Picking Up Strays, Criminal Minds (AU), R-ish
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Title: Picking Up Strays
Character: Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan
Rating: R-ish
Word Count: 1249
Summary: In a complete AU, Spencer breaks down and has his mother committed much earlier, and after suffering abuse, he runs away, only to find that life on the streets isn't any easier, until he finds a friend.
A/Ns & Warnings: Written for angst_bingo, prompt "Strippers". Immediately follows Waking Up. WARNINGS: References to underage non-con, non-con drug use and allusion to rape while under the influence.
Spencer ate a couple of bites of his eggs, then shifted uncomfortably. "Why?"
"What?"
"Um, why would you help me?"
"Wasn't that long ago I was you." Derek answered. "Got kicked out when I was sixteen, spent the next two years on the streets, before I met a guy who gave me a place to stay and a job to do."
"For all you know I'm crazy, a murderer. I could kill you."
Derek smiled. "I doubt it, kid. I got a nose for trouble. You ain't it." He wiped up the last of his eggs with his toast and popped it in his mouth. "But, I do need to sleep. Gotta work in a few hours."
Spencer frowned as he looked around them. Derek laughed. "The couch pulls out. Don't worry, I'm not going to touch you."
He finishes his own food fast and watches Derek pull the couch out. Derek kicks off his shoes and strips down to a pair of boxers before crossing to a closet and pulling out two pillows that he throws onto the bed.
“You…you work?” Spencer asks as he puts his plate in the sink with Derek’s and slips into the living room. Derek’s already under the blankets, one of the pillows under his head.
“I dance.” Derek corrects as Spencer stands beside the other side of the bed.
“Dance…” Spencer puts the word together with what he remembers about where he met Derek and nods. “Oh. Dance.”
“You don’t gotta be like that about it. There’s good money in it.”
Spencer sits on the mattress. “No, I’m sure it’s fine. I’ve never thought…strippers are usually women.” Spencer lifts the blankets and slides in, laying on his side facing Derek.
Derek grins and leans toward him. “Not in a club for gay guys.”
“Oh. I…never thought of that.” Spencer watches him close his eyes, and watches a little longer. He wants to ask questions, wonders what it’s like to want to be looked at. Normally he works hard to not be seen.
Derek sighs and opens one eye. “I can’t sleep with you staring at me.”
“Is it hard?” Spencer asks, looking away.
“What?!”
Spencer looks back, his eyes wide. “No, not…dancing…taking your clothes off for strangers?”
Derek turned on his side. “Look, kid, it’s a job. I’m good at it. I don’t think a lot about it.”
“I’m not…I don’t think I’d be good at it.”
“Spencer, close your eyes. Sleep. You don’t have to decide everything right now. Hell, you don’t have to decide anything right now.”
He closes his eyes, sure that he won’t sleep in a strange place with a strange person and having just slept off whatever drug they’d given him. Not that he knew who they were. There were three of them though, bigger than him. He lays on his back and pushes the dashes of memory away.
It doesn’t matter.
He listens to Derek’s breathing as it evens out and softens. Somewhere in the half light, he drifts and he dreams of a dark room, hundreds of eyes watching him while some driving bass makes the floor under his feet shake. Voices laugh and he runs, runs and runs until he's lost in the dark.
He wakes to the sound of Derek getting dressed.
"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you." He sits on the end of the bed to put his shows on.
"Where are you going?" Spencer asks, fearful somehow of being left alone.
"Gotta work."
"Can I…come with you?" It's stupid, he knows that. He's no stripper.
Derek looks at him, eyes him up. "How old are you, kid?"
Spencer fidgets, his long fingers playing with the blanket. "Nineteen." Even he can hear the question in the word and Derek raises an eyebrow at him. "Okay, seventeen." It still wasn't the truth, but it felt less like a lie.
"Which means fifteen or sixteen?" Derek held up his hand and shook his head. "No, lets leave it at seventeen." He sighs and stands. "Well, Hank has been bitching about hiring a busboy, clearing tables, washing dishes, that kind of thing. Pay sucks, but it's better than hanging here alone."
"Okay."
"Come on, lets find something for you to wear."
Twenty minutes later, wearing a pair of Derek's pants that only the belt is holding on and a shirt that he swims in, Spencer follows Derek to the club. The place is already hopping and it's only eight in the evening. "Friday nights, they get crazy."
Derek leads him down the alley and into the stage door. Spencer does his best not to stare at the big guys that mill about in various stages of undressed. "Where's Hank?" Derek asks one particular guy wearing leather.
"Sound booth last I saw."
