RPS Fic: Fading Silhouettes (1/) J2_Remix
Fading Silhouettes
SPN RPS: Jared/Jensen
Rating: PG-13
26,699 words
More AU to the max. Zombie fic, balla's. Written for j2_remix. Thank you to
light_up for her unflagging encouragement. And to kittyzams for countless drafts, long phoneless conversations over Gchat, and one epic all-nighter. Basically, she co-wrote this! Any good thing here wouldn't have been possible without these two incredibly talented and generous ladies. A remix of Lower the Curtain Down All Right by cathybites. An intense, perfectly compact story with teeth. I hope I did right by you.
The problem is, Jared is days, miles, light years away.
****
So. This is how it goes.
There's a pickup truck in the middle of a cornfield, key in the ignition. Half a tank of gas and a dead body hanging out the driver's side door.
"You think he was alone?" Jared asks.
"Probably," Katie says. "In my experience, guys like that usually kill everyone they're with before they--" She mimes putting a gun to her forehead, the self-inflicted death.
"Big damned heroes," Jared says.
Jensen keeps his mouth shut. He scans the countryside. Fields wild and weeded. The sky heavy and unbroken over them. He can feel the pressure of it, the heat and weight bowing his shoulders. There isn't a sound. He is his eyes and skin, reduced to nothing but.
Jared touches his arm. "We can set up here. In that barn." Jared points, maybe a mile away. "For a little while. Truck'll get us far enough, fast enough if it comes to that."
Katie tugs the drawstring of her hoodie all the way out, leaves it hanging. Makes a show of looking away from Jensen. "No sign of people. Alive, anyway."
"And you know the corpses go where the people are," Jared says.
Katie shrugs. "It's an issue of hipness. They know where it's at."
Jared snorts. "Rotting flesh is in?"
"Hello? Why do you think I insist on smelling like this?" Katie tosses her hair.
"Alright," Jensen says. He squints at the barn. It looks sound enough, from this distance. He'll have to see. "In the truck." He grips the short end of the drawstring at Katie's neck, pulls it down until it hangs perfectly even. Ignores her smirk.
The visibility is good. They have enough ammunition to keep from worrying. Jared looks tired. And they all could use some time: to sit, to wash. To breathe. He prays, sincerely, that the barn still has a door. It's the height of his hopes.
****
Katie's sitting deep inside one of the horse stalls in the barn. You can only see her shoes: ratty white sneakers she keeps freakishly clean, covered in little markered dashes that count off bundles of five. Jared drew the stars that sit over her toes. They scream Jared. The way a kindergartener learns to draw stars, starting with an upside down 4, uneven points, a total lack of symmetry. Just big and bold.
Jensen's leaned up against the open barn door, his shotgun up against his shoulder. Moon's high, and Jared looks like a ghost there, only thirty feet away. He's at the water pump, faint light a strip of bone across his broad and moving shoulders. Jensen's gaze sweeps out into the night: nine o'clock, ten, eleven, hits Jared at high noon, then ticks away. Moving with his feet stock still.
The pump sighs, water a rushing beat. Katie's shoes kick in time at four.
Jared stoops lower, then rises, a pail in each hand. The pump hisses to a stop.
Everything drains out to quiet.
Jensen squints. He tries to hear past his own breathing. Jared's walking towards him, skinny but wide. Don't get stuck looking at his face, Jensen thinks. The features forming out of the dark, out of the distance.
For a second, there's the barest scent of something fetid in the air. He could have imagined it.
Wait for it. He breathes deep, dragging breaths.
There. There's a rustle, there, and there. Jensen aims careful, past Jared still walking, pumps two rounds out into the corpse on the left, then swings around to the right flank, holds his breath. Little muscles in his eyes flexing, working to scrape away the dark.
"Okay?" Jared asks.
"Sh." Jensen licks his lips. "I lost him. Pick it up, Jay."
Jared trots. He's being too careful about spilling water. It's so fucking stupid.
"Faster, please," comes Katie's voice from behind him. "Pamplona."
Jared jogs. The fucker.
Jensen doesn't get the time to curse out loud before there's a burst of noise, a roar and pounding. A corpse erupts from the overgrown fields of corn, sheaves furious in its wake. It's sprinting, and Jared goes stiff then small. He doesn't even look behind himself, just draws in his shoulders, ducks some. He doesn't run.
Jensen shoots and pumps, shoots and pumps. He counts: one, two, three, four. The corpse staggers, but doesn't slow. Over his shoulder a rat-a-tat-tat from Katie's rifle, and the thing's close enough that Jensen can see the bullets slam into its chest, sinking into the putrid flesh.
Jensen sprints out, braces the shotgun, leans into it and fires, blows a hole in the corpse's waist. Races past Jared, screaming, "Drop the fucking water, you bitch!" then watches the corpse fall back, and he's on it before it can sit up, stomping the thing's head into the fertile, loamy dirt.
He grinds his heel. Like he's making a paste to spread on crusty bread.
He pants. Looks out into the fields, reloading his shotgun with shaking hands. There were two, he knows. But that other one. That other one went down, but who knows whether it got done. He counts to sixty Mississippi.
He backs up slow. Holds his breath, so there's no rise and fall to interfere with his aim. He's got true aim, he knows. Steady when other things aren't.
As soon as he steps back into the barn, he draws the door closed, flips three locks, top to bottom.
Katie's putting away her firearm. She grimaces. "You're spattered." She holds one hand over her nose, places the other firmly on Jensen's shoulder, to wipe off some goop. To help him lower his gun. "And yes, for all you folks at home, zombie matter still reeks." She looks over at Jared who's got one pail over the fire and is watching the water steam. "It's too close to food. There's a reason I gave up hamburger way before this."
"Mm. You talk so pretty." Jared stretches. He rubs his hands over his face. He fixes his eyes on Jensen.
He's being studied. Jensen can feel every bit and piece of body that stains his clothes and skin. He drags a hand through his hair, lets himself close his eyes. Leaves his hair thick and sticky. The adrenaline's fading. He's fucking exhausted. Frayed, ground down between molars.
Jared sighs. "You're fucking lucky I have enough water to clean up your goddamn mess," he says.
"Corra, amigo," Katie says.
****
How did you first hear?
Usually Jensen says it like this: "A prophet; the quivering, spitting messenger of America's doom."
Jared says it like this, always half-directed at Jensen: "You were in the living room, wearing my boxers. He had the TV on. Yup, I was with my--what do I call you now? You just another ex, Jen-Bob?"
Katie doesn't remember. "I was probably eating," she says. "Peanut butter on Wheat Thins. God. Do you even know how good?" She shakes her head.
****
They can have a backpack because there are three of them, and they're armed. Lucky enough to be armed. Jared carries it mostly. "Because I'm the man," he says, and this is the cue for Jensen to work the pump on his shotgun, and then for Katie to laugh.
Still. They've already lost eight backpacks, somewhere, ditched in favor of life-saving speed. Jared's held on to this one for almost a month now. Complete with two blankets. Jensen stands at the window they pried the boards off of, watches Jared and Katie make a bed near the fire. Jared sweeps Katie into a hug, squeezes her until she yelps and swats at him. Jensen rolls his eyes, and, on cue, Jared looks at him, smirks. Comes to Jensen, wearing this grin. When he's close enough, he leans in and kisses Jensen's temple, then stands there with him for a little while in silence.
Jared hums before he speaks. "Your hair smells clean-ish."
"It has shine." Jensen turns to fully face Jared, chest to chest. He steps onto Jared's feet, finds a little more height. He stares Jared in the eye, noses brushing. "Thank my new conditioner."
"I would like to shave your head."
"Dead man walking," Jensen says.
Jared kisses him. His lips are chapped. He pulls away, hums in the back of his throat. "Go to bed, okay? I'll watch."
"You don't even have a gun." Jensen wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He spits. Scowls at Jared before leaning in for another kiss.
Jared pulls his handgun from his waist, waves it in the air. Like it's a toy. "Says you."
Jensen smirks. Looks so lightweight. "I'll be," he says gravely.
