"I am no longer who I was. Loss has reshaped me." – Benjamin Allen

When Spencer Reid was young, he was labeled a genius by the people around him.

That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but it did leave others with certain expectations of him.

They expected him to know the answers to everything, to know how to act and react in any situation. That didn't really bother him because he normally did know the answer to most situations. And for whatever he didn't know, well his 20,000 words a minute reading speed would be put to good use until he found it.

But nothing in any book he'd read or any experience in his life so far could prepare him for this particular situation.

He stared at his phone with all the trepidation of a condemned man facing the gallows. He knew what needed to be done and he knew it had to be done soon. But some part of him fought against making the call, fought with all its might to convince him that making this particular call would be the biggest mistake of his life. He snorted weakly and ran his fingers through his unruly hair, trembling slightly as he tried to make sense of the past few weeks.

The trip to Vegas and the following funeral arrangements had been a blur, so much so that he still wasn't entirely sure how he got through them with his compromised emotional state. He vaguely recalled receiving a plane ticket he didn't remember buying, checking in at a hotel and meeting with the director of the funeral home to discuss options for his mother's funeral.

He also faintly remembered pulling out his wallet at each of these places, only to be told that everything had already been taken care of. Looking back on it now with a slightly clearer head, he couldn't help the faint smile that twisted his lips as he realized what happened.

It seemed he'd had a pair of guardian angels while he was mired down in his grief and their names were Penelope Garcia and David Rossi.

The brief flicker of happiness faded as his eyes fell on the phone once more with its pre-dialed number ready for him to press call. Even his guardian angels/colleagues/ friends could get him out of the mess his own mind had created for him.

He sighed tiredly as he continued to nervously pull on locks of his hair. When he'd started getting his headaches, he'd begun seeing glimpses of things that had no logical explanation. But that's all they had been, glimpses. A quick image that flickered in the corner of his eyes only to disappear like the illusion it was when he focused on it.

Now that his migraines had reached their crescendo and finally faded into memory, he was still getting these glimpses of impossible things. Only this time when he focused on them, they weren't fading away as they had before.

What was worse is that now those illusionary creatures were looking back at him… and they were reacting in a way he'd never seen directed at himself before.

Over the course of his life, he'd become accustomed to having various looks thrown his way.

Disbelief that the small child standing in front of them had the comprehension and vocabulary of someone five times his age or the look of bewilderment when his scrawny twelve-year-old self explained that he wasn't in school because he'd already graduated but was set to start college at the beginning of the fall term.

During his college years, he became used to the looks of jealousy and disdain of the older students who were left behind in his figurative dust. He also became accustomed to the starry-eyed or annoyed look of the teaching staff as they realized that their genius student was either truly enjoying their classes or in fact, knew more about their course subject than they did.

When he joined the FBI he was subjected to the looks of annoyance and disbelief from instructors who seemed to be absolutely bewildered on how one person could be so terrible with the physical side of training and on the gun range. Irritation followed when they realized that despite his abysmal scores in those sections, he was still being waived along towards graduation. His fellow cadets had taken to ignoring him or giving him looks that matched his college years perfectly.

It wasn't until he was recruited into the BAU by Jason Gideon that things began to change. He still received looks of irritation or exasperation, but most of them were tempered with fondness. He got worried looks when he was sick or injured, impressed looks when he had managed to find a piece of the puzzle that would lead to their unsub, or relieved looks when he came back from a dangerous situation.

He splashed some cold water on his face and sighed before raising his eyes to study his features in the mirror, well aware he was still trying to stall for time.

In a world of Alpha males, it was painfully clear that he… well… wasn't. He didn't have a forceful personality and had little desire to make himself the center of attention if not absolutely necessary. He preferred using his words over his fists and was content to stay well out of the way of other more aggressive males. His appearance and physique also made him look much less intimidating than others; something he starkly remembers the older kids taking advantage of in high school.

So why then were these creatures looking at him in absolute terror?

It left him with an unpleasant feeling in his stomach. He never wanted anyone to look at him like he was some kind of monster. He'd dedicated his life to helping catch the monsters that preyed upon society; never in a million years would he ever become one.

Idly he wondered what exactly it said about his psyche that not only was he seeing monsters that weren't there but that they were reacting in such a visceral manner to his presence. What exactly was the symbolism of it all? Was there any? Was his subconscious feeding on some deeply buried and unacknowledged senseless fear that maybe he was in some way a monster?

