Big Bang 2013: Have Hatred and Gravity Won - 10/19
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Part Ten
“Three, two, one…going dark,” The lights went out, dim emergency lighting flickered on, and a double explosion rocked the ranch.
“We're good. Can you get visual back?” JD's voice, cut through the headset.
Danni's relief was obvious. “Working on it, Boss.”
Jensen was still stuck on the noise and impact of two rockets. “Two,” he said, shocked.
“Pardon?”
“There were two rockets. I thought the diversion was one.”
“We had an opportunity. JD took it.”
“Where? What target?” Jensen couldn't keep the panic from his voice.
“South corner, the PR offices.”
Jensen let out the breath he'd been holding. Danni turned to look at him, “Problem?”
“Just, y'know, staff and slaves, in the living quarters.”
“Soft! You get too close?”
“No! Not into needless deaths.”
“Never seen you worry about it before,” Danni commented. She returned to tapping at the keyboard and scrolling screens. “That collar is sorta freaking me out. There are bolt cutters in the kit.”
“It can wait till we’re done. I'm used to it.”
“And the scar?”
Jensen, put a finger to his face. “Yeah, well. Not much to be done about that.”
Gray static cleared into focused pixels on a surveillance screen, “Lock-down achieved in target areas. Visual is coming back up,” Danni announced, then twisted her mic away from her face and sighed, “I'm brilliant,” she boasted. She picked out a set of bolt cutters, “C'mere!” She snipped with precision, taking care not to cut Jensen. The collar slid off, and he threw it to the floor. Danneel stroked his neck, where it had been. “How are you, honey? And don't give me your usual bullcrap.”
In Jared's dream there was noise and dust, recrimination and chaos. He looked over a devastated landscape, through gun smoke and hell-fire. At the edge of his vision, Jensen turned his back and walked away from him. Jared tried to follow, but he was frozen in place. Jensen turned to look at him, one last time, but the face that looked back wasn't his, “Not Jensen at all,” his father's image mouthed at him, before dissolving into gray ash that fluttered to the ground.
The cold splash of water that woke Jared was very real. It made him catch his breath and shiver. His eyes blinked open, but closed again, with water dripping over them. He tried to reach a hand out, to make sense of it all, but it wasn't there. He was sitting on a hard chair and his hands were fixed firmly behind his back, making his arms ache and wrists hurt. When his eyes finally cleared, his vision was already graying at the edges, his breath came in short gasps, and he passed out.
Deja-vu. A deluge of icy water woke him again. He spluttered and choked, and kept his eyes closed. He didn't think his situation was something he wanted to acknowledge.
“Jared Tristan Padalecki. War Criminal. It has a ring to it, I think.”
Jared recognized the voice. His eyes flew open in shock. He searched his memory, for something, anything, that could explain the circumstances, but the last thing he remembered was dinner with Jensen.
“Oh, there you are. You wouldn't want to sleep through the excitement. It would be a shame.”
An empty desk and the impersonal gray of a guard-room swam into vision. A hand reached to touch his face and he jerked to one side. “Oh, and I was thinking you liked to touch. Or is it just slaves, huh?”
Jared lowered his face, letting his hair cover his eyes. A goon grabbed a handful of it and yanked his head up.
“Smile for the camera. It's worldwide coverage.”
It sounded bad. “Where's Pa?”
“Oh, that's sweet. Did you know, he hasn't asked about you once?”
“Liar,” Jared spat the word with defiance. The punch that split his lip was delivered with enough force to knock the chair, with Jared, onto the floor. He looked up at his captor, with narrowed eyes and bloody lip, “Show that to your international audience.” The man might be a gangster as well as his father's political rival, but Jared knew Quintas liked to project a façade of respectability.
A goon righted the chair, and he was upright once more.
“Editing. It's a modern miracle. You're going to give a live confession. My guess is, you will be doing it very soon.”
“It's not legal without representation.”
“Aw. Seriously. I could package you up and call you sugar. I've got lists of lawyers, pick one.”
Jared shook his head in disgust.
“Not going to take me up on my offer? We'll record that as a 'no', then.”
Jared stared straight ahead and refused to make eye contact. He wasn't going to say another word.
Quintas turned his back to Jared, in a deliberate snub. “You can give me the silent treatment, but you might want to record a little goodbye for your Pa. The people want to see swift justice, and then I will regain civil order.”
Quintas signaled the guards to open the door. He looked back at Jared with a smirk, “It's nothing personal sweet-pea. I'm doing what is best for my people.”
“I'm sorry. I'm not hearing right. You want me to do what?” Misha tried the door handle of the next room. A two fingered flick saw them bursting in together, weapons ready. There wasn't much to search, just standard staff quarters with a bed, a closet, and a nightstand full of family photographs.
“Clear.”
Misha changed tactics. “I'm guessing that Danni gave you the third degree.”
“You asked her to.”
“Man! She told you?”
“No. I just know you both too well.”
“See, there's our point, we don't know you at all.”
Another door, a similar room, “Clear.”
Misha looked exasperated. “Tell me something truthful about you, anything at all.”
Jensen fixed him with a steady green-eyed gaze, “My name isn't Ross.”
Misha glared at him, “I love you man, but I have a gun and you're pissing me off. Do you think Danni hasn't already turned over your stupidly thin file, Dean Winchester?”
“Yeah. No. Not Dean either.”
“Dude, do you even know who you are?”
The question threw him off balance. He didn't know if he could answer it. He frowned. “I'm a kick-ass mercenary. You trust me, don't you?”
“Personal business is vague. At least give us a motive?”
