On the Wings of Munin 3/?
Title: On the Wings of Munin
Genre: Action, Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Romance
Pairing: J2, other side pairings
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The year is 0045, Post Apocalyptic Era. Magni Agent Jensen Ackles has never questioned where his life would lead him. Genetically engineered to become the perfect weapon, Ackles has spent his entire life gearing up for the day that he would board a ship to sail to the new land of Asgard. However, even the perfect soldier can find a few chinks in his armor. Ackles' happens to come in the form of a 6'5" native named Jared Padalecki-- whose body can heal from even the most grave of injuries in a matter of minutes.
Banner made by the amazing lasvegas_lights .
| Part One | Part Two |
On the Wings of Munin
Warnings: This story contains strong language, graphic scenes of violence and of torture/neglect/abuse, as well as eventual sexual content. It will also contain graphic war scenes in further chapters.
Disclaimer: Regrettably I do not own any of the cast of this tale. They are all their own persons, and in no way is the following content meant to be a misrepresentation of their lives-- obviously.
Beta'd by the lovely reapertownusa .
Part Three
“So it’s true, then.”
Jim cringed at the steel lacing the blonde Magni’s words, yet still managed an arrogant shrug of his shoulders. “I’m sure the part where the scientists camped out in tents was a bit off. The oxygen levels are too damned high for normal folk on that island-- they’d all have been loopy as hell without the proper equipment. And you can’t keep the proper equipment in a goddamned tent.”
Suddenly, Kane was looming over him, one hand fisted in Jim’s shirt and tugging him clear off of the lab table. “Do you think this is funny, old man?” The brunette’s voice was no more than a dangerous hiss.
“Chris,” Jensen barked, ever the picture of cool composure from where he stood in the center of the room.
Chris glanced back sharply at Jensen, hands still fisted in the old scientist’s lab coat and holding Jim just slightly off of the floor.
Jensen met the glare unflinchingly. “Put him down.”
The other Magni’s face twisted into a sneer as he turned back to regard his captive, but he shoved the old man back down onto the table obediently. “I’m not a fucking dog, Ackles,” He growled despite his compliance, falling back a step. He still openly eyed Jim.
“Then act civilized,” Jensen retorted flatly, which only earned him a glare from his partner once more. Again, he ignored it.
“Regardless of what you boys think, this isn’t some kind of conspiracy against the Magni,” Samantha volunteered, her voice somehow derisive despite the careful measure to her words.
“No? Just against a bunch of innocent kids, is that right?” Jensen snapped, his own temper finally beginning to get the best of him.
Both scientists became stone-faced.
“Neither of us were on the first panel of Ragnarok. You can’t possibly hold us responsible for the things that those people did 32 years ago!” Samantha defended, expression an interesting convergence of righteous fury and shame.
Now it was Chris’ turn to snarl, “No, but we can sure as hell kick your asses for what you’re doing now.”
“We’re trying to help them!" the redhead scientist yelled, suddenly bolting upright from her chair and stubbornly trying to stare down the other two men who both had at least a foot on her--two in Jensen‘s case. “You two arrogant asses don’t know a goddamned thing about what we’re trying to do here.”
The only reaction Jensen had to the woman’s outburst was a slight narrowing of his eyes. He turned his head to share a scornful glance with his partner, who appeared equally unmoved by Sam’s declaration. When the soldier’s green gaze slid back to the woman, his expression was openly mocking.
“Enlighten us.”
A heavy silence fell across the room. The two soldiers waited impatiently for an explanation. Sam sank back into her chair. Jim shifted uncomfortably on the lab table beneath him.
“We’re waiting,” Chris sing-songed, voice hard edged.
Jim turned his head to share a long look with Sam, a silent conversation of sorts seeming to pass between the pair with only their eyes. Jensen squinted at them slightly in an attempt to read the scientists-- their expressions, their body language, the meaning behind their wordless exchange.
Chris seemed just as unnerved by the staredown currently being held between the two scientists, and unlike Jensen, he was unwilling to sit idly by and wait for the moment to pass. “Alright, enough with the freaky staring. Start talking or I start shooting.”
The tension finally broke when Jim rolled his eyes with a sarcastic chuckle. “Not like that would be counterproductive, soldier.” The old man glanced at Jensen. “I think it’s pretty obvious who has the brains between the pair of ya, that’s for sure.”
Jensen’s lips twitched as he fought back a smirk. The effort was only made more difficult when Chris let out an indignant squawk-- there really was no other word for the sound-- and began to launch into another threatening tirade directed at the old scientist.
“Chris.”
Once more Chris complied with Jensen’s command, but this time he did so without offering a snide remark in return. Instead, the older Magni moved to sprawl moodily in one of the vacant desk chairs.
Jensen fought the urge to follow Jim’s example and roll his eyes at his partner’s antics.
“Look,” Sam finally sighed, shifting uneasily in her chair and bending so her elbows rested on her knees. “If word of what we’re doing here gets out, then we’re as good as dead. But you boys are right-- misguided, but right. We were wrong to try and use your oblivious asses to further our agenda.”
Her voice dropped an octave, suddenly colored with naked desperation. “But our intentions were good, goddammit.” When she looked up, the intensity in her eyes almost sent Jensen a step back. “We can’t stand by and let the suits hurt those innocent people. People like Sterling have done enough to the kids of Asgard, and I’ll be damned if I sit back and let them lay a hand on those kids.”
Jensen’s throat worked as the room was overcome with silence once more, though this quiet was heavier and more loaded than any that had preceded it.
The echo of treason hung in the air like lead.
Silently, Jim rose and moved over to one of the many filing cabinets situated beneath the scientists’ desks. Jensen watched as the scientist reached around his neck and tugged a chain from beneath his uniform collar, clumsy fingers fumbling with the single key that hung from the silver necklace. He used the key to open one of the cabinet drawers and withdrew a fat handful of files.
For several seconds he remained bent at the waist over the filing cabinet, eyes sliding shut as he seemed to wage some sort of internal war with himself. It didn’t take long before he reached some sort of apparent decision, though, because he soon straightened and moved over to the lab table where he had previously sat. After another second’s hesitation, he dropped the heavy files on the steel surface with a resounding thud.
Jensen eyed the old scientist warily as he moved over to the table, never once letting his eyes stray from the older man until his legs brushed against the side of the lab table. Only then did he finally break the wary eye contact in favor of glancing down at the folders now strewn across the table before him.
His eyes widened.
“These are--” Jensen began, his voice gruff in its shock as he reached out and snatched the folder closest to him.
“The files for Ragnarok,” Jim confirmed flatly.
Jensen felt Chris’ presence somewhere to his left as he thumbed a well-worn folder open, but he only had eyes for the papers in his hands. Emerald eyes greedily scanned the first page of the file.