Grumbling quietly, he forced himself to pick up the phone once more. No more distractions, no more dragging his feet. He had to do this. It was for the good of his team and his own good as well. His thumb poised over the call button and slowly, ignoring his instincts screaming at him, he lowered the digit towards the green button that would start the beginning of the end.

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Who could be knocking on his door at this hour?

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Penelope Garcia bit her lip as she tapped on the door to Spencer's apartment and waited to see if she could hear any noise from inside. She knew he was back from Vegas, she knew he was home, but she had no idea if he was even in the mood for company right now considering everything that he'd been through the last few weeks.

As she waited, her mind couldn't help turn towards the dark days she'd had after her parents had died. She fluctuated randomly between wanting to surround herself with company and wanting to be completely alone. It had been even harder for the fact that her stepbrothers blamed her for the fact that they were now parentless and had made sure to cut her from their lives completely.

It hurt then and it still hurt now, but she respected their wishes to a point at least. She still periodically glanced over their social media accounts just to make sure that they were alright and to keep up with all the changes in their lives. It wasn't legal in the slightest but she couldn't find it in herself to care too much; FBI Technical Analyst or not. After family was still family, even if they wanted nothing to do with her and she would try her best to look after them no matter what.

She was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of the deadlock being undone and the door swung open to reveal the rather unkempt form of one Spencer Reid. Her mouth couldn't help but drop open a bit as she got a good look at her Junior G-Man for the first time in three weeks.

He looked like hell honestly, not that she particularly blamed him. His hair was sticking up at odd angles like he'd been spending a large amount of time either gripping it or running his fingers through it. His clothing was rumpled and looked suspiciously like he'd probably spent a day or two in the same things. His eyes though, were what really got her attention. His eyes were slightly sunken and surrounded by dark bags that just seemed to heighten the myriad mix of emotions she could see swirling in the brown orbs.

Tears pricked at her own eyes and she couldn't help but reach out and thrown her arms around his lanky frame and pull him into a firm hug. She knew he didn't really like physical contact but he looked so terrible standing there that she just couldn't help herself. She was shocked when instead of him stiffening up and maybe stuttering a bit, he basically went and melted into her arms with a shaky sigh.

Worry pricked at her mind and she could feel the tingling pins and needles feeling of an unconscious woge skittering across her skin in response to her shifting emotions. She fought back a light shiver as the coolness of the hallway seemed to increase as her scales rippled across her skin along with the painful pressure that heralded the shift in her facial features. Damn these uncontrolled shifts and the temperature of the hallway anyways, scales always made cool areas feel so much worse than they actually were.

She heard Spencer make an inquisitive noise from where his face was buried in his shoulder and smiled slightly. She obviously hadn't hidden the shiver as well as she thought.

"It's just a little chilly out here in the hallway; does your landlady always have it this cool out here? I'd hate to see her electric bill if she does," she teased gently and was relieved when she felt him huff slightly.

"It's not that cold out here Penelope," he mumbled, voice clearing as he stood back up to his full height. "Are you…?"

She frowned as he trailed off and she tilted her head back to look at his face. His face had gone slack and his mouth had dropped slightly open in what looked like disbelief. His eyes were twitching as she got the feeling that he was glancing wildly over her face like he'd never seen it before. She raised her eyebrow at that and opened her mouth to ask him if he was alright before the niggling feeling of wrong filtered through her senses and halted her in her tracks.

She frowned slightly as she slowly assessed him to see if she could figure out what her instincts were insisting had changed since he opened the door to greet her. He was obviously still wearing the same clothes and his hair was still a mess, his face had gone paler and it only accentuated the dark bags under his eyes even… his eyes!

She paled and her breath hitched sharply as she finally realized what exactly had changed about her friend.

Spencer Reid had big doe-like brown eyes; it was probably one of her favorite features about her friend and fellow nerd. They were always curious, always sparkling when he got caught up in either lecturing others on some obscure facts or gushing over comic con conventions or preparing for Halloween. They were also capable of unleashing a lethal dose of puppy dog eyes when he was pouting or upset for any reason. Yes, under normal circumstances; she loved Spencer's eyes.

But right now, his eyes weren't brown.

Right now, they were deep unending mirror pools of black and in them, she could see herself reflected perfectly.

Not her reflection though, not the reflection of Penelope Garcia the perky blonde FBI Technical Analyst.

But the reflection of Penelope Garcia, the Genio Innocuo.

She gasped as the realization of what the black eyes meant crashed into her with all the finesse of a speeding train. Eyes like that were only ever seen on one being in the Wesen world, a being that was as much a boogeyman to them as they were to humanity. Those eyes were the eyes of a Grimm.

