Requests and Challenges - Hollowed: Part Two

[girlgotagun]

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Title: Hollowed
Author: girlgotagun
Pairing: Jensen/Jared - J2

Part Two

~~~

January 27, 2015

Jensen stared out the window of the van as he and the crew drew near the camp. The perimeter was marked off by high walls of solid concrete. Not cinderblock; these walls had been poured around twenty-foot-high steel spikes, the ends protruding at the top and then wrapped and tied together by three rows of razor wire. The purpose of the poured walls was clear: no gaps, no hand or foot holds. Nothing goes over or through.

The van came to a stop before the main entrance. The entrance consisted of two tall metal doors, spanning the entire height of the wall and sealing up a full twenty-foot gap in the concrete. The riveted steel was nearly a foot thick, and they were secured by both an electronic locking system and a manual bolt that took three Alphas to move in and out of place. Two towers rose over the wall, mounted guns on the sides and trained both on the outside perimeter and down into the camp. The two in Jensen’s field of vision made up just a fraction of the total number of towers in and around the forty acre compound.

The doors were marked with institutional lettering, IL spanning the width and height of the left door, and 01 on the right. Illinois 01 (colloquially referred to as “ill-one”) was the first established omega work camp in the United States. Its walls went up in 1994, the entire compound opening for residence by the time the Omega Suppression Act went into effect the following year. For twenty years the camp had been serving as an alternative home for omegas who refused to fall in line and act for the good of pack. In the camp, they were employed with largely menial tasks.

Jensen had a mug in his kitchen cabinet at home, the ceramic glaze stamped on the bottom with Made in IL-01 - 5062438. The second number referred to the omega credited with the item’s production.

There were three camps in Illinois alone; IL-01, IL-17, and IL-23. It was the prime state. Three camps, all prime numbers. It was a dark joke, but you said it and everyone knew what you were talking about.

There were sixty-two camps all told, from IL-01 to HI-62. Their names and omega numbers were stamped across just about every domestic good available on the market. Of the liberated omega population, 8% were employed tax-paying contributors to the economy. The camps boasted a 99% employment rate every year since they had been established two decades earlier, as well as providing jobs to Alphas and betas as guards and administration.

As far as Jensen could tell, it was a perfect solution.

Chad had differing opinions.

When you got Chad riled up, he could go on about the problems with the camps and what he called the “propaganda perpetuating the systematic genocide of pack” for hours. “Liberated omegas have a low rate of employment because no one will hire them. Alphas and betas are captains of industry, but omegas are rarely ever even allowed to go to college. So when they enter the workforce, it’s at the mercy of the more powerful statuses. But then they get denied jobs because four weeks out of the year they can’t work. And then, before the Act, if they were mated then when their heat hit they were bred, and they could physically work while they were carrying but most Alphas get crazy-protective over their pups so they’d have to leave their jobs and stay home until they whelped. So then it’s about three months before their bodies are healed enough and their instincts calmed enough to go back to work if their Alphas let them, and by that time it’s about time for their heat to hit again. They’re stuck in this crazy cycle and then they’re blamed for being a drain on the economy and instead of just owning up and taking care of their own, the Alphas and betas running the country decide to exterminate them? Nah, man. Not kosher.”

Chad was a conspiracy theory whack-job. Controlled breeding wasn’t the same thing as extermination. Dying wasn’t the same thing as never being born.