"Go to bed, baby. Daddy'll take good care of you."
Jensen yawns. He raises his middle finger, heads toward the fire.
"You are cordially invited to suck it." Jared grabs his crotch.
Jensen lies down onto the blankets next to Katie. Her eyes are closed, so Jensen lets out a long, slow breath, feels his eyelids droop. Shifts to find some comfort, blanket drawn over one leg, earth at his back, heat seeping across one plane of his face.
Katie curls up beside him. "I wish I had a boyfriend," she says. "You fucking suck."
Jensen holds her hand. "He's not my boyfriend," he says.
"And whose fault is that?" Katie asks. Her knees are touching his, and her hand feels small, every bone like a bird's, strong and hollow.
****
They leave in the morning, as soon as there's sun. It's the longest Jensen can let them wait. Katie's swimming in this Columbia Sportswear jacket Jared gave her, breath curling around her face. Jensen remembers, vividly, what she used to look like made-up. All colored in.
She's tying her shoe, now, an apple clenched between her teeth, foot braced on the dashboard. He reaches over and pulls a piece of straw from her hair. She winks at him, then twists to face the back, slides open the window to shout at Jared. "Having fun out there?"
Jared whoops. Jensen can picture him. Long legs stretched out. Back to the cab, handgun between his legs, held snug against his crotch. Shirt open one button past appropriate. Slut.
"Should he be yelling like that?" Jensen asks.
"Jared," Katie yells, "Jensen would like to know if you're interested in fighting."
"What kind of fighting? Fist?"
"No," Katie says. "In the manner of two people with a long and twisting history."
"Oh," Jared says. "Tell him 'No, thank you', sweetheart."
Katie turns to Jensen, raises an eyebrow.
Jensen clicks his teeth together. Raises his voice over the noise. "I shouldn't still be pissed off about this morning. Alright? But you know I fucking hate that game. Always have."
"Jensen," Katie shakes her head, smiling a little. "He pulled the car away three times. It was like the shortest game of keep away ever. Everybody does that. My dad did it to my mom all the time. It's a joke."
Jensen grits his teeth. He wishes he could let it go. "You're right. You're right, it's stupid. We have bigger shit to worry about." Jensen feels a hand on his shoulder. Glances back to see Jared, chin on his bicep, hair a fucking disaster in the wind. Arm threaded through the window.
"It's not stupid," Jared says. "I do know you hate that." He squeezes Jensen's shoulder hard, then cups the side of Jensen's neck. Palm of his hand running hot, cold fingertips stroking Jensen's Adam's apple. "I'm sorry. Should've said sorry first. Right off."
Jensen nods. They drive, the fuzz of the radio almost waist-deep.
Jared moves his hand, a few minutes later, but Jensen clears his throat, and it comes back. Rests there, over the right side of his chest.
****
Back when he was a kid, Jensen would wake up at five on Sunday mornings. It was best in the spring. Light so cold and faint you could scare it away if you moved too fast. He'd pull on thick socks, all the way up to his knees, then pad out to the kitchen, out the sliding glass doors, into the backyard where his dad was sitting on a fold-out lawn chair.
There was always a chair for Jensen. He'd sit and fight a yawn. Taste his mouth.
His dad would have the Bible spread open on his lap. He would pray with his eyes open, and Jensen would look with him: at the rising sun, the penumbra of night. Purple to gray to gold. The lawn Jensen had mown yesterday, shorn, and wet with dew, with trembling light. His ears would twitch at every noise: breath and wind, leaves. An owl he never actually saw. Things alive and stirring.
"God is great," his dad would say.
And Jensen would open his mouth, dry and sticky, and say, "All the time."
"All the time--"
"God is great."
Every Sunday morning. To greet a world brand new.
****
The needle on the fuel gauge hovers over empty. Jensen tries not to look at it so damn much. He snaps off the radio. He can't listen to it anymore. There's nothing there. There won't be anything there. He bites the inside of his cheek, then nudges Katie who's dozing. She groans, rolls onto her side, face pressed flat against the glass of her window.
"Katie," he says. "Are you asleep?"
She whimpers, then straightens in her seat, blinking heavily. "I want juicy dish."
"What?"
"If you're waking me up right now, I want it to be for something awesome. Okay? I know the next words out of your mouth were going to be, 'How're you holding up', or 'Talk to me', but you know for a fact that I'm holding up grade-A awesome, and, also, that you are putting me out. You are waking me up and asking me for the favor of my consciousness, knowing full well that I'm grumpy when woken. So you talk to me."
Jensen stares hard out the windshield. The road's empty. He drives in the middle of it, straddling that double yellow line. He's veered around a few wrecks already. He keeps noticing his heartbeat. "I'm just--" He blows out a breath, smiles over at Katie. "Don't know why but I just got the creeps."
She looks at him. She scoots over, close, stick shift pressing into the soft flesh at her side. "Put your arm around me," she says. She rests her head against him.
He holds her close. It makes it easier to be brave, pretending she needs protection.
"You should tell Jared," Katie says. "That you're--" She twirls a hand in the air.
Jensen glances in the rearview mirror. "He's sleeping."
"When he's awake then."
"Okay," Jensen says. "When he's awake."
"You can talk to me about it. Whenever you need." Gently prodding.
Jensen wags his head. "I know. Same goes."
They stay like that for a few minutes, her cheek pressed into the cushion of his shoulder. Both of them staring out windows. Then two things happen. An orange light blips on on the dashboard. And Jared raps at the back window. "Get out the china," he says.
Jensen lowers his head, looks into the side view mirror. A wave of corpses closer than they first appear. He can see their mouths, even from this distance. You always see their mouths.
****
The day after his nineteenth birthday was a Sunday. Jensen's dad called, early. Jensen was hungover. Probably still drunk.
"Hey, Pop."
"Mmhmm. Have a good birthday?"
"Yes, sir."
There was silence, long enough that Jensen almost fell back asleep. "I was just thinking about you today," his dad finally said. "How small you used to be."
"Mm." Jensen sighed heavily. His head throbbed. His dick was half hard. He really didn't want to be on the phone with his dad.
"Anyway."
Jensen buried his face in his pillow. Got out: "Okay, Dad. Thanks for calling."
"Son." A pause. Like it was going to be something really important. "You're grown now."
Something jumped in the pit of Jensen's stomach. He was going to throw up if he opened his mouth. He'd fucking throw up, guaranteed. He should've been able to hold his tequila better. It was a fucking disgrace.
"Just. God is great."
Jensen heaved. "Damn it. Dad, I'm sorry, I have to go. I do. Bye. Love you." And he hung up, made a run for the toilet.
He thought about it later, when he'd sobered up. Right in the middle of dinner, on a date in Beverly Hills, in a restaurant he couldn't really afford. We're different, he thought. He's from a different time.
He sounded old, Jensen thought.
****
Jensen gets pretty close to a gas station before the truck gives out. They sprint the remaining quarter mile, down shimmering asphalt, then over the railing and into the untended brush. Jensen's sweating. His shirt sticks to his skin, bunches up under his arms. Grass knee high and dry as dust.
The station's alone and waiting. Jared shoves his way into the convenience store, does a quick 360, takes everything in at once. "Fuck it," he says. "It's all fucking glass."
"Two doors," Katie says. She's pulling her hair back into a quick bun. "I swear to fucking God," she says. "Someone's going to fucking cut my hair the second we're done with the new wave."
"The pretty princess will do it," Jared says, nodding at Jensen absentmindedly. "Did you see how many?"
"Eighteen, maybe," Jensen says. "Right?"
Katie nods. "I counted that. Six for each of us."
"Not if I snake one of yours," Jared says.
"Please." Katie lifts a shoe, points at the dashes there in blue and orange marker. "Uh oh, look at that. I'm up on you by at least nine."
Jared winks, slips a new cartridge into his piece. They take position in silence: Katie behind the counter at the register, Jared in the doorway leading into the bathroom, Jensen pressed into the corner along the door's wall, looking straight down towards the entrance. They wait. Jensen runs through a checklist: reminds himself of how much ammo they have left, pats his belt where his knife hangs, then his left pocket where his lighter waits. He steadies his breathing.
