J2 | When the World's Burned (1/2)
Title: When the World's Burned
Words: 10300
Rating/Warning: NC-17 / violence, on-screen death of zombie (attack), language, off-screen death of family members
Summary The Walking Dead AU. Jared's been a loner for the last three years, meaning he has difficulties when he's stumbled upon a place that's willing to keep him.
Notes: Inspired by the episode Live Bait, but not really based on the story. Contains no spoilers of TWD, and no need to know the show either; just an apocalyptic universe with zombies as a threat. Huge thanks to zubeneschamali for the beta ♥
on AO3
The last camp was filthy. Scum and grime dirtier than the fertilizer plant Jared had passed half a year back. This new one is clean, but small. Nothing like the bordered-in community back in Daleford.
It used to be that you judged time by the camps you saw along the way. Sometimes you just judge the camps, period.
This new one is just a bungalow with a mother-in-law house out back and plenty of trees for shade. It operates just the same as any other camp, no matter how small. A handful of mismatched survivors trying to get along with what little they have.
Small means a lot of things in this world now. It means quick, efficient getaways. tinier places to hide, and minimal food needs. It also means reduced manpower and gunpower, and that Jared is the most trained hand in this new group, putting him in charge of most everything.
He hates it.
Being a loner is … well, lonely, but it’s also a self-determined kind of life. Jared’s been mostly on his own since The Turn-lived most his time before it in his own quiet, too-and he’s been happy more often than not with the arrangements.
Sometimes he’ll stop at a camp, judge the friendliness of the group, and rest up as much as he can. It’s a sliding scale of how long he stays versus the welcoming committee, so sometimes all he gets is a can of Hormel chili and a see ya later, and other times he sleeps a few nights nights, fills his belly, and hits the ground at dawn.
This camp, this new camp with its reduced resources and its inability to protect itself sans one self-proclaimed cowboy and an older gentleman who’s gruff enough for the bunch, should have been in Jared’s rear view weeks ago. But this camp also has an eleven-year-old boy with wavy brown hair, bright green eyes, and an incredibly patient father.
**
In the woods, Jared keeps his rifle aimed clear ahead of him and eyes open for dinner or the dead. It’s unearthly quiet, not a cricket chirping or a bird flapping its wings. He pivots to the left with slow steps forward. The only noises out here are his soft, steady breathing and the gentle crush of leaves beneath his utility boots.
This right here, frozen in the forest without another thing around him, is a strangely comforting feeling. It’s a small comfort since everything went to Hell. He doesn’t have to think about people straggling behind him or who’s waiting for him back at camp.
Being tied to a group has its advantages-company and defenses being the main ones. But Jared’s gotten along fine thus far, and any other company he’s encountered has been far from welcoming. Not to say he was the warmest upon entering other camps, but he knows humans mean more trouble now than back when humanity was a real thing.
He’s not fully trusting of those he sits to dinner with, and he’s not surprised if and when they side eye him as well.
**
It’s been five weeks at this camp, the longest Jared’s stayed anywhere outside of Daleford. He’s gone more often than not, feeding his need for space and the hunt, but returns all the same. Ignores why and keeps quiet when the little boy with his father’s green eyes asks why he keeps coming and going.
It’s not a pretty world anymore - if it ever was to begin with - and Jared recognizes that every walker’s out there for themselves, and humans need to adapt to the threat. He’s not about to play sitting duck and wait for something to come at him, so he’s always at the ready, moving forward, checking the next possibility.
Except he also keeps coming back to camp with everything he finds. Sometimes it’s overgrown berries that he tests in the forest, never wanting to bring back a guaranteed killer. Other times he manages to wrangle a live animal into what now stands as a four-star meal.
It’s the latter that he’s dragging back to camp this time-an eight-pointer he took down with the Barnett crossbow he snagged on his way out of Daleford.
He feels mostly proud, but drops the act to something more embarrassed when he sees Jensen’s long stare then small shake of the head when Jared gets closer to the group tending to the garden.
“Don’t pretend you’re not proud,” Jensen says as he digs his shovel into the hard earth. It hasn’t rained in a couple weeks, but Jensen still insists on splitting the plants to encourage growth.
Jared shrugs as he passes. “I’m not pretending.” He heads towards Boots-the long-haired, short-legged, fire-filled ex-amateur rodeo star-to get some help in dressing the buck. Still, he steals a few glances back at Jensen, who’s digging down deep and messing up his already dingy grey tee.
“Don’t let Andy see it,” Jensen calls out a few moments later.
Jared looks back just as Boots comes over to lift up the back end of the animal.
“He still hasn’t forgiven you for killing Thumper.”
“That was like Christmas dinner.”
Jensen aims his shovel towards Jared. “And what’s this?”
“New Year’s Eve.” He smiles through the struggle of pitching the buck up higher so he, Boots, and Williams can take it to the garage where it’ll get properly pulled apart. “Better get the champagne ready.”
**
Andy sits next to Jared, bows his head, folds his hands, and prays to a God that Jared thinks skipped town three years, eight months, and ten days ago.
Not that he’s counting.
The young boy picks his head up to his father seated right across from them, awaits the approving nod, then digs his fork deep into the pile of meat on his plate.
“It’s almost like Thanksgiving,” Andy raves as he dunks a hunk of meat into the berry sauce Miss Loretta made work out of the potpourri of things Jared had brought from the forest back two days ago. He then gets to shoveling food into his mouth so fast he eventually coughs on it all.
Jared pats the boy’s back then rubs large circles. “Gotta take it slow, buddy. Savor the flavor, and all that.”
Jensen smirks at them in between bites, only coming forward to keep Andy from drinking too much water. The reserves are running low, and already Jared’s thinking about how to make that work … or if he should head out once it’s empty.
“When did you learn how to hunt?” Andy asks, bright eyes excited for an answer.
Jared swallows roughly, thinks over the last two years, thinks back even longer. Hunting had never been sport for him. It became a necessity.