When Jensen had voiced that opinion, Chad’s eyes had gone dark. “Not what I’m talking about man. Listen, omegas make up about ten percent of the US population. That’s about thirty-two million pack members. Since 1995, over twenty million have been registered as occupants of camps. Now, the camps don’t release their occupancy numbers for any single moment, but if you look at everything else you can figure out what it should be. Birth and mortality rates for all statuses in the liberated population have remained pretty constant since the Act, because Alphas are still breeding omegas left and right except instead of living as traditional pack the omega is shipped off and once they whelp the Alpha takes the pup. But the pup’s still got a ten percent chance of presenting as omega and that means that any given pup born to an omega has nearly a seven percent chance of ending up in a camp later in life, and that number jumps to around sixty-five percent once they’re confirmed as an omega themselves. So the figure stands; at any given time there should be about twenty million omegas in camps if they’re living natural lifespans, just in the custody of the government. Well, according to last year’s census, the workforce is comprised of nearly two hundred million alphas, over one hundred and fifty betas, and there are a total of three hundred fifty-two million pack members registered as employed in the country. That means that there are two million or so employed omegas in the country, including liberated pack and camp occupants.”

Jensen’s head was swimming with the numbers, trying to keep up. “So what’s your point?”

“My point?” Chad shook his head. “Man, ninety-nine percent of omegas in camps are supposed to be working; that’s the point of the camps, to make them active contributors to the economy that they’re a part of. So if there should be nearly twenty million working at any time, why do omegas only account for two million in the census? Fact is, something’s fishy here. Either the government is fudging the employment numbers, in which case what’s the point of the camps, or…” Chad frowned. “Or where did the other eighteen million omegas go? Why are there only two million of them scattered through sixty-two work camps?”

What Chad had said didn’t make a lot of sense to Jensen. He couldn’t follow the numbers, and he wasn’t one to jump on board with an explanation that he couldn’t understand. For all he knew the beta could be bullshitting him. Actually, Chad probably was bullshitting him. No way something like that could be going on right there in the US on such a massive scale without anyone knowing or doing anything about it.

Jensen pulled himself out of his thoughts as the heavy steel doors began to swing in and the van pulled through. Chad was digging through his bag, finding their permits and documentation before thrusting them up to the driver as an Alpha guard with a fully-automatic machine gun slung over his shoulder motioned to where they should park. Jensen furrowed his brow. Why would an Alpha need a machine gun to guard an omega camp? Their scents were just as effective at keeping an omega under control. The only thing a weapon could do that scent couldn’t was…

He pushed the thought from his mind. There was just no way. It was because they were government-employed; military. Besides, the guard was in the outer wall. The gun could just as easily be meant to protect the camp from outside threats as from threats within. In fact, now that he thought of it, that was probably a way more likely explanation.

Still, he could remember Chad’s warning before they left that morning as he and Eric addressed the group. The beta’s face had been grave, his tone more serious than Jensen had ever heard it. “We’re going to be in a lot of danger there. Stay aware of what’s going on around you. Remember, we’re outsiders. We’re going to have to play by their rules to get what we need.”

Jensen had thought that he had been talking about the omegas. He had even laughed a little at the suggestion that an omega could be a threat to him. Now, as he eyed the weapon on the guard’s shoulder as the Alpha came to the window to take their permits, he wasn’t so sure.

The door to the van slid open and Chad climbed out. “Okay guys. Let’s do this.”