“Revenge.” He touched Jared's mark on his cheek.
“Oh, right, because that's real healthy.” Misha was sarcastic, “Besides, you don't do that.”
“Do what?”
“Get involved. Not for something trivial. Now Danni - she’s different. Touch her face, and world war three would come screaming down on you, but you …. I've seen you bounce back from every deep cover you've taken, without a mark on your soul.” He paused and added, “If you even have a soul.”
“This time is different.”
“Give me something I can work with here, Ross.”
Jensen swallowed. He hated this, hated hiding, yet hated having to reveal the tiniest sliver of himself.
“It's about family, okay. It's for family.” He continued searching the closet.
“According to my buddy, Ross, he doesn't have family…Oh!” Misha slammed the door of the room, and turned to Jensen, “This is you, isn't it? This is really you, and it's why you were prepared to go to such an extreme for this mission. This is your roots, and JD was right to be worried, because it was personal from the very start.”
Jensen couldn't give a proper answer. He was so screwed. “I'm not going after Quintas. Nothing changes. Quintas has his man. Hell, he has his coup. We all get out. We all get our money. You and Danni get more.” Misha sighed in despair. Jensen grinned. His friend was suckered and he knew it.
“I don't want your money. One day you're going to give someone more of you, and it's going to be okay.” Misha's soft tone surprised Jensen.
One hour. It was all his Pa's life was worth. An hour, in the main hall, under the blinding lights of a camera crew (and who planned a raid to include that?). They heard everything from Quintas and nothing from his Pa. Guilty. Quintas's rabble bayed for blood and they knew they were going to get it.
Jared was sweating and sick. He was sure there were knives twisting in his stomach. Goons hauled him up, in his rope tied bounds, because his legs wouldn't hold him. He surveyed the mass of prisoners and 'witnesses', desperate for a glimpse of Jensen, but he wasn't there. A small voice nagged at him, that he'd been drugged, and why would Jensen have done it? He batted it away. He hoped Jensen had run, and was already far away and safe. The thought was his only comfort in the horror show that played out around him.
The room cleared quickly after the verdict. Suddenly, it was just Quintas, his goons, the camera crew, the President, and Jared.
Quintas stood in front of Jared, formal in his designer uniform, “You should take a moment, to say goodbye,” He made it sound generous, then shooed the sound man away, and added, “You'll be following soon enough. Too many at once, makes it look like a mob. Your father never did understand the importance of appearances.” He smoothed a hand over slick black hair and smirked. “Live TV! Make it emotional. Audiences love that.”
Jared’s pa was no longer massive to him. His arms no longer engulfed Jared. Jared buried his face into his father’s shoulder and remembered the times when the man had been huge and capable, swinging a young Jared in his arms, scooping him up with his teddy and giving a deep, happy laugh. Jared wasn't a child any longer, but he was just as helpless.
“I do love you, Jared. I'm sorry.” His father was crying, and it broke Jared. He couldn't help his sobs and the tears that streamed from his own eyes.
“I love you, Pa.”
Quintas's men dragged them apart. Jared watched his father march, with his head held high, through the exit. Jared struggled and shouted, until one of the goons used a taser to stun him.
Danni swished her headset in her hand, as the live broadcast flickered beside her. “I'm thinking diamonds, Ross. A big, fat, diamond bracelet.”
“Tiffany's,” Jensen agreed, and they shook hands on it.
“Shit! Whatever you're going to do, I suggest you do it soon. Our client isn't wasting any time.” Misha watched the broadcast with fascination.
Jensen looked over his shoulder. “You're kidding?”
“No. Immediate execution.”
Jensen turned pale. He had no description for what he was feeling. It was loss but he couldn't define what he was losing, his last chance to make Jared suffer, or something less familiar. “The kid?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
Danni interrupted, “Best to get in there now. Lots of distraction. Besides, if this is how it's going down, it's going to get messy. JD will want to collect fast and get the hell out of Dodge.”
They watched as the first member of the ex-president's government was taken to a mark in one of the courtyards. His list of crimes was read-out, excruciatingly slowly, before a volley of shots echoed, and for him it was over.
“Quintas sure does like his dramatics. Do you think he's going to count down, like this, one by one, until Padalecki?” Misha wondered.
Jensen checked his weapons and grabbed his pack, “Hopefully,” he said, as he pressed Misha's assault rifle back into his hand, “C'mon.”
In his head, he played through the words he wanted to say, and the things he would do, before he left Jared to his inevitable execution. He had imagined it for years, and pictured it in detail, since the day he accepted this mission. He’d refined it while he washed Fin’s blood from Jared’s floor, and every time he looked at his own reflection in a mirror. He wasn’t sure whose reflection had looked back at him, but he did know that it wasn’t Jensen. Jensen had never been real.
Jared was tied to a chair again, with a wide desk in front of him. He had no doubt that the set-up was designed to intimidate him. He thought it was working. He could hear the live broadcast, on a TV outside his cell, and hear Quintas's men cheer the first hail of gunfire. He didn't know if it was worse to know what was happening, without seeing, or to have visual closure. He did know that he was a coward who feared his own death. His throat was dry, his eyes were red, and his nose dripped. He needed to pee, and he couldn't stop shaking.
The chatter of the guards ceased suddenly, and Jared's eyes widened in fear as the cell door rattled open. Some sort of soldier, with short black hair and piercing blue eyes looked in at him. “Here,” he said to somebody, and the door opened wide.
“Give me five minutes,” somebody replied.
