Author's Note: Long-ass fucking week, and it's still not over, yet. Uggggh. So sorry I didn't update yesterday, dearies. You don't even want to know — trust me. The only good thing about yesterday was Criminal Minds officially announcing it's 11th season — annnnd now the show is officially longer-running than Friends. Even thinking about it makes me smile stupidly.
Anyhoo, in this chapter, we get to meet a few more characters, and really start to get Spencer's views on socializing, and what he thinks about the entire situation with Morgan, or people in general. As per requests, I'm trying to soften things up a bit, but . . . Well, it's Reid. You expect drama with the pretty face and dorky hair, non?
Warnings: Chapter names are borrowed from the "I'm With You" song lyrics. Major AU, kid!fic with two of my favorite CM boys, series-wide Criminal Minds spoilers, angst, melodrama . . . think of everything you hated about being a teenager, and multiply it by Spencer Reid. Ye have been warned.
Kudos:autumnamberleaves: Trust me, I'm hooked too! It's really becoming a problem, trying to get up early to write this, but so, SOOOO worth it.
Annber03: I think you're absolutely right about Reid/Garcia interactions being some of the best there are; she's such a loving auntie-type, and everyone wants to snuggers that little genius to death. They fit so well, I nearly ship them — sadly, though, I just can't take it that far. I think the only time her clothes will be coming off for him will be in instances like the previous chapter, LOLz. Again, I don't want to hurt you with all the angst . . . the show's just too full of it not to mention some things here and there — which, by the way, made me giggle so much that you caught Reid's fear of the inherent absence of light, too . . . And more whumpiness is coming in the form of two very special guest-stars, but there's a happy ending in store for this fic already, I promise you! I'm so glad you took a chance on this, though. It means a lot to me that you truly like it.
Kas3y: Truly, I LOVE the way your mind works — those are some of my most favorite types of stories, because they're more realistic than most fanfics, or even TV shows they're based off of, even if it's sad. Alas, though, I could never make it work. I love Diana Reid way too much, and I don's want to make her a bad guy, ya know? Thanks for the suggestion, though; I'll think about adding some more backstory, in that respect. And I really appreciate your time in reviewing, too. I hope this continues to work for you, even if it's veering. *Smiles*
silverwrym: First off — your enthusiasm is infectious, and makes me want to write more. Stop that! I have to got to bed. XD. And while I definitely can't tell you everything, I do promise that at least one of those characters is going to make an appearance — and soon. Three guesses who. I'm honestly thinking that the story won't quite stretch that far into the future; I wanted to talk about Spencer in the immediate aftermath of the bullyg, and explore how he managed to pull himself back from the brink of destruction, or something . . . Dunno if I'll cover when he goes back to school (if he does *Evil laugh*), I'll have to see how I feel if and when we get to that point. In the meantime, there's still plenty of angst and sharing of secrets to be done; I hope you'll still be entertained, m'dear. Thanks, again!
Sue1313: I totally agree with you about the dynamic between Morgan and Garcia. Yeah, either can be just a bit intimidating on their own, but together, they make for this delightfully insane couple, part serious and protective and part whimsical and joking. I ship them constantly, and thought their relationship might work for this fic. I'm glad you like it, though — we'll see some more of them, soon!
DarkJediQueen: I promise, you won't need the patience of a saint, LOLz. I tend to update at least weekly, once I get a story going. No doubt you'll be seeing Chapter #4 within a few days, too. I'm so glad I've got your readerliness, though. It makes the place where my heart should be sing.
write that wrong: LOVE your username, just so you know. And thanks for the marvelous compliment! I've always loved AUs for just that reason, seeing the people I adore told in new and different ways — which is a challenge, but a fun one. I'm sure you'll like the next chapter, as well — I've still got another backstory to tell, and then some actual plot. Thanks for the lovely review!
omgnotagain: Short, sweet, and to-the-point. Thank you, too. Awesome review!
