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Dragons In Our Midst

Summary:

What happens when the BAU's favorite genius is descended from dragons?

or

Reid is part dragon and the shenanigans that ensue

Chapter Text

        In the stories, dragons always had hoards. Penelope Garcia remembered that much at least from the battered book of fairy tales she used to read as a child. So as she stared at Reid’s giant pile of mismatched socks the only thing she could think to ask was, “You hoard socks?”
The BAU’s resident half-dragon scrambled to his feet, blushing, the pink tint reaching almost to the small horns protruding from his brown hair. “I, um, what?” he stammered, taken aback.

       “It’s fine if you do,” Garcia was quick to reassure him, seeing his embarrassment, “It’s a lovely collection.”

       “Thanks?” Reid muttered, though it sounded more like a question. He shuffled his feet, which were currently sporting a blue and white striped sock and a black sock with orange jack-o-lanterns on it. The sock collection Garcia was staring at was comprised of too many socks to count, piled on Reid’s closet floor, spilling out into his room. She had stopped by to check on him after a particularly difficult case, only to find him sprawled out on top of a pile of socks.

       “How many do you have?” She asked, trying to cut the awkward silence.

       “572” answering automatically, Reid looked like he’d rather just disappear. “Can you not tell the others about this?” he asked tentatively

       Garcia tilted her head inquisitively, “I mean, sure. But why?”

       Reid blushed harder. “Hoards are representative of status. The bigger and more valuable the hoard, the better. And I have a bunch of socks, which is about as low as you can get.”

       “Honey, they don’t care.” She patted his arm, “Nobody knows anything about that at the BAU.”

       “Still,” Reid shrugged, “can you not?”

       Garcia smiled, “Anything for my Boy Wonder.”


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       Derek Morgan watched in amused confusion as Reid ran into yet another chair. All morning the young genius had been extraordinarily clumsy- even more so than usual. He had misjudged the location of his coffee cup and ended up pouring the scalding liquid all over his arm. This hadn’t been a major problem, as Reid’s skin was naturally thicker and more heat resistant thanks to the smattering of scales that spread from his upper back, across his shoulders, and down his arm. His pale shirt however, was definitely stained.

       Then, on his way back to his desk, Reid caught his hip on Morgan’s desk. “You alright, Pretty Boy?” Morgan had asked as Reid winced in pain.

       “Fine” the genius had muttered, shuffling off. But as he had made his way back to his desk, he caught his shoulder on a cabinet. Now, Reid was at his desk, staring glumly at the pile of paperwork that needed to be completed. Normally, the agent was able to zip through the busy work at record speeds, what with being to read at 20,000 words per minute and all. But today he simply stared at the same piece of paper for 15 minutes, squinting at it, tilting his head, and holding it up to the light. All the while, Morgan watched as Reid squirmed uncomfortably, scratching his arms.

       An hour or so later, Reid had completed a small stack of paperwork, but was going even slower than Morgan- which was saying something. Morgan poured a fresh cup of coffee and strolled over to Reid’s desk. Placing the cup on the desk, he leaned against the wall. “Something up?”, Morgan asked, glancing at the uncharacteristically small stack of finished paperwork.

       “No, I’m fine.” Reid responded, not lifting his head to look at the other agent.

       “Uh huh,” Morgan raised his eyebrows, leveling Reid with a bemused, if unbelieving, look, “and that’s why you’ve been running into things all morning and haven’t been able to sit still since you walked in?”

       “Morgan,” Reid still didn’t look at him, “I told you, I’m fine.”

       Morgan smirked, “If you say so. Well in that case I guess I’ll just take this back with me.” He picked the cup of coffee back up and moved as if to start walking away.

       “Noo…” the younger agent started, jerking his head up and making grabbing motions at the coffee. But as he did, Morgan caught a glimpse of his eyes, as well as the scales on his neck and face which were oddly pale. His eyes were cloudy and unfocused.

       Morgan stopped dead in his tracks, “Kid, what’s up with your eyes? And your face? Are you alright?”

       “I’m fine, really.” Reid protested, and when Morgan snorted in disbelief he continued, “It’s just that I’m in shed, so I can’t see really well.”

       “What?”

       “Many reptiles, including dragons have a brille, also called an ocular scale, that covers the eye. While it’s most common in reptiles and such without eyelids, I have one as well. And when the rest of my scales are in shed, it gets cloudy and hard to see.” Reid explained, shifting awkwardly in his seat.

       “Well why didn’t you tell us? Have you told Hotch?” Morgan asked.

       “I had to tell Hotch. It’s not safe for me to be out in the field when I can’t see very well.” the young dragon replied, “But I still need to do my job.”