Derek slips his hand into Spencer's and tugs and Spencer follows him, out into the club where some white guy is tearing his pants off and gyrating to some music Spencer has never heard while men wave dollar bills at him.
They pause outside a door, then Derek knocks quickly and opens it, pulling Reid inside. "Hank."
"Derek." Hank looks up, his dark eyes skipping over Spencer, then back to Derek. "I told you, no more strays."
"What makes you think he's a stray?" Derek asks, squeezing his hand.
"Look at him."
"You said you wanted a busboy. Spencer here can do the job."
Hank looks him over again and rolls his eyes at Derek. "Well, he ain't ugly. Show me your hands." Spencer looks to Derek who nods and lets go of his hand. Spencer holds up his hands and Hank shakes his head. "You ever worked before?"
"No, sir." Spencer says.
"How old are you?"
"He's seventeen, Hank. And he's alone. He just needs a break. You can pay him cash, no taxes."
"You work eight to three Thursday through Sunday, ten to two the rest of the week. I pay you eight an hour. No drugs, steal from me and I'll beat the shit out of you, and leave the dancers alone."
Spencer nods frantically. "Yes, thank you."
"Get him some clothes that fit before you set him loose."
"You won't regret it, Hank." Derek grins at Spencer and gestures back the way they came.
"Not so bad." Derek says as he leads Spencer into a dressing room. "He's gruff, but he treats us good. Here." He stops by a trunk. "It's stuff that gets left behind mostly, things we don't use anymore. You should be able to find something that fits."
He leaves Spencer rummaging through the trunk to greet other dancers and start getting ready. Eventually Spencer finds a pair of jeans and a shirt that isn't so flashy his eyes hurt looking at it.
"Oh, honey, yes," one of the guys says when he emerges from the bathroom in the borrowed clothes. "Show us that pretty ass."
"Leave him alone, Reg, he's not here for you to fondle. He's the new busboy." Derek says, gathering Spencer to him and walking him back to the tiny kitchen. "Never mind him, he's got a taste for pretty boys. This is where the glasses and stuff get run through the dishwasher. You bring them in, load the dishwasher and when it's done running, you haul the clean stuff back to the bar."
Spencer nods. He can handle that. Easy. Derek grins at him and he melts a little inside. "I gotta get up on the stage. I'll check on you later."
Title: Picking Up Strays
Character: Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan
Rating: R-ish
Word Count: 1249
Summary: In a complete AU, Spencer breaks down and has his mother committed much earlier, and after suffering abuse, he runs away, only to find that life on the streets isn't any easier, until he finds a friend.
A/Ns & Warnings: Written for angst_bingo, prompt "Strippers". Immediately follows Waking Up. WARNINGS: References to underage non-con, non-con drug use and allusion to rape while under the influence.
Spencer ate a couple of bites of his eggs, then shifted uncomfortably. "Why?"
"What?"
"Um, why would you help me?"
"Wasn't that long ago I was you." Derek answered. "Got kicked out when I was sixteen, spent the next two years on the streets, before I met a guy who gave me a place to stay and a job to do."
"For all you know I'm crazy, a murderer. I could kill you."
Derek smiled. "I doubt it, kid. I got a nose for trouble. You ain't it." He wiped up the last of his eggs with his toast and popped it in his mouth. "But, I do need to sleep. Gotta work in a few hours."
Spencer frowned as he looked around them. Derek laughed. "The couch pulls out. Don't worry, I'm not going to touch you."
He finishes his own food fast and watches Derek pull the couch out. Derek kicks off his shoes and strips down to a pair of boxers before crossing to a closet and pulling out two pillows that he throws onto the bed.
“You…you work?” Spencer asks as he puts his plate in the sink with Derek’s and slips into the living room. Derek’s already under the blankets, one of the pillows under his head.
“I dance.” Derek corrects as Spencer stands beside the other side of the bed.
“Dance…” Spencer puts the word together with what he remembers about where he met Derek and nods. “Oh. Dance.”
“You don’t gotta be like that about it. There’s good money in it.”
Spencer sits on the mattress. “No, I’m sure it’s fine. I’ve never thought…strippers are usually women.” Spencer lifts the blankets and slides in, laying on his side facing Derek.
Derek grins and leans toward him. “Not in a club for gay guys.”
“Oh. I…never thought of that.” Spencer watches him close his eyes, and watches a little longer. He wants to ask questions, wonders what it’s like to want to be looked at. Normally he works hard to not be seen.
Derek sighs and opens one eye. “I can’t sleep with you staring at me.”