AZCatmom: I can't even tell you how nervous that whole thing made me, with the Tillman Bridge. I was researching for HOURS trying to find one that fit what I wanted, but . . . unless I moved the story out of Vegas, it wasn't happening. But I'm glad it works for you — and somehow, no matter where you go, things seem to mirror one another irrevocably, non? Thank you so much for the wonderful comments — I find writing incredibly soothing, even if it's not my forte, and it really means a lot to me that you think it's good. I hope you'll like the next bits as well, as I'm going to start twisting some of the characters to advance the plot, you know. *Grins* Can't wait!
Disclaimer: As much as it breaks my heart, I own neither Criminal Minds, nor Fanficnet, nor the wonderful ballad to which this story was written. I just adore all three from the bottom of the place where my heart is supposed to be. *Grins*
Enjoy!
Chapter Three
Looking For A Place, Searching For A Face
As the pair had drawn closer and closer to the other side of the massive bridge, the area around them had gotten lighter and lighter and lighter, credit to a number of small trash-can and bon-fires that were burning slowly all around them. As they approached, Reid could begin to make out some figures grouped around various burnings, and he quickly cast his eyes away again, always hesitant around people.
Instead, the young genius studied the walls of the underside, faintly admiring the way that the flickering light created a warm glow in the area, casting off of the graffiti-covered cement in a way that didn't seem as scary as it did, well . . .
beautiful.
Not a word he'd normally associate with a place where the homeless gathered at night, but . . . there it was.
Nothing else about this place was normal, anyway.
After passing a few more clusters of adolescents – none of whom appeared to be as young as Reid, and quite a few who seemed older than Morgan – the duo was within shouting distance of a small group of kids gathered around a particularly large bonfire. Reid couldn't quite make out any distinct features, but he could see at least two girls, and possibly three guys.
He froze instinctively, and once more, Derek somehow seemed to sense his hesitance. The older boy turned around, and in one fluid move had covered the small distance between them and gotten down on one knee, looking directly into Reid's eyes.
"Kid," he started, using that soothing tone of voice he normally only whipped out on his mother or sisters, "I know that this is a little scary, and I know I kinda pushed you into it." Reid snorted at the word 'kinda,' and Derek managed to gracefully ignore that.
"Reid," he said quietly, his tone suddenly very serious, "You said that you trust me, right?"
Eyes wide, the other boy nodded his head.
"Then trust me now," Derek breathed. "I promise you, no one is going to hurt you; we're all friends here, you included. Just give 'em a chance."
There was a long silence between the two, and Derek, sensing something important was going on, said not a word. Reid's huge hazel eyes searched his for what seemed like an eternity.
Finally, he seemed to have found something in Derek's face, and he gave the smallest of nods. And Derek couldn't help the smile that spread across his face.
"Alright, then. Let's get some grub."
"Oh, there he is, there he is, there he is!"
The loud squeal could have broken sound barriers, but Reid was really more concerned about the arms wrapping so tightly around his abdomen that he feared his appendix would burst. For several seconds, his vision was clouded by a pouf of bright blonde hair – and then the overwhelming scent of perfume faded, and Penelope took a step back, looking him over.
"Welcome to the Bat-Cave, sweetie."
Nervously rubbing at the bruises on his inner wrists, Reid took a look around, noting everything he saw in his marvelous eidetic memory.
It was a small bonfire, indeed, barely half his height and surrounded by a number of gravel boulders – eleven, Reid counted at a glance. A pile of blankets rested to the side, several of them partially draping over the rocks.
Three tents – the canvas worn and spotty with frayed edges and patch-sewn holes –lay just behind the bonfire, all set up, and one apparently in use, if the little glow seeping in from under the zipper-crack was anything to judge by. If he squinted, Reid could just barely make out the outline of a silhouette in there.
A clothesline was strung out overtop of his head, several garments already hanging from it, with a bucket set up underneath containing only a bar of soap and some quarters. There were a few small bags lying off to his right, and a number of people to his left.
