A.N. So this is my first ever AU...little nervous about it. It's edited from my Scholastic writing competition entry, where the main character is a girl, so sorry for any discrepancies. Shoot me a PM if you see any, and I'll change it. Um...I DO NOT think Reid is plain, just making a point. As for any OOC, well, this is an AU. Enjoy!

I spot her, trudging home through the snow. The thick flakes rest in her dark hair. With the halo of snow around her head and her cheeks rosy from the cold, I can see what others see, what they say about her. She is an angel.

She opens the door and enters quietly. "Hey, Spence," she says, giving me a hug. I can feel her ice-cold hands through my thin t-shirt. There wasn't money for gloves this year.

"How was school, Emily?" I ask, assuming the role of both good big brother and concerned parent. I am the closest thing to a storybook parent Emilyknows, and I need to play the part to perfection.

She tips her head, and beads of water run down her thick locks. "Boring. I wish I was the one to stay home."

I frown at my sister. "Em, you know that won't happen. Mom and Dad can only afford to send one of us, and you're the younger."

Abby shakes her head. "I heard them talking. They send me because I'm pretty. I mean, you're a genius."

There is no malice in her voice, just a matter-of-fact resignation. I purse my lips, knowing that she is right. Emily is beautiful, all wavy black hair, rosy cheeks, and big, chocolate brown eyes. I, on the other hand, am plain. Mousy brown hair, straight as a stick. Hazel eyes, with not even a hint of any shimmer. Hands cracked from years of housework. Mom and Dad make me the caregiver, the homebody, even though I'm male, while Emily gets all the good things, not that they can give her much. They believe that her looks will give her more opportunities, and don't want her to spoil that.

I look at the thirteen-year-old girl before me, wise beyond her years. As a sixteen, almost seventeen, year old I have far too much on my hands, the responsibility of a women many times my age. I have responsibility for not only my life, but Emily's as well, and my parents when they are, as always, intoxicated and unable to care for themselves. But sometimes I think that our lifestyle had a far bigger impact on my young sister. I got to stay at home, sheltered from the world, in a sense, forbidden to be a part of things, but at the same time protected from them. She was thrust out into the midst of things, getting to see into the picture perfect lives we would never have.

A knock at the door pulls me out of my thoughts. We have a routine for everything, even something so commonplace as a knock on the door. Emily immediately rushes to the room we share, though not before sneaking a peek at our passed-out parents to make sure they could pass as asleep. I straighten my clothes and hair as best I can and go to answer the door.

A young woman stands there, shifting from foot to foot and digging her nose into her thick scarf. I look jealously at her. I would do anything for a coat and scarf like that—though not for me, for Emily.

"Yes?" I ask, shivering as the wind bites through my threadbare Salvation Army shirt.

"Is this the Reid residence?" the woman asks, consulting her clipboard.

I nod warily.

"I'm guessing that you're Spencer?" she asks next.

"Yes," I reply uneasily. I don't like that my name is in that file of hers, or that she knows it, while I don't know who she is. This automatically gives her a leg up on me, puts her in a position of power, and I hate it.

"May I come in?"

"I guess so." Any other answer would leave her suspicious. Better to allow her in than to make her come back with her superiors and conduct a thorough search for the reason I denied her entry.

I move aside to let her enter. She steps into our living room. Looking around, pretending to look through her eyes, I cringe. The room is clean, painstakingly so—I have nothing else to do in my spare time—but it is worn, displaying clearly our lack of money.

"Where are your parents?" the lady asks.

"At work." The lie comes easily, too easily. I don't know why I said what I did—normally we claim that they are asleep. Their passed-out drunk state can oftentimes pass for sleep if we arrange the blankets carefully enough.

"I'm Jennifer Jareau," the lady tells me, pulling off her snow-studded knit cap. "I'm a social worker, called by…" She looks again at her papers. "…Mrs. Strauss, who says she works with your younger sister Emily?"

She turns the statement into a question. I frown. What was my sister's guidance counselor doing meddling in our home life?"

"Is Emily here?" Ms. Jareau askes. I sigh.

"Emily, c'mere."

Emily pokes her head around the wall dividing the hallway from the living room. Upon seeing Ms. Jareau she squeaks and pulls her head back. I sigh. "It's okay, Em."

She cautiously enters the room. Her cheeks are still rosy, though from cold or fear I can't tell. I look closely at my sister. She is thin, but could pass for slender, rather than skeletal. She shows no clear signs of the hardships we endured, and for that I am thankful.

"Um…hello?" Emily says fearfully, looking to me for confirmation that she is doing the right thing. I nod and open my mouth to speak.

Before I can say anything, however, Ms. Jareau takes over. "Hi, Emily. My name is Jennifer Jareau. Your guidance counselor called me and said she was concerned about you."

Emily looks at me in fear. I guess it is because she knows that talking about our home life at school is strictly off limits. "I swear I didn't say anything, Spence."

I envelop her in a hug. "I know." But I only say that to make her feel better. I've noticed Emily's behavior change, from the little girl I knew to someone much more uncomfortable with our place in life.

Ms. Jareau clears her throat. "Mrs. Strauss said that she was concerned because," she looks down at her paper and reads, "'Emily is antisocial to a fault. On closer examination, she does not eat at school, wears old, worn clothing, and is much too thin. She refuses to talk about what goes on at home, specifically anything regarding her parents. I highly recommend that someone checks in on the girl.'" She looks at us. "Anything to say?"

I flash a proud smile at Emily. She didn't say anything, didn't go against the rules we were taught young. Looking at Ms. Jareau, I shake my head. "I'm afraid that this…Mrs. Strauss, was it?...has it all wrong. There is nothing to be concerned about." Except for Emily's not eating. She qualified for free lunches at school, and should be taking advantage of that.

Ms. Jareau isn't buying my false consolation. "Oh, really? Then I suppose you wouldn't mind if I took a look around."

Emily and I lock eyes. Hers are wide with worry. I am better at hiding my emotions, but they are much the same as the ones reflected on my little sister's face.

Before we can say anything, Ms. Jareau walks into the hallway. She peeks into the first room, our parents' room, and freezes.

"Spencer?" she asks.

I curse under my breath, and move to where she can see me. "Yes?" I ask, trying to make myself sound innocent.

Ms. Jareau is frowning. "You said your parents were at work. So who are the people here?"

I don't have a ready lie, so I'm forced to tell the truth. "My…parents…" I say, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

"Oh, really?" Ms. Jareau's kind voice has become cutting, cold. "You lied to me."

I look at my feet. "I was scared."

"Of what, exactly?"

I have never voiced these fears to anyone, not even Emily. "Of losing my sister. You're a social worker. I'm sure you've had to break up families before. What you don't understand is that all Emily and I have is one another. I can't risk losing her. We lie and hide to stay together, to keep what we have. No matter how dysfunctional this whole thing may seem, it's all we have."

Ms. Jareau reaches over and pats my hand. I pull my hand back and say, almost in a hiss, "Don't touch me. I don't want your sympathy."

Emily leans into me, and I stroke her hair. "Hey, small one," I whisper into her head. "Nothing is going to happen to the two of us." She gives me a half grin.

Ms. Jareau shakes her head. "Can I come back tomorrow?" she asks me.

I want to tell her no, but that wouldn't help the case I'm already plotting to keep Emily and I together. So I nod in resignation.