Jared's throat constricted. His heart hammered at an unnatural pace. The accent was American, but the voice …the voice was familiar. Surely there was no way it could be him? The door clanged shut, and Jared couldn't process what he was seeing. “J-jensen?” he stammered. “Oh my god, I thought….”
He stopped talking. The man approaching him had the physical appearance of Jensen. He was the right height, but he somehow seemed larger than Jensen had ever looked. His face was harsh, and his eyes glittered cruelly. He walked with the swagger and threat of a soldier, and he loomed over Jared dangerously. Jared looked up into the face and recognized his mark, JP, on his cheek. He breathed out, and almost smiled, “Jensen!”
Flat palms rested on the table, and the man flexed his arms. Muscles bulged under a flak jacket. “No, Jared. Not Jensen. Not Jensen at all.”
Jared blinked and shook his head, he couldn't understand. “You are Jensen,” he said.
The man continued to tower over him, with a mean smirk and shake of his head.
Drugged. Tears gathered in the corner of his eyes as he finally made connections. Jared retched, but there was nothing left to vomit. Words formed, but nothing came out right, “But you told me everything…your sister…”
The explanation, when it came, was coldly voiced. “Everything I told you about Jensen was true, except that he died. His sister committed suicide rather than let her brother face her debtors. Her baby died with her. It was too late, the bid was already won, and when he lost his enthusiasm, his trainer pushed too hard. All of this is sad but routine in this nation, under your father's rule. We saw an opportunity.”
“I saw your face, when you told me. You cared.” Jared protested.
“Maybe I know what it feels like to lose family, to be an uncle at one moment, and to have it taken away in the next.”
“Who are you?”
“I'm the one who used your laptop to find a way into the security system. I'm the one who fucked you. I'm the one you let in, because you were so needy and insecure. Do you know who is responsible for your father's death?” Jensen tilted Jared's chin, to see his reaction, “You are, Jared. How dumb could you be, to think that I wanted you?”
Jared hadn't thought his world could crumble more, but there it was, tumbling into piles of ash, and he didn't think he could take it. He jerked his face from Jensen's touch and fought to keep his voice from trembling, “You were Quintas's man all along? You actually believe his shit?” This wasn't his Jensen. He wouldn't believe it. He couldn't believe it.
Jensen sat casually on the corner of the desk. He took a slim dagger from a sheath on his thigh, and turned it in his hand, letting the blade reflect the harsh light above them. His silence was unnerving. Finally, he sucked a breath in and spoke, “I'm not Quintas's man. I don't believe anything he says, but the revolutionaries will destroy everything in their wake, until the nation has no assets or industry, and your father is a dishonorable liar. Money, on the other hand - money is straightforward.”
Hysteria bubbled in him and Jared laughed, “So, you fucked me for money, which makes you a whore.”
“A whore is more honest than a politician,” Jensen snapped with sudden ferocity, and the knife was right there, inches from Jared's face, and not stopping. “I didn't have to fuck you. I can do my job without it. I fucked you because I could. I fucked you because I wanted you to die rejected, alone and betrayed.”
Jared shut his eyes. He flinched away and struggled to escape his ties, but it was hopeless. His hands balled as he felt cold steel meet the tender flesh at the side of his mouth. He wanted to shout or cry, but he didn't dare, for fear of the consequences. There was movement, but he didn't feel the slice of skin. Every nerve ending tingled and thrilled as Jensen trailed the knife slowly across his cheek and over the rough stubble of his jaw, shaving hairs in its wake.
There was no wet trail of blood, and Jared forced himself to open his eyes, to try and find the Jensen he knew, in this dangerous mercenary. “If it’s only about the money, then why do you care about my death?” he grated through clenched teeth.
The sharp point of Jensen's dagger dug a tiny, stinging hole in the delicate skin behind Jared's ear as Jensen answered. “You had everything. A home, a family, and privileges, but it wasn't enough for you. You had to take more. I had a sister. You used her, fucked her, made her pregnant, and she wasn't upset. She wanted that baby. I would have been an uncle. She trusted you, and you betrayed them.”
“Oh, god! Sophie? You're Sophie's brother?”
Jensen moved closer. Jared could feel the exhalation of his breath, almost hear his heartbeat. The strong scent of him enveloped Jared. It felt intimate, and sense memory had him catching his breath. He needed to remind himself that this wasn't the real Jensen, and the peculiar jolt of lust he felt was not appropriate.
Fingers feathered over his neck, and the knife followed in their wake. Sharp, cold, slow and deliberate, it pressed against his skin with the promise of pain, but there was no blood. The honed blade continued downward, slicing buttons from his shirt, slashing the fabric of his tee-shirt, raising goose-bumps in its wake and making him shudder. At any moment, Jensen could turn the blade and push in. He could choose torture or death, and Jared wouldn't beg or complain, because Jensen was right, Jared deserved this. Fear and anticipation had his blood pumping and his nerves on edge.
Jensen caught his lip between his teeth, in concentration. He seemed to be in a daze. Jared followed his gaze down to where Jared’s cock strained against his pants, regardless of his brain insisting that this was not the time or place. Jared blushed with humiliation, but his words were defiant. “You turn me on. You always did. Why should I pretend? I can still feel, and that was what Sophie was all about. She wanted to experience everything, while she was alive. She wouldn't accept anything less from anyone around her, not me, not you, not anyone.”
The pressure of the blade increased. Jensen twisted the handle and it cut an inch into Jared's chest with a bloom of pain and ooze of blood. Jared inhaled and blew out slow. He looked up into Jensen's face, to meet his dispassionate stare. He wanted it to be over quickly, but the blade went no further. “You think I don't want this? I deserve it. So do you, because you abandoned Sophie a long time before I did. You trashed her ideal big brother, when you gave up all she believed in, and ran. This is when you come back? When it's too late?” He taunted Jensen, but the dagger remained still.