       Morgan frowned, “You’ve been here all of about three hours. In that time you’ve run into more things than I can count and spilled coffee on yourself. Take the day off. I’ll tell Hotch and drive you home.”

       Reid balked, “But… the paperwork… I still need to…”

       “I’ll finish it,” Morgan cut him off, “consider it a repayment for all the times I slipped my paperwork into your pile.”

       Reid frowned, not wanting to give up but also acknowledging that resistance against Morgan was ultimately futile.

       “I could tell Garcia. I’m sure she’d be happy to fuss over you.”

       “Now that’s coercion. You’re a federal employee, you should be better than that.” Reid reprimanded weakly.

       “Yup, but it works. Now pack your bag Pretty Boy.”

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       The case was supposed to be relatively cut-and-dry, as far as cases ever went: a serial and arsonist in Kansas City who had been targeting unoccupied structure for awhile but had recently escalated to buildings with more occupants. The plan was to come in, create a geographical profile in combination with the profile of the unsub, deliver it to the local police, catch the guy n, return to Quantico in a timely manner. But these things, Emily Prentiss mused, never did go according to plan.
The initial introduction to the area and case had gone fairly well, and the team had only been met with minimal amounts of grumbling from the local police, who were expectedly unpleased with the Federal intervention on their case. But with the arsonist having crossed the state border into Kansas City, Missouri before returning to Kansas City, Kansas, it fell under the FBI’s jurisdiction. Reid and Morgan had headed out to take a look at the cite of the most recent fire, and the rest of the team had gone straight to the local police department.

       Despite initial grumblings, the Chief of Police had adapted quickly, showing them to a room and laying out everything they knew so far. Everything was running smoothly (for an arson/murder case) until Morgan and Reid returned with their findings. The now-whole team conferred, comparing their initial ideas and theories while the Chief looked on, occasionally making comments about locations or asking them questions about their process. Eventually, the Chief returned to her office, Morgan got on the phone with Garcia to run backgrounds on locals, and Reid started on the geographical profile, leaving the rest of the team to work on the profile. They were comparing the methods of fire starting when Prentiss first realized there was a problem.

       Reid was busy at work on the geographical profile, looking completely in his element surrounded by maps, sticky notes, and colored markers, his mouth moving slightly like he was muttering to himself. In his focused state, he had pushed up his sleeves to above the elbow, not thinking about his scales or the reaction they might evoke from the local police. Prentiss had opened her mouth to warn him when the Chief of Police walked in with three other officers. They didn’t notice at first, and Prentiss wasn’t all that surprised- people’s gazes were rarely drawn by the quiet Spencer Reid, especially when the commanding Morgan or the personable JJ were nearby. Prentiss didn’t breathe a sigh of relief just yet, as it wasn’t long before one of the officers decided to check on the BAU’s genius. And judging from the his very loud exclamation of surprise, Emily figured he hadn’t missed the reptilian aspects of Reid’s appearance.

       “What are you?” the officer spat, backing away quickly, his hand on his gun. “Some sort of freak?”

       “Smith? What is it?” the Chief demanded, her hand also moving towards her weapon. She wasn’t confused for long, as Reid had spun around when the officer reacted, his scales and hornes in full view of everyone in the room.

       Hotchner immediately stepped forward, hands out in a peaceful gesture, “Everyone calm down and do not shoot my agent.” He glanced back at Reid, “Are you alright, Reid?”

       Reid nodded in affirmation and with an apprehensive glance at him, the Chief of Police lowered her hand. “What is going on here, agent?” She directed her question to the rest of the team, not wanting to look at Reid.

       “If you’ll come with me please,” Hotchner ushered her into another room, “I’ll explain everything.”

       She complied, following him, but the rest of the officer’s weren’t as easily satisfied. “What are you?” the officer repeated, staring at Reid with faint revolution.

       Reid shuffled his feet, looking increasingly awkward and his uncomfortable stance did not go unnoticed to Prentiss. As the officer continued walking forward, his gait and body language excessively dominant, the younger agent stood his ground. Prentiss stepped between them, facing the local officer. “Well?” the officer demanded again, sneering, “What is he?”

       Prentiss lifted her chin to look the slightly taller officer in the eye. “Dr. Reid is a federal agent. If you have a problem with him or any of our team, you can take it up with your Chief. But this is our case and we still have a job to do.”

       The officer grumbled and seemed like he had more to say, but at that moment the door to the adjoining room swung open and Hotchner returned, followed by the Chief. He surveyed the room quietly, taking in Prentiss’ protective stance and the provocative officer. Face characteristically stoic, the team leader spoke, “Get back to work everyone, we still have an UnSub to find.”