Jeffrey Dean Morgan. Male. D.O.B. 22 April 0001.
Patient discarded by parents at Gioll 15 June 0013.
Patient presented with severe dehydration and malnutrition, as well as several abrasions on patient’s arms and legs. Abrasions likely result of physical trauma. Patient reports infrequent chest pains--
Jensen skimmed the doctor’s notes on the following pages, most of which seemed to touch on abuse the child had undergone at the hands of his parents. It wasn’t until he reached the fourth page of the file that he found what he was looking for. Suddenly, the notes were scattered and penned out in a haphazard scrawl, riddled with such technical jargon that the soldier couldn’t begin to make heads or tails of what he was reading.
However, there was no mistaking the photographs or the sketches, the diagrams.
“What the fuck did they do to this kid?” Jensen breathed, raising wide eyes to the old scientist hunched across from him.
Jim offered a humorless smile. “I think the question is what didn’t they do, boy.” He held out his hand for the file, turning it to face him the moment Jensen passed it over. “Jeff Morgan was the first of the many-- he had it the worst of ‘em all. Poor son of a bitch.”
By now Sam had risen and joined them. She stood next to Jim, her arms folded over her chest protectively. The redhead peered over her colleague’s shoulder at the file in Jim‘s hands. “They put that boy through every sort of hell imaginable. Morgan possessed the ability to project images into the subconscious of another human being--he was an illusionist, if you want to call it that.”
Jensen’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.
“He ran ringers around the scientists. For everything they did to him, he gave it to them as good as he got. He managed to drive four of the original scientists working on his case clinically insane; three of which ultimately committed suicide,” Sam continued. There was no denying the admiration coloring her tone.
“And these are the good guys?” Chris breathed in disbelief.
Jensen noted his partner’s horrified expression and wondered fleetingly what his own must look like. He swallowed heavily as he warred with his own previous assumptions that the mutant kids were the victims of Ragnarok.
Jim’s eyes narrowed and he leaned across the table, pressing into Chris’ personal space intimidatingly. “Well they sure as hell ain’t the bad guys, soldier.” He sneered.
“Beaver,” Samantha warned, though she made no move towards her superior.
Jim obediently backed off, though his glare remained unwavering on Chris. It seemed that the old man’s earlier fear of the rough-and-tumble Magni had been forgotten.
Jensen’s eyes moved between the other three assessingly, his shoulders tensed. The air in the room was once again thinning.
“What about this one?” Jensen ventured in hopes of a distraction, grabbing the next file and dropping it on top of Morgan’s.
Both scientists’ eyes reluctantly fell to inspect the open folder.
“Samantha Smith.” Jim shook his head sympathetically as he spoke. “Second kid to be brought in.”
“Smith was precognizant. It first manifested in pictures she colored as a child, but when she grew older her family spooked. Whatever she drew on paper happened in real life just as it did in her drawings,” Samantha continued, voice scientifically detached as she spoke.
“You mean like paper voodoo dolls?”
The horror in Chris’ voice would have been enough to amuse Jensen any other time. However, amusement was far from Jensen’s mind as he began to flip through the diagrams and photos in Samantha Smith’s file. He was sure he didn’t imagine the chill that climbed the length of his spine as he eyed the samples of the girl’s artwork that had been included with the other sketches.
Jim snorted. “No, you moron. Like she knew what was gonna happen before it did. Supposedly she drew a picture of a pair of pirate ships when she was seven.”
Chris laughed shortly, taken aback by the outrageous statement. “Oh yeah?” He glanced back at Jensen. “I’ll bet that rated really high on the freak meter. Shit, I think I drew one of those when I was little too-- do I have a file?”
Jensen paused in his scrutiny of one of Smith‘s paintings to toss a glare at his partner.
Jim’s eyes narrowed as well, but his lips were tilted in smug amusement. “Only if you named the ships Bifrost and Nagalf.”
Chris looked utterly gobsmacked, actually dropping the file he’d been fiddling with in his stunned disbelief.
“You’re lying,” Jensen deadpanned, easily speaking for his otherwise dumbfounded partner. However, even he could not keep a lilt of uncertainty from the statement.
Jim’s smug smirk only widened. “What in the hell would I gain by doing that, boy?”
Jensen glanced at Sam and noticed that the other scientist looked just as amused at their skepticism.
“It’s a bit hard to swallow at first, boys, but it’s the truth,” She conceded at length, reaching out and ghosting her fingers over Samantha Smith’s file, the movement almost religious. “These extraordinary kids really do exist.”
She seemed to notice Jensen’s assessing gaze and glanced up, calmly meeting his eyes. She held his gaze, even as her lips twitched slightly in the beginnings of a smile.
At length, Jensen nodded, finding no trace of a lie in the woman’s eyes. “Alright,” he breathed gruffly, “so people exist who can play a movie in your head or paint a Picasso of your life. Anything else we should know?”
The dryness of the statement did not go unnoted by anyone in the room.
“Oh boys,” Sam grinned, stepping closer to the table and patting the thick stack of files they had yet to touch. “We’re barely getting started.”
Two weeks after Jensen and Chris confronted the Heimdall, the weather shifted. The bitter chill of the air had lessened substantially within the space of a scarce few hours. However, it was replaced with harsh winds that cut through the waves and made the sea precariously rough. Acidic rain poured every night and forced the crew to draw the sails to protect them as best as they could. Below deck, the cabins became crowded as everyone aboard was forced to seek shelter from the weather.
The ships slowed to a near standstill. Any progress to be made was done under the murky light of day, and even that was painfully slow due to the treacherous waves that unforgivingly tossed the ships about.
On a particularly horrid day when Jensen had found himself topside, trying to relieve his rebellious stomach and yet keep his wits about him enough not to be sent flying over the ship’s railing, Carlson had spotted him and come to offer his aid. Steve had held onto the coat tails of Jensen’s uniform while the soldier continued to fight the losing battle against his sour stomach.
When Jensen’s body had finally accepted that his stomach had nothing left to purge, he carefully pushed away from the railing and swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. He glanced at the sailor and nodded shortly in thanks, face already beginning to heat with mortification.
“Still haven’t found your sea legs, soldier?”
Jensen grimaced.
Carlson patted his shoulder sympathetically. “These waves are hard on the best of us.”
“I haven’t seen you curled over the railing,” Jensen noted sourly.
The sailor laughed loudly at that. “These waves are nothing compared to what’s waiting for us, Ackles.”
At Jensen’s horrified expression, Carlson only laughed louder.
“Chin up, man,” the sailor lamented through his laughter, “this weather is good news. It means we’re getting close.”
Jensen’s eyes widened as his gaze snapped to the other man’s profile. “How close?” he demanded, the unpleasant churning that still turned his stomach all but forgotten.