Before Jared manifests an answer, Andy asks, “Can you teach me?”
This one comes easy: “I think that’s a question for your pops.”
“Can I learn with Jared?” he quickly asks Jensen.
“With Jared?” Jensen asks slowly. He shakes his head and sneaks a worried look at Jared. “We’ll have to see about that.”
“’Cause you don’t like Jared,” he grumbles back.
Jensen immediately pulls out the dreaded “Andrew Daniel Ackles,” shaming the kid into silence.
Jared tells himself the quick spin of his stomach is from the high-end food. Chowing down on Chef Boyardee and boiled leaves can damage a stomach to the point that it no longer recognizes real nutrition.
That’s all that makes sense in Jared’s compartmentalized braind.
**
Hours later, Jared takes guard atop the garage. It’s a comfort to pledge protection to this camp, gives him focus and purpose. And a reason to keep distance.
Also gives him a chance to see the wide expanse of stars on black. It’s calming and reminds him of the quiet nights he had in between the chaos of that first year. He’d seen things worse than horror films, and eventually had to do those things himself.
He doesn’t quite like himself in this new world, where success is pounding a walker’s head in, and getting away with a first aid kit and a pack of Fiber One bars. He wouldn’t blame Jensen for not liking him much either.
Off to the west, Jared thinks there’s a gathering of lights, low and subdued. It could be a new camp, a better set-up than here with more people to pull their weight, more supplies, something to get him going on a further trip. Maybe it’s a day’s walk-or three-but it’s worth a look.
Behind him, at the ladder he’d climbed up here, something drags and Jared is up on flat feet and angling his body into the slant of the roof. He aims his gun at the head popping up then disappearing with a loud curse.
“I come in peace,” Jensen says, likely attempting to joke yet the shake in his words give him away.
Jared sighs and holsters his gun. “And you come too quietly.”
Jensen knocks on the edge of the roof. “Permission to come aboard?”
“Smartass,” he mumbles even as he smiles a little. “Permission granted.”
“You’re tryin’ to kill me?” Jensen says with a smirk. “I’m going to start thinking it’s personal.”
“If only,” he replies, dryly. He’s still annoyed by the intrusion-not just in his thoughts, but by the fact that he could’ve shot Jensen’s head off, and then there’d be a whole new world of pain. “You shouldn’t be out here,” he reprimands, covering up any worry rising to the surface.
“Couldn’t sleep. And I found this.” Jensen shows off a bottle of bubbly. Jared’s not sure how fancy it is or isn’t, but its appearance says a lot.
Jared lifts an eyebrow. “Just found it?”
“Okay, I was hoarding it.” Jensen shrugs then settles down beside Jared. He even has two champagne flutes, and Jared feels nervous for a completely different reason. “Figured I’d keep it for a special occasion-good or terribly bad.”
He accepts a flute and holds it steady as Jensen pours. “Which is this?”
Jensen pauses mid-pour to look right at Jared. “You said it’s New Year’s Eve.” Jared lifts a curious eyebrow and Jensen finishes pouring as he says, “You’ll have to forgive Andrew. For what he said at dinner.”
“You mean when he said you hated me?” Jensen flinches but Jared doesn’t always care for being vague.
“I don’t,” Jensen insists. “Kind of the opposite.”
Jared watches the liquid fill the glass again, bubbles popping at the surface. His nerves are popping, too, and he’s not sure how to traverse this. “You like romance, huh? This feels like some kind of romance.”
“I like memories. They’re all we’ve got now.”
“You’ve got Andy.”
“For as long as we’re safe.” As Jensen drinks, Jared does, too, to fill the silence. “It’s demented to think that way, I know. But, I also know that this isn’t a way to live, not forever.”
Jared shrugs and says, “Pretty well seems like the only way,” before he can take it back.
Jensen nods in some sort of agreement, though his tense jaw says otherwise.
“At least for me, you know, on my own.”
“You’re not on your own,” Jensen softly argues. “You’re here, with the rest of us.”
Jared can’t answer that one without disappointing the both of them, so he sets his sights to the abandoned field to the west.
The quiet takes over again, and Jared is torn between dying to talk to Jensen and needing to keep an eye out. Jensen doesn’t seem to mind and stays still until they’re both finished with their glasses. He offers Jared a second pour, but Jared waves it off in favor of staying steady on his toes.
“You know,” Jensen says slowly. “Things could be at least a little different in this world.”
“How so?”
“You could stop pretending that you’re not really here.” He briefly smiles then looks nervous again. “You could just be here, with us.”
Before Jared can open his mouth to respond, Jensen’s leaned over and kissed him. It’s a plain yet steady pressure of his plush lips to Jared’s, but he’s there all the same. Until he slides back with a short nod and quiet g’night, and leaves.
**
Walkers still won’t leave well enough alone, and Jared finds an abandoned tent with human remains streaking the leaves around it. Inside, there’s a jackpot of factory sealed snacks and, surprisingly, vitamins.
Unsurprisingly, there’s a walker coming out of the mess of twisted bark just past the tent, as if Jared’s sparked its mouse trap.
Jared backs up and rams the butt of his riffle into its head, avoiding gunfire and thus more walkers.
The skull dents on the fully bald man, and it’s almost an improvement, Jared thinks. He smiles cruelly when he smacks it again and again and again until it drops to the ground in a lifeless heap.
He huffs through the exertion and rubs one hand over his forehead to clear hair away. There’s the distant feel of warm, wet blood on his hands, arms, and now his face, but he’d long ago accepted it as part of the job, so to speak.
A twig cracks and he spins with the rifle’s scope now crossing at a forehead before the rifle is knocked from his hands. He tackles what he now recognizes as human to the ground, hunter instincts kicking in before he manages to make out the voice calling his name.
He’s got Jensen’s cheek pressed into the leaves with an arm pulled up his back. Slowly, Jared lets him go, helps him up, and dusts him off. “Sorry about that,” he mumbles.
“It’s okay,” Jensen says, adding, “I think.”