       As everyone returned to their various tasks, Reid pulled Prentiss aside. “You didn’t have to do that. I can stand up for myself.”

       Prentiss smirked, “It wasn’t you I was worried about. I know you could run intellectual circles around him any day and we don’t need any more grudges between the FBI and the local law enforcement. Besides,” she winked, “it wouldn’t do for you to go setting them on fire- we still need them for this case.”

       Reid ducked his head, tugging his sleeves back down to cover his arms. “You do know I can’t actually breathe fire, right?”

       “Uh huh,” Prentiss raised a skeptical eyebrow, “that’s what you say…” she trailed off teasingly, the two friends heading back to rejoin the group.


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       “What’s that?” A four year old Henry asked, perching on the back of a couch in the lounge area of the BAU. He had been combing Reid’s hair with his fingers as his godfather read aloud from a book of poetry.

       Reid paused, “What’s what Henry?”

       “These,” the child poked the small horns protruding from the top of Reid’s skull, “These bumps.”

       “Henry, it’s not nice to poke people.” JJ reprimanded, entering the room with a box of files. Setting them down on a table, she turned to look at Reid. “Is he ok? Should I take him with me?” She asked, the underlying question being Do you want to tell him?

       Reid smiled, putting down his book. “It’s alright, JJ. He’s fine.”

       “Alright then,” She nodded, and turned her attention to the files.

       “Henry, those are my horns. They’re attached to my head so please don’t pull them off.” The last sentence was in response to the four year old’s attempts to tug on the bony structures.

       Henry stopped pulling on them. “Sorry.” He mumbled. They sat in silence for a moment before the child resumend asking questions. “Why do you have horns? Mom doesn’t have horns.”

       “Well, I was born with them. Just like you have blond hair that you got from your mom, I have horns that I got from my mom.” Reid explained.

       “Ok.” Henry said, accepting his godfather’s explanation. He slumped forwards, resting his chin on top of the Reid’s head, his arms wrapping around the profiler’s neck in a hug. “They’re really pretty Uncle Spencer. Like a baby deer.”

       “Aw thanks Henry,” Reid smiled, hugging him back. “Now how about I show you a good way to mess with Morgan?”

       Henry giggled, “Are we going to put whipped cream on his head?”

       “Where did you get that idea?” Reid laughed as they walked out of the room. “No, I was thinking more like an air horn under his chair…”

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       Spencer Reid was trying not to reach out and grab the wind chime, he really was. It was made from different foreign coins- euros, Thai baht, Egyptian piasters, Brazilian centavos, and a few others he didn’t recognize. The coins spun in the breeze, reflecting the sun and catching Reid’s eye.

       “He might have entered through the back window. What do you think Reid?” Morgan asked, jolting Reid out of his transfixed state.

       “What?” Reid blinked, his mind completely blank for a moment before his brain caught up with what Morgan had asked. “Oh, maybe. But there are no signs of forced entry and it’s still locked.”

       Morgan frowned, tapping his pen against his leg as he thought. “All the other doors and windows are locked too, with no signs of tampering. Could the unsub have gone through an unlocked door and locked it behind him after he entered?”

       “I doubt it.” Reid shook his head, “Just look at the murders; everything about this is messy and unorganized. Why would he go through all the trouble to lock a door behind him and then…” He trailed off, the light bouncing off the wind chime snagging his attention once more. Reid stared, captivated by the way the coins caught the light. They were just so beautiful. They were so-

       Reid caught himself, forcing himself to not reach out and grab the coins. Dragging his attention back to the conversation, he looked back over at Morgan and the two police officers who had accompanied them to the crime scene, all of whom were staring at him with expressions of varying levels of confusion and concern.

       “Sorry. It just wouldn’t make sense for an unsub as disorganized as this to stop and lock the door behind him or take any of the forensic countermeasures we’re seeing.”
One of the officers nodded, “We weren’t able to pull any prints off anything, and the murder weapon was wiped clean afterwards.”

       Morgan stopped tapping his pen, instead using it to point to the empty slot in the kitchen knife rack. “The knife was from the victim’s own kitchen- a weapon of opportunity. That indicates a more disorganized, impulsive kill. Someone who wouldn’t stop to wipe clean the knife afterwards.”

       “Do you think he maybe covered his tracks after he’d had time to calm down?” The other officer asked.

       “Maybe.” Reid interjected, pulling his gaze away from the wind chime once more, “Either that of there were two unsubs. A disorganized one who did the killings and a more level-headed one who cleaned up afterwards.”

       With that, they finished taking notes and headed back to the station to meet back up with the rest of the team. As they pulled to a stop at a red light, Morgan turned to Reid, “Hey man, are you ok?”