~~~

January 27, 2015

Jared held Andrew’s hand as they made their way toward the small school near the factory. While Jared worked, Andrew was supposed to attend classes. The theory was that when the pups in the camp presented, ninety percent of them would be Alpha or beta, and they would be integrated back into larger society, placed with foster packs until they broke off to form packs of their own. Jared was pretty sure it was bullshit; the pups had seen too much, knew too much, had suffered too much to be allowed back out to tell the tale. But he couldn’t prove it. No pup had ever lived long enough to present in the camp.

Either way, the school was pretty much a joke, like most things in the camp that were meant to signify rehabilitation and normalcy. The betas in charge were under strict order to not instruct any of the pups on reading or writing. Mostly they were taught history and law, with a particular emphasis on the importance of the OSA and the camps. They were taught to be ashamed of their parentage, of their blood, and to fear the day that they would present.

Jared had taught Andrew to say the alphabet, singing quietly when they were alone. He had taught him to read and sound out small words and sentences on any piece of print he could find. Their meal vouchers, the labels on the harsh, irritating detergent that Gen-another omega who had arrived at the camp shortly after Jared-used in the laundry room. He had taught Andrew to write his name with a twig in the dirt and then had smeared it into nothing before the guards had called lights out.

He had whispered to the pup to never, never let a guard find out that he could do any of it. It was his and Andrew’s secret. A week later, when Gen stripped down the beds in their barracks to haul the linens to the laundry facilities, thirty-six tiny pieces of paper had fallen out of Andrew’s pillowcase and fluttered to the ground, every one covered in the pup’s messy name. He and Gen had scrambled around, found every piece of paper, and Jared had shoved them into his pocket. For the next four days his heart stayed in his throat in constant terror of them being found by one of the guards until he managed to slip them into the fire at the next burning. Andrew’s name curled up and smoldered into nothing in the rotting inferno.

But still, it was part of the routine at the camp, part of the trivial things they had to do to fill each day. Jared stopped in front of the school building and crouched down in front of Andrew, his hand coming to the pup’s sunken cheek to keep his attention as he addressed him. “What’s the rule?”

“No writing an’ no reading.”

“Counting?”

“Only to five. Cause I’m five.”

“The alphabet?”

“You don’ need it if you can’t read.”

Jared started to nod, but he was distracted when two omega went rushing by, heads down and scents thick with fear. His stomach dropped. He looked around, saw more omegas darting around the corners of buildings and up the rows of barracks, rushing into the doors of the factory. A moment later a strong, familiar scent hit him, calling up images in his mind that he had tried to bury long ago.

No. Not now. Not here. Not after all of this time.

He stood up, instinctively pushing Andrew behind him. He felt the pup cling to the leg of his pants, burying his face against his thigh as he smelled his dad’s fear. Jared’s eyes scanned the open space in the ‘town square’ between the factory, the school, the laundry facilities, and the mess hall. Finally they landed on an Alpha with dark blonde hair, his expression frustrated as an omega high-tailed it away from him. There were three other men with him, though Jared couldn’t scent them from the distance to tell their status. One of them had a camera.

The blonde Alpha’s head tilted as he scented the air, a look of confusion washing over his face, and then his head turned to look straight at Jared. Jared’s hands tightened on Andrew’s back, pressing the pup harder to him as the Alpha started towards him.

Jensen.

He hadn’t seen him in nearly six years. What was he doing here now?

Jared thought of the hundreds of voicemails he must’ve left before and right after Andrew was born, before he finally gave up. Could the Alpha really be here to take Andrew away after all this time? He wanted to tell Andrew to go into the school, to get the pup out of the line of sight. He would fight Jensen tooth and nail if he had to, but in his weakened state he knew that the fight would end in his death, and Andrew didn’t need to see that. But his instincts told him to keep Andrew out of sight. Which was stupid, because even if the Alpha hadn’t already seen the pup, it was pretty damned obvious that Jared was hiding something behind his back.

“What are you doing here?” The words were harsh and Jared himself was surprised at their effectiveness as the Alpha stopped in his tracks and raised his hands as though to surrender.

“I just want to talk; ask you some questions.” Jensen’s words were softly-spoken, calm.

Jared stared at him, eyes narrowed. His eyes flickered momentarily to the man-beta, he decided-with the camera and then back to Jensen. “I have nothing to say to you.” He took a step back, forcing Andrew to stumble back with him. He was trying to get Andrew as close to the building as he could, but the awkward movement only served to draw Jensen’s attention.

Jensen looked surprised to see the pup peeking out from behind Jared. Jensen seemed to consider the pup for a moment and then he stuck his hand in his pocket and took something out, holding it out to Jared. Jared eyed it distrustfully, unable to see what it was. If they were Alpha guardianship papers, that was it, game over.

“We’re making a documentary about the camps.” His voice dropped pointedly. “About what really goes on here.” When he spoke again, his voice was a normal volume. “You’d be compensated for your time.” When Jared didn’t answer he looked down at Andrew again. “I don’t think you can really afford to say no.”