Jensen's hand was steady. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and Jared wanted to groan at the sight of it. Jensen spoke as if in a dream, “I was with her, at the end. She couldn't contact you, but I picked up. I was there when you ran.”
“And I blamed myself. I wanted to scream and cry. I went to the commemoration service and had to play the 'official mourner', and it half killed me. You weren't there.”
“I honored her.”
“Did you? All I see is revenge, and it makes me think you didn't know her at all.”
There was the warm trickle of blood on his chest as the blade withdrew. Jensen raised his arm with rippling muscles, and Jared braced himself and shut his eyes. He heard the clatter of metal on floor just before his head jarred back with the force of a well-aimed punch. The second hit crunched into his nose with an agonizing crack and spray of blood, and the third opened the puffy split on his lip and loosened a tooth. Jared’s stomach clenched against the fourth and he stopped counting.
Jensen was panting when he finally felt his rage subside. His fingers and face were splashed with Jared's blood. The kid was still alive, but he was a mess. His face was a mass of fresh bruises and vivid blood. Hair stuck to his face and dripped with sweat, tears, snot and more blood. He was still fucking beautiful.
Jared opened his eyes with difficulty. The multi-hued orbs, were dim and watery. “I want you to finish it.” There was no hope in the gasped plea, “Please.”
He stooped to pick up his blade, and Jared's blood-stained lips curled into a lopsided smile. He lifted the knife, watched Jared's neck stretch and elongate, as he tipped it back in submission, waiting for Jensen, trusting him.
He had never been a trustworthy guy. What's to trust when you won't share your history, not even your name? Sophie had told him that once. He traced the knife up to Jared's battered cheekbone and sliced in. This time Jared screamed, but Jensen didn't stop until the initials JA were carved in flesh and blood, on his face.
When he was done, he placed his knife on the desk with slow deliberation. He avoided looking at the pathetic, sobbing kid, tied to the chair in front of him. Revenge wasn’t supposed to feel like this. None of it had made him feel better. He was numb inside, maybe he always had been; perhaps he always would be. Except…there had been moments, with Jared, when he’d felt a spark of something, and he couldn't think about it right now, or he might lose his mind.
He didn't notice Misha until hands shook his shoulders. “Jesus Christ! You have to snap out of this. I heard the scream. What the fuck did you do, man?”
Jensen blinked. He looked at the scene objectively. It was bad, real bad.
Misha was panicking. “Oh, shit! Quintas can't use him like this. Our heads are gonna get jammed on a pole at the palace gate.”
“This isn't a palace, Misha. We agreed to deliver the President. The kid wasn't part of the deal.”
“You think that makes it okay? He's not going to let us just slip away after fucking up his sweet little PR campaign. Do you think JD is going to let this slide? Fuck, dude! What the hell happened? I mean, I know you're cold, but this…this…I don't understand.”
A volley of shots rang out from the live broadcast. Another cheer was heard, and a somber voice started to read out President Padalecki's crimes and sentence. Jensen cleaned his dagger and moved to put it back in his thigh sheath. Misha snatched it from him, and within seconds was sawing at Jared's ties. “Give him your jacket”
Jensen was confused, “Why?”
“He can't be found like this. So, he escaped.”
“What?”
“Just do it, Ross, or so help me, I will have Jared kill you during his escape.”
It was like waking from a nightmare and everything was real again. Jensen fitted in smoothly with Misha, and Jared was nothing more than a rag-doll. Jared tried to help, but he was uncoordinated and unable to stand. They propped him between them to dress him. Jensen's jacket was already bloody, but Misha tore at it, to give the appearance additional merit. Jensen considered Jared's distinctive floppy hair. He pushed the kid back into the chair and rapidly hacked it short with his knife. Jared fought him, and Misha held him down.
They locked the cell door behind them, and carried Jared between them, like an injured comrade. A few of Quintas's men patrolled, but they were distracted by commentary of the executions. Misha turned his headset back on and altered the frequency. “Danni, how would you like a necklace to go with that diamond bracelet?”
“This sounds dangerous.”
“It's a cinch for you. Find us an exit, and if JD asks, it never happened.”
“What are you doing? No, don't tell me. Will JD kill me?”
“No, he'll kill us. You never did a thing.”
“Okay. When?”
“Now, Danni! Now.”
“Give me a few seconds. Where are you headed?”
“North East corridor, South turn, by room 112.”
“You want a diversion?”
“How did you know?” Misha grinned.
“Stands to reason. You planning on coming back?”
“Only Ross is going. I'm not leaving our red headed goddess alone and vulnerable. How's it looking out there?”
Danni was all business. “Mostly quiet. Quintas has roadblocks forming a cordon a few miles out. There's a crowd of 1K civilians creating a lot of noise, at the main gate,” she paused, “Take a right, keep going till the end. I'll unlock that exit for you, but it's interior. Hang a left by the tack room, hang another left opposite a door to the stables, then one hundred yards straight ahead is a fire door. It will be unlocked for five minutes. You better shake your asses.”
One goon challenged them. Misha showed a fake I.D. Jensen broke the man's neck with a single twist. Misha pushed Jensen out of the door, with Jared clinging to him. “Lose the kid somewhere he'll never be found.”
Just before the exit closed, and Jensen was on his own, Misha flung a cell phone at him. “If it's safe, you'll get the rendezvous details. If not…” he shrugged.
The door clunked shut, and Jensen found himself in hostile territory with Jared.
