slight trace of suspicion. From the basic descriptions that Sir had given him, those had to be Storm and the Phoenix, or Ororo and Jean.
The other one present was one that Spencer recognized from what Sir had told him. Cyclops, aka Scott, with his sunglasses on that controlled the optic blast in his eyes when he wasn't wearing his battle visor. Scott took one look at them and shot forward on a curse, quickly getting himself underneath Spencer's other arm, either oblivious to the boy's flinch or ignoring it. "What the hell did you two do to him?" he demanded of the two.
"T'ink he rolled his ankle." Remy explained in a calm voice. "Went round de corner and didn't see him walking. He jumped outta de way, but t'ink he might've rolled it as he went, yeah."
"I'll call for Hank." Jean said quickly. "In the meantime, let's get you in Scott's office. You are absolutely soaked through, all of you. The professor will meet us there momentarily."
So it was that Spencer found himself inside the mansion of the X-Men, with two of them helping him limp his way down the hall. He was dripping wet, injured, and being watched with quite a bit of suspicion, but he was in. Now it was time to get to work.