He’s sorry for it, but still narrows his eyes and reprimands him. “Shouldn’t sneak up on people like that. Not in this world.”
“I’ve been calling your name.” Just then, Williams’ deep voice sails through the forest, shouting for them both. “We all have been. We’re losing sunlight and ought to head back.” Jensen runs a hand down his jacket then stares at streaks of red over his fingers. “Are you bleeding?”
Jared gets his rifle off the ground and rolls his shoulders, muscles pulled tight with guilt and discomfort. “No, it was that guy,” he motions at the dead-dead-dead walker.
Jensen winces at the state of its head. “Was that really necessary?”
“Better it than you or me.” Jared flicks dirt off the rifle’s trigger and from the barrel with a frown. “You just had to knock my gun out?”
“You were aiming it at my head,” Jensen defends. “What was I supposed to do?”
“Yeah,” Jared says, remembering exactly what he’s done when faced with the barrel of a gun.
He knows he’ll never say those words aloud.
**
For weeks, Jared stares out on the darkness and narrows his eyes at the soft glow at the edge of the horizon.
He thinks about leaving, even takes a few quick daytrips through the forest to judge terrain and safety from walkers. None inhibit him for the first few miles, so he spends his night watches mentally paving the rest of the way.
Even when his test trips only take a few hours of daylight, people are restless upon his return. Asking on his whereabouts, looking for answers more detailed than, “Checking the neighborhood.”
Jensen and Andy, in particular, watch him more closely upon each return and Jared’s not sure if he’s happy for that. It’s bound to create more trouble to think about it.
**
Misha meets Jared in the middle of the night to cover the next watch. Jared thinks it’s a bit early, but Misha’s always up long before the sun is.
They exchange quiet thanks in passing. Before Jared lowers himself on the ladder, he calls out for Misha. “What were you … you know, before The Turn?”
Misha lets out a sly look. “A congressman.”
“No shit?” Jared laughs, and begins to think that’s how the man’s been so diplomatic with the group when any tempers flare. “When’d you learn to shoot?”
“In my second term. I had a stalker and thought it best to protect myself.”
“Did it work?”
“It does now.” They share a sympathetic nod then Misha asks, “What about you?”
“Computers.”
“You’re a long way from home, boy.”
Jared chuckles, feeling awkward and amused all the same. “Don’t I know it.”
Misha motions his firearm towards the bungalow, where Jared can see a light’s gone on. “Looks like Jensen’s up to make breakfast.” After a beat, “If you wanted to eat or help or something like that.”
He rolls his eyes; there’s no reason for anyone to snoop into his life; another downfall to being in a group.
Still, he walks up to the house, gives Jensen a hand at breakfast, and feels a surprising calm take over the room.
He thinks about his brief talk with Misha and repeats his curiosity. “What were you?” Jared asks, “Before?”
Jensen’s frying bacon, thanks to Jared’s recent kill, over a makeshift fire in the stove. He's hunched down but still full of beautiful angles that Jared admires from the other side of the kitchen. Ever since Jensen kissed him, Jared can’t get the man’s mouth of out of his head, along with all the other parts he could touch if only they had the chance.
“Gym teacher,” Jensen replies as he stands, bringing the pan to the stovetop. “High school, and I also coached track.”
Jared leans against the counter and smirks. “No wonder you’re in such good shape.”
He laughs and lifts his shirt, patting at the soft skin of his stomach. “Yeah, such great shape here.”
“I’ve seen worse,” Jared replies kindly, even wiggles an eyebrow.
Jensen laughs again then gets distracted by the window, or rather, what’s beyond it. “Jesus, he’s up early.”
Jared joins him at the window and sees Boots tossing a football with Andy. The sun’s barely breaking the trees off in the east, and there’s a yellow hue to the whole scene, something more traditional of a sweet memory. “Probably because you weren’t there.”
“I meant Boots,” Jensen jokes. “I’m surprised you’re still up, too.”
Jared glances at Jensen and considers getting back to bed, or rather his couch. “Everyone else will be up soon. Wouldn’t get much rest.”
“You can head up to the ranch, use our space.”
There’s something easy and organic about Jensen that Jared refuses to concede to just yet, but he’s certain it’s coming. There’s a quick punch of tension as Jensen looks at him, remains quiet, and searches Jared’s eyes.
He’d give in right now, if only he wasn’t already thinking about the next animal they can make into a meal and whether he’ll try heading southeast or due west to hunt.
Further off in his mind is that larger camp and the possibilities for better amenities. Always got to move forward.
“Thanks, but I think I’m okay.”
**
Twice, Jared attempts to trek his way to where he spotted those lights, and both times, he’s walked right into a walker nest and had to backtrack.
During the first getaway, he comes upon a convenience store with plenty of prepackaged Hostess still on the rack along with a shelf full of powdered drinks. He’s a full day from the camp now and has been gone for at least double that, yet decides to cut this trip short and help out those who’ve helped him most recently.
He returns to camp with plastic bags hanging at his wrists, cutting off all circulation, and bringing his treasure with him.
Miss Loretta and Andy, and even the crotchey Williams, are happy to see his haul. Boots and Misha seem less impressed even while taking the Ho-Ho’s and donuts with them.
Jensen watches Jared when he isn’t listening to Andy sputter on about how he hasn’t had cake since his seventh birthday, when mom baked double chocolate.
Jared’s swiftly reminded that Jensen was married in the before. He had a family with Andy and a model-like redhead that neither of them speak of. Jared’s seen the pictures in Andy’s room, but has no other image to put with her besides another roadblock between he and Jensen.
Still, he smiles at Jensen and tosses a few packaged snacks at him. “Sorry they were out of granola.”
“I didn’t think you were coming back,” Jensen says quietly, tightly.
Jared stares in return, pinned down by Jensen’s own straight look and the way Jensen seems to be really bothered by it. Jared’s frozen in place and wondering why in the world Jensen would care about such things.
Or maybe Jensen didn’t want him to come back.
