A few quick AN's here. One, the town in here, Rigors, is made up. Two, the big one here. Okay, so, I was talking with cr8zymommy today about the poll I have running and, currently, healing touch is in the top two, I believe. So her and I were talking about a story that might work for that and she told me that she'd started to write a story for me before she got sick. She had two chapters done and some general outlines. It involves Spencer/Remy, of course, and it has a healing touch as a power for Spencer in it, though not right away. It is also what she loosely labels 'supernatural', though it's not really. There's a 'bond' in here that's slightly reminiscent of the Sentinel/Guide bond in "The Sentinel" fanfiction. So, really, it's not supernatural, I think, but it does have a sort of feel to it for this 'bond'. So, on top of my usual disclaimer that I don't own Marvel, Criminal Minds, or anything connected to the two, just to cover my bases I'll say I don't own Petfly or The Sentinel either.
Now, I'm posting these two chapters that cr8zmommy already had done and I want your opinion, folks. Do you want me to continue this? Do you think I should take up her good notes and finish the story? I think I should but I want to know what you all think. Let me know!
"Okay, everyone, it looks like you're all heading to a nice little out of the way city of Rigors, Connecticut." Remote in hand, Penelope made her way around the round table, pressing a button to bring up photos of twelve different faces on the screen; seven were male, five were female. "Locals there have definitely found a case they either can't handle, or don't really care to handle. Right now it's looking to be about fifty-fifty."
"Don't care to handle?" Emily asked with surprise. "Why exactly don't they care?"
Penelope took her seat and crossed her legs, sighing a little. "And that, my dear, is the first step into the minefield of this case. Apparently Connecticut has made it known in some ways that they're not that tolerant of people who are different. Namely, mutants. Someone there doesn't seem to like that and they're taking people, both mutant and non-mutant alike, and holding them for three days before killing them to show their 'protest'."
When Penelope trailed off, Aaron picked up the slack. "The Unsub is making it blatantly clear that neither human nor mutant is safe. There's no pattern to which one he takes. The only requirement is that, when he takes a mutant, they either have something visible to show them as one, or they're left in a way that shows them as one."
"Death is a great equalizer. He's showing them that, in the end, humans and mutants are all the same." Derek said. He flipped over the information on his tablet, looking at the pictures there. "It looks like he's quite extensive in what he does."
"Is he using the torture to make a point or for his own enjoyment, though?" Ashley asked.
Spencer flipped a page on the file in his hands, not even looking up as he answered her. "From the increase in torture with each victim, I would say he started out torturing solely to prove that humans and mutants all feel the same. Somewhere along the way, he discovered his enjoyment of. Now the torture is just as important to him as anything else, if not more so."
"The local police chief wanted our help ages ago." Penelope told them. "But he couldn't get the backing for it because people didn't seem to care about the mutants dying. It was once the body count for the human portion went up that they agreed to get help."
Aaron set his tablet down and looked at the victim photos on the big screen. "We need to get out there and stop him before anyone else has to die." That said, Aaron rose to his feet. "Grab your bags. Wheels up in thirty."
The flight to Connecticut seemed to drag on for Spencer. The team discussed the case as they always did during the flight. They tried to figure out anything that they could about the man they were hunting. It was agreed that he wasn't just some mission based killer, despite what he seemed to be wanting to display. The hatred that he showed for his victims was too strong for someone simply on a mission. And the hatred was evident, not only in their kidnapping and murder, but in the torture he inflicted over the three days that he held them. The things he did to them had Spencer's stomach clenching tight. But more than that, Spencer found himself scared as he looked down at the papers in his hand. Because there was one thing about Spencer that no one at the Bureau except for those on his team knew about—Spencer Reid was a mutant.
When he had first been approached by Gideon to join the FBI, the man had come already armed with the knowledge of Spencer's mutation. How, Spencer still didn't know, as he kept it a secret from almost everyone. Yet Gideon had known. Spencer could still remember their conversation as they'd stood in a secluded part of the parking lot at Caltech. Gideon had given him that look he was famous for, the one that made a person feel as if he could see right through them, and he said "What would you do if I told you I could get you into the Bureau? I've been watching you, Dr. Reid. I've seen the interest you have. If I told you I could get you in, get you past the medical examinations, without anyone ever discovering you're a mutant…if I told you I could do all that, what would you say to me?"
