So this is something random and different for me that turned out with a whole lot more angst than I'd intended. I hope you guys like it! It's just CM right now, with supernatural elements. Nephilim!Spencer. Let me know what you think, please!
One of the first lessons Spencer learned in life was "Never let anyone know what you are." That had been burned into his brain for as far back as he could remember – and his memory went back further than most. There were vague, shadowy memories, there if he thought hard about it, of his very early years. Of lying in a pair of arms that felt so strong, with this feeling of content-love-safe-happy-love-right that flowed through him, with the light warm and soft all around him, and this beautiful voice that flowed through him and wrapped around him like a melody, whispering soft words to him on a song, telling him how loved he was, how beautiful and perfect, and how he must never, ever tell anyone what he was. "I won't let them hurt you," That voice promised him, so strong and sure in this misty warm world. "I'll keep them away. I won't let them find you. But you can't tell anyone what you are, my beautiful boy. My sweet, sweet boy." And the light around him became warmer and softer and it was all wrapped in love and peace and safe.
Spencer grew up knowing what he was. It was a knowledge that was always there for him. He knew it as a certainty, as present and obvious in his world as his hands or his feet. What he was, he had no name for, no words to describe it, just a sense inside of him that told him this was right. None of it seemed strange or foreign to him. Not when he was one and made a bottle appear in his crib when he was hungry. Not when he was two and threw a tantrum that sent all the books flying off the shelves. Not when he was five and sick and somehow, with a blink of his eyes, found himself in his mother's bed snuggled up against her even though he'd been in his own bed only seconds ago. None of it was strange to him. This was who he was. This was his world. His mother delighted in it, praising him and calling him her sweet little angel-baby. His father—his father feared him for it. And, in his fear, sought refuge in anger against a child who knew no other way than to be who he was.
He knew better than to show these things outside his house. That early memory never left him. "But you can't tell anyone what you are, my beautiful boy." He took that lesson to heart and never forgot it.
Sometimes, in his dreams, that voice came back to him. Those warm arms, that safe presence, wrapping him up in the that warm and soft light, with the melody that sang in his heart and that he could never find in the waking world. Those dreams were his escape. His peace. They got him through the fear in his father that grew into hatred with each passing year. They got him through the heartache of being bullied for being smart. Those dreams carried him through the terrifying years after his father left, when it was just him and his mother and he was forced to alter their roles and become the parent instead of the child, a young boy forced to become an adult at the tender age of ten. They even got him through the fear of college, of being fourteen and off at a strange school, unsure if he'd ever fit in, afraid of leaving his mother behind, studying so hard to make sure he was worthy of his scholarships. At least he didn't have to worry about money; the trust fund his mother had kept covered all their necessary expenses, including a small account for Spencer to use while away. He'd discovered that account one day when he was twelve and trying to figure out how to stretch out the little money he'd earned helping out the neighbors with errands and chores.
Who the man in the dreams was, he didn't know, but his presence in Spencer's life was as important as his mother's. In so many ways, this man was like the father that Spencer had wished to have. He held him in his dreams when the fear and pain ripped him. He talked to him. Told him stories of years gone past, of things in history, appealing to the scholar in Spencer's heart. He taught him how to control the things he did, how to keep himself safe and hidden, and how to use what he told him was rightfully his. And when Spencer was in college, he told him what he was, gave him the word for that part of him that Spencer worked so hard to keep secret from the outside world.
Nephilim.
A child born of a human and an angel.
And so taboo it was almost considered forbidden for one to be born.
Putting a name to that feeling inside of him gave Spencer a key to understanding himself more. He had a name for who he was. He had a history. And he knew, now, why he had been warned so early on to never let anyone know who he was. If word reached other angels—and how was it that he so blithely accepted who he was and yet even now, so many years later, there were times he still would sit in stunned disbelief at the idea of there actually being angels—there are some who would leave him alone, trusting that their Father would never have allowed his birth if He didn't approve, but there were others who would see him only as an abomination, something to be taken down and taken out. Destroyed. It wasn't just angels he worried about, though. He worried about humans as well. Humanity didn't exactly have a kind history towards those that were different.
So Spencer hid who he was. He hide his powers, hid the part of himself that he felt was truest, and he tried to pretend to be like everyone else. It didn't work, he knew. He was too closed off to most people, too different, too unemotional. But it was all attributed to the intelligence he'd inherited from both parents. People saw a genius and they fell into the belief that high intelligence left him awkward and socially inept. They never knew how tightly he controlled this other part of himself. He pushed it down, hid it away, and he made himself a life. He earned degree after degree in college until the day that Jason Gideon came along and offered him a place at the Bureau. Spencer leapt at the opportunity to do good. To help. It was all he'd ever wanted.
He was different, Spencer knew, and he would never be able to truly fit in if he wasn't able to show people all of who he was, but he could make himself a life to be proud of, and he could work what little good he could manage. He found himself a place at the BAU, in this little group of people who became like a second family to him, and he was content.