Spencer Reid was a Grimm.

She wasn't really sure how she felt about that, but seeing him look at her with such a heartbreaking amount of confusion, disbelief, and… fear; she decided it didn't matter.

Grimm or not this was still the sweet, socially awkward genius who was one of her closest friends. And considering how he was looking at her, he likely had no idea what was going on and probably thought he was losing his mind.

A thread of worry ran through her while her mind whirled as it started to rearrange itself to her new worldview. When a non-Grimm with Grimm heritage called a city home, it wasn't a big deal to any of the Wesen living in that are. They didn't know who carried the genes and they really didn't care, they had lives of their own and were too busy to be looking over their shoulders for the boogeyman.

However, when the genes in said non-Grimm activated their city then became their territory and the Wesen started becoming very nervous. Many Grimms didn't live past their first year as many Wesen would use a budding Grimm's inexperience as a chance to kill them.

All of this ran through her mind in seconds before she came to a decision that hardened her features with determination.

She would not let her friend fall to the fate of most new Grimms. She would make sure to teach him all she could, and after she had exhausted her knowledge she would look for others to help him. Helping him would paint a target on the back of her head, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. Spencer Reid was her friend, her family.

And Penelope Garcia never abandoned family, not if she could help it.

So with that thought in mind, she reached out and shoved the still gawking young man back into his apartment, locking and dead bolting the door for good measure. Once she'd done that she determinedly pulled the genius into his book-filled living room and forced him into one of the armchairs before backtracking to his kitchen to grab them both bottles of water from the fridge. Right now, her Boy Wonder looked like he could use something to drink and the bottle would be handy for him to fiddle with once she started to explain things to him.

Sighing at the thought, she handed him one of the drinks and took her own seat before meeting his eyes once more. Eyes that were brown once more now that she'd stopped her uncontrolled woge. And they were filled with so many emotions that she wasn't even sure how to begin to pick them all apart, she wasn't a profiler or a therapist; that wasn't even close to what she was trained for. However, as far as Spencer Reid was concerned, she would do her best.

"Spencer, I think it's time we had a little talk, especially with what just happened out in the hallway."

"Penelope, I actually have no idea of what to tell you other than that I am so sorry. I have no idea whatsoever of what I was thinking. "

"More like you didn't know what you were seeing," she remarked carefully and watched as her friend stiffened slightly. "You saw me out in the hallways Spencer and I don't mean the me you're looking at now. You saw the other half of me, my Wesen woge."

He jerked in his seat and half spun to look at her with an expression she wasn't quite sure how to decipher. "I've heard that before when I was a child. Mom had an old homemade book of sorts that had pictures and names…" he trailed off and she was unsurprised to see his eyes start to shimmer with tears.

Penelope bit her lip and looked at her best friend, really and truly looked at him. He looked tired, a soul-deep tiredness that seemed to have leached so much of his light away and left behind a barely-functioning shell. Tears pricked her eyes as the truth of that statement hit her like a train.

First, he'd lost his mother. And it hadn't been an expected end to a long, wasting illness; there hadn't been any warning for Spencer to start building a shell to shield against the loss. Instead, Diana had simply been there one moment and gone the next. She'd never met the woman, but it didn't take a profiler to see how much Spencer had loved her. Her sudden loss had devastated him in a way she understood all too well; she'd experienced it herself when her parents died.

Then while dealing with the after effects of his mother's passing, he had suddenly found himself thrust into the world of Wesen and Grimms. A world that she knew his logical mind would be struggling with for the foreseeable future. She cringed internally, things were just going to get stranger and darker for him from there on out.

"They were scared of me."

She blinked and turned her attention back to the now slouching genius and raised a brow in question.

"The other… Wesen… the ones I keep bumping into. They look terrified of me like I'm the boogeyman from their worst nightmare," he explained, gaze slightly distance as he went over the interactions again in his mind. "I don't understand, I've never met any of them before and I certainly wouldn't go out of my way to hurt anyone. Even you looked like you wanted to be scared of me out in the hallway."

Penelope flinched slightly and inhaled, truly dreading what she had to tell the sweet-tempered man.

"Wesen and Grimms have been around for a long time Spencer, and no one is entirely sure when or where either group first evolved. All anyone knows for sure is that neither group made a very good impression on the other and the after-effects of that have been lingering for centuries.

Grimms quickly realized that since they were the only ones who could see us when we didn't want to be seen, they had power over us. We didn't really appreciate that we were being seen as something lesser, so most of us started developing animosity towards any Grimm we met even if we didn't know them."