Carefully avoiding eye-contact with anyone, Reid huddled in on himself, clutching his bag even closer. Somewhere in front of him, Penelope's voice softened even further.
"Reid, sweetie? D'you want to meet everyone real quick before we start eating?"
Reid was tempted to shake his head no, but the manners that his mother had instilled in him at such a young age won out, and, with much trepidation, he gave a very slight nod.
In the back of him, Derek gave him a very gentle shove in the general direction of the people he'd seen earlier, and Reid stumbled forward, just barely catching himself at the last minute. There was a muted giggle, and the boy looked up, embarrassment flooding his cheeks as he finally considered the people before him.
To the far left was Penelope, of course; she just exactly the same as she had before, only with an emerald-green poncho draped over her shoulder, and a large basket clutched tightly in her hands. She gave Reid a large smile, and his nerves eased just a little bit with that friendly expression.
Next, his eyes rolled to the other blonde girl, and, if it was even possible, his blush deepened.
Wow. She had to be one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen – she made Alexa Lisbon look trashy. Slender and petite, the girl was almost exactly Reid's height, although she was obviously far older than he. She wore no makeup, and very plain clothes – a white button-up shirt over jeans and ballet flats – but her piercing blue eyes screamed of deduction and intelligence, and gave a startling dash of beauty to the already-comely girl. She gave a small wave with her fingers, and Reid shyly smiled back.
The boy next to her was far taller, and almost as muscular as Morgan. He had very thin, very straight hair, and brown eyes so dark that they looked almost black. He stood tall, as though confident, but had crossed his arms over his chest in a clear sign of either discomfort or aggression – Reid wasn't really sure which. All he knew was that the guy reminded him too much of some of the kids at school, and he quickly slid his eyes away.
The last person in front of him was another boy, this one slender and quite tall, like Reid. He had a very chiseled face surrounded by raven curls that might have been quite good-looking if he had been smiling, instead of bearing the anxious expression that he was now as he studied Reid studying him. The two boys gazed for several long seconds, measuring the each other up, before Reid nodded minimally, and the other made a tiny noise of assent. Then, they both cast their eyes elsewhere. Reid turned back to Garcia.
"Who . . . who is everyone?"
Looking delighted that he had finally said more than two words to her, Penelope rushed to make introductions, the words tumbling out of her mouth in rapid succession. She pointed to the blonde girl first.
"This," she said, "is Jennifer Jereau – Jage – or Jenny – or Ni-ni, if you'd like – "
"Or how about just JJ?" The other girl cut in laughingly, her voice smooth and soft and with a slight Northern lilt to it. Her eyes flashed back to Reid, and she stuck out a hand. "Most of my friends call me that, anyway. And you are?"
"Reid, S-S-Spencer R-Reid," the boy stumbled over his words, his humiliation tripling when he made an effort to grab Jennifer's hand and wound up tripping, his arm flying forward and landing on the girl's chest with a resounding thud.
"Oh, oh God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that, I'm so, so sorry – I c-can get real clumsy, and I'm so uncoordinated anyway – but I didn't mean to – sorry! – I – "
"Hey, hey, hey!" Jennifer interrupted him as seamlessly as she did Penelope, and cupped a hand on his cheek. "Spencer, it's okay! Goodness, you're not the first person in the world to stumble – and Lord willing, you won't be the last." She smiled.
"I – I j-just – I hope I didn't hurt you, Jennifer – "
"I'll live. And didn't I just tell you that it's JJ?" Jennifer – JJ – had a firm, but very gentle voice, and Reid finally looked into those sparkling blue eyes, all of his nerves showing in his still-trembling hands. She shook her head. "Goodness, only my mother calls me Jennifer. We'll have to whip you right into shape, Spence."
The genius opened his mouth to protest the nickname, and then shut it. He had no idea how to respond.
Luckily, Reid was saved by the light clearing of a throat, and then Penelope's voice started speaking again. "Right, you two. Jage, back off before you give him an embolism!"