“Didn’t think I was either,” Jared shrugs, “but shit happens.”
“You could’ve told us you were leaving.” Jensen runs a hand over Andy’s head, even as the boy’s chattering on with Gabe, attempting to trade his Ring Dings for Snowballs. “He was pretty spooked when you weren’t here.”
Now, Jared can’t stop watching Andy, with his bright smile and even brighter eyes, so easily excitable and suddenly aiming his sweet face to Jared. “Now we can have dessert all day, every day.”
With a surprised laugh, Jared stoops down to Andy. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Your dad would kill us both. Probably me first.”
“Yeah, probably,” Andy agrees then stuffs a whole snowball into his mouth. Around the big chewing, he says, “He wanted to this morning.”
“Andrew, I swear,” Jensen huffs. He turns Andy away, glares for a few seconds at Jared, then shakes his head.
It hurts, but not as bad as the second time he returns from an aborted exit.
There’s a lot less fanfare. He’s unsure whether that’s because they’ve grown tired of his escapes in the night only to return days later, or because he’s empty handed. As he’d skidded down a hill, rolled over himself a few times, he’d lost grip of his sack of supplies-canteen, Hostess snacks, and boxes of ammo-and there was no way in hell he’d skate between all the walkers on his tail to get to it.
It’s tense at dinner, no one saying a word, especially not to Jared. A few soft whispers fly at the other end of the table, but Andy silently eats next to Jensen, who also refuses to speak.
Jensen brings his eyes up often enough to let his glare say what he’s feeling.
Jared’s clueless as to why he’s in so much trouble, yet he knows well enough to make something up to the group. After dinner, he sidles up to Jensen at the sink and dries every dish that gets dipped in the wash and rinse buckets.
As the house quiets down and the others head off in other directions to carry on the night, Jared takes his chance to apologize. Albeit pathetically.
“I’m sorry, for whatever it is I did. Or didn’t do.”
Jensen snorts and continues to wash dishes and set them on the counter in front of Jared.
“I was never really good at words,” Jared confesses. “Even before everything.” Jensen remains quiet, though stewing, and Jared sighs. “I haven’t had to make excuses for anything in the last four years. This is a whole ‘nother world. The same rules don’t exist.”
A dish clatters into the rinse bucket as Jensen turns to Jared. “And what rules are those?”
“The ones where I have to be excused from the table and get permission when I leave.”
“You don’t need permission.”
“I know,” Jared replies bitterly. “That’s my point.”
Jensen snorts and clicks his tongue as he steps closer. He doesn’t look any higher than Jared’s jaw, yet the proximity of him, the heat and anger billowing off, sets off Jared’s alarms.
Jared briefly thinks about grabbing Jensen and kissing the daylights out of him, bending him over the sink and taking what he’s wanted since he first stepped foot on their land. He even thinks about the next morning with sunlight filtering through windows and making Jensen’s hair shine white blond.
It’s all wiped away with Jensen’s icy tone in Jared’s ear. “Next time you go, just stay gone.”
Jared doesn’t waste a minute on feelings.
He packs and flees.
**
He survives for quite a few days on his own, at least a week, he thinks. He’d run into a few small nests that he was able to avoid or end, but hasn’t yet made those lights. Existing is all he’s been up to, staying upright is pretty much all he focuses on in between fishing, sleeping, and snacking on the last few Hostess treats he’d taken with him.
But just beyond the creek, but far before the crest of the nearby hills, Jared falls. He’s not in pursuit of a kill, or bait for a walker. He just misjudges the sturdiness of a branch slanted over some rocks, slips sideways, and bangs his shin, arm, and head on various things littering the forest floor.
When he leans to the left, his leg, arm, and head all throb together. When he leans right, he gets blood in his eyes, stinging and flooding his eyesight. He can’t get up to his feet and has little strength in his left arm, meaning that on the whole, he’s hopeless.
He crawls back to the creek and tries rinsing his wounds out. His left arm is useless, just dead weight that flames with pain whenever he moves it, and his jeans are cut through to a gash so deep he thinks he sees bone. He washes dingy creek water over his leg, biting at the collar of his jacket to keep from crying out loud enough to call a walker’s attention. Still, more blood drowns the bone and now he’s lightheaded and has to lay back.
Jared had always considered the benefit of being a loner was to die without expectation. When on his own, no one is there waiting on him to live. He knows how low the probability has gotten after four years, so whenever it’s bound to happen, it just will.
The one thorn in his side right now is turning. He’d always told himself if he saw death heading his way, he’d take a bullet in the head to stop all matter of it.
Now’s the time.
He pulls his gun out, sets it to his forehead, but his damn finger won’t pull.
Something flashes behind his eyes and now they’re flooding for completely different reasons … Andy and Jensen digging at plants and aerating soil, Miss Loretta cooking biscuits and singing Motown through every batch, Misha’s origami hanging from the dining room ceiling like unlit chandeliers, even Boots singing over the campfire on cooler nights.
Then it’s all just a random smattering of Jensen and Andy, Andy and Jared, Jensen and Jared, Andy, Jensen, Andy, Jensen, Jensen …
He drops his gun in the brush, drums up as much energy as possible, and pushes himself up to his good leg. He’s hobbling forward, but he’s moving all the same. Just thirty feet up and he realizes his sack is back where he’d fallen and his gun is still on the ground. It’s felt like ages since he fell and he’s not sure he can manage the time or power to retrieve it all then get back to moving.
He stumbles back for his supplies and yanks the sack’s straps across his chest, avoiding his left arm. Then he gets back on course, which isn’t all the way back to the house. He knows without a doubt he’d never make it in one piece, now a bleeding, crawling walker buffet.
Half a mile up, there’s a small clearing he remembers finding some of the good berries at, and he makes it just before his vision recedes and his good leg loses all usefulness. While on the ground, he fusses with his bag, pulls out his flaregun, and fires straight in the air.
The burst of light and fire nearly blind him in the impending darkness, but it signals his last hope.