It's still light outside. The sun's simmering high up in the sky.
"I wish they'd get bored, you know?" Katie peers out the window. Looks for first signs. "Distracted, or tired, or anything. I hate this." Her voice is too loud. "I hate knowing they're coming. They're always going to be coming."
Jensen licks his upper lip.
"Shit," Jared says. The word drops and clatters. That epic brow of his is furrowed. Icicles could hang there. It's a familiar thought. If it was winter. Jensen wants to run the heel of his palm against it.
He's really tired. His gun is ten and a half pounds at the ends of his arms, a dragging-down weight.
****
Jared said this thing sometimes. When they were on set at two a.m. and Jensen was swaying on his feet, staring at the set dresser's hands. Or when Jensen was loaded, one too many tokes from Danny's bong, laughing quietly on the long end of her sectional sofa. Or early mornings, surrounded by the smell of his long-owned feather pillows, light divided up by the blinds into easy-to-swallow strips: "Hey," Jared would say. "Come back to me."
And Jensen would look up, and blink away whatever daze he'd fallen into and Jared would be there. Right there in front of him, smiling. Bright and solid.
"Sorry," Jensen would say.
Jared would shake his head fondly, or laugh, or punch him, but the best reaction, the one Jensen waited for, was a kiss. This quick, dry brush of lips.
It's sentimental, Jensen knows. But Jared used to say it all the time.
They're still waiting in the convenience store here, now. Jared's slid down to the floor, knees up, gun hanging limply in his hand. His feet are dirty, black except for patches where his skin shows through, burnished brown by the sun. He needs real shoes. The flip flops are worn down to nothing. He's rubbing at his beard, staring down at the floor between his legs. Jensen can hear Jared's fingers scraping through the bristly hair.
He wants Jared to look at him. Right now. Just look up and see me watching you.
"Heads up," Katie says. "Shadows on the move."
****
Jensen doesn't know how long it's been. The windows have shattered all around him, their remains glittering under the late afternoon sun. Everything's bathed in the glow. He's killed four, and Jared is alive, and Katie is alive. He can see them holding their breath. He can feel every bead of sweat, dripping down his scalp, over his eyebrows, one clinging there to the lashes over his right eye. He can feel the dirt caked under his fingernails, the blood seeping from his knee, bent against the sharp edge of glass.
His hands are soft and pliant around the bucking gun in his hand, the smoke and fire. This is how I scream; mouth open, the crack of his weapon a noise that comes from the depths of his throat.
He gets off two more shots. Quick and organic, like he's reaching out and touching each corpse: there, at its temple, and there, at its nose. Gaping spaces blossoming where rot used to be.
The quiet drifts in. It comes in ringing.
He's crouched down low. His blood feels thick and hot, burning through his body; sweat and dirt patching him together where the blood breaks past his skin. He remembers being ten, and staying up on New Year's Eve for the very first time. At church for the countdown to midnight, Jensen had crouched just like this under the pews, when his dad took the stage. Pop's amplified voice rolling through him, quickening his tired breath.
We were created from dust in the image of God. Granted dominion over the fish in the seas, over the birds in the air, over every living thing that walks along the earth. The breath in our lungs holy, this body dirt and water.
Jensen can't clear his head. Adrenaline still ringing in his ears. It's over, he tells himself. We're done. For now.
He can't find relief.
"Oh fuck," Jared shouts. So damn loud, it's all anyone can hear. Jensen looks up. Jared's hefting a bottle of green liquid, beaming. "You don't even fucking know how obsessed I am with mouthwash."
Katie stands, stretching. "Please, Jesus, let there be tampons. I will kiss you on the mouth if there are tampons."
"I'll be minty fresh, friend."
Jensen gives himself a shake, hard. He rocks back onto his heels, cocks his head at Jared. "You know that's not a substitute for a toothbrush, right?"
Jared breaks open the bottle, takes a chug. He swishes it in his mouth, pointing at Jensen with both middle fingers. He spits, drags the back of his hand against his mouth, leaving a streak of black in its wake. He's bleeding from a scrape under his eye, red-black a crust on his cheek. His feet are practically bare, skin burnt red on his lean forearms. His hair is snarled beyond salvation, his beard thick and unruly.
Dirt, and sweat, and blood, Jensen thinks.
Jared flashes a smile, a cut of pearly white.
****
They sleep in shifts. He doesn't know what time it is when Katie gets up from beside him and Jared takes her place. Jensen just sprawls across Jared's chest, half awake, face buried in Jared's neck. "You reek," he says.
"Step number one would be to stop breathing me in, then," Jared says. He shoves at Jensen halfheartedly. "Kinky motherfucker. You like my stench."
"Mm. Fucking hot," Jensen says. He humps at Jared's thigh.
Jared laughs.
Jensen opens his eyes, looks at the profile of Jared's smile. White lines where he creases, pale against the darkness of his stained skin. "Kiss me, dude," he says.
Jared turns his head, studies him. The moon's brighter than anything. "Nah," he says.
"Yeah." Jensen grins. "I don't find you sexy anymore, either."
Jared's smile widens. "Well, your lips are all chapped."
"And?"
"They're the source of all your powers!" Jared's voice is quiet, full of glee. "The source of all your powers is chapped."
Jensen's too exhausted to laugh. He kisses Jared firmly.
When Jared pulls away, he says, "Under duress," and cups Jensen's cock.
"Noted."
The hour shutters by, in fast, moving pictures. Jensen feels rooted in every one, present under Jared's hands and mouth, under the moon he sees three seconds in the past, under stars whose light is older than anything moving across the face of a stilled and darkened earth.
****
He asked Jared about it, once. "Why do you say that?" It was late. They were trudging across the lot, faces freshly scrubbed free of makeup. Jensen's cheeks were burning in the cold.
Jared shrugged. He cleared his throat, looked up at the sky. "Did you know that it takes light 2.56 seconds to travel from the moon to the earth?"
Jensen yawned.
"Every time we see the moon, we're seeing a snapshot of what it looked like three seconds ago. We never see it as it is. You know? Now, at this instant."
Jensen ground at his eyes. "I'm fucking beat. No one has ever been more tired than I am."
Jared laughed, pulled open the door to the van home.
The engine started, and Jensen felt himself fading. He could identify this van based off the sound of its engine alone. The chug and hum. It rumbled around him, the sound of the tires on asphalt like a high tide, rushing forward, rushing up. The heat was turned up; the hot air smelled like mildewed leaves and Jared's deodorant. Jensen was dozing when Jared spoke again.
"I'm just saying--" Jared paused. "I always wonder what you’re thinking. You know? I want to know who you are, right now. I don’t--I don’t want to be that guy, who used to work with you on that show, a long time ago.” He drew in a slow, steady breath. "You're important to me." He laughed, embarrassed. "Fuck. I'm not saying it right."
Jensen kept his eyes shut. His body rocked to the rhythm of the van. He patted Jared's armrest, his thigh and knee, before finding his hand. He squeezed it so hard he could hear Jared's knuckles crack.
"Ow, motherfucker, that hurts."
Jensen snickered, then released Jared's hand. He let his fingertips rest, there, in Jared's big palm. He still ached. "I don't really change," he said.
"Hmm." Jared shifted in his seat. He was falling asleep, his breaths lengthening.
Jensen opened his eyes, then. He hoped, hard, that the van wouldn't stop. That it wouldn't stop for a long time. He fingered the lines in Jared's palm.
****
Jensen has his hand splayed on Jared's stomach, right under Jared's belly button. Jared's soft there. His guts protected by tissue that gives. Jensen could slit him open, right here. It'd be so easy. He draws his thumbnail across the yielding flesh.
"Stop," Jared says. He grabs Jensen's wrist. "That tickles."
Jensen flexes his forearm in Jared's grasp. Tests his strength.
Jared releases, stretches, forcing Jensen to move off of him. He nods toward Katie. "Think it's your turn, buddy."
