Jumping right into the story. For reference, this takes place in season 8 of Criminal Minds, and the fourth episode of The Magicians. Some dialogue taken from the show.

Since I forgot in the prologue, I don't own Criminal Minds or The Magicians. Consider yourselves disclaimed.

WELCOME TO BRAKEBILLS

It had been a relatively uneventful week at the BAU. Spencer and Alex had spent the last hour or so of the day timing each other's crosswords. Derek and Rossi spent it chatting about the new jazz club downtown. JJ and Penelope spent it flipping through fashion magazines. Even Hotch was taking it easy this particular Friday afternoon, and was actually leaving at the same time as his team. They all crowded together into the elevator, playfully arguing about where they were all going to dinner, and when the door dinged, they stepped into bright, warm sunlight, before collectively stopping in their tracks.

Instead of dreary November rain pelting on the windows of the entrance floor of the Bureau, the sun was high in the sky, warming the jade green grass beneath their feet. In front of them was a vast, regal building that looked like it had been transplanted from an English countryside. The trees surrounding the large grounds were tall and healthy, and a fountain in front of the large building gurgled pleasantly.

So shocked were they that no one noticed the tiny girl standing directly in front of them, until Spencer shouldered his way to the front of the group, pushing past them and striding heavily towards her.

"Have you lost your mind?!" he thundered angrily, and the sound seemed unnaturally loud somehow. "Opening a portal in the middle of the FBI?! My entire team came through!"

But even as he yelled, his eyes drank her in as though he could never get his fill, his right hand coming to cup the back of her neck tenderly, fingers tangling in the frizzy dark curls fallen loose from the messy bun on the crown of her head. It wasn't until she started yelling back that they realized she wasn't a young girl as they'd first assumed, but a grown woman who didn't quite reach five feet. Even in the tall boots she wore with dark skinny jeans and a fitted brown sweater, he barely came to Spencer's chest.

"I didn't have a choice! A student's life is in danger, I had to get you here now!" Her left hand came up to grip the wrist of the hand on her neck, thumb rubbing absentmindedly against the back of it. The profilers immediately noticed the plain silver band on her ring finger that matched the one on Spencer's own.

This was Del Reid, Spencer's mysterious wife. Looks were exchanged between the members of the BAU, even as she plowed on.

"Tell them whatever you want, we can figure out the details later, but I didn't have time to wait and catch you alone!"

Spencer's anger had drained away and been replaced with a fierce, protective dread when she said there was a life in danger. His job was about saving lives, just as Del's was about protecting them. He nodded once, turning back to his team.

"I don't have time to explain in detail just yet. I need you all to trust me. Everything you're about to see and hear is real, and I need you to keep an open mind until I figure out what's going on and how to handle it. Can you please do that for me?"

After a few moments, the team nodded. Spencer had changed since stepping out of the elevator. It was subtle, but it was there - an air of authority and confidence that was usually absent, along with a strange sense of power. But he was their friend, and someone was clearly in dire need of his help. They wouldn't stand in the way.

Spencer sighed in relief, before turning as one with Del and beginning to stride towards the school. Del, who should have needed two steps to keep up with just one of Spencer's strides, loped along keeping perfect pace, almost gliding as if powered forward by some unseen force. The team hurried after them, silently trying to follow their increasingly confusing conversation.

"So what's happening?"

"Quentin Coldwater, First Year Undetermined that's staying in the Physical Cottage. His old roommate's a Psychic, Quentin was able to reach out to him and let him know he'd been trapped in a spell and needed help. He and two more Physicals brought him to the Dean and me. It's Scarlatti's Web, we have to summon a Matarese."

Spencer balked. "You don't just fall into a spell like that by accident, someone did this to him. Someone who knew we'd have to take the wards down for the summoning. This is a trap, Del."

"Of course it's a trap!" she shouted as they entered the building, which was just as regal and antiquated on the inside. "But without the exact wording of the spell, we don't have a choice!" Her boots were clack-clacking against the marble floors now as they moved swiftly through winding hallways, receiving curious glances from what appeared to be - judging by their age and backpacks - graduate students that parted for them as they passed. They quickly reached a corner office that Spencer opened...with a wave of his hand.

The next several minutes were a confusing blur. In the room were several figures - an older black gentleman with dark glasses and a suit stood over an unconscious young man with longish hair on a couch. He must have been Quentin, the student in danger. Three other students were there, a tall, thin white man in impeccable clothes and an attractive curled fringe, and a young Indian man and white woman in grungy, tastefully alternative clothing. The black man turned to the door as they entered.

"I see you brought more than just Spencer, Del. That was dangerous." His voice was pleasantly dark and rich, and he seemed almost unaffected by the palpable tension in the room.

"We'll worry about it later, Dean," Spencer said. "Are you ready?"

"Yes. Lower the wards, please."

Spencer had shrugged out of his coat, scarf, and bag, and now he and Del faced each other. The height difference would have been comical if not for the serious expressions on both of their faces. In unison, they brought their hands up into the space between them and began to move, shaping their fingers into unusual positions, drawing their hands and arms in precise mirrored patterns through the air, in movements so fluid it was almost like a strange dance. Lines and script began to shimmer in their air above everyone's heads.

"Very good," the dean said. "And now the South wards." Lines and script continued to materialize over their heads, until the Reids lowered their arms and the light faded.

Del crossed the room and brought over a small golden cage, which Spencer then opened carefully and reverently. He drew from it a small golden replica of what looked to be a scorpion, and laid it gently on the unconscious students face. He looked back to Del with a question in his eyes, and she shook her head.

"No, you're a better summoner than me. I'd rather you handled it." He nodded at her, turning back to the dean. The black man, who they'd realized by now was blind, seemed to know they were ready, and he held his right hand over Quentin's still form and began to chant as Spencer began to make more complicated shapes and movements with his hands and arms.

"Daemonium Matarese, ecce vocavi te in carcere liberare mens est. Imperio Scarlatti telem nobus."

"That's...the answer?" asked the thin student with the dark fringe. He seemed worried, and also slightly unimpressed. Spencer continued to move his hands and arms, leaving trails of visibly disturbed air in his wake.

"It shorts out the cerebral cortex, which should break him out of the spell, which should bring him back. Halfway."

"Halfway?" the female student asked.

"The spell is like a prison in the middle of the desert," Del said. "The Matarese breaks you out of the prison, but you have to get yourself out of the desert, and it is a lot easier with a guide." She turned to the last student in the room. "Penny, are you ready?" The young Indian man walked silently to the other couch in the room, sitting comfortably with his hands on his knees, and then, with a deep breath, he closed his eyes.

Spencer took the Dean's place now, making a final, large gesture over the young man. The golden scorpion's tail twitched. Then a claw. Then it shuddered and crawled its way into Quentin's mouth, disappearing down his throat with a gag and a swallow.

Spencer took a deep breath now, before turning to face his team. Their expressions ranged from confusion to fear. Del slipped to his side and took one of his hands in both of hers, squeezing in assurance. He squeezed back, tightly, before taking another deep breath.

"Welcome to Brakebills College for Magical Pedagogy," he said simply. "My alma mater."