Chapter Text
Las Vegas, 15 Years Ago
It ends and begins like poetry.
Now, Spencer would not usually say that a phone call, of all things, was poetic. Normally he would reserve such a compliment for something more obvious - a sunset, a concerto, a moment that truly deserved it.
The phone call itself was not poetic, though. It was the moments - the seconds, minutes, weeks, years - that followed that made it so.
The phone call was a door slamming closed, a symbolic end to his life as it was, and a forced start to the version it became.
Before the phone call was the yelling. The screaming. The fighting. After the phone call came the cars. After the phone call came the lights, red and blue and red and blue — then the sirens, and the officers, and the doctors, and the questions, and the apologies. Too many apologies, too much pity—
Spencer never was good with pity.
He had always been better at running.
—
Quantico, Today
Spencer can’t stand being late. He’s always hated it, always hated making people wait.
Today though it feels like he has a pretty good reason for it.
It isn’t often that he gets morning phone calls from his family. Not that he can blame them, considering their usual working hours, but that’s all the more reason it’s a nice surprise when it happens. Even when the subject matter is on the serious side.
Even if it made him late.
He tilts his wrist to glance at his watch, and groans. Very late. Luckily Hotch takes the heads up well - they don’t have a case yet today, so all Spencer is missing is a procedural meeting that he really doesn’t need to be there for, thank God.
—
Gotham, 14 Years Ago
It ends in silence, as he knew it always would. Silence, and a needle.
Jason Todd had spent years watching her falter, and when it finally happened, he wasn’t surprised. There was a mental countdown in his head, already in the negatives, as if it couldn’t believe the bomb hadn’t gone off yet.
Catherine Todd dies with a needle in her arm. She dies with her son holding her hand, and her husband nowhere in sight. It’s better that way. The old man never deserved her anyway.
Jason does not stay for too long after. He grabs a bag and he runs, because he already knew. He had already planned.
It was already done.
—
Quantico, Today
“Hey, Pretty Boy.”
The familiar nickname has Spencer smiling and rolling his eyes. “Good morning to you too, Morgan.” He looks up from the stack of papers on his desk to find Derek standing in front of him, eyebrow arched and a smirk plastered on his face. “What’s that look for?”
Derek puts his hands up, placating whatever curiosity that’s gripped Spencer. “There’s no ‘look’, promise. You’re just never late getting into the office, thought I should check in. What were you up to last night?”
Spencer frowns. “We aren’t on a case today,” he points out. “And it’s nothing like that, I just got a little caught up on the subway this morning.”
Derek shakes his head with an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t know why you insist on taking that thing every day.”
“I don’t mind it,” he shrugs. “The public transportation lines in Virginia really aren’t that bad.”
—
Gotham, 14 Years Ago
Public transportation would likely be the death of Spencer. It was simply not created with eleven year olds in mind. The seats were too big, and the smell of cigarettes practically permeated the air, laced into the plastic as if it were a second skin. And the people, well, they weren’t used to a boy his age on his own in their midst either.
Spencer was good at ignoring the staring, though. It wasn’t the first time and it certainly wouldn’t be the last - he was an eleven year old high school junior, being stared at was just part of the gig. Or, it would be. If he was still in school.
He bites his tongue hard enough to taste copper and hunkers down into his seat, tugging his sweater tighter around himself as if it will actually protect him. Maybe it will protect him from the cold at the very least but certainly not from anything else.
He lets his eyes wander to the window, where he watches the world flash by in beautiful disarray. This late at night he can’t really tell what anything is, although he’s fairly certain they should be entering a city again any minute now. The city, if Spencer did his math right - and he always does.
Gotham. The one city he can be sure that his father would never set foot in, though he can’t be sure why. He never said why he disliked it, and Spencer would remember if he had. It doesn’t matter. It’s a city he would never think to look in, which means it’s exactly where - after all these months, and all these buses - Spencer needs to be.
Reaching Gotham means he can stop running. Reaching Gotham means he can breathe again, smog-filled air be damned.
—
Gotham, as it turns out, is far too used to eleven year old runaways and orphans. It takes only a mile of walking before Spencer decides that he will not be having any luck finding somewhere to take him in for the night. Homeless shelters are a dime a dozen, and all as overflowing as they are unsafe.
It’s alright. Based on his reading and timely internet searches, he knew what to expect.
He shifts his backpack so it’s sitting in front of him, tucked under his sweater so it’s out of sight and out of mind, as well as closely protected from any handsy passersby. Spencer may be young, but he’s far from stupid. He knows how Gotham works, of all places - even more so after all these months of traveling under the radar.
