Chapter Text
The air smelled of old leaves, autumn clinging to the pavement in damp patches as a low mist crept along the curb. The sun had set almost an hour ago, leaving the sky a washed out bruise of fading purples and blues. Under the week glow of the campus lampposts, the street flickered as if they were attempting to stay awake. Spencer Reid tugged his coat tighter around himself and tightened his grip on his satchel. The breath from his lungs clouded in front of him, the late autumn air was cold enough that his body tensed if the winds changed direction. He was always cold despite the winds and the frigid air so he kept walking, his footsteps echoing softly on he concrete, the only sound on the empty streets.
He was used to walking alone, he found it gave his brain time to go as fast as it needed without having to slow down for those around him. He was used to slowing himself down by now that it became second nature to do it in front of people, but that didn't make it any less exhausting.
When he first look into going to this university they wanted him to live in the dorms so they could take care of him better. He usually wouldn't mind but they he was told that the dorms were all doubles and he would have to share with someone, he fingers that it would be someone almost a decade older then him. Just thinking about that had sent ice down his spine. He argued that point with them, there being no way he was going to be doing that and they agreed that it would be inappropriate especially since he was still a miner. They had decided that they could give him a small studio apartment just off campus, close enough so he could go there if he needed help and far enough away that other people tended not to bother with him. A detail that did not go unnoticed by him and was probably made in attempt to stop the inevitable back lash that he always got for his age.
He was 17. 17-years-old and he already healed one doctorate in mathematics, and almost finished his second one in engineering. Protégé. Genius. People like to call him, he was theirs to show off, an instant funding tool for where ever he was enrolled. A mind like a computer, they would say, precise, terrifying, useful.
But not once was he called a friend.
No one ever asked if he wanted to sit with them or if they could sit with him. Even as a child he was never a friend, he was never the boy the other kids would play with and he could never figure out why. That was the hardest, he could always figure things out but when it came to friends he could never understand what he was doing wrong. So he remained content with being alone, never having anyone to talk to or anyone to tell his problems to, and he definingly never told anyone what was hidden under his clothes.
Spencer flexed his hand slightly in his coat, feeling the faint tension in this muscles just above his spine, the shift in his balance that always came from hiding his tail, it was currently wrapped around one leg, he used to have to bind his tail to his leg when he was younger and had less control. He didn't have to do that any more unless something major is happening and he doesn't want to risk any slips, but two many hours keeping it rapped around his leg or round his waste and the bones and muscles would ache, but this was safer than the alternative. So he kept it hide, not letting it move, not letting it flicker if he was anxious or startled. It was safer not to let the world know how different he really is.
His breath fogged in the air clouding the dim yellow lights as he crossed the street, heading towards a alley that he found, was a shortcut home. He could of gone the longer way but this way was quieter. No people, no stares and no chance of being seen. It was for this reason that he let his tail relax a bit, part of him loved this time of night, the part that was buried under logic and discipline. The part that was feral, wanted to prowl, it wanted to run under the stars, the first time he did that it was the most freeing feeling he had ever felt. He had long since learned how to keep tat part of him under control even if it would bubble to the surface when he was stressed or in danger.
Spencer adjusted his scarf and kept his head down as the wind picked up slightly, rustling the fallen leaves on the pavement. He ignored the other sounds he could hear as they were far away not to hold importance's. He just wanted to get home make some coffee and go to bed, pretend for another day that the world didn't feel so cold around him, not from the chilly air but from the people around him. The people that would never understand him, those that would reject him or have him killed or experimented on.
Spencer had been walking down the ally for ten minutes before he heard the sharp slap of hurried footsteps on pavement, light and frantic. There was someone running, and fast.
He turned to look in the direction that it was coming from, in time to see a blurry small figure darting around the corner, looking behind him as if being chased. Their breaths sounded raged and strained, his arms and legs moving frantically in a desperate attempt to move his tiny body away from the danger. He couldn't be more than 6 or 7 years old, the hoodie he war was filthy and at lest two sizes to big, his shoes look like they were falling apart, and his eyes were wide in fear, tears shedding down his face.
The boy slammed into Spencer, not looking in fount of him too focused on what was chasing him, nearly falling to the ground if Spencer didn't catch him automatically, gripping the child's shoulders to steady him. He felt the boy trembling in his hands, raw and terrified.
"Hey, hey. It's okay." Spencer started, his voice gentle. Then he saw the faint shimmer of greenish scales along the boys cheeks, and the way the collar of his hoodie had stretched in attempt to hide he small slits in his neck. Gills his brain supplied, this kid in his arms was a mutant. The second he figured that out he knew what the kid must be running from.