She stopped to take a sip of her water before continuing with the history lesson.

"The Grimms became something of a secret police force, one that kept the balance between the wesen world and the human world. None of us were exactly pleased with that, but we made due. As time went on, however, some Grimms became so enamored with their abilities that they took to slaughtering wesen just for the sake of it. Men, women, children, pets, houses burned to the ground; anything a wesen touched was summarily destroyed by those who became known as Endezeichen- Grimms.

Unfortunately, those fanatics made a lasting impression on the wesen population. Now all Grimms are painted with the same brush that the Endezeichen soaked in blood centuries ago. It's not fair and it's not right, but unfortunately, that's the way things are."

Spencer stared at her for a moment before burying his head in his hands with a low groan. "So in other words, the reactions I dealt with on my recent trip from the various Wesen I've come across are going to continue no matter where I go?"

"Unfortunately, yes. There's even an entire sect that does little else but hunt and kill Grimms. They call themselves Reapers."

"Of course they do," she heard him mumble and a tired brown eye appeared between his fingers to stare at her. "Is there anything I can do to stop it?"

Penelope sighed and stared at her friend with sad eyes before hauling herself to her feet. "The only thing you can do Spencer is to be yourself. Just like you can't change most people's automatic assumptions of you, you won't be able to change the way wesen see you either. You'll have to show them you're not like the others."

She paused and tilted her head, considering. "There's talk of a Grimm in Portland, Oregon who's supposed to be different. Apparently, he's a detective for the police department there. He doesn't kill just for the sake of killing, and he strives to make sure all wesen get fair treatment and fair trials when necessary."

Spencer nodded distractedly and ran his hand through his hair, looking thoughtful and more than slightly overwhelmed. "I don't even know what to start thinking about any of this. I don't want this, Penelope. I want nothing to do with being a Grimm."

He paused and then huffed, a slightly bitter smile twisting his lips, "But since when has anything in my life gone according to what I wanted? I didn't ask for my IQ, but I have it. I didn't ask for my mom to be sick or for her to… die, but she was and she did. I didn't ask for my dad to abandon us, but he did. I didn't ask to be bullied, but I was. I didn't ask to be a Grimm… but apparently, I am.

All of these things happened whether I wanted them to or not, I didn't have a choice in any of it. Why, for once in my life, can't I have a choice?"

Penelope sighed and then slowly reached out to take one slim hand in her own manicured one. It was a testament to how upset the genius was that he didn't even flinch away like he normally would.

"I don't have all the answers, Spencer, no one does. Life is a complicated thing, full of so many twists and turns that no one can accurately predict what will happen. You might not have been able to choose what happened to you Spencer, but you chose your response to every single one of those events.

You chose to put your IQ to good use and to take care of your mom. You chose to get all those degrees to get back at your father and you chose to enter the FBI so you could help protect others.

You may not have chosen to be a Grimm, but you can choose what type of Grimm you want to be. The wesen world needs some more good Grimms, Spencer. Our ancestors have been involved in a non-stop cycle of killing for centuries. There has to be a point where it ends.

The Portland Grimm has already started taking his first steps towards changing things, but he can't do it alone. He has others helping him, but what he could use is another Grimm for an ally."

Spencer groaned and buried his face in his hands. "I… I just… I don't know what to do. There's just so… much to think about, so much to learn. I'm just… I'm just so overwhelmed that I don't know what to think anymore."

"Fair enough, I guess I really did just dump an overwhelming amount of information on you without any warning. Though come to think of it, you seem to be taking this well; almost too well."

"I'm compartmentalizing for right now, I'll break down later when I'm alone," he sighed before dropping his hands and leaning back in his chair, looking absolutely exhausted.

"Do you want me to go, let you have some time to think things through in peace?"

"Please," he whispered and then looked at her with his infamous puppy eyes. "I swear I'm not throwing you out, I just…"

"Need some space, I get it," she replied with a warm smile as she rose to her feet. "But just remember Spencer; if you need anything at all just call me. Whether you want to talk or just need someone to listen while you work things out, I'm just a phone call away."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Garcia, for everything."

"You're welcome. After all, what is family for?"

And really, what could he say to that?

"There is an important idea in Nietzsche, or of Amor fati, the 'love of your fate,' which is, in fact, your life. As he says, if you say no to a single factor in your life you have unraveled the whole thing. Furthermore, the more challenging or threatening the situation or context to assimilated and affirmed, the greater the stature of the person who can achieve it. The demon that you can swallow gives you its power and the greater life's pain the greater life's reply." – Joseph Campbell