Part eleven
Part Ten
“Three, two, one…going dark,” The lights went out, dim emergency lighting flickered on, and a double explosion rocked the ranch.
“We're good. Can you get visual back?” JD's voice, cut through the headset.
Danni's relief was obvious. “Working on it, Boss.”
Jensen was still stuck on the noise and impact of two rockets. “Two,” he said, shocked.
“Pardon?”
“There were two rockets. I thought the diversion was one.”
“We had an opportunity. JD took it.”
“Where? What target?” Jensen couldn't keep the panic from his voice.
“South corner, the PR offices.”
Jensen let out the breath he'd been holding. Danni turned to look at him, “Problem?”
“Just, y'know, staff and slaves, in the living quarters.”
“Soft! You get too close?”
“No! Not into needless deaths.”
“Never seen you worry about it before,” Danni commented. She returned to tapping at the keyboard and scrolling screens. “That collar is sorta freaking me out. There are bolt cutters in the kit.”
“It can wait till we’re done. I'm used to it.”
“And the scar?”
Jensen, put a finger to his face. “Yeah, well. Not much to be done about that.”
Gray static cleared into focused pixels on a surveillance screen, “Lock-down achieved in target areas. Visual is coming back up,” Danni announced, then twisted her mic away from her face and sighed, “I'm brilliant,” she boasted. She picked out a set of bolt cutters, “C'mere!” She snipped with precision, taking care not to cut Jensen. The collar slid off, and he threw it to the floor. Danneel stroked his neck, where it had been. “How are you, honey? And don't give me your usual bullcrap.”
In Jared's dream there was noise and dust, recrimination and chaos. He looked over a devastated landscape, through gun smoke and hell-fire. At the edge of his vision, Jensen turned his back and walked away from him. Jared tried to follow, but he was frozen in place. Jensen turned to look at him, one last time, but the face that looked back wasn't his, “Not Jensen at all,” his father's image mouthed at him, before dissolving into gray ash that fluttered to the ground.
The cold splash of water that woke Jared was very real. It made him catch his breath and shiver. His eyes blinked open, but closed again, with water dripping over them. He tried to reach a hand out, to make sense of it all, but it wasn't there. He was sitting on a hard chair and his hands were fixed firmly behind his back, making his arms ache and wrists hurt. When his eyes finally cleared, his vision was already graying at the edges, his breath came in short gasps, and he passed out.
Deja-vu. A deluge of icy water woke him again. He spluttered and choked, and kept his eyes closed. He didn't think his situation was something he wanted to acknowledge.
“Jared Tristan Padalecki. War Criminal. It has a ring to it, I think.”
Jared recognized the voice. His eyes flew open in shock. He searched his memory, for something, anything, that could explain the circumstances, but the last thing he remembered was dinner with Jensen.
“Oh, there you are. You wouldn't want to sleep through the excitement. It would be a shame.”
An empty desk and the impersonal gray of a guard-room swam into vision. A hand reached to touch his face and he jerked to one side. “Oh, and I was thinking you liked to touch. Or is it just slaves, huh?”
Jared lowered his face, letting his hair cover his eyes. A goon grabbed a handful of it and yanked his head up.
“Smile for the camera. It's worldwide coverage.”
It sounded bad. “Where's Pa?”
“Oh, that's sweet. Did you know, he hasn't asked about you once?”
“Liar,” Jared spat the word with defiance. The punch that split his lip was delivered with enough force to knock the chair, with Jared, onto the floor. He looked up at his captor, with narrowed eyes and bloody lip, “Show that to your international audience.” The man might be a gangster as well as his father's political rival, but Jared knew Quintas liked to project a façade of respectability.
A goon righted the chair, and he was upright once more.
“Editing. It's a modern miracle. You're going to give a live confession. My guess is, you will be doing it very soon.”
“It's not legal without representation.”
“Aw. Seriously. I could package you up and call you sugar. I've got lists of lawyers, pick one.”
Jared shook his head in disgust.
“Not going to take me up on my offer? We'll record that as a 'no', then.”
Jared stared straight ahead and refused to make eye contact. He wasn't going to say another word.
Quintas turned his back to Jared, in a deliberate snub. “You can give me the silent treatment, but you might want to record a little goodbye for your Pa. The people want to see swift justice, and then I will regain civil order.”
Quintas signaled the guards to open the door. He looked back at Jared with a smirk, “It's nothing personal sweet-pea. I'm doing what is best for my people.”
“I'm sorry. I'm not hearing right. You want me to do what?” Misha tried the door handle of the next room. A two fingered flick saw them bursting in together, weapons ready. There wasn't much to search, just standard staff quarters with a bed, a closet, and a nightstand full of family photographs.
“Clear.”
Misha changed tactics. “I'm guessing that Danni gave you the third degree.”
“You asked her to.”
“Man! She told you?”
“No. I just know you both too well.”
“See, there's our point, we don't know you at all.”
Another door, a similar room, “Clear.”
Misha looked exasperated. “Tell me something truthful about you, anything at all.”
Jensen fixed him with a steady green-eyed gaze, “My name isn't Ross.”
Misha glared at him, “I love you man, but I have a gun and you're pissing me off. Do you think Danni hasn't already turned over your stupidly thin file, Dean Winchester?”
“Yeah. No. Not Dean either.”
“Dude, do you even know who you are?”
The question threw him off balance. He didn't know if he could answer it. He frowned. “I'm a kick-ass mercenary. You trust me, don't you?”
“Personal business is vague. At least give us a motive?”
“Revenge.” He touched Jared's mark on his cheek.