With every step, Spencer’s eyes pass over each alleyway and alcove. Cities like this have a bustling homeless community outside of their sorry excuse of a shelter system, and each section of it will be different. He needs to stick to areas where there are already other children his age, those will be the ones least likely to take advantage of him. And based on this city’s layout and the statistics…
Well, he has an idea of where to start, and a few things up his sleeve to help him snag somewhere to stay for the night.
—
Quantico, Today
Spencer sips at his coffee, absently peeking at the screen of his phone in between the occasional scribble on his paperwork. He usually tries to be a little more subtle, but today he doesn’t feel like bothering.
He’s expecting the next call, he’s allowed to check his phone, thank you very much.
No one even seems to notice, either, until sometime around 11 a.m., when Penelope appears at his desk with an offering of a fresh coffee, and…what appears to be a doughnut? It’s sprinkled with bright colors, carefully cupped in a napkin as she holds it out to him with a crooked smirk.
“What’s got you all on edge, Baby G? Waiting for a text?” There’s an almost uncharacteristic tease to her voice - uncharacteristic if only because it’s a tone she usually saves for Derek or JJ or Emily. Paired with the glint in her eyes as she spots the cell phone he’s only just barely set down, Spencer has a feeling he knows exactly where her mind is going.
“Yes,” he says slowly, making sure to look right at her as he takes the offered doughnut and coffee. It feels like some kind of bribe. “But not like you’re thinking, Garcia.”
She makes a face, playfully gaping at him as if she’s been caught in the act. “I wasn’t thinking a single thing, I don’t know what you’re talking about, my dove.” Her eyes dart across the bullpen to Derek’s desk, but she says nothing more.
The silly nickname has him cracking a wry smile in return, oblivious to her wandering gaze. “Of course.”
She laughs lightly, letting herself sneak another look at the still-silent phone. “Is it a good text?” she asks, her tone softer, gentler.
It’s not necessarily a text, but he doesn’t bother correcting her. He just smiles and nods. “Probably. Nothing for you to worry about right now.”
Her smile stretches into a proper, knowing grin. “Alright.”
—
Gotham, 13 Years Ago
Tiny hands make for easy pickpocketing, not that Spencer is proud of it. He’s always had a talent for silly magic tricks though, and it felt like a waste not to put it to use when he needed it most.
It’s been working out well so far. He’s lasted out here for nearly a year, thanks to his ability to snag wallets and other trinkets without earning himself a second glance - sometimes even avoiding a first one. Between that and Jason–
“Jason, check it out!”
He’s young too, about six months younger than Spencer if they have their numbers right, and even more skilled at holding his own out here. They’d bonded within Spencer’s first week in Gotham, became almost inseparable once Spencer proved himself to be worth more than the pile of granola bars in his backpack.
It had helped too that Spencer had all of Jason’s favorite books memorized verbatim, although Jason still denies that he’d be drawn in by something so mushy. (It’s a lie, of course, but Spencer likes to let him pretend to be a tough guy.)
Jason turns at the sound of Spencer’s voice, shushing him with one finger to his lips. “Quiet down! Where have you been, Spence??” he hisses before grabbing Spencer’s arm and tugging him along as he ducks into the nearest alleyway. “That weirdo was just here, and we are not getting caught tonight, dammit!”
The serious undertones of Jason’s voice have Spencer grimacing. He hugs the plastic bag to his chest, bringing attention to it in the same motion. Jason’s eyes dart down and he suddenly looks wary.
“What did you find?”
Spencer shifts his weight. Somehow Jason always manages to make him feel like the younger sibling, despite them being sure that Spencer is older. “I didn’t find anything,” he mumbles with a tinge of guilt. “I…traded?”
Yeah, traded is the right word for it. The pawnshops don’t like to give them money for every little worthless thing they find, but there’s one owner that likes Spencer. That one is willing to let him switch out even the tiniest trinkets for other equally valueless items. That said, today’s haul is plenty valuable to Spencer.
Jason purses his lips, suspicious eyes darting down to his haul. “Traded what?”
He hesitantly hugs the bag just a little closer. “I’ll show you when we get back. Did you really see Batman?” he presses, casually attempting to change the subject.
Luckily it works, like it always does. The topic of Batman snags Jason’s attention as usual, making his eyes blow wide with newfound fervor.
“I did!” he huffs. “Bastard was up on top of Chrissy’s place, chasing someone.”
Spencer’s eyes jump to the mouth of the alley, where the building in question is just visible across the street. Chrissy is one of the working girls, specifically one they’ve managed to befriend. They help keep an eye on her and some of the other girls on their block, and in return, every once in a while, they’ll get the two boys some shelter for the night in their building.