Giggling, the blonde stepped back, and wove her arm through Penelope's, still grinning mischievously at Reid. Next to her, the other girl continued the introductions.
"Well, anyway, after that mighty display of grace, I suppose the next one you want to meet is Anderson." She gestured to the smaller of the two boys in front of Reid. "He's about half as dexterous as you are, Reid, and only a little smoother with the ladies."
"Oh, shut up," Anderson joked, a petulant scowl on his face as he looked up. "Like you're really one to talk, Miss-I-Kissed-A-Girl-And-I-Liked-It."
"I've told you already, punk, that was song. The only place I lock lips with the ladies is in your twisted dreams."
"That's right, you do," Anderson smirked.
Just as it looked like another retort was on the tip of Penelope's tongue, the last remaining boy — the one who had looked so unwelcoming at first — in the group stepped forward, jutting out a large, firm hand. "While the two lovebirds funnel their pent-up sexual aggression into childish insults, I guess I'll just introduce myself. Jonathon Wesley Simms."
"Prophet!" Garcia called over Anderson's shoulder, where she was still standing and arguing with the boy.
Jonathon winced. "Or, as PG likes to call me, Prophet."
Reid frowned curiously. "PG?"
"Her initials. Penelope Garcia. It's one of her favorite nicknames, PG – funny, considering that she's anything but."
"I'd noticed," Reid mumbled. "Why does she call you – ?"
"I have no idea," the other boy shook his head. "She likes to say I'm a genius, no matter how many times I tell her something to the contrary. When that woman gets an idea in her head, there's no stopping it."
Reid squinted slightly. "A genius?"
"I'm good with computers – nothing like our Mama Bear over there, but I know how to hack a corporate network, if I get bored enough." The other boy didn't seem interested in talking about his hobbies, which, if course, only made Reid more curious. He studied the brusque figure beside him, lost in thoughts.
Finally, Jonathon seemed to notice, and he raised an eyebrow at the genius.
"Something wrong, there?"
Embarrassed at being caught, Reid ducked his head. "N-no, not really. I – I was just thinking."
"Well, ya looked pretty focused on in it." Jonathon spoke softly. "Spit it out, kid."
"I was just . . ." Reid licked his lips, wondering where to start. "I was just wondering why someone like you is somewhere like . . . like this."
"Someone like me?" Jonathon's voice didn't sound so neutral anymore.
"Someone . . . someone with a chance in life. Someone who could make something of themselves."
At that, the older boy beside him turned and got down on his knee so rapidly that Reid couldn't even catch the movement in his peripheral vision. Before he could blink, hands around his arms had turned him face-to-face with Jonathon, whose seething eyes had him wanting to struggle out of the hold with everything he had.
Reid shifted slightly, and the fingers gripping him tightened briefly – a warning. Knowing he had no other choice, the young genius looked up, straight into the blazing gaze, and waited for something to happen.
It didn't take long.
"Listen up here, kid, and listen good, because I'm only going to say this once: despite what you might think about all of us 'transients' who make a place to live off the public record, every single damn one of us has, as you put it, a chance to make something of ourselves."
"I never said – " Reid's protest was cut off before it could fully form.
"You didn't have to say. It's already obvious that you're like a lot of the others up above; you think we're jobless, lazy, wasting our lives chasing dreams that we could no more catch than a falling star."
"I don't think that!" Now Reid was indignant at the idea, hating the way this person who barely knew him was talking as if he did.
"Oh, really?" Jonathon's eyebrow quirked, and his eyes took in Reid's tense form, the clenched fists and stiff shoulders. "Fine, then, kid – make it simple for me. What do you think?"
Now, Reid stumbled. He had always been a private person, and sharing things, especially with strangers, had always been a struggle for him. "I . . . I . . ."
Jonathon looked equal parts victorious and disappointed. "That's what I thought." His stranglehold on Reid's arms loosened, and his hands slid off of the younger boy's shoulders. His black eyes never left Reid's hazel ones, flickering with something unidentifiable.