“Oh, right, because that's real healthy.” Misha was sarcastic, “Besides, you don't do that.”
“Do what?”
“Get involved. Not for something trivial. Now Danni - she’s different. Touch her face, and world war three would come screaming down on you, but you …. I've seen you bounce back from every deep cover you've taken, without a mark on your soul.” He paused and added, “If you even have a soul.”
“This time is different.”
“Give me something I can work with here, Ross.”
Jensen swallowed. He hated this, hated hiding, yet hated having to reveal the tiniest sliver of himself.
“It's about family, okay. It's for family.” He continued searching the closet.
“According to my buddy, Ross, he doesn't have family…Oh!” Misha slammed the door of the room, and turned to Jensen, “This is you, isn't it? This is really you, and it's why you were prepared to go to such an extreme for this mission. This is your roots, and JD was right to be worried, because it was personal from the very start.”
Jensen couldn't give a proper answer. He was so screwed. “I'm not going after Quintas. Nothing changes. Quintas has his man. Hell, he has his coup. We all get out. We all get our money. You and Danni get more.” Misha sighed in despair. Jensen grinned. His friend was suckered and he knew it.
“I don't want your money. One day you're going to give someone more of you, and it's going to be okay.” Misha's soft tone surprised Jensen.
One hour. It was all his Pa's life was worth. An hour, in the main hall, under the blinding lights of a camera crew (and who planned a raid to include that?). They heard everything from Quintas and nothing from his Pa. Guilty. Quintas's rabble bayed for blood and they knew they were going to get it.
Jared was sweating and sick. He was sure there were knives twisting in his stomach. Goons hauled him up, in his rope tied bounds, because his legs wouldn't hold him. He surveyed the mass of prisoners and 'witnesses', desperate for a glimpse of Jensen, but he wasn't there. A small voice nagged at him, that he'd been drugged, and why would Jensen have done it? He batted it away. He hoped Jensen had run, and was already far away and safe. The thought was his only comfort in the horror show that played out around him.
The room cleared quickly after the verdict. Suddenly, it was just Quintas, his goons, the camera crew, the President, and Jared.
Quintas stood in front of Jared, formal in his designer uniform, “You should take a moment, to say goodbye,” He made it sound generous, then shooed the sound man away, and added, “You'll be following soon enough. Too many at once, makes it look like a mob. Your father never did understand the importance of appearances.” He smoothed a hand over slick black hair and smirked. “Live TV! Make it emotional. Audiences love that.”
Jared’s pa was no longer massive to him. His arms no longer engulfed Jared. Jared buried his face into his father’s shoulder and remembered the times when the man had been huge and capable, swinging a young Jared in his arms, scooping him up with his teddy and giving a deep, happy laugh. Jared wasn't a child any longer, but he was just as helpless.
“I do love you, Jared. I'm sorry.” His father was crying, and it broke Jared. He couldn't help his sobs and the tears that streamed from his own eyes.
“I love you, Pa.”
Quintas's men dragged them apart. Jared watched his father march, with his head held high, through the exit. Jared struggled and shouted, until one of the goons used a taser to stun him.
Danni swished her headset in her hand, as the live broadcast flickered beside her. “I'm thinking diamonds, Ross. A big, fat, diamond bracelet.”
“Tiffany's,” Jensen agreed, and they shook hands on it.
“Shit! Whatever you're going to do, I suggest you do it soon. Our client isn't wasting any time.” Misha watched the broadcast with fascination.
Jensen looked over his shoulder. “You're kidding?”
“No. Immediate execution.”
Jensen turned pale. He had no description for what he was feeling. It was loss but he couldn't define what he was losing, his last chance to make Jared suffer, or something less familiar. “The kid?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
Danni interrupted, “Best to get in there now. Lots of distraction. Besides, if this is how it's going down, it's going to get messy. JD will want to collect fast and get the hell out of Dodge.”
They watched as the first member of the ex-president's government was taken to a mark in one of the courtyards. His list of crimes was read-out, excruciatingly slowly, before a volley of shots echoed, and for him it was over.
“Quintas sure does like his dramatics. Do you think he's going to count down, like this, one by one, until Padalecki?” Misha wondered.
Jensen checked his weapons and grabbed his pack, “Hopefully,” he said, as he pressed Misha's assault rifle back into his hand, “C'mon.”
In his head, he played through the words he wanted to say, and the things he would do, before he left Jared to his inevitable execution. He had imagined it for years, and pictured it in detail, since the day he accepted this mission. He’d refined it while he washed Fin’s blood from Jared’s floor, and every time he looked at his own reflection in a mirror. He wasn’t sure whose reflection had looked back at him, but he did know that it wasn’t Jensen. Jensen had never been real.
Jared was tied to a chair again, with a wide desk in front of him. He had no doubt that the set-up was designed to intimidate him. He thought it was working. He could hear the live broadcast, on a TV outside his cell, and hear Quintas's men cheer the first hail of gunfire. He didn't know if it was worse to know what was happening, without seeing, or to have visual closure. He did know that he was a coward who feared his own death. His throat was dry, his eyes were red, and his nose dripped. He needed to pee, and he couldn't stop shaking.
The chatter of the guards ceased suddenly, and Jared's eyes widened in fear as the cell door rattled open. Some sort of soldier, with short black hair and piercing blue eyes looked in at him. “Here,” he said to somebody, and the door opened wide.
“Give me five minutes,” somebody replied.
Jared's throat constricted. His heart hammered at an unnatural pace. The accent was American, but the voice …the voice was familiar. Surely there was no way it could be him? The door clanged shut, and Jared couldn't process what he was seeing. “J-jensen?” he stammered. “Oh my god, I thought….”