"I've got a little more time."
Jared yawns. "You heard her earlier. I think she's got the creeps. Don't make her wait."
Jensen sighs. "I'm covered in jizz," he says accusingly.
Jared fights off a smile, puts a hand to his heart. "I'm not the one who started it."
Jensen pushes up onto his knees, tucks himself away, zips up his pants. Jerks through each action, unwilling. "She's gonna be mad we fooled around on the blankets."
"You think?" Jared puts a hand on Jensen's knee, waits until Jensen meets his eyes. "Hey. I'm just--I'm worried about her, a little bit."
"Trying to get rid of me," Jensen says.
Jared shrugs, grin satisfied. "Got mine. And now, to sleep." He closes his eyes, hands behind his head.
Jensen watches him for a second. He leans over, hands braced on either side of Jared's head. Inside the space cordoned off by Jared's arms, the crook of his elbows. He puts his face close, tilts so their mouths could touch if he lowered just another bit.
Jared doesn't stir. His lips are relaxed, turning up at the corners.
They don't kiss. Jensen's not sure, all of a sudden, if he's allowed.
He's probably out of time.
****
They head out early. Jensen watches the sun get up off the ground, then touches Jared low on his back, shakes Katie awake.
They walk along the highway. They learned early on that there's no real need to seek cover. It's not about avoiding visibility; the corpses always find them. They argued about it once--what gave them away. Not sight, everyone agreed. Smell, maybe. Hearing; dead ears carefully attuned to the sound of breathing. Jensen thinks it's heat. Their decaying faces drawn to it, like flowers turning with the sun. It would explain a lot. He remembers how much soup he ate that first winter up in Vancouver. The warmth of it was as much of a reason to consume as the taste--the way it spread from his stomach in radiating circles.
Jared's not bothering to shorten his strides up ahead. Jensen doesn't try to catch up; Jared's rapping. Jensen can hear the faint rhythms of it, see it in the set of Jared's shoulders. Jared knows exactly one Lil Wayne song, and Jensen's heard it enough he could match Jared, word for word.
Katie's got her eye on the horizon at his side, licking the dust off her upper lip. Jared's voice floats back to them, and Katie absentmindedly whispers along: "Call me what you want, bitch, call me on my sidekick. Never answer when it's private, damn, I hate a shy bitch. Don't you hate a shy bitch--"
Jensen groans.
Katie looks at him, startled out of her reverie, then laughs. "It's catchy," she says.
"It's the devil's music," Jensen says.
Katie snorts. She eyes a collapsed freeway sign, far ahead in the distance. "Should we bother to check that?"
Jensen shrugs. "We can if you want. We're headed in the right direction if that's what you're worried about."
"How much longer, do you think?"
"Another week and a half, if we're lucky."
"And we're always lucky." She blows on her knuckles, shines them on her shirt.
"Chock full." Jensen grins.
Katie looks down at her feet. Her voice doesn't waver: "What do you think we'll find there?"
Jensen squints into the sun. "Jared heard a lot of people got safe, at the Fort, and the Air Force bases. But--" Jensen follows Katie's gaze. Counts the dashes on her shoes, each one a kill. Their feet carrying them forward. "I don't know."
"Look!" Jared's twisted around, arm pointing at a corner of the sign that still stands. "San Antone!" Grin a mile wide.
****
Everyone has a story of where they were when.
Jensen's is this: He was cutting his toenails in Jared's living room, one foot up on Jared's coffee table, the other planted in Harley's side, keeping him at a safe distance. Sadie was curled up next to him on the couch.
Glenn Beck was shouting on the plasma. "This is just one more thing in a long list of travesties that this government is either unwilling to stop, or, more likely, actively encouraging. That this doctor--Dr., Dr. Joseph Vilner--would not only create this, this pathogen, this bacteria, but would then presume to inform us that it's for our benefit!
That it's the first step to, what did he say, 'the mass production of human hormones, leading to a more affordable and precise application which could have many repercussions in our fight against cancer, against AIDS,' and this, this is my favorite part, 'against the degradation of the human body'. What the hell does that even mean?"
Jensen watched Glenn Beck's cheeks quiver in high definition from the corner of his eye. "This guy," he said to Sadie, "would be a good actor. Shakespearean. Look at that, girl. Look at his face go." He wedged the clipper in under his toenail. He'd let them grow too fucking long. "Travesty," he mimicked. He blustered, let his cheeks drop and go round.
"A travesty! But, and this is my real point, federal money is going into this guy's pocket. What are we doing funding research like this when we're still unprepared to deal with an outbreak like swine flu, this, this H1N1. I'm telling you, things are adding up, the czars in charge here are not messing around."
"Czars!" Jensen boomed.
Sadie perked up beside him, ears twitching. She jumped off the couch and padded to the door just as it burst open. Jensen checked the clock. Long run today.
"Hey, girl." Jared mopped up his usual flood of sweat, pressing his towel to his forehead, then under each arm before slinging it over his shoulder. "How are you, baby?"
"Dude," Jensen said. "Harley keeps trying to eat my nail clippings. Feed the dog."
"Dude," Jared said, walking into the kitchen, "Protein. Keratin, or whatever. It's good for him." He slammed open the cupboards, hefted the tub of protein powder onto the counter.
Jensen turned down the volume on the TV, watched Jared meticulously spoon powder onto his food scale. "You're embarrassing," he said.
Jared didn't look up from reading the measurement, flexed one arm and pressed a distracted kiss to his bicep.
"I'm hungry," Jensen said, twirling the nail clipper between his fingers. He still had shit to do, grooming to finish, but--Jared was here.
"I'll make you a shake." Jared turned, grabbed two glasses from the sink. Swept the 51 grams of protein powder into his cup, then doled out Jensen's portion onto the scale, squinting at the reading.
"Don't make me a shake."
"I'll make you a shake." Jared looked up, raised an eyebrow. "What the fuck are you watching?"
"I don't know." It was Glenn Beck, and Jared hated him. Jensen turned up the volume, the shouting reverberating out of the speakers. You could almost feel the spit on your face. "It soothes me," Jensen said.
"And the gall!" the speakers bellowed. "Listen to his closing statement--listen to this, you're not going to believe it: 'Ladies and gentlemen, in creating life, we have delivered the first stroke to death.' Who do you think you are, Dr. Vilner, to presume to play God? That's what really gets me. The sheer arrogance! And our government! Twiddling its thumbs."
Jared shook his head. "Shit, son--"
"--I'm not your son--"
"Shit, son, that's bananas." He opened the freezer, swung a plastic bag full of frozen bananas out. "Is he flipping out over that synthesized bacteria thing?"
Jensen nodded. "Four bananas in mine. And some of those blueberries. And honey."
"This is why you're doughy." Jared leaned over the island, grabbed the honey from off the dining table. "I heard about that on NPR."
"Misha," Jensen said automatically.
Jared laughed, then shrugged. "Kind of weird, though, right?"
"What do you mean?" Jensen scratched Harley's chest with his toes.
"I don't know." Jared didn't look him in the eye. He used to get embarrassed, sometimes, to admit that he'd put thought into something.
"You know, Jay."
"You ever give real thought to that idea? Living forever? Scares the shit out of me."
Jensen flopped back onto the couch, spread his arms wide. Sadie came trotting back, hopped up onto Jensen's lap. "Nobody likes a funeral."
"Yeah, but--" Jared chewed on his bottom lip, broke the frozen bananas in thirds. Forearms flexing. He tossed everything into his Magic Bullet, sent the sound of whirring steamrolling through the room. "Everybody goes." He clicked it off after a few seconds. "It's the last even playing field. What do you do if you're not marching to a finish line?"
On TV, Glenn Beck's mouth dropped open. His chin doubled. "I just have to repeat that. I have to. Really soak in the conceit of this statement. We have delivered the first stroke to death. This is the country we live in. This is the United States of Amer--"
"Okay!" Jared clapped his hands together. "Shake's ready, Jenny pie."