"A lot of you High-landers up there . . . you think you know a thing about us. Like just because we choose not to have a government-sanctioned address, we must all be boozers, losers, and pathetic. As if conforming makes you better, somehow." His frown deepened, a look of misery marring his normally handsome face. "You wouldn't think that Penelope's been accepted into CalTech, and she's just working a few semesters off-campus, would you? You wouldn't think that Jage is working on getting her GED so that she can go back to school in a few months? And, most certainly, you wouldn't guess that I'm in training to join the police academy; and after that, the Army's special forces."
Jonathon shook his head. "You seem like a sharp kid, but you make the same mistake as the rest of them; you judge by what you see, and don't see what you judge. We're people, too, Reid – all of us. Get to know us a little, and you'll see something a lot more worthwhile than some hobos under a bridge."
More than a little admonished, Reid looked down at the ground, before nodding.
"I – I understand. And – and I'm sorry." Really, truly, he was. Very much so.
Warm, gentle fingers slid under his cheek, and delicately, Jonathon tipped his chin up, looking Reid straight in the face again.
"Apology accepted, kid."
Reid cocked his head at him, causing the fingers to slide away. For just a second, they both stared at one another, and then Reid voiced something he had been wondering . . .
"I – I'm curious, then. Do you – do you prefer Jonathon, Jon, or Prophet?"
At this, the older boy actually smiled. "Jon, actually. Only PG gets to nickname me – and Jonathon is what my old man used to call me." A shadow passed over his face, and Reid sensed it would be best to avoid that subject altogether.
Words suddenly rang out behind them. "It's what I call you, too, Jonathon."
Reid nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice, stumbling back in his surprise – and, much to the genius's humiliation, his butt landed firmly on the ground for the third time that evening.
What made it worse was the fact that his companion didn't so much as flinch at the intrusion. Rather, the older boy turned around, and, smirking congenially at the person who'd snuck up on them, drawled, "Hey, Hotch."
Taking an example from Jon, Reid quelled his beating heart, and looked up, cautiously studying the new arrival.
Tall, thin but still fairly muscular, and with short-cut black hair, the boy didn't look much like the joking type. In fact, the stern look in his dark eyes and very faint scowl on his lips almost made him look like someone's father. His arms were crossed firmly over his chest, and Reid took just a moment to note the professional dress of the boy/man – black khakis, a white polo, and expensive-looking loafers – before realizing, with a start, that he was being studied just as keenly.
Blushing, Reid's eyes darted up for a split second to meet those dark, penetrating ones, before his shyness came back with a vengeance, and he looked down.
Intently focusing on the ground beneath his feet, Reid could hear every word being spoken above him.
"Jage said you were going to be out a bit longer," Jon said, the question clear in his tone.
"I finished my assignments a lot quicker than I thought I would. As soon as Sean was settled, I thought I'd come here to see Emily before going home." A brief pause, and then . . .
"Who's this?"
The tone seemed friendly enough, but Reid still flinched. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he'd long ago gotten it twisted that anyone who wanted to know more about him was a more likely candidate to hurt him.
And he was so tired of being hurt . . .
A hand on his shoulder had him returning from the dark direction of his thoughts, and Reid gingerly accepted the help, fighting not to blush yet again as Jon clasped his arm and helped the younger boy to his feet.
"This," Jon said, letting go of Reid but staying in close proximity, every bit of him oozing a protective edge, "is Spencer Reid. Ah – Reid?" He questioned, looking at the younger boy for clearance.
Reid nodded. Only his mother ever really called him Spencer.
"And, Reid, this is Aaron Hotchner – Hotch, if you don't want your head ripped off. He's our eldest and wisest," Jon continued with a smirk, one that neither of the other boys returned."He's kinda like our boss-man; group leader and rule enforcer all rolled into one." In a whisper just for Reid, Jon added, "Oh, right – and he's JJ's big brother."
As Reid absorbed this information, Hotch spoke only to Jon, a flicker of irritation crossing over his face.
"And what is he doing here?"