He had answered "What do I need to do?" and that had started his career at the FBI. Never once had Spencer looked back. And though he had gone through some hard times, he could say now that he wouldn't change that decision if he could. All of the good he had done with this job was important to him. Sure, there were things he had done, things that had been done to him, that he wished had never happened. Things he wished he could forget. But he had done plenty that he was proud of as well.
Never once in his career had he been so tempted to tell his boss that he wanted to sit a case out. Yet he couldn't bring himself to do it for so many different reasons. One—he wanted to help these people. He wanted to stop this monster. Two—he would not let fear rule his life. And three—it wasn't as if he were truly in any more danger than normal with this job. Just because the man was killing humans and mutants didn't mean that Spencer was automatically more at risk. The Unsub hunted mutants with visible mutations, and Spencer's mutation wasn't visible. He was an empath; a strong empath. One who also had the ability to sense the energy in the world around him. Sometimes he felt as if he could reach out and touch that energy, draw it to him even, but he had always held himself back from him. Always he had pushed that thought away. He was already enough of a freak, no need to make it worse.
No, asking to me taken off was not an option. It was cowardly and if there was one thing that Spencer wasn't, it was a coward. What he needed was to get himself together. There was no reason for him to worry. The Unsub was hunting mutants that were visibly a mutant, not secretly mutant federal agents. Plus, it wasn't like his team was really going to even let him out of their sight while on this case. Already he could see the protectiveness in the way that Derek was sitting semi close, without crowding him, and the way that Aaron, Dave and Emily all kept glancing his direction as if to check on him. The only person that didn't do any of that was Ashley and that was because she was too new on the team for Spencer to tell her his secret. He didn't know her well enough to trust her yet. But the rest of the team knew and they would look out for him. Even though he didn't fit the victimology, they would watch out for him, just in case. Maybe if he just kept reminding himself of that, he might make it through this okay.
Lost in his thoughts, Spencer didn't think about how quiet he'd been through not only the second half of the plane right, but also on the car ride to the station. Not until Derek caught him on their way from the SUV's and toward the station. He hung back a little, snagging Spencer's arm. "Hey, Reid. Are you okay, man?" He asked him in a low voice.
Spencer tried to put on his most reassuring smile at the same time that he cursed himself for not hiding it better. He knew how protective Derek was. It was bad enough that the man was already starting to get protective because of this; if he realized just how irrationally worried Spencer was, his protectiveness would get even wore. "I'm fine, Morgan."
The other man's eyes flashed toward the group walking just a bit in front of him and back over to Spencer. "You know everything's gonna be fine, right? This guy, you don't fit perfectly in his victimology. And even if you did, we aren't gonna let anything happen to you."
"I know."
Slipping his hand up, Derek gave Spencer's shoulder a squeeze. "Just remember that I'm here if you need to talk, okay? And all of us would understand if you felt you needed to sit this one out or take some time off."
Right there was an easy out for Spencer to step back from this case and not have to worry. Yet something about Derek's offer only made it seem that much more important that he stay. Though he gave the man a smile of appreciation, he reiterated "I'm fine. But thank you."
There was no time for Derek to press the issue. The two had to hurry up to catch up with the others so that they came into the station all at the same time. The chief met them in the station bullpen, shaking Aaron's hand when he reached him. "Agent Hotchner? Thanks for coming, folks. I'm Chief Maurer. I really appreciate you coming out."
"Of course." Aaron reassured him. "This is my team. Agents Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss, Seaver, and Dr. Reid. Is there a room that we can set up in? We'd like to get right to work."
As always, Aaron smoothly got them started. Dave and Ashley were sent down to the coroners while Derek and Emily went to the most recent dump site. That left Spencer working the geographical profile while Aaron was trying to run through victimology. So far, there seemed to be nothing that they all shared in common. "So how is it that he picks them?" Aaron murmured at the board. "There has to be something he does, something he sees, that makes him choose them. We just need to figure out what that something is."
The BAU wasn't the only team that was hunting down this Unsub on the outskirts of Rigor, Connecticut. There was another team that was hunting them as well. Only, this team was slightly different. They weren't BAU. They weren't even police officers. In fact, by most law enforcement officials, they'd be considered terrorists. Remy LeBeau and Logan sat parked in a car down the street from the house of the man they were hunting, hidden by some trees; the man the BAU was on their way to see. They had been tracking the man for quite a while now, ever since they'd been sent for recon when the information crossed Scott's desk. Their leader had told them "Go out there and see what you can figure out. If the whispers we hear from there are true, the guy's a mutant. That makes him our problem. See if it's true and if you can find him and then call in and we'll send a team out to you. If it turns out it's a false lead, come back home."