That's Jensen's story. The day the world was told. The eve.
Part Two
SPN RPS: Jared/Jensen
Rating: PG-13
26,699 words
More AU to the max. Zombie fic, balla's. Written for j2_remix. Thank you to
light_up for her unflagging encouragement. And to kittyzams for countless drafts, long phoneless conversations over Gchat, and one epic all-nighter. Basically, she co-wrote this! Any good thing here wouldn't have been possible without these two incredibly talented and generous ladies. A remix of Lower the Curtain Down All Right by cathybites. An intense, perfectly compact story with teeth. I hope I did right by you.
The problem is, Jared is days, miles, light years away.
****
So. This is how it goes.
There's a pickup truck in the middle of a cornfield, key in the ignition. Half a tank of gas and a dead body hanging out the driver's side door.
"You think he was alone?" Jared asks.
"Probably," Katie says. "In my experience, guys like that usually kill everyone they're with before they--" She mimes putting a gun to her forehead, the self-inflicted death.
"Big damned heroes," Jared says.
Jensen keeps his mouth shut. He scans the countryside. Fields wild and weeded. The sky heavy and unbroken over them. He can feel the pressure of it, the heat and weight bowing his shoulders. There isn't a sound. He is his eyes and skin, reduced to nothing but.
Jared touches his arm. "We can set up here. In that barn." Jared points, maybe a mile away. "For a little while. Truck'll get us far enough, fast enough if it comes to that."
Katie tugs the drawstring of her hoodie all the way out, leaves it hanging. Makes a show of looking away from Jensen. "No sign of people. Alive, anyway."
"And you know the corpses go where the people are," Jared says.
Katie shrugs. "It's an issue of hipness. They know where it's at."
Jared snorts. "Rotting flesh is in?"
"Hello? Why do you think I insist on smelling like this?" Katie tosses her hair.
"Alright," Jensen says. He squints at the barn. It looks sound enough, from this distance. He'll have to see. "In the truck." He grips the short end of the drawstring at Katie's neck, pulls it down until it hangs perfectly even. Ignores her smirk.
The visibility is good. They have enough ammunition to keep from worrying. Jared looks tired. And they all could use some time: to sit, to wash. To breathe. He prays, sincerely, that the barn still has a door. It's the height of his hopes.
****
Katie's sitting deep inside one of the horse stalls in the barn. You can only see her shoes: ratty white sneakers she keeps freakishly clean, covered in little markered dashes that count off bundles of five. Jared drew the stars that sit over her toes. They scream Jared. The way a kindergartener learns to draw stars, starting with an upside down 4, uneven points, a total lack of symmetry. Just big and bold.
Jensen's leaned up against the open barn door, his shotgun up against his shoulder. Moon's high, and Jared looks like a ghost there, only thirty feet away. He's at the water pump, faint light a strip of bone across his broad and moving shoulders. Jensen's gaze sweeps out into the night: nine o'clock, ten, eleven, hits Jared at high noon, then ticks away. Moving with his feet stock still.
The pump sighs, water a rushing beat. Katie's shoes kick in time at four.
Jared stoops lower, then rises, a pail in each hand. The pump hisses to a stop.
Everything drains out to quiet.
Jensen squints. He tries to hear past his own breathing. Jared's walking towards him, skinny but wide. Don't get stuck looking at his face, Jensen thinks. The features forming out of the dark, out of the distance.
For a second, there's the barest scent of something fetid in the air. He could have imagined it.
Wait for it. He breathes deep, dragging breaths.
There. There's a rustle, there, and there. Jensen aims careful, past Jared still walking, pumps two rounds out into the corpse on the left, then swings around to the right flank, holds his breath. Little muscles in his eyes flexing, working to scrape away the dark.
"Okay?" Jared asks.
"Sh." Jensen licks his lips. "I lost him. Pick it up, Jay."
Jared trots. He's being too careful about spilling water. It's so fucking stupid.
"Faster, please," comes Katie's voice from behind him. "Pamplona."
Jared jogs. The fucker.
Jensen doesn't get the time to curse out loud before there's a burst of noise, a roar and pounding. A corpse erupts from the overgrown fields of corn, sheaves furious in its wake. It's sprinting, and Jared goes stiff then small. He doesn't even look behind himself, just draws in his shoulders, ducks some. He doesn't run.
Jensen shoots and pumps, shoots and pumps. He counts: one, two, three, four. The corpse staggers, but doesn't slow. Over his shoulder a rat-a-tat-tat from Katie's rifle, and the thing's close enough that Jensen can see the bullets slam into its chest, sinking into the putrid flesh.
Jensen sprints out, braces the shotgun, leans into it and fires, blows a hole in the corpse's waist. Races past Jared, screaming, "Drop the fucking water, you bitch!" then watches the corpse fall back, and he's on it before it can sit up, stomping the thing's head into the fertile, loamy dirt.
He grinds his heel. Like he's making a paste to spread on crusty bread.
He pants. Looks out into the fields, reloading his shotgun with shaking hands. There were two, he knows. But that other one. That other one went down, but who knows whether it got done. He counts to sixty Mississippi.
He backs up slow. Holds his breath, so there's no rise and fall to interfere with his aim. He's got true aim, he knows. Steady when other things aren't.
As soon as he steps back into the barn, he draws the door closed, flips three locks, top to bottom.
Katie's putting away her firearm. She grimaces. "You're spattered." She holds one hand over her nose, places the other firmly on Jensen's shoulder, to wipe off some goop. To help him lower his gun. "And yes, for all you folks at home, zombie matter still reeks." She looks over at Jared who's got one pail over the fire and is watching the water steam. "It's too close to food. There's a reason I gave up hamburger way before this."
"Mm. You talk so pretty." Jared stretches. He rubs his hands over his face. He fixes his eyes on Jensen.
He's being studied. Jensen can feel every bit and piece of body that stains his clothes and skin. He drags a hand through his hair, lets himself close his eyes. Leaves his hair thick and sticky. The adrenaline's fading. He's fucking exhausted. Frayed, ground down between molars.
Jared sighs. "You're fucking lucky I have enough water to clean up your goddamn mess," he says.
"Corra, amigo," Katie says.
****
How did you first hear?
Usually Jensen says it like this: "A prophet; the quivering, spitting messenger of America's doom."
Jared says it like this, always half-directed at Jensen: "You were in the living room, wearing my boxers. He had the TV on. Yup, I was with my--what do I call you now? You just another ex, Jen-Bob?"
Katie doesn't remember. "I was probably eating," she says. "Peanut butter on Wheat Thins. God. Do you even know how good?" She shakes her head.
****
They can have a backpack because there are three of them, and they're armed. Lucky enough to be armed. Jared carries it mostly. "Because I'm the man," he says, and this is the cue for Jensen to work the pump on his shotgun, and then for Katie to laugh.
Still. They've already lost eight backpacks, somewhere, ditched in favor of life-saving speed. Jared's held on to this one for almost a month now. Complete with two blankets. Jensen stands at the window they pried the boards off of, watches Jared and Katie make a bed near the fire. Jared sweeps Katie into a hug, squeezes her until she yelps and swats at him. Jensen rolls his eyes, and, on cue, Jared looks at him, smirks. Comes to Jensen, wearing this grin. When he's close enough, he leans in and kisses Jensen's temple, then stands there with him for a little while in silence.
Jared hums before he speaks. "Your hair smells clean-ish."
"It has shine." Jensen turns to fully face Jared, chest to chest. He steps onto Jared's feet, finds a little more height. He stares Jared in the eye, noses brushing. "Thank my new conditioner."
"I would like to shave your head."
"Dead man walking," Jensen says.
Jared kisses him. His lips are chapped. He pulls away, hums in the back of his throat. "Go to bed, okay? I'll watch."
"You don't even have a gun." Jensen wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He spits. Scowls at Jared before leaning in for another kiss.
Jared pulls his handgun from his waist, waves it in the air. Like it's a toy. "Says you."
Jensen smirks. Looks so lightweight. "I'll be," he says gravely.