The boy's mouth opened to speak, but before he could, more sets of footsteps came from the same direction the boy ran from. Slurred voices cut through the ally, loud and definingly in the misted of a drunken anger which ,unfortunately, was aimed at mutants.
"There! I told you I saw him run this way!"
"Stupid Freak. Did you see his neck?"
"Bet he can't even breath without a fish tank"
Six figures stumbled into view at the far end of the ally. Four men and two women. All college age, red-faced from drink and adrenaline. The guy at the fount, broad shouldered with short dark hair. Spencer recognised him. Not by name but his memory allowed for him to instantly recognise his face from a lecture and a shared class on ethics.
He looked at Spencer his gazes narrowed as he to remembered the genius kid freak he shared a class with. "You." he spat, Stumbling as he stepped forward. "You helping him."
Spencer stepped back ,wanting to avoid conflicted, pulling the boy behind him on instinct, protect was always a strong instinct for him, stronger when it came to children even when he was one. "He's just a kid." he said quietly and defensively but Lowd enough for them to hear. "He didn't do anything."
One of the women in the group near the back snapped "It's a thing, not a kid." her voice layered with disgust so potent, Spencer could smell it coming of her, and the others to. "and you're protecting it? What are you one of them to?"
Spencer raised his spare hand, palm away hopefully showing peace, pulling the boy closer with the other. "I don't want any trouble. This kid didn't cause any and I'm only going to take him some where safe."
One of the other men laughed, ugly and wet. "Oh, You've already got trouble, freak-lover."
Spencer only had a second before they surged forwards. He grabbed the boy and dragged him to a narrow side ally between too dumpsters. He noticed it after the fist few times walking this way home and like everything else he catalogued it away in his mind for a time it would be useful, he didn't think he would use it in this way but it came in handy now. "Run" he whispered to the boy, low and sharp. The kid didn't wasted a second and instantly scrambled into the shadows, vanishing after a moment.
By the time Spencer turned around he new he was not going to get so lucky. The group was on him a second later. A fist cracked into his jaw with a sudden, brutal force, it sent him stumbling back for a moment before a knee collided with his ribs.Don't fight. He told himself, as the cold vanished under the pain flaring in his body. Another one for the men grabbed his coat and threw him against the wall. He gasped, tasting coper in his mouth.
Control. He has to stay in control. He could feel the other side of him, sharp and vicious, clawing under his skin. He could feel his bones shifting as if ready to shift, he could feel the muscles colling under his skin. He knows he could rip them a part, he might not even mind, he could have it over in seconds.
But he knew he could never do that. That would mean exposing him, and that would mean destroying himself completely.
A foot slammed into his gut nocking the air out from his lungs. He fell to his knees before a fist hit his head forcing him to his side on the ground, his arms coming defensively around him protecting his ribs. A foot connected with his shoulder, as he looked up at them only for the man from his class to kick him with force he thought shouldn't be possible with the amount of alcohol that in there systems.
"Should off minded your own damn business." he snarled. "Probably a freak too, huh? That it?"
Spencer barely heard him, his blood was pounding in his ears, his fingers clenched against him, his nails lengthening slightly his claws trying to push through. No. Not now. He tucked his hands under his arms in hoped the would notice. His tail shifted beneath the fabric, annoyed with the lack of offensives measures he was taking. They didn't notice. They just kept hitting him.
As time pasted he felt a low growl rumble in his throat, he hoped that the sounds of them laughing and encouraging each other would cover the sound. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to fight back, but he stayed down, curled in on himself, and swallowed the pain.
Remy LeBeau had seen a lot in nineteen years.
Too much, probably.
He’d grown up in the back alleys of New Orleans, a street kid till the age of ten, then raised by the Thieves Guild, taught to survive with quick fingers and quicker lies. When he was eighteen, he was married to Bella Donna Boudreau. It was an arranged effort to unite the Thieves and the Assassins, them both being a part of the matriarch family on both sides and a successful marriage would stop the animosity between the two guilds.
Unfortunately, even with the best of intentions there were some people that did not approve of the marriage. After the ceremony Bella Donna’s brother had challenged him to a duel, if Remy had refused he would have been seen as weak, so he accepted.
Her brother tried to kill him, and Remy lost control of his powers and killed him. Allow it was his challenge, the assassins guild did not look kindly on him killing the son of the matriarch and they demanded his life as retribution. His papa did not let that happen and came to an arrangement that if he left New Orleans and never returned he would be spared, but if he returned the deal was broken and he would be killed.
He’d been wandering ever since, living out of motels, using the skills the thieves guild taught him as a child to earn money, he kept his powers just quiet enough to avoid attention. The world didn’t like mutants. He knew that firsthand, when he was on the streets and even in the guild, people would see him as less and some called him a illegitimate child of jean-luc because of it.