They'd both been chosen to go for different reasons. Logan, very obviously for his tracking abilities and Remy because there was no one better to gather information from people. The Cajun could navigate city streets and track through people and information just as easily as Logan could travel the woods and track by sight or hearing or smell. That made them the perfect team, no matter where this man traveled to. It also helped that the two had often worked together and they made a good team.
It had only taken two days for them to track the guy down to this residence. They'd called in, just like they were supposed to, and Scott had a team on the way out there. It was just a matter of watching and waiting, something neither one was very fond of. Remy had his seat slightly reclined and his long legs kicked up, feet hanging out the window. A cigarette sat in one hand, currently dangling out the window. In the other hand he walked a quarter back and forth over his knuckles. Logan was smoking as well, his cigar creating a slightly thicker smoke. Logan looked as if his eyes weren't going anywhere in particular while Remy's eyes were hidden behind shades, almost giving him the appearance of being asleep. However, both men had their eyes locked firmly on the house ahead of them.
"Merde." Remy drawled the curse out just as lazily as he was doing everything else at the moment. He brought his cigarette up and pulled in a long drag, exhaling slowly. "By de time dey get here, we all gon' be old and gray."
Logan snorted and slanted a quick look over to his friend. "Dramatic much, Gumbo?"
Humor quirked the corner of Remy's mouth. "Y' just now figuring dat out, mon ami?" He knew Logan well enough to recognize the look on his face as one of amusement, though others might've seen it and the headshake and thought that the Wolverine was annoyed. Remy knew better. He'd spent enough time with his friend and seen him in all sorts of moods that it was easy for him to identify what Logan was feeling just by looking at his face. Though he could always reach out with his 'charm' and sense what the man felt, he avoided doing that. It wasn't as pleasant as someone might think to feel someone else's emotions. And there was always a risk of feeling too much. Better to just use the skills he'd learned over the years and read a person's face or body language. Those could tell you plenty enough about someone's mood, if you knew how to look.
The car had fallen silent once more and Remy contemplated breaking it somehow when someone up ahead caught his attention. It only took a second to place and then he and Logan were letting out curses at almost the same time. The Feds were here. "Merde! What de hell we gon' do now? Dey gon' get demselves killed in dere!" Remy spat out. He'd sat up straight in his seat, his lounge position completely gone. He watched as the agents parked and quickly moved from their cars, local police right behind them.
Logan was already grinding his cigar out in the ashtray and reaching for his door handle. "We're gonna save their asses, that's what." With no more than that, he was climbing out the door.
With another stream of curses, Remy climbed out of the truck as well, hurrying to follow his friend. "Oh, dat's all, eh?" He grumbled to himself. "Just gon' go right on into dis house where de FBI and police are tryin' to arrest someone and just offer our help. Yeah, dat's gon' go over well, dat. Gon' get our asses shot, dat's what we're gon' do." Still, despite his grumbles, he stuck close behind Logan as they ran through the trees towards the property.
They were just getting close to the house when someone took off towards the trees, followed by another group of people. It didn't take a genius to figure out that their guy was racing for the forest and the agents were hot on his tail. Remy and Logan shifted direction and headed after them. Something tugged at Remy's mind, something strange, but he pushed it back as they heard a loud shout up ahead, followed by a gunshot. There was a brief pause and then more shouting, a little clearer this time. "FBI! Drop the weapon!"
Logan and Remy both slowed as they got closer. Rushing into a situation full of guns wasn't the smart plan here. They moved stealthily now, watching as the clearing came into view, showing them the scene playing out there. By silent agreement they decided to watch before acting. Rushing out there could get either one of them shot, and while Logan would heal quickly from something like that, Remy wouldn't. But that strange sensation was pushing its way forward in Remy's mind once more, distracting him from what was going on. There was this sensation of danger that he could at least explain slightly, considering their situation, though it was stronger than it should've been. But there was something else tugging at him. This…protectiveness. A need to defend. It was almost like what he felt sometimes when in a fight with his Stormy at his side. There was always that need to protect her. This was like that, just—stronger. It was no longer nagging at him, but demanding, making itself known. Only, who did he need to protect?