Jared realized what the item in his hand was. Food vouchers. They were given out every month; twenty per person. Each one bought one meal. It was nowhere near enough. There were ways to get more, and Jared had lost his pride regarding them a long time ago. But still, there was never enough. It was all he could do to keep Andrew fed, and from the sunken eyes and cheeks and sparrow’s bones, he wasn’t even doing a good job of that.

He still hesitated, though, twisting to look down at Andrew. “Just me?” The question was directed at Jensen.

“Both of you.”

Jared’s eyes closed, panic arching through him. If it was just him, then if Jensen really wasn’t here for the pup, he would be able to prevent the Alpha from making the connection and deciding to take him. But if Andrew was around too often… The pup smelled like Jensen. No getting around it. And even if Jensen hadn’t realized it yet, Jared knew that was what had drawn the Alpha’s attention to them.

Jensen waited for his answer, as Jared argued it out in his mind. In the end, nothing was more important that Andrew. Jared reached out and took the vouchers and stuck them in his pocket, nodding.

“Great. Come with us.” The Alpha jerked his head towards the barracks before turning and walking back to the crew.

Jared watched him go, panic still eating at his mind. Dimly, he noticed that the years hadn’t changed much about the man. He looked just like he did now, walking away from Jared, as he had all those years ago.

~~~

February 4, 2009

Jared’s back was pressed against the wall of Jensen’s trailer, legs wrapped around the Alpha’s waist as he supported the omega’s weight, thrusting deep inside of him, each hard movement sending sparks of pleasure and right and perfect and good so fucking good through Jared’s body. He had lost track of how many times they had done this in the last twenty-four hours, the progression and intensity of Jared’s heat quickened by the mating.

He felt the unrivaled pleasure start to course through him again as in a few quick thrusts Jensen worked his growing knot past his abused rim, grinding deep and rubbing against that spot that drove Jared to the edge. He came hard, his throat already hoarse from the number of times he had cried out in pleasure and need as he screamed Jensen’s name, his orgasm wracking his body as the Alpha’s head fell to his shoulder, forehead resting where his teeth would sink in if he claimed Jared. Jensen hadn’t, and something in the back of the omega’s mind screamed in need each time that he didn’t.

Jensen shuddered as he came, shooting his seed deep in the omega, breath coming in heavy pants as his hips twitched, coaxing out every last drop.

He stumbled backwards and dropped to the couch, Jared in his lap. “God, baby…” Jensen pressed his lips to Jared’s, groaning when the omega arched into the kiss, his rim pulling at the Alpha’s knot as he moved. “So fucking good.”

Jared let his mind wander, let himself hope that by the end of his heat Jensen would claim him, would take him as his mate.

Jared had been an idiot.

~~~

January 27, 2015

Jared returned to the situation at hand, the memories fading as Jensen began to ask him questions. He was seated in a chair in one of the barracks, the light from one of the grungy windows throwing him into sharp silhouette, obscuring his appearance. Like it mattered.

“What was the worst thing that you ever saw happen here?” The first question was one prepared by someone else, Jared could tell as Jensen read it off of a piece of paper.

Jared sighed, his mind running through all of the horrors that he had witnessed over the past five and a half years. “That’s sort of like dropping someone into a pile of broken glass and then asking them which piece was the sharpest, you know? But uh…” His mind landed on one night, one that always shoved its way to the forefront of his mind when he sensed panic in the camp, when he could smell that another omega was in trouble. “Probably Gen. The night that Gen first came to the camp.”

“Who’s Gen?” Jensen’s tone was conversational, as though the question he asked couldn’t possibly be a raw one. As though he were asking whether it rained last Tuesday.

“Another omega who’s kept here.” They never said that they lived at the camp. Never. “She came here about a month after me. She was thirteen and she had just presented.”

“Was she carrying?”