Next
Words: 10300
Rating/Warning: NC-17 / violence, on-screen death of zombie (attack), language, off-screen death of family members
Summary The Walking Dead AU. Jared's been a loner for the last three years, meaning he has difficulties when he's stumbled upon a place that's willing to keep him.
Notes: Inspired by the episode Live Bait, but not really based on the story. Contains no spoilers of TWD, and no need to know the show either; just an apocalyptic universe with zombies as a threat. Huge thanks to zubeneschamali for the beta ♥
on AO3
The last camp was filthy. Scum and grime dirtier than the fertilizer plant Jared had passed half a year back. This new one is clean, but small. Nothing like the bordered-in community back in Daleford.
It used to be that you judged time by the camps you saw along the way. Sometimes you just judge the camps, period.
This new one is just a bungalow with a mother-in-law house out back and plenty of trees for shade. It operates just the same as any other camp, no matter how small. A handful of mismatched survivors trying to get along with what little they have.
Small means a lot of things in this world now. It means quick, efficient getaways. tinier places to hide, and minimal food needs. It also means reduced manpower and gunpower, and that Jared is the most trained hand in this new group, putting him in charge of most everything.
He hates it.
Being a loner is … well, lonely, but it’s also a self-determined kind of life. Jared’s been mostly on his own since The Turn-lived most his time before it in his own quiet, too-and he’s been happy more often than not with the arrangements.
Sometimes he’ll stop at a camp, judge the friendliness of the group, and rest up as much as he can. It’s a sliding scale of how long he stays versus the welcoming committee, so sometimes all he gets is a can of Hormel chili and a see ya later, and other times he sleeps a few nights nights, fills his belly, and hits the ground at dawn.
This camp, this new camp with its reduced resources and its inability to protect itself sans one self-proclaimed cowboy and an older gentleman who’s gruff enough for the bunch, should have been in Jared’s rear view weeks ago. But this camp also has an eleven-year-old boy with wavy brown hair, bright green eyes, and an incredibly patient father.
**
In the woods, Jared keeps his rifle aimed clear ahead of him and eyes open for dinner or the dead. It’s unearthly quiet, not a cricket chirping or a bird flapping its wings. He pivots to the left with slow steps forward. The only noises out here are his soft, steady breathing and the gentle crush of leaves beneath his utility boots.
This right here, frozen in the forest without another thing around him, is a strangely comforting feeling. It’s a small comfort since everything went to Hell. He doesn’t have to think about people straggling behind him or who’s waiting for him back at camp.
Being tied to a group has its advantages-company and defenses being the main ones. But Jared’s gotten along fine thus far, and any other company he’s encountered has been far from welcoming. Not to say he was the warmest upon entering other camps, but he knows humans mean more trouble now than back when humanity was a real thing.
He’s not fully trusting of those he sits to dinner with, and he’s not surprised if and when they side eye him as well.
**
It’s been five weeks at this camp, the longest Jared’s stayed anywhere outside of Daleford. He’s gone more often than not, feeding his need for space and the hunt, but returns all the same. Ignores why and keeps quiet when the little boy with his father’s green eyes asks why he keeps coming and going.
It’s not a pretty world anymore - if it ever was to begin with - and Jared recognizes that every walker’s out there for themselves, and humans need to adapt to the threat. He’s not about to play sitting duck and wait for something to come at him, so he’s always at the ready, moving forward, checking the next possibility.
Except he also keeps coming back to camp with everything he finds. Sometimes it’s overgrown berries that he tests in the forest, never wanting to bring back a guaranteed killer. Other times he manages to wrangle a live animal into what now stands as a four-star meal.
It’s the latter that he’s dragging back to camp this time-an eight-pointer he took down with the Barnett crossbow he snagged on his way out of Daleford.
He feels mostly proud, but drops the act to something more embarrassed when he sees Jensen’s long stare then small shake of the head when Jared gets closer to the group tending to the garden.
“Don’t pretend you’re not proud,” Jensen says as he digs his shovel into the hard earth. It hasn’t rained in a couple weeks, but Jensen still insists on splitting the plants to encourage growth.
Jared shrugs as he passes. “I’m not pretending.” He heads towards Boots-the long-haired, short-legged, fire-filled ex-amateur rodeo star-to get some help in dressing the buck. Still, he steals a few glances back at Jensen, who’s digging down deep and messing up his already dingy grey tee.
“Don’t let Andy see it,” Jensen calls out a few moments later.
Jared looks back just as Boots comes over to lift up the back end of the animal.
“He still hasn’t forgiven you for killing Thumper.”
“That was like Christmas dinner.”
Jensen aims his shovel towards Jared. “And what’s this?”
“New Year’s Eve.” He smiles through the struggle of pitching the buck up higher so he, Boots, and Williams can take it to the garage where it’ll get properly pulled apart. “Better get the champagne ready.”
**
Andy sits next to Jared, bows his head, folds his hands, and prays to a God that Jared thinks skipped town three years, eight months, and ten days ago.
Not that he’s counting.
The young boy picks his head up to his father seated right across from them, awaits the approving nod, then digs his fork deep into the pile of meat on his plate.
“It’s almost like Thanksgiving,” Andy raves as he dunks a hunk of meat into the berry sauce Miss Loretta made work out of the potpourri of things Jared had brought from the forest back two days ago. He then gets to shoveling food into his mouth so fast he eventually coughs on it all.
Jared pats the boy’s back then rubs large circles. “Gotta take it slow, buddy. Savor the flavor, and all that.”
Jensen smirks at them in between bites, only coming forward to keep Andy from drinking too much water. The reserves are running low, and already Jared’s thinking about how to make that work … or if he should head out once it’s empty.
“When did you learn how to hunt?” Andy asks, bright eyes excited for an answer.
Jared swallows roughly, thinks over the last two years, thinks back even longer. Hunting had never been sport for him. It became a necessity.
Before Jared manifests an answer, Andy asks, “Can you teach me?”