Carlson’s grin was as brilliant as it was secretive. “Very close, soldier. Very close indeed.”
Another week passed in much the same manner as the last. The waves continued to toss the ships about relentlessly, and the storms worsened with each league gained. Below deck, however, a fire had been lit beneath the tails of the Aesir.
The Heimdall trained the Magni hard and fast. There was no room for error as the clock continued to run down. Soon, there would be no more time for mundane training.
Soon, they would reach Asgard.
The rest of the Aesir underwent ruthless training as well, though the Heimdall had no hand in their regiment whatsoever. The higher-ups were pushing the soldiers to their limits from dawn until dusk each day, and during the nights the troops were given the chance to recover while the higher-ups strategized in relative secrecy.
For Jensen, the strain of carrying the secrets of the Heimdall was beginning to take its toll. He felt constantly on edge when around the other Aesir, always finding himself wary that someone had discovered the scientists’ true loyalties and his involvement with the traitorous group. His fears were proven well-founded when, on the twenty-fifth night since Bifrost had set sail, Brigadier General Sterling Brown deliberately intercepted Jensen on his return to his quarters.
“Ackles, a word.”
Jensen froze, fighting the instinctive urge to tense at the sound of his superior’s level voice. He carefully schooled his features before turning, falling into a salute before the other man and praying to whatever god might listen that the anxiety ratcheting up his spine wasn’t evident to the other man.
“Yes, General?”
He felt a surge of pride at how even his voice sounded.
Brown openly eyed Jensen as he returned the salute. “At ease,” he dismissed distractedly, his gaze flicking to somewhere behind Jensen for a moment before returning to openly scrutinize the Magni before him. “Where’s your partner?”
Jensen clasped his arms behind his back, chin raised as he steadily met his superior’s gaze. “I believe Kane was held up at the training room, sir.”
“Is that so?”
Despite the dark-skinned man’s casual tone, Jensen noted the suspicion hidden within the easy words.
“Yes, sir. If you were wanting to speak to both of us at once I could go find him--” Jensen offered with as much sincerity as he could muster. Which, unsurprisingly, wasn’t much at all.
“No, no. This is actually perfect. I’d hoped for a chance to talk to you alone for a few minutes sometime soon. Do you have a moment?”
Jensen nodded shortly, recognizing that the question was posed only as a thin courtesy. “Of course, General.”
“Call me Sterling,” the other man insisted with an insincere smile, “we’re all friends here, aren’t we?”
Jensen felt his lips twist and hoped that the expression didn‘t too much resemble a grimace. “I‘d like to think so, sir.”
Sterling’s smile only stretched as he placed a hand on Jensen’s shoulder and steered him towards the Brigadier General’s private chambers. Two wing backed chairs flanked a sturdy end table to one side of the room, and Jensen stiffly moved to take one of the chairs at the other man’s beckoning. As he perched on the expensive material of the cushions, the Magni fought the urge to fidget.
He took the chance to study the older man when Sterling turned to fetch a bottle of brandy. He noted the tension that the General carried between his shoulders, the way that those shoulders were rolled forward just slightly as if he were ready to defend himself in a moment’s notice. Jensen did not miss the stern set to Sterling’s jaw, or the barely-noticeable twitch in the older man’s cheek as he appeared to lose himself in his thoughts. He noticed the stance that was too casual to be natural and the accompanying smile that was anything but welcoming.
As Sterling turned and made his way back towards Jensen, the Magni made a point of fixing his eyes on the brandy in the General’s hand rather than on the man himself. He would allow Brown to keep his false sense of security a bit longer. “What’s the occasion?” Jensen joked, tone falling flat.
Brown’s smile widened, reminding Jensen of a feral cat on the prowl.
“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors that we’re mere days from Asgard.” The General’s voice was measured, but there was no missing the excitement coloring his tone. He took his time setting two brandy snifters on the end table between himself and Jensen, then filling them with the amber colored liquid. As he passed Jensen one of the glasses, he allowed his gaze to meet the younger soldier’s and his lips pulled into a smug grin. “The rumors, for once, are quite true.”
Jensen was glad he hadn’t taken a drink from the glass just yet, for at the announcement he was sure he would have spit the drink out embarrassingly. Still, he couldn’t help but cough in surprise. “You’re serious,” He exclaimed, eyes wide.
Sterling’s grin only widened. “Very serious, Jensen.”
“That’s,” Jensen took a huge gulp of the brandy in his hand. “That’s awesome.”
The other man continued to grin, almost manically now, and took a sip of his own liquor. “Awesome indeed, Jensen. Despite the setbacks we’ve experienced from the weather, it seems we’ve made remarkable time. I expect us to bank within the next 72 hours.”
Jensen downed the rest of his brandy to avoid having to articulate a response. He fought back a grimace at the burn of the alcohol.
Sterling seemed amused by his reaction and chuckled, leaning forward to refill Jensen’s now-empty snifter. “It’s a lot to take in-- believe me, I know. It’s just as hard for me to believe as it is for you.”
Jensen watched as Sterling sat the brandy bottle back on the table carefully, the man’s grin turning secretive. “However, now that things are beginning to progress so rapidly, I felt it pertinent that you and I had a chance to…discuss… the role I expect you to play once we reach Asgard.”
Instantly, Jensen’s attention sharpened and he fought to keep his posture from tensing. He steeled himself for the orders he was about to receive. He prayed that his expression didn’t betray his unease.
The General shifted in his own chair, setting aside his own snifter of brandy to lean forward and consider Jensen thoughtfully.
“There is an indigenous population currently inhabiting the center of the island. They are extremely hostile, and extremely volatile. Given the chance, they would sooner tear our men to shreds than engage in negotiations of any sort. Several years ago we tried to do exactly that.” Sterling’s voice was careful and his words measured, as if he expected Jensen to be hanging from his every word as he spoke. Little did he know that Jensen was doing exactly that-- however, not for the reasons that the General would have hoped. “None of our men made if off of the island.”
Jensen nodded cautiously, his jaw setting as he fought to keep his posture as relaxed as possible. Still, he felt his spine stiffen and fists curl against his pant legs in silent outrage. So this is how the military was going to play it? They would cast the mutants as the bad guys and send an entire army in to…what, exterminate them?
Vaguely, Jensen noted that his fists were subtly shaking. It was a battle to still them and uncurl his hands.
“So, what exactly is our objective?” he finally ventured to ask once Jensen was sure that he was in control of his voice.
“To regain control of Asgard-- by any means necessary.”
There was no missing the sinister drawl to the General’s voice. It caused Jensen’s hackles to raise in anger.
“An extermination, you mean.”
Sterling nodded agreeably. “If it should come to that, yes.” His eyes narrowed as he paused to study Jensen. The younger man made sure to keep his posture relaxed under the critical gaze, his expression carefully neutral. “Is that going to be a problem, soldier?”