"Go to bed, baby. Daddy'll take good care of you."
Jensen yawns. He raises his middle finger, heads toward the fire.
"You are cordially invited to suck it." Jared grabs his crotch.
Jensen lies down onto the blankets next to Katie. Her eyes are closed, so Jensen lets out a long, slow breath, feels his eyelids droop. Shifts to find some comfort, blanket drawn over one leg, earth at his back, heat seeping across one plane of his face.
Katie curls up beside him. "I wish I had a boyfriend," she says. "You fucking suck."
Jensen holds her hand. "He's not my boyfriend," he says.
"And whose fault is that?" Katie asks. Her knees are touching his, and her hand feels small, every bone like a bird's, strong and hollow.
****
They leave in the morning, as soon as there's sun. It's the longest Jensen can let them wait. Katie's swimming in this Columbia Sportswear jacket Jared gave her, breath curling around her face. Jensen remembers, vividly, what she used to look like made-up. All colored in.
She's tying her shoe, now, an apple clenched between her teeth, foot braced on the dashboard. He reaches over and pulls a piece of straw from her hair. She winks at him, then twists to face the back, slides open the window to shout at Jared. "Having fun out there?"
Jared whoops. Jensen can picture him. Long legs stretched out. Back to the cab, handgun between his legs, held snug against his crotch. Shirt open one button past appropriate. Slut.
"Should he be yelling like that?" Jensen asks.
"Jared," Katie yells, "Jensen would like to know if you're interested in fighting."
"What kind of fighting? Fist?"
"No," Katie says. "In the manner of two people with a long and twisting history."
"Oh," Jared says. "Tell him 'No, thank you', sweetheart."
Katie turns to Jensen, raises an eyebrow.
Jensen clicks his teeth together. Raises his voice over the noise. "I shouldn't still be pissed off about this morning. Alright? But you know I fucking hate that game. Always have."
"Jensen," Katie shakes her head, smiling a little. "He pulled the car away three times. It was like the shortest game of keep away ever. Everybody does that. My dad did it to my mom all the time. It's a joke."
Jensen grits his teeth. He wishes he could let it go. "You're right. You're right, it's stupid. We have bigger shit to worry about." Jensen feels a hand on his shoulder. Glances back to see Jared, chin on his bicep, hair a fucking disaster in the wind. Arm threaded through the window.
"It's not stupid," Jared says. "I do know you hate that." He squeezes Jensen's shoulder hard, then cups the side of Jensen's neck. Palm of his hand running hot, cold fingertips stroking Jensen's Adam's apple. "I'm sorry. Should've said sorry first. Right off."
Jensen nods. They drive, the fuzz of the radio almost waist-deep.
Jared moves his hand, a few minutes later, but Jensen clears his throat, and it comes back. Rests there, over the right side of his chest.
****
Back when he was a kid, Jensen would wake up at five on Sunday mornings. It was best in the spring. Light so cold and faint you could scare it away if you moved too fast. He'd pull on thick socks, all the way up to his knees, then pad out to the kitchen, out the sliding glass doors, into the backyard where his dad was sitting on a fold-out lawn chair.
There was always a chair for Jensen. He'd sit and fight a yawn. Taste his mouth.
His dad would have the Bible spread open on his lap. He would pray with his eyes open, and Jensen would look with him: at the rising sun, the penumbra of night. Purple to gray to gold. The lawn Jensen had mown yesterday, shorn, and wet with dew, with trembling light. His ears would twitch at every noise: breath and wind, leaves. An owl he never actually saw. Things alive and stirring.
"God is great," his dad would say.
And Jensen would open his mouth, dry and sticky, and say, "All the time."
"All the time--"
"God is great."
Every Sunday morning. To greet a world brand new.
****
The needle on the fuel gauge hovers over empty. Jensen tries not to look at it so damn much. He snaps off the radio. He can't listen to it anymore. There's nothing there. There won't be anything there. He bites the inside of his cheek, then nudges Katie who's dozing. She groans, rolls onto her side, face pressed flat against the glass of her window.
"Katie," he says. "Are you asleep?"
She whimpers, then straightens in her seat, blinking heavily. "I want juicy dish."
"What?"
"If you're waking me up right now, I want it to be for something awesome. Okay? I know the next words out of your mouth were going to be, 'How're you holding up', or 'Talk to me', but you know for a fact that I'm holding up grade-A awesome, and, also, that you are putting me out. You are waking me up and asking me for the favor of my consciousness, knowing full well that I'm grumpy when woken. So you talk to me."
Jensen stares hard out the windshield. The road's empty. He drives in the middle of it, straddling that double yellow line. He's veered around a few wrecks already. He keeps noticing his heartbeat. "I'm just--" He blows out a breath, smiles over at Katie. "Don't know why but I just got the creeps."
She looks at him. She scoots over, close, stick shift pressing into the soft flesh at her side. "Put your arm around me," she says. She rests her head against him.
He holds her close. It makes it easier to be brave, pretending she needs protection.
"You should tell Jared," Katie says. "That you're--" She twirls a hand in the air.
Jensen glances in the rearview mirror. "He's sleeping."
"When he's awake then."
"Okay," Jensen says. "When he's awake."
"You can talk to me about it. Whenever you need." Gently prodding.
Jensen wags his head. "I know. Same goes."
They stay like that for a few minutes, her cheek pressed into the cushion of his shoulder. Both of them staring out windows. Then two things happen. An orange light blips on on the dashboard. And Jared raps at the back window. "Get out the china," he says.
Jensen lowers his head, looks into the side view mirror. A wave of corpses closer than they first appear. He can see their mouths, even from this distance. You always see their mouths.
****
The day after his nineteenth birthday was a Sunday. Jensen's dad called, early. Jensen was hungover. Probably still drunk.
"Hey, Pop."
"Mmhmm. Have a good birthday?"
"Yes, sir."
There was silence, long enough that Jensen almost fell back asleep. "I was just thinking about you today," his dad finally said. "How small you used to be."
"Mm." Jensen sighed heavily. His head throbbed. His dick was half hard. He really didn't want to be on the phone with his dad.
"Anyway."
Jensen buried his face in his pillow. Got out: "Okay, Dad. Thanks for calling."
"Son." A pause. Like it was going to be something really important. "You're grown now."
Something jumped in the pit of Jensen's stomach. He was going to throw up if he opened his mouth. He'd fucking throw up, guaranteed. He should've been able to hold his tequila better. It was a fucking disgrace.
"Just. God is great."
Jensen heaved. "Damn it. Dad, I'm sorry, I have to go. I do. Bye. Love you." And he hung up, made a run for the toilet.
He thought about it later, when he'd sobered up. Right in the middle of dinner, on a date in Beverly Hills, in a restaurant he couldn't really afford. We're different, he thought. He's from a different time.
He sounded old, Jensen thought.
****
Jensen gets pretty close to a gas station before the truck gives out. They sprint the remaining quarter mile, down shimmering asphalt, then over the railing and into the untended brush. Jensen's sweating. His shirt sticks to his skin, bunches up under his arms. Grass knee high and dry as dust.
The station's alone and waiting. Jared shoves his way into the convenience store, does a quick 360, takes everything in at once. "Fuck it," he says. "It's all fucking glass."
"Two doors," Katie says. She's pulling her hair back into a quick bun. "I swear to fucking God," she says. "Someone's going to fucking cut my hair the second we're done with the new wave."
"The pretty princess will do it," Jared says, nodding at Jensen absentmindedly. "Did you see how many?"
"Eighteen, maybe," Jensen says. "Right?"
Katie nods. "I counted that. Six for each of us."
"Not if I snake one of yours," Jared says.
"Please." Katie lifts a shoe, points at the dashes there in blue and orange marker. "Uh oh, look at that. I'm up on you by at least nine."
Jared winks, slips a new cartridge into his piece. They take position in silence: Katie behind the counter at the register, Jared in the doorway leading into the bathroom, Jensen pressed into the corner along the door's wall, looking straight down towards the entrance. They wait. Jensen runs through a checklist: reminds himself of how much ammo they have left, pats his belt where his knife hangs, then his left pocket where his lighter waits. He steadies his breathing.