He stopped talking. The man approaching him had the physical appearance of Jensen. He was the right height, but he somehow seemed larger than Jensen had ever looked. His face was harsh, and his eyes glittered cruelly. He walked with the swagger and threat of a soldier, and he loomed over Jared dangerously. Jared looked up into the face and recognized his mark, JP, on his cheek. He breathed out, and almost smiled, “Jensen!”
Flat palms rested on the table, and the man flexed his arms. Muscles bulged under a flak jacket. “No, Jared. Not Jensen. Not Jensen at all.”
Jared blinked and shook his head, he couldn't understand. “You are Jensen,” he said.
The man continued to tower over him, with a mean smirk and shake of his head.
Drugged. Tears gathered in the corner of his eyes as he finally made connections. Jared retched, but there was nothing left to vomit. Words formed, but nothing came out right, “But you told me everything…your sister…”
The explanation, when it came, was coldly voiced. “Everything I told you about Jensen was true, except that he died. His sister committed suicide rather than let her brother face her debtors. Her baby died with her. It was too late, the bid was already won, and when he lost his enthusiasm, his trainer pushed too hard. All of this is sad but routine in this nation, under your father's rule. We saw an opportunity.”
“I saw your face, when you told me. You cared.” Jared protested.
“Maybe I know what it feels like to lose family, to be an uncle at one moment, and to have it taken away in the next.”
“Who are you?”
“I'm the one who used your laptop to find a way into the security system. I'm the one who fucked you. I'm the one you let in, because you were so needy and insecure. Do you know who is responsible for your father's death?” Jensen tilted Jared's chin, to see his reaction, “You are, Jared. How dumb could you be, to think that I wanted you?”
Jared hadn't thought his world could crumble more, but there it was, tumbling into piles of ash, and he didn't think he could take it. He jerked his face from Jensen's touch and fought to keep his voice from trembling, “You were Quintas's man all along? You actually believe his shit?” This wasn't his Jensen. He wouldn't believe it. He couldn't believe it.
Jensen sat casually on the corner of the desk. He took a slim dagger from a sheath on his thigh, and turned it in his hand, letting the blade reflect the harsh light above them. His silence was unnerving. Finally, he sucked a breath in and spoke, “I'm not Quintas's man. I don't believe anything he says, but the revolutionaries will destroy everything in their wake, until the nation has no assets or industry, and your father is a dishonorable liar. Money, on the other hand - money is straightforward.”
Hysteria bubbled in him and Jared laughed, “So, you fucked me for money, which makes you a whore.”
“A whore is more honest than a politician,” Jensen snapped with sudden ferocity, and the knife was right there, inches from Jared's face, and not stopping. “I didn't have to fuck you. I can do my job without it. I fucked you because I could. I fucked you because I wanted you to die rejected, alone and betrayed.”
Jared shut his eyes. He flinched away and struggled to escape his ties, but it was hopeless. His hands balled as he felt cold steel meet the tender flesh at the side of his mouth. He wanted to shout or cry, but he didn't dare, for fear of the consequences. There was movement, but he didn't feel the slice of skin. Every nerve ending tingled and thrilled as Jensen trailed the knife slowly across his cheek and over the rough stubble of his jaw, shaving hairs in its wake.
There was no wet trail of blood, and Jared forced himself to open his eyes, to try and find the Jensen he knew, in this dangerous mercenary. “If it’s only about the money, then why do you care about my death?” he grated through clenched teeth.
The sharp point of Jensen's dagger dug a tiny, stinging hole in the delicate skin behind Jared's ear as Jensen answered. “You had everything. A home, a family, and privileges, but it wasn't enough for you. You had to take more. I had a sister. You used her, fucked her, made her pregnant, and she wasn't upset. She wanted that baby. I would have been an uncle. She trusted you, and you betrayed them.”
“Oh, god! Sophie? You're Sophie's brother?”
Jensen moved closer. Jared could feel the exhalation of his breath, almost hear his heartbeat. The strong scent of him enveloped Jared. It felt intimate, and sense memory had him catching his breath. He needed to remind himself that this wasn't the real Jensen, and the peculiar jolt of lust he felt was not appropriate.
Fingers feathered over his neck, and the knife followed in their wake. Sharp, cold, slow and deliberate, it pressed against his skin with the promise of pain, but there was no blood. The honed blade continued downward, slicing buttons from his shirt, slashing the fabric of his tee-shirt, raising goose-bumps in its wake and making him shudder. At any moment, Jensen could turn the blade and push in. He could choose torture or death, and Jared wouldn't beg or complain, because Jensen was right, Jared deserved this. Fear and anticipation had his blood pumping and his nerves on edge.
Jensen caught his lip between his teeth, in concentration. He seemed to be in a daze. Jared followed his gaze down to where Jared’s cock strained against his pants, regardless of his brain insisting that this was not the time or place. Jared blushed with humiliation, but his words were defiant. “You turn me on. You always did. Why should I pretend? I can still feel, and that was what Sophie was all about. She wanted to experience everything, while she was alive. She wouldn't accept anything less from anyone around her, not me, not you, not anyone.”
The pressure of the blade increased. Jensen twisted the handle and it cut an inch into Jared's chest with a bloom of pain and ooze of blood. Jared inhaled and blew out slow. He looked up into Jensen's face, to meet his dispassionate stare. He wanted it to be over quickly, but the blade went no further. “You think I don't want this? I deserve it. So do you, because you abandoned Sophie a long time before I did. You trashed her ideal big brother, when you gave up all she believed in, and ran. This is when you come back? When it's too late?” He taunted Jensen, but the dagger remained still.