“You think we should check on them?” Spencer asks.
Jason doesn’t hesitate. “Probably. Come on.” He grabs Spencer’s hand and drags him along, and together they slip across the street, hidden among the late night shadows.
Chrissy and the girls welcome them as always, and one of them that isn’t working tonight ushers them inside and lets them bundle up with spare blankets under the guise that the two of them are there only to check on the girls, of course. Only once they’ve successfully cocooned themselves up together and their gracious host has fallen asleep does Spencer reveal the day’s treasure.
A book, wrapped up in a layer of plastic bags for safe keeping. Pride and Prejudice.
Jason’s eyes practically sparkle at the sight. “Whoa…”
Beside him, Spencer beams.
—
Quantico, Today
Spencer shoves the bottom drawer of his desk closed with a sigh, tucking his book-of-the-day out of sight now that his break is ending. He can recite the thing by memory at this point, but that will never beat physically holding the ratty copy in his hands, tracing the familiar print with his eyes as well as the very tip of his finger as it follows along. Even with it gone from in front of him though, the words bounce around his head in a pleasant echo.
‘I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.’
For the third time since the beginning of his break, Spencer picks up his phone and tilts the screen into view.
2:14 p.m.
He hadn’t meant to take such a late lunch, but he’d been hoping…
Well, he’d been hoping for better timing on his brother’s part. Then again, timing has always been more Spencer’s thing than Jason’s.
—
Gotham, 12 Years Ago
“This is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had, Jason.”
The whiny groan that escapes the boy is loud, and doesn’t match his lanky, almost beanpole figure. His skinny arms are wrapped around his chest, hugging himself for warmth - or maybe in an attempt to hold himself back in the shadows, where he can’t be seen when things go wrong.
Because they’re absolutely going to go wrong, there is no way this works.
Jason has snagged tires before - and don’t get Spencer wrong, the money they get from selling them is enough to make the awful feeling he gets from snagging them in the first place worth it - but he’s never snagged tires like these. Even without a street camera in sight - and he checked - there is no way in hell that they won’t get caught–
Jason huffs in annoyance, swiveling the tire iron in his hand a few times while he crouches down in front of the shining wheel of the Batmobile. “Would you stop being such a worrywart, Spence? We already scanned the area, he’s nowhere near here, okay?? Now get over here and help!”
Spencer whimpers, shifting his weight back and forth a few more times before he groans with defeat and hurries over to Jason’s side.
The process is easy and familiar. Spencer helps undo the tire while Jason shoves a makeshift jack in place and makes sure Spencer doesn’t get his hands squished. Sure, there’s a few extra steps for this one - Bats definitely has some serious paranoia, Jason already had to undo a taser booby trap - but that doesn’t mean it takes long.
One tire down, and Spencer hurries to roll it down the alley and shove it out of sight behind a dumpster while Jason gets ready for the second.
Two tires down, and it goes to join the first.
Three tires–
“What do you boys think you’re doing?”
“Fuck–”
Spencer stands with a start, bolts dropping from his hands and hitting the ground. Every subsequent clink feels like a nail in their proverbial coffins. That’s the Batman– That’s Batman and they are so screwed!
Spencer stumbles back a few steps, but Jason apparently has other ideas. He snatches up the tire iron and charges, nailing Batman in the gut as he shoves forward with every ounce of strength in his malnourished body.
“Scatter!” Jason yells as Batman grunts at the sudden force against him.
Spencer wastes no time, booking it right past Batman and snatching Jason’s wrist as he goes. The tire iron clatters down behind them as they successfully maneuver out of the Batman’s incoming grip. They stick together only until the next alleyway, where they then split up in perfect form - Spencer staying on the ground until he can find somewhere small to worm his way into that the Bat can’t find him, while Jason takes a flying leap onto the first fire escape he can reach and booking it up to the roofs.
It’s a familiar plan. They’ve managed it dozens of times before when dealing with cops or other creeps, it’s practically ingrained in their bones. It’s flawless - they’re fast, slippery kids who know Crime Alley better than anyone.
It sure isn’t flawless tonight.
—
Quantico, Today
“Is everything alright, Spence?”
JJ’s voice is soft and laced with concern. From anyone else, it would have been almost uncharacteristic, but from her, it’s only what he expects.
“Of course.” He flashes her a smile and tucks the phone away. “It’s a slow day without a case, that’s all.”
She smiles back and he knows right away that she doesn’t believe him. “It’s definitely slow,” she agrees in a tone that screams bullshit. She sees right through him, a talent Spencer is loath to admit she’s always had.