Jensen’s lips quirked. “Not at all, General.”
At this, Sterling smiled with a brilliant flash of white teeth. “That’s very good to hear. I need to know that I have someone on this mission that I can trust implicitly. I’m hoping that this someone is you, Jensen.”
“I won’t let you down, sir.”
Sterling’s smile widened and he reclaimed his brandy, taking a measured sip without looking away from Jensen. “No, I don’t believe you will.” His tone was confident, smug even.
It made Jensen want to punch him. It made Jensen want to puke.
He stood suddenly, very nearly upending his own brandy as he did so. “If I may be dismissed, sir. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” Which was true, Jensen mused, as the Heimdall had ordered him to have his mug downstairs no later than sunrise the next day.
Sterling’s demeanor was easy as he waved a hand towards the door. “Of course. We’ll talk more at another time. Goodnight, Ackles.”
Jensen nodded sharply, offering no verbal farewell, and spun on his heel. He was proud that he managed to exit the General’s cabin without breaking into a run. It was a very near thing.
Once he was in the relative safety of the hallway (and well away from Sterling’s cabin) Jensen allowed his steps to slow. His arms hung at his side as he dropped his head back, staring at the ceiling of the hull. The hallways were mercifully empty at this time of night, so no one was around to hear the frustrated growl that tore from his throat.
He made his way back to his cabin on auto-pilot. Thankfully, he managed to do so without running into anyone else. Jensen had no time to deal with anymore military “pleasantries”-- he’d about hit his quota for the night, thanks.
He shoved open the door to his and Chris’ shared cabin with little regard to whether his partner may have been sleeping. However, from the kerosene lamp burning on the nightstand between their beds, Jensen surmised that Chris wasn’t asleep yet anyways. Case in point, Chris was actually lounging on his bed, flipping through what appeared to be a copy of one of the Vanir’s files. The brunette glanced up at Jensen when he entered, brow already furrowing as he noticed how tightly wound his partner was.
“What the hell happened to you, man? You get lost between here and the lab or something?”
“Or something,” Jensen snapped, jerking his uniform jacket from his shoulders impatiently. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait to rid himself of the Aesir’s branding colors. He dropped the jacket to the floor and paused to stare at the material.
He drew his foot back and kicked the garment across the room, watching in satisfaction as it slid neatly under his cot and out of sight.
Chris sat up smoothly, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and setting the file aside. He eyed Jensen warily. “What the hell happened?” His tone was as cautious as his assessing gaze, but the set of his jaw informed Jensen that his partner was already feeding off of the tension that was surely radiating from himself in waves.
“I had a drink with General Brown.” His voice was falsely cheerful and he even managed a smile, though it was more of a baring of his teeth. “It was quite…informative.”
Now Chris’ eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What did the bastard want? Did he tell you what they’re planning on doing with the kids?”
“They aren’t ‘kids’ anymore, Chris. It‘s been over thirty years,” He snapped, running a hand through his short-cropped hair irritably. “And he wants to fucking exterminate them like a buncha ants.”
“So Carlson and the Heimdall were right? We’re being sent there to play fucking Terminator?” Chris snarled, shoving to his feet and staring at Jensen incredulously. “Does he seriously think we’re just going to go with that?”
Jensen’s lips twisted. “That’s exactly what he thinks. And he thinks I’m going to be his Golden Boy and play puppet.”
Chris froze. His eyes narrowed cautiously and he took a moment to eye Jensen. “You’re not actually--”
“Kane, I swear if you even finish that sentence I’ll rip your tonsils out with my fist.” Jensen growled, his hands curling at his sides. He felt the angry flush creeping up from the collar of his undershirt, moving up his neck and over his cheeks. “How could you fucking think that I would go along with him?”
To his credit, Chris looked properly abashed. “It’s not--” He cut himself off, pursing his lips and shoving a hand through his hair in frustration. He growled in annoyance when he felt the elastic that had been keeping his hair in a ponytail catch on his fingers and snag out of his hair. He pulled his hand back and glared at the offending band in clear irritation. Shaking his head, (which made his hair fall around his shoulders in a creased mess) he tossed the elastic on his bed dismissively. “It’s not that I think you’d actually do it, Jensen. It’s just-- I mean, I know-- oh hell, son, you’re just too damned good a soldier to pull off treason.”
Jensen winced at the word. He really couldn’t help it.
His reaction only seemed to add fuel to Chris’ rant. “See that? You can’t even hear the word without flinching, and treason is exactly what those Heimdall are planning. You realize that, right?”
“Of course I realize that!” Jensen snapped.
“So what are you gonna do, Jensen?” Chris snarled, his temper flaring in perfect time with Jensen’s. “You gonna play Brown’s bitch-- kill the Vanir like a good soldier?”
Jensen didn’t think. He swung his fist at the other soldier’s face and glorified in the satisfaction of watching his partner stumble back in shock, rubbing his abused jaw. He couldn’t even find it within himself to feel the slightest bit of remorse at Chris’ look of outraged bewilderment.
He’d forgotten how satisfying it felt to occasionally take his fist to his cocky partner’s face. Jensen should really remember that little detail.
Jensen noted the moment that Chris’ anger slipped; the brunette’s shoulders rolled forward in defeat, his head hung.
“Alright, I deserved that,” Chris conceded mulishly, “But dammit Jensen, this whole thing’s too big for us-- and now Brown’s sniffing around and asking your to play his bitch. This ain’t a good time for you to be deciding between your duty and your moral compass, dude.”
“That’s my choice, isn’t it?” Jensen’s voice leveled. “I don’t remember asking you to play mother hen, Kane. I certainly don’t need it. My mind’s made up.”
Chris’ eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah? And what did you decide, Jensen? Golden Boy or Outlaw?”
“I always did have a thing for cowboys.”
This drew a startled laugh of disbelief from the other soldier. Jensen couldn’t help his own lips curling in a reluctant grin. He turned, dropping his training bag carelessly and tugging his shirt over his head to cover his expression. He started slightly when he felt a hand clap the back of his shoulder before the garment could even clear his head.
“Nice to have you aboard, cowboy,” Chris drawled, his joy evident in his voice alone.
Jensen was glad that he still had the cover of his shirt to hide behind, because he couldn’t help responding with a brilliant smile of his own. “Nice to be here, soldier.”
“Do you think Brown suspects?” Samantha demanded late the next night. She sat perched on one of the lab tables, balancing precariously as she shared the corner with Danneel. The younger redhead eyed Jensen, her arms folded over her chest protectively.
“I don’t think so.” Jensen frowned. He quickly relayed his conversation with Brown to the two scientists.