It's still light outside. The sun's simmering high up in the sky.
"I wish they'd get bored, you know?" Katie peers out the window. Looks for first signs. "Distracted, or tired, or anything. I hate this." Her voice is too loud. "I hate knowing they're coming. They're always going to be coming."
Jensen licks his upper lip.
"Shit," Jared says. The word drops and clatters. That epic brow of his is furrowed. Icicles could hang there. It's a familiar thought. If it was winter. Jensen wants to run the heel of his palm against it.
He's really tired. His gun is ten and a half pounds at the ends of his arms, a dragging-down weight.
****
Jared said this thing sometimes. When they were on set at two a.m. and Jensen was swaying on his feet, staring at the set dresser's hands. Or when Jensen was loaded, one too many tokes from Danny's bong, laughing quietly on the long end of her sectional sofa. Or early mornings, surrounded by the smell of his long-owned feather pillows, light divided up by the blinds into easy-to-swallow strips: "Hey," Jared would say. "Come back to me."
And Jensen would look up, and blink away whatever daze he'd fallen into and Jared would be there. Right there in front of him, smiling. Bright and solid.
"Sorry," Jensen would say.
Jared would shake his head fondly, or laugh, or punch him, but the best reaction, the one Jensen waited for, was a kiss. This quick, dry brush of lips.
It's sentimental, Jensen knows. But Jared used to say it all the time.
They're still waiting in the convenience store here, now. Jared's slid down to the floor, knees up, gun hanging limply in his hand. His feet are dirty, black except for patches where his skin shows through, burnished brown by the sun. He needs real shoes. The flip flops are worn down to nothing. He's rubbing at his beard, staring down at the floor between his legs. Jensen can hear Jared's fingers scraping through the bristly hair.
He wants Jared to look at him. Right now. Just look up and see me watching you.
"Heads up," Katie says. "Shadows on the move."
****
Jensen doesn't know how long it's been. The windows have shattered all around him, their remains glittering under the late afternoon sun. Everything's bathed in the glow. He's killed four, and Jared is alive, and Katie is alive. He can see them holding their breath. He can feel every bead of sweat, dripping down his scalp, over his eyebrows, one clinging there to the lashes over his right eye. He can feel the dirt caked under his fingernails, the blood seeping from his knee, bent against the sharp edge of glass.
His hands are soft and pliant around the bucking gun in his hand, the smoke and fire. This is how I scream; mouth open, the crack of his weapon a noise that comes from the depths of his throat.
He gets off two more shots. Quick and organic, like he's reaching out and touching each corpse: there, at its temple, and there, at its nose. Gaping spaces blossoming where rot used to be.
The quiet drifts in. It comes in ringing.
He's crouched down low. His blood feels thick and hot, burning through his body; sweat and dirt patching him together where the blood breaks past his skin. He remembers being ten, and staying up on New Year's Eve for the very first time. At church for the countdown to midnight, Jensen had crouched just like this under the pews, when his dad took the stage. Pop's amplified voice rolling through him, quickening his tired breath.
We were created from dust in the image of God. Granted dominion over the fish in the seas, over the birds in the air, over every living thing that walks along the earth. The breath in our lungs holy, this body dirt and water.
Jensen can't clear his head. Adrenaline still ringing in his ears. It's over, he tells himself. We're done. For now.
He can't find relief.
"Oh fuck," Jared shouts. So damn loud, it's all anyone can hear. Jensen looks up. Jared's hefting a bottle of green liquid, beaming. "You don't even fucking know how obsessed I am with mouthwash."
Katie stands, stretching. "Please, Jesus, let there be tampons. I will kiss you on the mouth if there are tampons."
"I'll be minty fresh, friend."
Jensen gives himself a shake, hard. He rocks back onto his heels, cocks his head at Jared. "You know that's not a substitute for a toothbrush, right?"
Jared breaks open the bottle, takes a chug. He swishes it in his mouth, pointing at Jensen with both middle fingers. He spits, drags the back of his hand against his mouth, leaving a streak of black in its wake. He's bleeding from a scrape under his eye, red-black a crust on his cheek. His feet are practically bare, skin burnt red on his lean forearms. His hair is snarled beyond salvation, his beard thick and unruly.
Dirt, and sweat, and blood, Jensen thinks.
Jared flashes a smile, a cut of pearly white.
****
They sleep in shifts. He doesn't know what time it is when Katie gets up from beside him and Jared takes her place. Jensen just sprawls across Jared's chest, half awake, face buried in Jared's neck. "You reek," he says.
"Step number one would be to stop breathing me in, then," Jared says. He shoves at Jensen halfheartedly. "Kinky motherfucker. You like my stench."
"Mm. Fucking hot," Jensen says. He humps at Jared's thigh.
Jared laughs.
Jensen opens his eyes, looks at the profile of Jared's smile. White lines where he creases, pale against the darkness of his stained skin. "Kiss me, dude," he says.
Jared turns his head, studies him. The moon's brighter than anything. "Nah," he says.
"Yeah." Jensen grins. "I don't find you sexy anymore, either."
Jared's smile widens. "Well, your lips are all chapped."
"And?"
"They're the source of all your powers!" Jared's voice is quiet, full of glee. "The source of all your powers is chapped."
Jensen's too exhausted to laugh. He kisses Jared firmly.
When Jared pulls away, he says, "Under duress," and cups Jensen's cock.
"Noted."
The hour shutters by, in fast, moving pictures. Jensen feels rooted in every one, present under Jared's hands and mouth, under the moon he sees three seconds in the past, under stars whose light is older than anything moving across the face of a stilled and darkened earth.
****
He asked Jared about it, once. "Why do you say that?" It was late. They were trudging across the lot, faces freshly scrubbed free of makeup. Jensen's cheeks were burning in the cold.
Jared shrugged. He cleared his throat, looked up at the sky. "Did you know that it takes light 2.56 seconds to travel from the moon to the earth?"
Jensen yawned.
"Every time we see the moon, we're seeing a snapshot of what it looked like three seconds ago. We never see it as it is. You know? Now, at this instant."
Jensen ground at his eyes. "I'm fucking beat. No one has ever been more tired than I am."
Jared laughed, pulled open the door to the van home.
The engine started, and Jensen felt himself fading. He could identify this van based off the sound of its engine alone. The chug and hum. It rumbled around him, the sound of the tires on asphalt like a high tide, rushing forward, rushing up. The heat was turned up; the hot air smelled like mildewed leaves and Jared's deodorant. Jensen was dozing when Jared spoke again.
"I'm just saying--" Jared paused. "I always wonder what you’re thinking. You know? I want to know who you are, right now. I don’t--I don’t want to be that guy, who used to work with you on that show, a long time ago.” He drew in a slow, steady breath. "You're important to me." He laughed, embarrassed. "Fuck. I'm not saying it right."
Jensen kept his eyes shut. His body rocked to the rhythm of the van. He patted Jared's armrest, his thigh and knee, before finding his hand. He squeezed it so hard he could hear Jared's knuckles crack.
"Ow, motherfucker, that hurts."
Jensen snickered, then released Jared's hand. He let his fingertips rest, there, in Jared's big palm. He still ached. "I don't really change," he said.
"Hmm." Jared shifted in his seat. He was falling asleep, his breaths lengthening.
Jensen opened his eyes, then. He hoped, hard, that the van wouldn't stop. That it wouldn't stop for a long time. He fingered the lines in Jared's palm.
****
Jensen has his hand splayed on Jared's stomach, right under Jared's belly button. Jared's soft there. His guts protected by tissue that gives. Jensen could slit him open, right here. It'd be so easy. He draws his thumbnail across the yielding flesh.
"Stop," Jared says. He grabs Jensen's wrist. "That tickles."
Jensen flexes his forearm in Jared's grasp. Tests his strength.
Jared releases, stretches, forcing Jensen to move off of him. He nods toward Katie. "Think it's your turn, buddy."