Jensen's hand was steady. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and Jared wanted to groan at the sight of it. Jensen spoke as if in a dream, “I was with her, at the end. She couldn't contact you, but I picked up. I was there when you ran.”
“And I blamed myself. I wanted to scream and cry. I went to the commemoration service and had to play the 'official mourner', and it half killed me. You weren't there.”
“I honored her.”
“Did you? All I see is revenge, and it makes me think you didn't know her at all.”
There was the warm trickle of blood on his chest as the blade withdrew. Jensen raised his arm with rippling muscles, and Jared braced himself and shut his eyes. He heard the clatter of metal on floor just before his head jarred back with the force of a well-aimed punch. The second hit crunched into his nose with an agonizing crack and spray of blood, and the third opened the puffy split on his lip and loosened a tooth. Jared’s stomach clenched against the fourth and he stopped counting.
Jensen was panting when he finally felt his rage subside. His fingers and face were splashed with Jared's blood. The kid was still alive, but he was a mess. His face was a mass of fresh bruises and vivid blood. Hair stuck to his face and dripped with sweat, tears, snot and more blood. He was still fucking beautiful.
Jared opened his eyes with difficulty. The multi-hued orbs, were dim and watery. “I want you to finish it.” There was no hope in the gasped plea, “Please.”
He stooped to pick up his blade, and Jared's blood-stained lips curled into a lopsided smile. He lifted the knife, watched Jared's neck stretch and elongate, as he tipped it back in submission, waiting for Jensen, trusting him.
He had never been a trustworthy guy. What's to trust when you won't share your history, not even your name? Sophie had told him that once. He traced the knife up to Jared's battered cheekbone and sliced in. This time Jared screamed, but Jensen didn't stop until the initials JA were carved in flesh and blood, on his face.
When he was done, he placed his knife on the desk with slow deliberation. He avoided looking at the pathetic, sobbing kid, tied to the chair in front of him. Revenge wasn’t supposed to feel like this. None of it had made him feel better. He was numb inside, maybe he always had been; perhaps he always would be. Except…there had been moments, with Jared, when he’d felt a spark of something, and he couldn't think about it right now, or he might lose his mind.
He didn't notice Misha until hands shook his shoulders. “Jesus Christ! You have to snap out of this. I heard the scream. What the fuck did you do, man?”
Jensen blinked. He looked at the scene objectively. It was bad, real bad.
Misha was panicking. “Oh, shit! Quintas can't use him like this. Our heads are gonna get jammed on a pole at the palace gate.”
“This isn't a palace, Misha. We agreed to deliver the President. The kid wasn't part of the deal.”
“You think that makes it okay? He's not going to let us just slip away after fucking up his sweet little PR campaign. Do you think JD is going to let this slide? Fuck, dude! What the hell happened? I mean, I know you're cold, but this…this…I don't understand.”
A volley of shots rang out from the live broadcast. Another cheer was heard, and a somber voice started to read out President Padalecki's crimes and sentence. Jensen cleaned his dagger and moved to put it back in his thigh sheath. Misha snatched it from him, and within seconds was sawing at Jared's ties. “Give him your jacket”
Jensen was confused, “Why?”
“He can't be found like this. So, he escaped.”
“What?”
“Just do it, Ross, or so help me, I will have Jared kill you during his escape.”
It was like waking from a nightmare and everything was real again. Jensen fitted in smoothly with Misha, and Jared was nothing more than a rag-doll. Jared tried to help, but he was uncoordinated and unable to stand. They propped him between them to dress him. Jensen's jacket was already bloody, but Misha tore at it, to give the appearance additional merit. Jensen considered Jared's distinctive floppy hair. He pushed the kid back into the chair and rapidly hacked it short with his knife. Jared fought him, and Misha held him down.
They locked the cell door behind them, and carried Jared between them, like an injured comrade. A few of Quintas's men patrolled, but they were distracted by commentary of the executions. Misha turned his headset back on and altered the frequency. “Danni, how would you like a necklace to go with that diamond bracelet?”
“This sounds dangerous.”
“It's a cinch for you. Find us an exit, and if JD asks, it never happened.”
“What are you doing? No, don't tell me. Will JD kill me?”
“No, he'll kill us. You never did a thing.”
“Okay. When?”
“Now, Danni! Now.”
“Give me a few seconds. Where are you headed?”
“North East corridor, South turn, by room 112.”
“You want a diversion?”
“How did you know?” Misha grinned.
“Stands to reason. You planning on coming back?”
“Only Ross is going. I'm not leaving our red headed goddess alone and vulnerable. How's it looking out there?”
Danni was all business. “Mostly quiet. Quintas has roadblocks forming a cordon a few miles out. There's a crowd of 1K civilians creating a lot of noise, at the main gate,” she paused, “Take a right, keep going till the end. I'll unlock that exit for you, but it's interior. Hang a left by the tack room, hang another left opposite a door to the stables, then one hundred yards straight ahead is a fire door. It will be unlocked for five minutes. You better shake your asses.”
One goon challenged them. Misha showed a fake I.D. Jensen broke the man's neck with a single twist. Misha pushed Jensen out of the door, with Jared clinging to him. “Lose the kid somewhere he'll never be found.”
Just before the exit closed, and Jensen was on his own, Misha flung a cell phone at him. “If it's safe, you'll get the rendezvous details. If not…” he shrugged.
The door clunked shut, and Jensen found himself in hostile territory with Jared.
Part eleven