Danneel’s frown deepened. “He doesn’t sound suspicious, but then again-- it’s Sterling Brown. There’s no way of telling what’s going on in that man’s head.”
“Amen to that,” Samantha retorted, folding her own arms. “Well, we’ll take this for the warning that it is. We have to be more careful-- and you, Ackles, are going to have one hell of a job cut out for you.”
Now it was Jensen’s turn to frown. “Pardon?”
Samantha slid off of the table and came to stand in front of Jensen. She stared up at him, expressionless. “You’re going to listen to Brown and do whatever the hell he tells you to. Then, you’re going to report your ass right back here and tell me everything the bastard’s planning.”
Jensen’s hands curled into fists at his side. He really should have expected this. Releasing a long breath, he nodded shortly. “Understood.”
Sam’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. “Really, now. Just like that?”
“What can I say? My trainer was awesome. I’m housebroken and everything.”
Now the older scientists’ eyes were narrowing in a glare, but the slight curl of her lips belied her amusement all too well. “Well thank god for small favors. Alright, then. No questions?”
“I pretend to listen to Brown and report back to you. It’s not rocket science.”
“Thank god,” Sam repeated, though this time her tone was full of dry humor. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from training a pair of knuckleheads like you and Kane, it’s that of all the things the Magni are good at-- science sure as hell ain’t one of them.”
Jensen smirked slightly in acknowledgement. “Agreed. But that’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”
Sam’s lips tilted into a full-blown grin.
That night was the first night Jensen dreamed of a boy with onyx wings.
Genre: Action, Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Romance
Pairing: J2, other side pairings
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The year is 0045, Post Apocalyptic Era. Magni Agent Jensen Ackles has never questioned where his life would lead him. Genetically engineered to become the perfect weapon, Ackles has spent his entire life gearing up for the day that he would board a ship to sail to the new land of Asgard. However, even the perfect soldier can find a few chinks in his armor. Ackles' happens to come in the form of a 6'5" native named Jared Padalecki-- whose body can heal from even the most grave of injuries in a matter of minutes.
Banner made by the amazing lasvegas_lights .
| Part One | Part Two |
On the Wings of Munin
Warnings: This story contains strong language, graphic scenes of violence and of torture/neglect/abuse, as well as eventual sexual content. It will also contain graphic war scenes in further chapters.
Disclaimer: Regrettably I do not own any of the cast of this tale. They are all their own persons, and in no way is the following content meant to be a misrepresentation of their lives-- obviously.
Beta'd by the lovely reapertownusa .
Part Three
“So it’s true, then.”
Jim cringed at the steel lacing the blonde Magni’s words, yet still managed an arrogant shrug of his shoulders. “I’m sure the part where the scientists camped out in tents was a bit off. The oxygen levels are too damned high for normal folk on that island-- they’d all have been loopy as hell without the proper equipment. And you can’t keep the proper equipment in a goddamned tent.”
Suddenly, Kane was looming over him, one hand fisted in Jim’s shirt and tugging him clear off of the lab table. “Do you think this is funny, old man?” The brunette’s voice was no more than a dangerous hiss.
“Chris,” Jensen barked, ever the picture of cool composure from where he stood in the center of the room.
Chris glanced back sharply at Jensen, hands still fisted in the old scientist’s lab coat and holding Jim just slightly off of the floor.
Jensen met the glare unflinchingly. “Put him down.”
The other Magni’s face twisted into a sneer as he turned back to regard his captive, but he shoved the old man back down onto the table obediently. “I’m not a fucking dog, Ackles,” He growled despite his compliance, falling back a step. He still openly eyed Jim.
“Then act civilized,” Jensen retorted flatly, which only earned him a glare from his partner once more. Again, he ignored it.
“Regardless of what you boys think, this isn’t some kind of conspiracy against the Magni,” Samantha volunteered, her voice somehow derisive despite the careful measure to her words.
“No? Just against a bunch of innocent kids, is that right?” Jensen snapped, his own temper finally beginning to get the best of him.
Both scientists became stone-faced.
“Neither of us were on the first panel of Ragnarok. You can’t possibly hold us responsible for the things that those people did 32 years ago!” Samantha defended, expression an interesting convergence of righteous fury and shame.
Now it was Chris’ turn to snarl, “No, but we can sure as hell kick your asses for what you’re doing now.”
“We’re trying to help them!" the redhead scientist yelled, suddenly bolting upright from her chair and stubbornly trying to stare down the other two men who both had at least a foot on her--two in Jensen‘s case. “You two arrogant asses don’t know a goddamned thing about what we’re trying to do here.”
The only reaction Jensen had to the woman’s outburst was a slight narrowing of his eyes. He turned his head to share a scornful glance with his partner, who appeared equally unmoved by Sam’s declaration. When the soldier’s green gaze slid back to the woman, his expression was openly mocking.
“Enlighten us.”
A heavy silence fell across the room. The two soldiers waited impatiently for an explanation. Sam sank back into her chair. Jim shifted uncomfortably on the lab table beneath him.
“We’re waiting,” Chris sing-songed, voice hard edged.
Jim turned his head to share a long look with Sam, a silent conversation of sorts seeming to pass between the pair with only their eyes. Jensen squinted at them slightly in an attempt to read the scientists-- their expressions, their body language, the meaning behind their wordless exchange.
Chris seemed just as unnerved by the staredown currently being held between the two scientists, and unlike Jensen, he was unwilling to sit idly by and wait for the moment to pass. “Alright, enough with the freaky staring. Start talking or I start shooting.”
The tension finally broke when Jim rolled his eyes with a sarcastic chuckle. “Not like that would be counterproductive, soldier.” The old man glanced at Jensen. “I think it’s pretty obvious who has the brains between the pair of ya, that’s for sure.”
Jensen’s lips twitched as he fought back a smirk. The effort was only made more difficult when Chris let out an indignant squawk-- there really was no other word for the sound-- and began to launch into another threatening tirade directed at the old scientist.
“Chris.”
Once more Chris complied with Jensen’s command, but this time he did so without offering a snide remark in return. Instead, the older Magni moved to sprawl moodily in one of the vacant desk chairs.
Jensen fought the urge to follow Jim’s example and roll his eyes at his partner’s antics.
“Look,” Sam finally sighed, shifting uneasily in her chair and bending so her elbows rested on her knees. “If word of what we’re doing here gets out, then we’re as good as dead. But you boys are right-- misguided, but right. We were wrong to try and use your oblivious asses to further our agenda.”
Her voice dropped an octave, suddenly colored with naked desperation. “But our intentions were good, goddammit.” When she looked up, the intensity in her eyes almost sent Jensen a step back. “We can’t stand by and let the suits hurt those innocent people. People like Sterling have done enough to the kids of Asgard, and I’ll be damned if I sit back and let them lay a hand on those kids.”