"I've got a little more time."
Jared yawns. "You heard her earlier. I think she's got the creeps. Don't make her wait."
Jensen sighs. "I'm covered in jizz," he says accusingly.
Jared fights off a smile, puts a hand to his heart. "I'm not the one who started it."
Jensen pushes up onto his knees, tucks himself away, zips up his pants. Jerks through each action, unwilling. "She's gonna be mad we fooled around on the blankets."
"You think?" Jared puts a hand on Jensen's knee, waits until Jensen meets his eyes. "Hey. I'm just--I'm worried about her, a little bit."
"Trying to get rid of me," Jensen says.
Jared shrugs, grin satisfied. "Got mine. And now, to sleep." He closes his eyes, hands behind his head.
Jensen watches him for a second. He leans over, hands braced on either side of Jared's head. Inside the space cordoned off by Jared's arms, the crook of his elbows. He puts his face close, tilts so their mouths could touch if he lowered just another bit.
Jared doesn't stir. His lips are relaxed, turning up at the corners.
They don't kiss. Jensen's not sure, all of a sudden, if he's allowed.
He's probably out of time.
****
They head out early. Jensen watches the sun get up off the ground, then touches Jared low on his back, shakes Katie awake.
They walk along the highway. They learned early on that there's no real need to seek cover. It's not about avoiding visibility; the corpses always find them. They argued about it once--what gave them away. Not sight, everyone agreed. Smell, maybe. Hearing; dead ears carefully attuned to the sound of breathing. Jensen thinks it's heat. Their decaying faces drawn to it, like flowers turning with the sun. It would explain a lot. He remembers how much soup he ate that first winter up in Vancouver. The warmth of it was as much of a reason to consume as the taste--the way it spread from his stomach in radiating circles.
Jared's not bothering to shorten his strides up ahead. Jensen doesn't try to catch up; Jared's rapping. Jensen can hear the faint rhythms of it, see it in the set of Jared's shoulders. Jared knows exactly one Lil Wayne song, and Jensen's heard it enough he could match Jared, word for word.
Katie's got her eye on the horizon at his side, licking the dust off her upper lip. Jared's voice floats back to them, and Katie absentmindedly whispers along: "Call me what you want, bitch, call me on my sidekick. Never answer when it's private, damn, I hate a shy bitch. Don't you hate a shy bitch--"
Jensen groans.
Katie looks at him, startled out of her reverie, then laughs. "It's catchy," she says.
"It's the devil's music," Jensen says.
Katie snorts. She eyes a collapsed freeway sign, far ahead in the distance. "Should we bother to check that?"
Jensen shrugs. "We can if you want. We're headed in the right direction if that's what you're worried about."
"How much longer, do you think?"
"Another week and a half, if we're lucky."
"And we're always lucky." She blows on her knuckles, shines them on her shirt.
"Chock full." Jensen grins.
Katie looks down at her feet. Her voice doesn't waver: "What do you think we'll find there?"
Jensen squints into the sun. "Jared heard a lot of people got safe, at the Fort, and the Air Force bases. But--" Jensen follows Katie's gaze. Counts the dashes on her shoes, each one a kill. Their feet carrying them forward. "I don't know."
"Look!" Jared's twisted around, arm pointing at a corner of the sign that still stands. "San Antone!" Grin a mile wide.
****
Everyone has a story of where they were when.
Jensen's is this: He was cutting his toenails in Jared's living room, one foot up on Jared's coffee table, the other planted in Harley's side, keeping him at a safe distance. Sadie was curled up next to him on the couch.
Glenn Beck was shouting on the plasma. "This is just one more thing in a long list of travesties that this government is either unwilling to stop, or, more likely, actively encouraging. That this doctor--Dr., Dr. Joseph Vilner--would not only create this, this pathogen, this bacteria, but would then presume to inform us that it's for our benefit!
That it's the first step to, what did he say, 'the mass production of human hormones, leading to a more affordable and precise application which could have many repercussions in our fight against cancer, against AIDS,' and this, this is my favorite part, 'against the degradation of the human body'. What the hell does that even mean?"
Jensen watched Glenn Beck's cheeks quiver in high definition from the corner of his eye. "This guy," he said to Sadie, "would be a good actor. Shakespearean. Look at that, girl. Look at his face go." He wedged the clipper in under his toenail. He'd let them grow too fucking long. "Travesty," he mimicked. He blustered, let his cheeks drop and go round.
"A travesty! But, and this is my real point, federal money is going into this guy's pocket. What are we doing funding research like this when we're still unprepared to deal with an outbreak like swine flu, this, this H1N1. I'm telling you, things are adding up, the czars in charge here are not messing around."
"Czars!" Jensen boomed.
Sadie perked up beside him, ears twitching. She jumped off the couch and padded to the door just as it burst open. Jensen checked the clock. Long run today.
"Hey, girl." Jared mopped up his usual flood of sweat, pressing his towel to his forehead, then under each arm before slinging it over his shoulder. "How are you, baby?"
"Dude," Jensen said. "Harley keeps trying to eat my nail clippings. Feed the dog."
"Dude," Jared said, walking into the kitchen, "Protein. Keratin, or whatever. It's good for him." He slammed open the cupboards, hefted the tub of protein powder onto the counter.
Jensen turned down the volume on the TV, watched Jared meticulously spoon powder onto his food scale. "You're embarrassing," he said.
Jared didn't look up from reading the measurement, flexed one arm and pressed a distracted kiss to his bicep.
"I'm hungry," Jensen said, twirling the nail clipper between his fingers. He still had shit to do, grooming to finish, but--Jared was here.
"I'll make you a shake." Jared turned, grabbed two glasses from the sink. Swept the 51 grams of protein powder into his cup, then doled out Jensen's portion onto the scale, squinting at the reading.
"Don't make me a shake."
"I'll make you a shake." Jared looked up, raised an eyebrow. "What the fuck are you watching?"
"I don't know." It was Glenn Beck, and Jared hated him. Jensen turned up the volume, the shouting reverberating out of the speakers. You could almost feel the spit on your face. "It soothes me," Jensen said.
"And the gall!" the speakers bellowed. "Listen to his closing statement--listen to this, you're not going to believe it: 'Ladies and gentlemen, in creating life, we have delivered the first stroke to death.' Who do you think you are, Dr. Vilner, to presume to play God? That's what really gets me. The sheer arrogance! And our government! Twiddling its thumbs."
Jared shook his head. "Shit, son--"
"--I'm not your son--"
"Shit, son, that's bananas." He opened the freezer, swung a plastic bag full of frozen bananas out. "Is he flipping out over that synthesized bacteria thing?"
Jensen nodded. "Four bananas in mine. And some of those blueberries. And honey."
"This is why you're doughy." Jared leaned over the island, grabbed the honey from off the dining table. "I heard about that on NPR."
"Misha," Jensen said automatically.
Jared laughed, then shrugged. "Kind of weird, though, right?"
"What do you mean?" Jensen scratched Harley's chest with his toes.
"I don't know." Jared didn't look him in the eye. He used to get embarrassed, sometimes, to admit that he'd put thought into something.
"You know, Jay."
"You ever give real thought to that idea? Living forever? Scares the shit out of me."
Jensen flopped back onto the couch, spread his arms wide. Sadie came trotting back, hopped up onto Jensen's lap. "Nobody likes a funeral."
"Yeah, but--" Jared chewed on his bottom lip, broke the frozen bananas in thirds. Forearms flexing. He tossed everything into his Magic Bullet, sent the sound of whirring steamrolling through the room. "Everybody goes." He clicked it off after a few seconds. "It's the last even playing field. What do you do if you're not marching to a finish line?"
On TV, Glenn Beck's mouth dropped open. His chin doubled. "I just have to repeat that. I have to. Really soak in the conceit of this statement. We have delivered the first stroke to death. This is the country we live in. This is the United States of Amer--"
"Okay!" Jared clapped his hands together. "Shake's ready, Jenny pie."
That's Jensen's story. The day the world was told. The eve.
Part Two