So when he saw a kid, tiny thing, maybe six or seven, hunched in a patch of shadows with his knees drawn up and scales glinting along his cheekbones, Remy didn’t need to ask if he was a mutant, or what had happened he just knew he needed to help. He crouched down slowly, hands where the kid could see them.
“Hey, mon p’tit,” Remy said gently, Cajun lilt soft. “You look like you've been through somethin’. You hurt?”
The boy flinched, but didn’t bolt. A good sign. “Th-they were chasing me,” he whispered. “They said I was a freak. A man tried to help me. They hit him. They wouldn’t stop.”
Remy’s jaw tightened, heat rising under his skin. “Where?”
The boy pointed with a trembling hand. “Alley. Over there.”
Remy stood before the kid could say another word, already moving, knowing that he could not leave that to happen to someone only trying to help a boy. He could hear it now, the sound of fists, grunts, bodies hitting concrete.
He didn’t hesitate.
The alley was narrow, lit only by the flickering of dying streetlamps, and at the side of it, curled on the ground, was a figure. Thin. Curled in on himself. Blood was dripping from his lip and seeping through the shoulder of his coat.
Surrounding him were six smug bastards, fists bruised, laughter as they continued to beat the person on the ground, calling him a freak and wrong for helping them. The laughter and voices faded when Remy walked into view.
He continued walking, until he had a clear view of them and the figure on the ground. “What’s goin’ on here, mes amis?” Remy asked, voice casual like he was strolling through a market and not provoking a drunken violent group.
One of the men blinked in surprise, then scoffed. “Mind your own damn business, man. This freak helped another. Just teaching him a lesson”
Remy’s eyes flicked to the figure on the ground. He looks young. Pale. Bailey moving apart from the rise and fall of his chest. He was breathing, that was a good sign.
His chest tightened. “Y’ beatin’ him ‘cause he helped a kid?” Remy asked, still that same easy tone. “Dat what y’all proud of now?”
The woman to the left rolled her eyes, annoyed with the interruption on the good time she was having. “What, you one of those mutant lovers too?”
Remy smiled, sharp and unfriendly, dropping his casual easy going act. “Somethin’ like dat.”
The man Spencer had recognised, stepped forward. “You wanna go, too? You can join him.” he said with a smile, as he thought it was going to be more fun for them.
Remy’s eyes sharpened behind his sunglasses. He reached into his trenchcoat and pulled out a deck of playing cards, fingers moving like silk over them, smooth and practised. He pulled one of the cards and held it up as it began to glow with crackling pink energy. “I wouldn’t.”
They laughed at the absurdity of his defence. Until he threw it.
The card hit the ground just in front of their feet and detonated with a loud pop in the air, the flare lighting the alley for a split second with brilliant pink light and acrid smoke. Remy had assured that the charge was not enough to hurt them, but more than enough to make them stumble back, coughing and swearing.
Remy’s expression didn’t change. “Next one goin’ in your jacket. Make your choice”
The group cursed, spat, and scattered into the dark, tripping over each other in their hurry as they fled the scene. Remy smirked slightly at the ease at which they ran from him. The alley fell silent again, save for the soft rustle of leaves and Spencer’s strained breathing. Remy knelt beside him immediately. “Hey, hey. Easy now.”
Spencer flinched, his eyes were open and he was barely in control. Blood streaked his jaw, and he looked dazed, but not unconscious.
“Y’ good?” Remy asked, quieter now. “Y’ hurt bad?”
“No I… no hospital,” Spencer rasped. “Please.”
Remy didn’t hesitate, before nodding. “All right. Remy gets that.” He wasn’t going to take him to the hospital if he didn’t want to, he wouldn’t want to go to a hospital. He looked the kid over, he had bad bruises, maybe had a few cracked ribs, and a bleeding lip. But he was conscious and lucid. “Y’ got a place nearby?” Remy asked. “I can take you there. No ambulance, no cops. Just help, don’t want t’ leave y’ like dis, me.”
Spencer hesitated. He was shaking slightly, whether from pain or restraint Remy couldn’t tell. His fingers were clenched like he was holding something back.
“Yeah,” Spencer murmured. “I... yeah. Please. Not sure if I will make it on my own.”
Remy stood up offering his hand without hesitation. “Then I’ll walk with you.”
Spencer took it. His grip was cold, but surprisingly steady. “Spencer,” he said quietly, introducing himself as Remy helped him stand.
“Remy,” the Cajun replied with a nod. “Y’ got lucky. Remy was just wanderin’ when he came across de kid y’ helped. Or maybe Remy got lucky finding a cheri like y’. Either way, let’s get y’ home, mon ami.”
Spencer staggered once, and Remy caught him, slipping an arm under his to steady him as they started down the alley together. Side by side, shadows stretching out ahead of them under the flickering light.