Jensen’s throat worked as the room was overcome with silence once more, though this quiet was heavier and more loaded than any that had preceded it.
The echo of treason hung in the air like lead.
Silently, Jim rose and moved over to one of the many filing cabinets situated beneath the scientists’ desks. Jensen watched as the scientist reached around his neck and tugged a chain from beneath his uniform collar, clumsy fingers fumbling with the single key that hung from the silver necklace. He used the key to open one of the cabinet drawers and withdrew a fat handful of files.
For several seconds he remained bent at the waist over the filing cabinet, eyes sliding shut as he seemed to wage some sort of internal war with himself. It didn’t take long before he reached some sort of apparent decision, though, because he soon straightened and moved over to the lab table where he had previously sat. After another second’s hesitation, he dropped the heavy files on the steel surface with a resounding thud.
Jensen eyed the old scientist warily as he moved over to the table, never once letting his eyes stray from the older man until his legs brushed against the side of the lab table. Only then did he finally break the wary eye contact in favor of glancing down at the folders now strewn across the table before him.
His eyes widened.
“These are--” Jensen began, his voice gruff in its shock as he reached out and snatched the folder closest to him.
“The files for Ragnarok,” Jim confirmed flatly.
Jensen felt Chris’ presence somewhere to his left as he thumbed a well-worn folder open, but he only had eyes for the papers in his hands. Emerald eyes greedily scanned the first page of the file.
Jeffrey Dean Morgan. Male. D.O.B. 22 April 0001.
Patient discarded by parents at Gioll 15 June 0013.
Patient presented with severe dehydration and malnutrition, as well as several abrasions on patient’s arms and legs. Abrasions likely result of physical trauma. Patient reports infrequent chest pains--
Jensen skimmed the doctor’s notes on the following pages, most of which seemed to touch on abuse the child had undergone at the hands of his parents. It wasn’t until he reached the fourth page of the file that he found what he was looking for. Suddenly, the notes were scattered and penned out in a haphazard scrawl, riddled with such technical jargon that the soldier couldn’t begin to make heads or tails of what he was reading.
However, there was no mistaking the photographs or the sketches, the diagrams.
“What the fuck did they do to this kid?” Jensen breathed, raising wide eyes to the old scientist hunched across from him.
Jim offered a humorless smile. “I think the question is what didn’t they do, boy.” He held out his hand for the file, turning it to face him the moment Jensen passed it over. “Jeff Morgan was the first of the many-- he had it the worst of ‘em all. Poor son of a bitch.”
By now Sam had risen and joined them. She stood next to Jim, her arms folded over her chest protectively. The redhead peered over her colleague’s shoulder at the file in Jim‘s hands. “They put that boy through every sort of hell imaginable. Morgan possessed the ability to project images into the subconscious of another human being--he was an illusionist, if you want to call it that.”
Jensen’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.
“He ran ringers around the scientists. For everything they did to him, he gave it to them as good as he got. He managed to drive four of the original scientists working on his case clinically insane; three of which ultimately committed suicide,” Sam continued. There was no denying the admiration coloring her tone.
“And these are the good guys?” Chris breathed in disbelief.
Jensen noted his partner’s horrified expression and wondered fleetingly what his own must look like. He swallowed heavily as he warred with his own previous assumptions that the mutant kids were the victims of Ragnarok.
Jim’s eyes narrowed and he leaned across the table, pressing into Chris’ personal space intimidatingly. “Well they sure as hell ain’t the bad guys, soldier.” He sneered.
“Beaver,” Samantha warned, though she made no move towards her superior.
Jim obediently backed off, though his glare remained unwavering on Chris. It seemed that the old man’s earlier fear of the rough-and-tumble Magni had been forgotten.
Jensen’s eyes moved between the other three assessingly, his shoulders tensed. The air in the room was once again thinning.
“What about this one?” Jensen ventured in hopes of a distraction, grabbing the next file and dropping it on top of Morgan’s.
Both scientists’ eyes reluctantly fell to inspect the open folder.
“Samantha Smith.” Jim shook his head sympathetically as he spoke. “Second kid to be brought in.”
“Smith was precognizant. It first manifested in pictures she colored as a child, but when she grew older her family spooked. Whatever she drew on paper happened in real life just as it did in her drawings,” Samantha continued, voice scientifically detached as she spoke.
“You mean like paper voodoo dolls?”
The horror in Chris’ voice would have been enough to amuse Jensen any other time. However, amusement was far from Jensen’s mind as he began to flip through the diagrams and photos in Samantha Smith’s file. He was sure he didn’t imagine the chill that climbed the length of his spine as he eyed the samples of the girl’s artwork that had been included with the other sketches.
Jim snorted. “No, you moron. Like she knew what was gonna happen before it did. Supposedly she drew a picture of a pair of pirate ships when she was seven.”
Chris laughed shortly, taken aback by the outrageous statement. “Oh yeah?” He glanced back at Jensen. “I’ll bet that rated really high on the freak meter. Shit, I think I drew one of those when I was little too-- do I have a file?”
Jensen paused in his scrutiny of one of Smith‘s paintings to toss a glare at his partner.
Jim’s eyes narrowed as well, but his lips were tilted in smug amusement. “Only if you named the ships Bifrost and Nagalf.”
Chris looked utterly gobsmacked, actually dropping the file he’d been fiddling with in his stunned disbelief.
“You’re lying,” Jensen deadpanned, easily speaking for his otherwise dumbfounded partner. However, even he could not keep a lilt of uncertainty from the statement.
Jim’s smug smirk only widened. “What in the hell would I gain by doing that, boy?”
Jensen glanced at Sam and noticed that the other scientist looked just as amused at their skepticism.
“It’s a bit hard to swallow at first, boys, but it’s the truth,” She conceded at length, reaching out and ghosting her fingers over Samantha Smith’s file, the movement almost religious. “These extraordinary kids really do exist.”
She seemed to notice Jensen’s assessing gaze and glanced up, calmly meeting his eyes. She held his gaze, even as her lips twitched slightly in the beginnings of a smile.
At length, Jensen nodded, finding no trace of a lie in the woman’s eyes. “Alright,” he breathed gruffly, “so people exist who can play a movie in your head or paint a Picasso of your life. Anything else we should know?”
The dryness of the statement did not go unnoted by anyone in the room.
“Oh boys,” Sam grinned, stepping closer to the table and patting the thick stack of files they had yet to touch. “We’re barely getting started.”
Two weeks after Jensen and Chris confronted the Heimdall, the weather shifted. The bitter chill of the air had lessened substantially within the space of a scarce few hours. However, it was replaced with harsh winds that cut through the waves and made the sea precariously rough. Acidic rain poured every night and forced the crew to draw the sails to protect them as best as they could. Below deck, the cabins became crowded as everyone aboard was forced to seek shelter from the weather.