When she doesn’t make a move to walk away from his desk, he raises a brow. “Do we have a case?”
She chews her lip but ultimately shakes her head. “No,” she says after a moment. “I just wanted to check on you. You’re not normally so…caught up.”
JJ gestures to the phone in explanation and her frown deepens. It’s no secret that Spencer doesn’t care for technology, and usually his cell phone is no exception. Spencer tries not to laugh too much at the observation.
If only they knew.
—
Gotham, 11 Years Ago
Bruce Wayne is a nice enough guy. A little awkward, as most rich folks tend to be, but Jason and Spencer aren’t exactly sparkling examples of society themselves. They can handle awkward.
It also helps that he’s Batman - a fact that Spencer figured out in the first five minutes of meeting the man over a year ago, now. They’d goe to Bruce at Batman’s insistence, met him at a diner, and the man had had the audacity to come into the place with the same broad shoulders and square jaw as the Dark Knight and think that the two of them wouldn’t notice. Hilarious.
Sure, the relationship started with a tire iron slammed to his gut and the two of them snagged by the collars of their ratty shirts, but whatever. Spencer is sure there are weirder stories out there.
They were both taken into the fold of the Wayne family after that - Jason, publicly adopted, and Spencer, adopted just the same but kept out of the limelight at his own request. It works well, the dynamic they have. Spencer still goes to the galas, still ends up in the newspapers once or twice, but somehow they manage to keep him from ending up front and center.
Spencer thinks having a famous reporter for a best friend has something to do with it, but there’s no need to point it out.
There’s also the fact that he has access to the Cave computers, and Spencer Reid has yet to find a news outlet with enough security to keep him out.
He taps his way across that very keyboard with a sigh, head propped up in one hand as he types up the nightly report with the other. It’s nearly four in the morning now, and both Bruce and Jason are somewhere behind him, changing out of their uniforms after a long night of patrol that involved - but was not limited to - a major bank robbery and an unrelated attack by one Poison Ivy.
“You look bored, Sparrow.” Jason appears behind him with a toothy grin in his words, jokingly draping his bright yellow cape over Spencer’s shoulders. “Seriously, nothing interesting on there?”
“You would have known if there had been anything else.” Spencer tilts his head over the back of his chair, scowling at Jason upside down. The angle makes it entirely lose its effect, making Jason snicker and dragging Spencer right along with him.
“Thank you, Sparrow.” And that’s Bruce, pulling Spencer out of the playful staring match with Jason. As soon as he’s straightened back up, Bruce ruffles his hair and offers him a rare smile. “You did good work tonight. Both of you did.”
Spencer doesn’t need to look to know that Jason is absolutely preening beside him. Neither of them can deny how nice a compliment feels - especially when that compliment comes from Bruce. Dick and Alfred are both so much more forthcoming with their words, even if the latter man likes to seem prim and proper on the outside. But Bruce-
“Dynamic Duo,” Jason interrupts Spencer’s thoughts, bursting with pride. “That’s us, huh, brainiac?”
Spencer can’t help but grin back. “Yeah. That’s us.”
And they are, Bruce can’t deny it. With Dick and Babs, as Nightwing and Batgirl respectively, working more and more on their own as of late, having Jason on the streets as Robin and Spencer back in the Cave running their computer and communications lines as Sparrow means that Gotham’s Rogues don’t stand a chance.
—
Quantico, Today
When the phone call finally comes, Spencer answers it before the first ring even finishes.
“This is Dr. Reid.”
He’s answered by a laugh so familiar that it makes a grin split across his face.
“Hey, Nerdy Birdy.”
He can’t even be annoyed by the stupid nickname, a variant of the one Dick lovingly bestowed him when they first moved in. It’s a welcome call, even after just hearing from the family this morning.
“Took you long enough,” Spencer shoots back with a grin splitting his face.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jason huffs. “You sound way too excited to be getting a case shoved your way.”
Spencer tucks the phone between his ear and shoulder, busying his hands with the cap from one of his pens. He’s never been good at sitting still. “We get cases every day,” he absently points out. “Getting one from you makes it exciting.”
“Technically you’re getting it from Dickiebird,” Jason corrects before adding, “And Jim Gordon.”
“But you’re the one coming to the office.”
He can hear Jason snort on the other end, echoing strangely over the phone. “Just doing a favor for the guy.” He’s lying through his teeth, but Spencer sure as hell won’t be the one calling him out on it. He’s just excited to get to see his brother.
The rest of the team meeting him? After all this time, that’s just the cherry on top.