This one comes easy: “I think that’s a question for your pops.”
“Can I learn with Jared?” he quickly asks Jensen.
“With Jared?” Jensen asks slowly. He shakes his head and sneaks a worried look at Jared. “We’ll have to see about that.”
“’Cause you don’t like Jared,” he grumbles back.
Jensen immediately pulls out the dreaded “Andrew Daniel Ackles,” shaming the kid into silence.
Jared tells himself the quick spin of his stomach is from the high-end food. Chowing down on Chef Boyardee and boiled leaves can damage a stomach to the point that it no longer recognizes real nutrition.
That’s all that makes sense in Jared’s compartmentalized braind.
**
Hours later, Jared takes guard atop the garage. It’s a comfort to pledge protection to this camp, gives him focus and purpose. And a reason to keep distance.
Also gives him a chance to see the wide expanse of stars on black. It’s calming and reminds him of the quiet nights he had in between the chaos of that first year. He’d seen things worse than horror films, and eventually had to do those things himself.
He doesn’t quite like himself in this new world, where success is pounding a walker’s head in, and getting away with a first aid kit and a pack of Fiber One bars. He wouldn’t blame Jensen for not liking him much either.
Off to the west, Jared thinks there’s a gathering of lights, low and subdued. It could be a new camp, a better set-up than here with more people to pull their weight, more supplies, something to get him going on a further trip. Maybe it’s a day’s walk-or three-but it’s worth a look.
Behind him, at the ladder he’d climbed up here, something drags and Jared is up on flat feet and angling his body into the slant of the roof. He aims his gun at the head popping up then disappearing with a loud curse.
“I come in peace,” Jensen says, likely attempting to joke yet the shake in his words give him away.
Jared sighs and holsters his gun. “And you come too quietly.”
Jensen knocks on the edge of the roof. “Permission to come aboard?”
“Smartass,” he mumbles even as he smiles a little. “Permission granted.”
“You’re tryin’ to kill me?” Jensen says with a smirk. “I’m going to start thinking it’s personal.”
“If only,” he replies, dryly. He’s still annoyed by the intrusion-not just in his thoughts, but by the fact that he could’ve shot Jensen’s head off, and then there’d be a whole new world of pain. “You shouldn’t be out here,” he reprimands, covering up any worry rising to the surface.
“Couldn’t sleep. And I found this.” Jensen shows off a bottle of bubbly. Jared’s not sure how fancy it is or isn’t, but its appearance says a lot.
Jared lifts an eyebrow. “Just found it?”
“Okay, I was hoarding it.” Jensen shrugs then settles down beside Jared. He even has two champagne flutes, and Jared feels nervous for a completely different reason. “Figured I’d keep it for a special occasion-good or terribly bad.”
He accepts a flute and holds it steady as Jensen pours. “Which is this?”
Jensen pauses mid-pour to look right at Jared. “You said it’s New Year’s Eve.” Jared lifts a curious eyebrow and Jensen finishes pouring as he says, “You’ll have to forgive Andrew. For what he said at dinner.”
“You mean when he said you hated me?” Jensen flinches but Jared doesn’t always care for being vague.
“I don’t,” Jensen insists. “Kind of the opposite.”
Jared watches the liquid fill the glass again, bubbles popping at the surface. His nerves are popping, too, and he’s not sure how to traverse this. “You like romance, huh? This feels like some kind of romance.”
“I like memories. They’re all we’ve got now.”
“You’ve got Andy.”
“For as long as we’re safe.” As Jensen drinks, Jared does, too, to fill the silence. “It’s demented to think that way, I know. But, I also know that this isn’t a way to live, not forever.”
Jared shrugs and says, “Pretty well seems like the only way,” before he can take it back.
Jensen nods in some sort of agreement, though his tense jaw says otherwise.
“At least for me, you know, on my own.”
“You’re not on your own,” Jensen softly argues. “You’re here, with the rest of us.”
Jared can’t answer that one without disappointing the both of them, so he sets his sights to the abandoned field to the west.
The quiet takes over again, and Jared is torn between dying to talk to Jensen and needing to keep an eye out. Jensen doesn’t seem to mind and stays still until they’re both finished with their glasses. He offers Jared a second pour, but Jared waves it off in favor of staying steady on his toes.
“You know,” Jensen says slowly. “Things could be at least a little different in this world.”
“How so?”
“You could stop pretending that you’re not really here.” He briefly smiles then looks nervous again. “You could just be here, with us.”
Before Jared can open his mouth to respond, Jensen’s leaned over and kissed him. It’s a plain yet steady pressure of his plush lips to Jared’s, but he’s there all the same. Until he slides back with a short nod and quiet g’night, and leaves.
**
Walkers still won’t leave well enough alone, and Jared finds an abandoned tent with human remains streaking the leaves around it. Inside, there’s a jackpot of factory sealed snacks and, surprisingly, vitamins.
Unsurprisingly, there’s a walker coming out of the mess of twisted bark just past the tent, as if Jared’s sparked its mouse trap.
Jared backs up and rams the butt of his riffle into its head, avoiding gunfire and thus more walkers.
The skull dents on the fully bald man, and it’s almost an improvement, Jared thinks. He smiles cruelly when he smacks it again and again and again until it drops to the ground in a lifeless heap.
He huffs through the exertion and rubs one hand over his forehead to clear hair away. There’s the distant feel of warm, wet blood on his hands, arms, and now his face, but he’d long ago accepted it as part of the job, so to speak.
A twig cracks and he spins with the rifle’s scope now crossing at a forehead before the rifle is knocked from his hands. He tackles what he now recognizes as human to the ground, hunter instincts kicking in before he manages to make out the voice calling his name.
He’s got Jensen’s cheek pressed into the leaves with an arm pulled up his back. Slowly, Jared lets him go, helps him up, and dusts him off. “Sorry about that,” he mumbles.
“It’s okay,” Jensen says, adding, “I think.”