The ships slowed to a near standstill. Any progress to be made was done under the murky light of day, and even that was painfully slow due to the treacherous waves that unforgivingly tossed the ships about.
On a particularly horrid day when Jensen had found himself topside, trying to relieve his rebellious stomach and yet keep his wits about him enough not to be sent flying over the ship’s railing, Carlson had spotted him and come to offer his aid. Steve had held onto the coat tails of Jensen’s uniform while the soldier continued to fight the losing battle against his sour stomach.
When Jensen’s body had finally accepted that his stomach had nothing left to purge, he carefully pushed away from the railing and swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. He glanced at the sailor and nodded shortly in thanks, face already beginning to heat with mortification.
“Still haven’t found your sea legs, soldier?”
Jensen grimaced.
Carlson patted his shoulder sympathetically. “These waves are hard on the best of us.”
“I haven’t seen you curled over the railing,” Jensen noted sourly.
The sailor laughed loudly at that. “These waves are nothing compared to what’s waiting for us, Ackles.”
At Jensen’s horrified expression, Carlson only laughed louder.
“Chin up, man,” the sailor lamented through his laughter, “this weather is good news. It means we’re getting close.”
Jensen’s eyes widened as his gaze snapped to the other man’s profile. “How close?” he demanded, the unpleasant churning that still turned his stomach all but forgotten.
Carlson’s grin was as brilliant as it was secretive. “Very close, soldier. Very close indeed.”
Another week passed in much the same manner as the last. The waves continued to toss the ships about relentlessly, and the storms worsened with each league gained. Below deck, however, a fire had been lit beneath the tails of the Aesir.
The Heimdall trained the Magni hard and fast. There was no room for error as the clock continued to run down. Soon, there would be no more time for mundane training.
Soon, they would reach Asgard.
The rest of the Aesir underwent ruthless training as well, though the Heimdall had no hand in their regiment whatsoever. The higher-ups were pushing the soldiers to their limits from dawn until dusk each day, and during the nights the troops were given the chance to recover while the higher-ups strategized in relative secrecy.
For Jensen, the strain of carrying the secrets of the Heimdall was beginning to take its toll. He felt constantly on edge when around the other Aesir, always finding himself wary that someone had discovered the scientists’ true loyalties and his involvement with the traitorous group. His fears were proven well-founded when, on the twenty-fifth night since Bifrost had set sail, Brigadier General Sterling Brown deliberately intercepted Jensen on his return to his quarters.
“Ackles, a word.”
Jensen froze, fighting the instinctive urge to tense at the sound of his superior’s level voice. He carefully schooled his features before turning, falling into a salute before the other man and praying to whatever god might listen that the anxiety ratcheting up his spine wasn’t evident to the other man.
“Yes, General?”
He felt a surge of pride at how even his voice sounded.
Brown openly eyed Jensen as he returned the salute. “At ease,” he dismissed distractedly, his gaze flicking to somewhere behind Jensen for a moment before returning to openly scrutinize the Magni before him. “Where’s your partner?”
Jensen clasped his arms behind his back, chin raised as he steadily met his superior’s gaze. “I believe Kane was held up at the training room, sir.”
“Is that so?”
Despite the dark-skinned man’s casual tone, Jensen noted the suspicion hidden within the easy words.
“Yes, sir. If you were wanting to speak to both of us at once I could go find him--” Jensen offered with as much sincerity as he could muster. Which, unsurprisingly, wasn’t much at all.
“No, no. This is actually perfect. I’d hoped for a chance to talk to you alone for a few minutes sometime soon. Do you have a moment?”
Jensen nodded shortly, recognizing that the question was posed only as a thin courtesy. “Of course, General.”
“Call me Sterling,” the other man insisted with an insincere smile, “we’re all friends here, aren’t we?”
Jensen felt his lips twist and hoped that the expression didn‘t too much resemble a grimace. “I‘d like to think so, sir.”
Sterling’s smile only stretched as he placed a hand on Jensen’s shoulder and steered him towards the Brigadier General’s private chambers. Two wing backed chairs flanked a sturdy end table to one side of the room, and Jensen stiffly moved to take one of the chairs at the other man’s beckoning. As he perched on the expensive material of the cushions, the Magni fought the urge to fidget.
He took the chance to study the older man when Sterling turned to fetch a bottle of brandy. He noted the tension that the General carried between his shoulders, the way that those shoulders were rolled forward just slightly as if he were ready to defend himself in a moment’s notice. Jensen did not miss the stern set to Sterling’s jaw, or the barely-noticeable twitch in the older man’s cheek as he appeared to lose himself in his thoughts. He noticed the stance that was too casual to be natural and the accompanying smile that was anything but welcoming.
As Sterling turned and made his way back towards Jensen, the Magni made a point of fixing his eyes on the brandy in the General’s hand rather than on the man himself. He would allow Brown to keep his false sense of security a bit longer. “What’s the occasion?” Jensen joked, tone falling flat.
Brown’s smile widened, reminding Jensen of a feral cat on the prowl.
“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors that we’re mere days from Asgard.” The General’s voice was measured, but there was no missing the excitement coloring his tone. He took his time setting two brandy snifters on the end table between himself and Jensen, then filling them with the amber colored liquid. As he passed Jensen one of the glasses, he allowed his gaze to meet the younger soldier’s and his lips pulled into a smug grin. “The rumors, for once, are quite true.”
Jensen was glad he hadn’t taken a drink from the glass just yet, for at the announcement he was sure he would have spit the drink out embarrassingly. Still, he couldn’t help but cough in surprise. “You’re serious,” He exclaimed, eyes wide.
Sterling’s grin only widened. “Very serious, Jensen.”
“That’s,” Jensen took a huge gulp of the brandy in his hand. “That’s awesome.”
The other man continued to grin, almost manically now, and took a sip of his own liquor. “Awesome indeed, Jensen. Despite the setbacks we’ve experienced from the weather, it seems we’ve made remarkable time. I expect us to bank within the next 72 hours.”
Jensen downed the rest of his brandy to avoid having to articulate a response. He fought back a grimace at the burn of the alcohol.
Sterling seemed amused by his reaction and chuckled, leaning forward to refill Jensen’s now-empty snifter. “It’s a lot to take in-- believe me, I know. It’s just as hard for me to believe as it is for you.”
Jensen watched as Sterling sat the brandy bottle back on the table carefully, the man’s grin turning secretive. “However, now that things are beginning to progress so rapidly, I felt it pertinent that you and I had a chance to…discuss… the role I expect you to play once we reach Asgard.”
Instantly, Jensen’s attention sharpened and he fought to keep his posture from tensing. He steeled himself for the orders he was about to receive. He prayed that his expression didn’t betray his unease.