       “Yeah, fine. Why?” Reid responded, still looking out the window. The light turned to green and they continued forwards.

       “You were acting a little weird back there, kept zoning out or something. Are you sure you’re alright?”

       Reid shrugged, “I’m fine, Morgan. I was just distracted by the wind chime.”

       “The wind chime?”

       “The one in front of the window, with all the coins.”

       Morgan’s eyebrows bunched together, and the agent glanced over at his friend, “I mean that’s cool, but why were you so distracted by it? That’s not like you.”
Reid grimaced, running his fingers through his hair self-consciously. “It actually is, I’m just usually better at hiding it.” He paused, contemplating whether or not to continue. “It was very… shiny.”

       “What?” Morgan demanded, looking as confused as ever. “What does that have to-”

       “Morgan.” Reid cut him off, “Think. I am part dragon. In all the stories, all the books and movies, what are dragons motivated by?”

       “Murder?” was the guess, to which Reid rolled his eyes. A look of understanding crossed Morgan’s face, “Oh, gold!” he exclaimed. “Really?”

       Reid nodded awkwardly, “I mean I’m not as bad as some. It’s not like I have a pile of stolen gold under my bed or anything, it’s just sometimes something particularly shiny will catch my eye.” He shrugged, “I don’t really know why.” They sat in silence for a minute before Reid continued, “It was more of a problem when I was younger. I ended up spending most of my off time in college at casinos, at least once I looked old enough to sneak in.”

       Morgan laughed, “The casinos you got kicked out of?”

       “Well, between all the lights, the colors and the prospect of getting a lot of money quickly, it was hard to stay away. Besides,” he smirked, “once I learned how to play, and the math behind it, I was pretty good at it.”

       “Uh huh.” Morgan nodded, still laughing, “Well just stay away from my watch and my wallet and we’ll be fine.”

       Reid snorted, “Your stuff is safe. It’s really Garcia I have the most trouble with; she tends to surround herself with lots of very glittery, very colorful things.”

       “Hold up.” The agent squinted at the half-dragon in accusation, “Those were Garcia’s sunglasses I saw you wearing the other day!”

       By the time the two agents rejoined their team, they were both trying their best to suppress their laughter. From the mildly confused looks of their teammates, they were not very successful.

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       Spencer’s mom had always claimed that they were dragons. When he was much younger he took to this idea with enthusiasm, jumping off the bed as hard as he could, hoping he would fly. While this resulted in several bruises, scrapes, and broken vases, he continued, hoping that this time he would fly. His mom watched, amused, and swept up the broken pieces.

       When Spencer was older, he started realizing that in the stories the dragons were always evil, kidnapping people and getting killed by noble “heroes”. He asked his mom one day if that meant that they were evil. They were curled up on the couch, and she was reading to him from one of her many books (He would later realize that if every dragon had a hoard, hers was definitely of books). She smiled sadly, smoothing down his hair, feeling the tiny bumps that were his horns just starting to come in.
She explained that the people who wrote the stories were the ones who survived, and if they had killed a dragon and lived to tell about it, then when they would tell the story they’d tell it so that they were the good guys. “People, even dragons, are only good or bad depending on their actions. There are good people and bad dragons just as there are bad people and good dragons. It’s up to you to determine which you’ll be.”

       He continued to excel in school, and besides the expected amount of bullying, he was doing well. Until the goal post incident. It was inevitable, really, that if they were going to strip him naked and tie him to a post, they would see the scales, his horns. Spencer’s physical abnormalities only heightened their aggression, more proof that he was a “freak”. They never told anyone, but that didn’t mean they weren’t a little afraid, and they took that all out on Spencer, who tried his best to tell himself that just because he was different, just because the dragons in the stories were evil and hated, he didn’t have to be. Still, he nearly cried with relief when he left that school.
Eventually, her schizophrenia got worse and her ramblings about dragons were dismissed as delusions. Spencer never corrected them, realizing that if they didn’t believe him they’d think he was deluded as well, and if they did believe him who knows what they’d do. So when he listened intently whenever she mentioned their heritage, nodded when the nurses and psychologists grouped it in with her other delusions, and kept his mouth shut.

       When Spencer left for college, he only packed long sleeves to hide the scales that were becoming ever more visible and left his hair long enough to cover the horns which thankfully never got very big. While he was there, he studied, kept his head down, and let everyone assume that any oddities about him, any quirks in his behavior were just part of being a child prodigy. He had been planning to go into research, to work on developing a cure for schizophrenia like he had dreamed, but then he sat in on a presentation by the BAU about profiling and he remembered his childhood fear of being slain as a monster with the world looking on and declaring it a noble deed. The BAU, Spencer realized, was a way that he could catch the monsters, not the other way around.