He’s sorry for it, but still narrows his eyes and reprimands him. “Shouldn’t sneak up on people like that. Not in this world.”
“I’ve been calling your name.” Just then, Williams’ deep voice sails through the forest, shouting for them both. “We all have been. We’re losing sunlight and ought to head back.” Jensen runs a hand down his jacket then stares at streaks of red over his fingers. “Are you bleeding?”
Jared gets his rifle off the ground and rolls his shoulders, muscles pulled tight with guilt and discomfort. “No, it was that guy,” he motions at the dead-dead-dead walker.
Jensen winces at the state of its head. “Was that really necessary?”
“Better it than you or me.” Jared flicks dirt off the rifle’s trigger and from the barrel with a frown. “You just had to knock my gun out?”
“You were aiming it at my head,” Jensen defends. “What was I supposed to do?”
“Yeah,” Jared says, remembering exactly what he’s done when faced with the barrel of a gun.
He knows he’ll never say those words aloud.
**
For weeks, Jared stares out on the darkness and narrows his eyes at the soft glow at the edge of the horizon.
He thinks about leaving, even takes a few quick daytrips through the forest to judge terrain and safety from walkers. None inhibit him for the first few miles, so he spends his night watches mentally paving the rest of the way.
Even when his test trips only take a few hours of daylight, people are restless upon his return. Asking on his whereabouts, looking for answers more detailed than, “Checking the neighborhood.”
Jensen and Andy, in particular, watch him more closely upon each return and Jared’s not sure if he’s happy for that. It’s bound to create more trouble to think about it.
**
Misha meets Jared in the middle of the night to cover the next watch. Jared thinks it’s a bit early, but Misha’s always up long before the sun is.
They exchange quiet thanks in passing. Before Jared lowers himself on the ladder, he calls out for Misha. “What were you … you know, before The Turn?”
Misha lets out a sly look. “A congressman.”
“No shit?” Jared laughs, and begins to think that’s how the man’s been so diplomatic with the group when any tempers flare. “When’d you learn to shoot?”
“In my second term. I had a stalker and thought it best to protect myself.”
“Did it work?”
“It does now.” They share a sympathetic nod then Misha asks, “What about you?”
“Computers.”
“You’re a long way from home, boy.”
Jared chuckles, feeling awkward and amused all the same. “Don’t I know it.”
Misha motions his firearm towards the bungalow, where Jared can see a light’s gone on. “Looks like Jensen’s up to make breakfast.” After a beat, “If you wanted to eat or help or something like that.”
He rolls his eyes; there’s no reason for anyone to snoop into his life; another downfall to being in a group.
Still, he walks up to the house, gives Jensen a hand at breakfast, and feels a surprising calm take over the room.
He thinks about his brief talk with Misha and repeats his curiosity. “What were you?” Jared asks, “Before?”
Jensen’s frying bacon, thanks to Jared’s recent kill, over a makeshift fire in the stove. He's hunched down but still full of beautiful angles that Jared admires from the other side of the kitchen. Ever since Jensen kissed him, Jared can’t get the man’s mouth of out of his head, along with all the other parts he could touch if only they had the chance.
“Gym teacher,” Jensen replies as he stands, bringing the pan to the stovetop. “High school, and I also coached track.”
Jared leans against the counter and smirks. “No wonder you’re in such good shape.”
He laughs and lifts his shirt, patting at the soft skin of his stomach. “Yeah, such great shape here.”
“I’ve seen worse,” Jared replies kindly, even wiggles an eyebrow.
Jensen laughs again then gets distracted by the window, or rather, what’s beyond it. “Jesus, he’s up early.”
Jared joins him at the window and sees Boots tossing a football with Andy. The sun’s barely breaking the trees off in the east, and there’s a yellow hue to the whole scene, something more traditional of a sweet memory. “Probably because you weren’t there.”
“I meant Boots,” Jensen jokes. “I’m surprised you’re still up, too.”
Jared glances at Jensen and considers getting back to bed, or rather his couch. “Everyone else will be up soon. Wouldn’t get much rest.”
“You can head up to the ranch, use our space.”
There’s something easy and organic about Jensen that Jared refuses to concede to just yet, but he’s certain it’s coming. There’s a quick punch of tension as Jensen looks at him, remains quiet, and searches Jared’s eyes.
He’d give in right now, if only he wasn’t already thinking about the next animal they can make into a meal and whether he’ll try heading southeast or due west to hunt.
Further off in his mind is that larger camp and the possibilities for better amenities. Always got to move forward.
“Thanks, but I think I’m okay.”
**
Twice, Jared attempts to trek his way to where he spotted those lights, and both times, he’s walked right into a walker nest and had to backtrack.
During the first getaway, he comes upon a convenience store with plenty of prepackaged Hostess still on the rack along with a shelf full of powdered drinks. He’s a full day from the camp now and has been gone for at least double that, yet decides to cut this trip short and help out those who’ve helped him most recently.
He returns to camp with plastic bags hanging at his wrists, cutting off all circulation, and bringing his treasure with him.
Miss Loretta and Andy, and even the crotchey Williams, are happy to see his haul. Boots and Misha seem less impressed even while taking the Ho-Ho’s and donuts with them.
Jensen watches Jared when he isn’t listening to Andy sputter on about how he hasn’t had cake since his seventh birthday, when mom baked double chocolate.
Jared’s swiftly reminded that Jensen was married in the before. He had a family with Andy and a model-like redhead that neither of them speak of. Jared’s seen the pictures in Andy’s room, but has no other image to put with her besides another roadblock between he and Jensen.
Still, he smiles at Jensen and tosses a few packaged snacks at him. “Sorry they were out of granola.”
“I didn’t think you were coming back,” Jensen says quietly, tightly.
Jared stares in return, pinned down by Jensen’s own straight look and the way Jensen seems to be really bothered by it. Jared’s frozen in place and wondering why in the world Jensen would care about such things.
Or maybe Jensen didn’t want him to come back.