"Derek brought him!" Penelope's voice eased over the group from somewhere behind them, apparently having finished her argument with Anderson for the time being.
Hotch turned to face Morgan, who had been leaning up against one of the larger stones behind them, listening idly.
"Morgan?"
The muscular boy released a long, slow breath. "Hotch, he was up on the bridge, waiting for a bus. For hours. They've all went home, and so has everyone else – and look at it outside, man!" He gestured to the nearby awning, where everyone could indeed see that the rain – and hail – had only gotten worse in the hour since it had started.
Morgan turned back to the older boy. "I wasn't gonna leave him up there alone, and we couldn't go back to his place. This was the only option, Hotch. I don't regret a thing."
"And if he decides to call Gideon or someone else? Will you regret it then?"
"He won't, Hotch. He's just a kid, and he was alone. You have to for-fucking-give me for wanting to keep him safe and get some food in him." A scowl passed over Derek's face.
Looking equally displeased, Hotch stared at him, his gaze dark and more than a little intimidating – at least, Reid seemed to think so. But Derek just met his eyes head-on, and stared right back. The silence grew, as the seconds stretched by.
"I'm not going to say anything."
Everyone in the group swiveled their heads at the interruption, and Reid cursed his pale skin once more as blood flooded his cheeks at the attention. He coughed, trying to cover it up, and then spoke.
"I – I'll admit, it wasn't my idea to c-come down here. Derek kind of twisted my arm, and if it was up to me, I'd be halfway gone."
Hotch raised an eyebrow, as if to say, then why aren't you?
Reid stood, trying to make himself appear just a little bit taller. "I don't have to stay, though, if it's going to cause such duress. I don't want anyone upset." He reached down, grabbing the bag he'd long ago set on the floor, and then turned, eyes landing on Garcia and JJ. "T-thank you for b-being so kind to me. It was . . . it was really nice."
As he turned back and made to leave, Hotch saw something flash across the boy's face; something familiar that bit in his gut.
It was pain. Pain, and fear, and sadness were shadowing this kid's eyes as if it was all he knew. And not just the physical kind that Hotch knew on such a personal level – although he hadn't missed the fading bruises on the kid's wrist and the back of his neck, no – but the emotional, inner-turmoil that showed doubt, insecurity, hatred . . . like the kid was just some sort of sponge, soaking up misery.
What hit Hotch hard, like a punch in his mind, was the fact that even though this kid – Reid – was obviously unhappy, so obviously desperately in need of something other than fists and fury, none of it showed. He had a quiet, calm, diminutive demeanor, and none of his pent-up feelings showed – except for that brief look of misery in his eyes.
It did Hotch in completely.
"Wait. Reid. Reid!"
The younger boy froze, and, very cautiously, turned around. "Yes?"
Even his voice was hesitant, so unsure of when this fairly safe situation could potentially turn scary. Hotch didn't let the familiar agony that caused him show in his face.
"You can't go out there – it's a tornado warning. You'll get lost, or killed, or both. And I'm not letting someone from the family get hurt." Hotch's voice almost tripped over the family part, and he could see from the way Reid frowned curiously that the kid had noticed it too.
But Hotch couldn't help it. He might not know the boy, but something about Spencer Reid inspired the protective instinct in him. Maybe it was his frail form that somehow seemed to be leaking a quiet inner strength. Maybe it was his much smaller age, but clearly much-larger intelligence. Maybe it was the shadows under his eyes, or the shadows in them.
No matter what way, Hotch knew that, for tonight at least, he had to help the kid. It wasn't a question of if.
He had to.
Of course, he spoke none of this out loud.
"Stay," he said firmly. "We've got plenty of food, and some spare blankets. In the morning, if things have died down a bit, we'll see about getting you home."
There was a moment of silence, in which he watched Reid, and Reid watched him.
Finally, the younger boy nodded.
Not waiting for any further confirmation, Hotch turned on his heel, and walked away, calling over his shoulder, "Let's eat!"