From his position by a tree, Remy scanned those in front of him. The man they were hunting, Jason Ulner, was standing with his back by some trees off to the right, his gun pointed towards the young woman he held in his arms. To the left were five FBI agents and more police officers were coming up behind them. All of them had their guns out. One of them, a serious looking man in a suit, was talking, trying to talk Jason down. The girl in Jason's arms was sobbing, looking absolutely terrified.
Was it her that he felt this urge for? Of course he wanted to help her. But what about her would make this urge so strong? It took everything Remy had not to move out into the clearing and take this man down with a few well-placed cards, even knowing that it would likely get him shot.
Then suddenly someone else stepped forward from the group and Remy's full attention snapped straight to him. The man was scrawny and he looked young, yet he dressed more like a professor than an FBI agent. Black slacks, converse shoes, a grey shirt and a tie with a black sweater over it all that was just visible underneath his bulletproof vest. Shaggy brown hair blew towards his face only to be ignored. Remy couldn't help but stare at him. Then he saw the young man hold his hands up on either side, making a show of putting his weapon away, and that protective part of Remy snarled furiously at the loss of weapon while the rest of the Cajun went into shock. Him? This was the guy triggering this instinct? This FBI agent?
Remy didn't have time to think on it. Hell, he didn't seem to have the ability to think of anything but the young agent trying to talk to the psycho with the gun. He was moving towards him slightly, hands held out and empty at his sides, drawing the man's attention to him. Remy extended his senses, reaching out to Jason to try and gauge his feelings, and that was the only thing that gave him any kind of warning. The girl tried to jerk away and the agent moved and suddenly Jason's fury peaked. The gun in his hand shifted to point towards the agent and Remy knew what was going to happen.
Remy didn't stop to think about the vest or how it would save the man from a shot. He didn't think about the countless others around them that would fire on the man. He didn't even think of Logan standing beside him, hissing something his direction. Remy reacted off of an instinct he hadn't even known was there, yet couldn't deny. Without conscious thought he was moving, a charged card flying from his hand to blow in the air above Jason's head. It startled the man enough that he dropped the girl, who went racing towards Logan, who was now emerging from the trees as well. Remy threw another card right at Jason's feet, intending to knock him back. But his attack had drawn Jason's attention and no sooner had his card left than the man not only struck out with his mind, but he fired his gun.
If it hadn't been for the mental attack, Remy's reflexes would've saved him from the gunshot. But the sharp stab at his mind, weak as it was, was just enough of a distraction that he moved a hair too slow. Agony sliced through his side, a hot flame tearing through his body, sending him down to his knees.
Somewhere in the background, Remy heard crashes and growls and shouts. All of it sounded kind of muffled, though. Like he was hearing it through water. Arms came around him and he felt them moving him. Abruptly he was being laid out on the ground and there was someone above him, leaning over him, and he realized that the arms that held him belonged to the agent he'd been watching. The one he'd been unable to stop himself from protecting.
The guy was pulling off his vest and then the sweater he wore. He pressed the sweater against Remy's side and pain flared white hot and bright. At his groan of pain, the guy started to speak, his voice pitched to be as soothing as possible. "I know, I know. I'm sorry, but I need to put pressure on it to stop the bleeding until the ambulance can get here." Brown eyes locked onto his and Remy was gripped by the look there. So much concern from someone who didn't even know him. "We're going to get you help. Don't you worry. Help is on the way."
It seemed so strange to think that he'd lived through so many things, had survived horrors that would've destroyed lesser people, and he was going to be brought down by a bullet taken while protecting a scrawny FBI agent he'd never even met before. Of all ways he'd thought he would finally die, this hadn't been one of them.
Something reached out through Remy's pain, something warm, almost hot. It called to him; to a place deep inside. That same part of him that had come to life when he saw this agent in danger now reached out to that heat. Remy had no idea what was going on or what any of this was. He wasn't questioning anything. That heat beckoned to him and he ached with everything inside of him to answer the call. That place in him and that heat pushed to one another and there was a brief pause before they touched; a calm in the storm. Then the two touched and everything in Remy exploded in a flash of heat and light and sound. It was as if he were being filled with sunshine; liquid sunshine. It poured into him, racing through his veins, running through the passages of his mind, filling places he hadn't known were empty. It was sheer agony—it was absolute Heaven! It flared so bright he was blinded by it. He was the light.
A guttural cry echoed around them. Whether it came from him or from the man above him, he didn't know. The light grew brighter and stronger until, with one final burst, he could take no more. The light was replaced with the darkness and Remy slid down into unconsciousness, not even noticing the body that slumped down over him.