“Didn’t think I was either,” Jared shrugs, “but shit happens.”
“You could’ve told us you were leaving.” Jensen runs a hand over Andy’s head, even as the boy’s chattering on with Gabe, attempting to trade his Ring Dings for Snowballs. “He was pretty spooked when you weren’t here.”
Now, Jared can’t stop watching Andy, with his bright smile and even brighter eyes, so easily excitable and suddenly aiming his sweet face to Jared. “Now we can have dessert all day, every day.”
With a surprised laugh, Jared stoops down to Andy. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Your dad would kill us both. Probably me first.”
“Yeah, probably,” Andy agrees then stuffs a whole snowball into his mouth. Around the big chewing, he says, “He wanted to this morning.”
“Andrew, I swear,” Jensen huffs. He turns Andy away, glares for a few seconds at Jared, then shakes his head.
It hurts, but not as bad as the second time he returns from an aborted exit.
There’s a lot less fanfare. He’s unsure whether that’s because they’ve grown tired of his escapes in the night only to return days later, or because he’s empty handed. As he’d skidded down a hill, rolled over himself a few times, he’d lost grip of his sack of supplies-canteen, Hostess snacks, and boxes of ammo-and there was no way in hell he’d skate between all the walkers on his tail to get to it.
It’s tense at dinner, no one saying a word, especially not to Jared. A few soft whispers fly at the other end of the table, but Andy silently eats next to Jensen, who also refuses to speak.
Jensen brings his eyes up often enough to let his glare say what he’s feeling.
Jared’s clueless as to why he’s in so much trouble, yet he knows well enough to make something up to the group. After dinner, he sidles up to Jensen at the sink and dries every dish that gets dipped in the wash and rinse buckets.
As the house quiets down and the others head off in other directions to carry on the night, Jared takes his chance to apologize. Albeit pathetically.
“I’m sorry, for whatever it is I did. Or didn’t do.”
Jensen snorts and continues to wash dishes and set them on the counter in front of Jared.
“I was never really good at words,” Jared confesses. “Even before everything.” Jensen remains quiet, though stewing, and Jared sighs. “I haven’t had to make excuses for anything in the last four years. This is a whole ‘nother world. The same rules don’t exist.”
A dish clatters into the rinse bucket as Jensen turns to Jared. “And what rules are those?”
“The ones where I have to be excused from the table and get permission when I leave.”
“You don’t need permission.”
“I know,” Jared replies bitterly. “That’s my point.”
Jensen snorts and clicks his tongue as he steps closer. He doesn’t look any higher than Jared’s jaw, yet the proximity of him, the heat and anger billowing off, sets off Jared’s alarms.
Jared briefly thinks about grabbing Jensen and kissing the daylights out of him, bending him over the sink and taking what he’s wanted since he first stepped foot on their land. He even thinks about the next morning with sunlight filtering through windows and making Jensen’s hair shine white blond.
It’s all wiped away with Jensen’s icy tone in Jared’s ear. “Next time you go, just stay gone.”
Jared doesn’t waste a minute on feelings.
He packs and flees.
**
He survives for quite a few days on his own, at least a week, he thinks. He’d run into a few small nests that he was able to avoid or end, but hasn’t yet made those lights. Existing is all he’s been up to, staying upright is pretty much all he focuses on in between fishing, sleeping, and snacking on the last few Hostess treats he’d taken with him.
But just beyond the creek, but far before the crest of the nearby hills, Jared falls. He’s not in pursuit of a kill, or bait for a walker. He just misjudges the sturdiness of a branch slanted over some rocks, slips sideways, and bangs his shin, arm, and head on various things littering the forest floor.
When he leans to the left, his leg, arm, and head all throb together. When he leans right, he gets blood in his eyes, stinging and flooding his eyesight. He can’t get up to his feet and has little strength in his left arm, meaning that on the whole, he’s hopeless.
He crawls back to the creek and tries rinsing his wounds out. His left arm is useless, just dead weight that flames with pain whenever he moves it, and his jeans are cut through to a gash so deep he thinks he sees bone. He washes dingy creek water over his leg, biting at the collar of his jacket to keep from crying out loud enough to call a walker’s attention. Still, more blood drowns the bone and now he’s lightheaded and has to lay back.
Jared had always considered the benefit of being a loner was to die without expectation. When on his own, no one is there waiting on him to live. He knows how low the probability has gotten after four years, so whenever it’s bound to happen, it just will.
The one thorn in his side right now is turning. He’d always told himself if he saw death heading his way, he’d take a bullet in the head to stop all matter of it.
Now’s the time.
He pulls his gun out, sets it to his forehead, but his damn finger won’t pull.
Something flashes behind his eyes and now they’re flooding for completely different reasons … Andy and Jensen digging at plants and aerating soil, Miss Loretta cooking biscuits and singing Motown through every batch, Misha’s origami hanging from the dining room ceiling like unlit chandeliers, even Boots singing over the campfire on cooler nights.
Then it’s all just a random smattering of Jensen and Andy, Andy and Jared, Jensen and Jared, Andy, Jensen, Andy, Jensen, Jensen …
He drops his gun in the brush, drums up as much energy as possible, and pushes himself up to his good leg. He’s hobbling forward, but he’s moving all the same. Just thirty feet up and he realizes his sack is back where he’d fallen and his gun is still on the ground. It’s felt like ages since he fell and he’s not sure he can manage the time or power to retrieve it all then get back to moving.
He stumbles back for his supplies and yanks the sack’s straps across his chest, avoiding his left arm. Then he gets back on course, which isn’t all the way back to the house. He knows without a doubt he’d never make it in one piece, now a bleeding, crawling walker buffet.
Half a mile up, there’s a small clearing he remembers finding some of the good berries at, and he makes it just before his vision recedes and his good leg loses all usefulness. While on the ground, he fusses with his bag, pulls out his flaregun, and fires straight in the air.
The burst of light and fire nearly blind him in the impending darkness, but it signals his last hope.
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