“No.” At first Jared was surprised by the question. But then, he thought, before he had come here he had thought that was how most omegas ended up behind the wall. “No. She uh…her pack said that she must have been giving it away to an Alpha because she presented so early. So they said they couldn’t handle her. Said she’d end up knotted and bred if the government didn’t step in. Preventative action.” The last two words were ground out sarcastically. It was bullshit, the idea that the simple proximity of an Alpha could cause an omega to present early, or that it meant that an omega was especially promiscuous. If that were the case…hell, omega presentation only resulted from an Alpha and omega parentage. If that were the case, all omegas would hit their first heat early just from being around their own Alpha.

“So what happened that night?”

Jared took a deep breath as he considered the question. How to start, how to phrase it. Gen was his friend, just about the only person who had bothered to be there for him, as much as any of them could be there for each other in the camp. “Well you know, omegas present with our first heat. So she was climbing the walls, screaming, crying. It hurts, you know, and the first time is…it’s terrifying. I can’t imagine it that young. And the smell was…” Jared shook his head. “You could smell it for about fifty yards. We kept the windows and doors shut, no one in or out. We tried to get her through it, tried to calm her down, bring her out of the fever as much as we could. But…eventually the guards scented her. Five of them came in. They took turns, and her body wasn’t ready for it; she was too young. They tore her up, left her this terrible bloody mess. I thought they had killed her.” He paused and swallowed hard, thinking of that night, of the long pain-filled days the sweet omega had suffered through following it. “Probably would’ve been better if they had.”

“They bred her?”

Jared nodded. “The pup died before it was born.” He could remember the screams, the grief-filled sobs, and the guilt-wracked profession of relief that followed. Because if the pup had been born, any of the guards could have taken it, legally claimed it. And the only thing worse than being bred by your rapist was watching him walk away with your pup. “That’s what usually happens.”

“Is that what happened to you?” Jensen asked, his eyes flickering to where Andrew was playing with Eric. The producer had brought a pack of cards and was teaching the pup Go Fish out of sound range of the camera.

Jared laughed. He hadn’t meant to, but the question was so ridiculous. How could Jensen seriously not remember him? How could he not recognize his own pup’s scent?

Jensen looked confused and a little disturbed at his reaction. Well, Jared couldn’t blame him for that. But he wasn’t about to explain it, so he went on with answering the question.

“No.” He shook his head, looking again at Andrew. “When I came to the camp, I was five months along, so by the time my health really started to fail, Andrew was viable. Usually in those cases, the omega dies.”

“But you both lived. That’s lucky.” Jensen had the look of a person in an uncomfortable situation, trying desperately to find the right thing to say even as he realized just how far out of his depth he was.

“It’s a curse. His Alpha wouldn’t take him.” Jared’s eyes were hard as he stared the Alpha in the eye, frankly not giving a shit if he took offense or not. What was the Alpha going to do? Beat him? Put him in a scent fog? Been there, done that, endured worse. And it was all his fucking fault, anyway. “We’d’ve both been better off... This is no way for a pup to grow up.”

“Why won’t his Alpha claim him?” Jensen seemed genuinely confused.

“I don’t know, Jensen. Can you think of any reason an Alpha wouldn’t claim his son?” Jared scoffed. “Probably because he’s a cowardly, arrogant son of a bitch who’d be ashamed for anyone to find out he bred a bitch.” Jared tilted his head, eyes narrowed. “What do you think, as an Alpha? Think that sounds right?”

Jensen glared at him and a tiny thrill of fear ran through Jared’s hindbrain. But the years of anger, of suffering that had festered in him quieted it, and he managed to maintain eye contact for a full minute before lowering his gaze, the Alpha’s scent overpowering him.

“I don’t know.” His voice was quiet now. “I tried to call him so many times, begging him to claim him. But I guess he thought I was lying or…it was only ever him, you know?” Jared shifted in his chair. “My first time… I mean, I get that it wasn’t as important to him but you’d think he’d’ve known… All he’d have to do is scent him.” Jared sighed, trying to gather himself. “So what am I supposed to think? He just doesn’t care, I guess.”

Continue to Part Three