“Is it hard?” Spencer asks, looking away.
“What?!”
Spencer looks back, his eyes wide. “No, not…dancing…taking your clothes off for strangers?”
Derek turned on his side. “Look, kid, it’s a job. I’m good at it. I don’t think a lot about it.”
“I’m not…I don’t think I’d be good at it.”
“Spencer, close your eyes. Sleep. You don’t have to decide everything right now. Hell, you don’t have to decide anything right now.”
He closes his eyes, sure that he won’t sleep in a strange place with a strange person and having just slept off whatever drug they’d given him. Not that he knew who they were. There were three of them though, bigger than him. He lays on his back and pushes the dashes of memory away.
It doesn’t matter.
He listens to Derek’s breathing as it evens out and softens. Somewhere in the half light, he drifts and he dreams of a dark room, hundreds of eyes watching him while some driving bass makes the floor under his feet shake. Voices laugh and he runs, runs and runs until he's lost in the dark.
He wakes to the sound of Derek getting dressed.
"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you." He sits on the end of the bed to put his shows on.
"Where are you going?" Spencer asks, fearful somehow of being left alone.
"Gotta work."
"Can I…come with you?" It's stupid, he knows that. He's no stripper.
Derek looks at him, eyes him up. "How old are you, kid?"
Spencer fidgets, his long fingers playing with the blanket. "Nineteen." Even he can hear the question in the word and Derek raises an eyebrow at him. "Okay, seventeen." It still wasn't the truth, but it felt less like a lie.
"Which means fifteen or sixteen?" Derek held up his hand and shook his head. "No, lets leave it at seventeen." He sighs and stands. "Well, Hank has been bitching about hiring a busboy, clearing tables, washing dishes, that kind of thing. Pay sucks, but it's better than hanging here alone."
"Okay."
"Come on, lets find something for you to wear."
Twenty minutes later, wearing a pair of Derek's pants that only the belt is holding on and a shirt that he swims in, Spencer follows Derek to the club. The place is already hopping and it's only eight in the evening. "Friday nights, they get crazy."
Derek leads him down the alley and into the stage door. Spencer does his best not to stare at the big guys that mill about in various stages of undressed. "Where's Hank?" Derek asks one particular guy wearing leather.
"Sound booth last I saw."
Derek slips his hand into Spencer's and tugs and Spencer follows him, out into the club where some white guy is tearing his pants off and gyrating to some music Spencer has never heard while men wave dollar bills at him.
They pause outside a door, then Derek knocks quickly and opens it, pulling Reid inside. "Hank."
"Derek." Hank looks up, his dark eyes skipping over Spencer, then back to Derek. "I told you, no more strays."
"What makes you think he's a stray?" Derek asks, squeezing his hand.
"Look at him."
"You said you wanted a busboy. Spencer here can do the job."
Hank looks him over again and rolls his eyes at Derek. "Well, he ain't ugly. Show me your hands." Spencer looks to Derek who nods and lets go of his hand. Spencer holds up his hands and Hank shakes his head. "You ever worked before?"
"No, sir." Spencer says.
"How old are you?"
"He's seventeen, Hank. And he's alone. He just needs a break. You can pay him cash, no taxes."
"You work eight to three Thursday through Sunday, ten to two the rest of the week. I pay you eight an hour. No drugs, steal from me and I'll beat the shit out of you, and leave the dancers alone."
Spencer nods frantically. "Yes, thank you."
"Get him some clothes that fit before you set him loose."
"You won't regret it, Hank." Derek grins at Spencer and gestures back the way they came.
"Not so bad." Derek says as he leads Spencer into a dressing room. "He's gruff, but he treats us good. Here." He stops by a trunk. "It's stuff that gets left behind mostly, things we don't use anymore. You should be able to find something that fits."
He leaves Spencer rummaging through the trunk to greet other dancers and start getting ready. Eventually Spencer finds a pair of jeans and a shirt that isn't so flashy his eyes hurt looking at it.
"Oh, honey, yes," one of the guys says when he emerges from the bathroom in the borrowed clothes. "Show us that pretty ass."
"Leave him alone, Reg, he's not here for you to fondle. He's the new busboy." Derek says, gathering Spencer to him and walking him back to the tiny kitchen. "Never mind him, he's got a taste for pretty boys. This is where the glasses and stuff get run through the dishwasher. You bring them in, load the dishwasher and when it's done running, you haul the clean stuff back to the bar."
Spencer nods. He can handle that. Easy. Derek grins at him and he melts a little inside. "I gotta get up on the stage. I'll check on you later."