The General shifted in his own chair, setting aside his own snifter of brandy to lean forward and consider Jensen thoughtfully.
“There is an indigenous population currently inhabiting the center of the island. They are extremely hostile, and extremely volatile. Given the chance, they would sooner tear our men to shreds than engage in negotiations of any sort. Several years ago we tried to do exactly that.” Sterling’s voice was careful and his words measured, as if he expected Jensen to be hanging from his every word as he spoke. Little did he know that Jensen was doing exactly that-- however, not for the reasons that the General would have hoped. “None of our men made if off of the island.”
Jensen nodded cautiously, his jaw setting as he fought to keep his posture as relaxed as possible. Still, he felt his spine stiffen and fists curl against his pant legs in silent outrage. So this is how the military was going to play it? They would cast the mutants as the bad guys and send an entire army in to…what, exterminate them?
Vaguely, Jensen noted that his fists were subtly shaking. It was a battle to still them and uncurl his hands.
“So, what exactly is our objective?” he finally ventured to ask once Jensen was sure that he was in control of his voice.
“To regain control of Asgard-- by any means necessary.”
There was no missing the sinister drawl to the General’s voice. It caused Jensen’s hackles to raise in anger.
“An extermination, you mean.”
Sterling nodded agreeably. “If it should come to that, yes.” His eyes narrowed as he paused to study Jensen. The younger man made sure to keep his posture relaxed under the critical gaze, his expression carefully neutral. “Is that going to be a problem, soldier?”
Jensen’s lips quirked. “Not at all, General.”
At this, Sterling smiled with a brilliant flash of white teeth. “That’s very good to hear. I need to know that I have someone on this mission that I can trust implicitly. I’m hoping that this someone is you, Jensen.”
“I won’t let you down, sir.”
Sterling’s smile widened and he reclaimed his brandy, taking a measured sip without looking away from Jensen. “No, I don’t believe you will.” His tone was confident, smug even.
It made Jensen want to punch him. It made Jensen want to puke.
He stood suddenly, very nearly upending his own brandy as he did so. “If I may be dismissed, sir. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” Which was true, Jensen mused, as the Heimdall had ordered him to have his mug downstairs no later than sunrise the next day.
Sterling’s demeanor was easy as he waved a hand towards the door. “Of course. We’ll talk more at another time. Goodnight, Ackles.”
Jensen nodded sharply, offering no verbal farewell, and spun on his heel. He was proud that he managed to exit the General’s cabin without breaking into a run. It was a very near thing.
Once he was in the relative safety of the hallway (and well away from Sterling’s cabin) Jensen allowed his steps to slow. His arms hung at his side as he dropped his head back, staring at the ceiling of the hull. The hallways were mercifully empty at this time of night, so no one was around to hear the frustrated growl that tore from his throat.
He made his way back to his cabin on auto-pilot. Thankfully, he managed to do so without running into anyone else. Jensen had no time to deal with anymore military “pleasantries”-- he’d about hit his quota for the night, thanks.
He shoved open the door to his and Chris’ shared cabin with little regard to whether his partner may have been sleeping. However, from the kerosene lamp burning on the nightstand between their beds, Jensen surmised that Chris wasn’t asleep yet anyways. Case in point, Chris was actually lounging on his bed, flipping through what appeared to be a copy of one of the Vanir’s files. The brunette glanced up at Jensen when he entered, brow already furrowing as he noticed how tightly wound his partner was.
“What the hell happened to you, man? You get lost between here and the lab or something?”
“Or something,” Jensen snapped, jerking his uniform jacket from his shoulders impatiently. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait to rid himself of the Aesir’s branding colors. He dropped the jacket to the floor and paused to stare at the material.
He drew his foot back and kicked the garment across the room, watching in satisfaction as it slid neatly under his cot and out of sight.
Chris sat up smoothly, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and setting the file aside. He eyed Jensen warily. “What the hell happened?” His tone was as cautious as his assessing gaze, but the set of his jaw informed Jensen that his partner was already feeding off of the tension that was surely radiating from himself in waves.
“I had a drink with General Brown.” His voice was falsely cheerful and he even managed a smile, though it was more of a baring of his teeth. “It was quite…informative.”
Now Chris’ eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What did the bastard want? Did he tell you what they’re planning on doing with the kids?”
“They aren’t ‘kids’ anymore, Chris. It‘s been over thirty years,” He snapped, running a hand through his short-cropped hair irritably. “And he wants to fucking exterminate them like a buncha ants.”
“So Carlson and the Heimdall were right? We’re being sent there to play fucking Terminator?” Chris snarled, shoving to his feet and staring at Jensen incredulously. “Does he seriously think we’re just going to go with that?”
Jensen’s lips twisted. “That’s exactly what he thinks. And he thinks I’m going to be his Golden Boy and play puppet.”
Chris froze. His eyes narrowed cautiously and he took a moment to eye Jensen. “You’re not actually--”
“Kane, I swear if you even finish that sentence I’ll rip your tonsils out with my fist.” Jensen growled, his hands curling at his sides. He felt the angry flush creeping up from the collar of his undershirt, moving up his neck and over his cheeks. “How could you fucking think that I would go along with him?”
To his credit, Chris looked properly abashed. “It’s not--” He cut himself off, pursing his lips and shoving a hand through his hair in frustration. He growled in annoyance when he felt the elastic that had been keeping his hair in a ponytail catch on his fingers and snag out of his hair. He pulled his hand back and glared at the offending band in clear irritation. Shaking his head, (which made his hair fall around his shoulders in a creased mess) he tossed the elastic on his bed dismissively. “It’s not that I think you’d actually do it, Jensen. It’s just-- I mean, I know-- oh hell, son, you’re just too damned good a soldier to pull off treason.”
Jensen winced at the word. He really couldn’t help it.
His reaction only seemed to add fuel to Chris’ rant. “See that? You can’t even hear the word without flinching, and treason is exactly what those Heimdall are planning. You realize that, right?”
“Of course I realize that!” Jensen snapped.
“So what are you gonna do, Jensen?” Chris snarled, his temper flaring in perfect time with Jensen’s. “You gonna play Brown’s bitch-- kill the Vanir like a good soldier?”
Jensen didn’t think. He swung his fist at the other soldier’s face and glorified in the satisfaction of watching his partner stumble back in shock, rubbing his abused jaw. He couldn’t even find it within himself to feel the slightest bit of remorse at Chris’ look of outraged bewilderment.
He’d forgotten how satisfying it felt to occasionally take his fist to his cocky partner’s face. Jensen should really remember that little detail.
Jensen noted the moment that Chris’ anger slipped; the brunette’s shoulders rolled forward in defeat, his head hung.
“Alright, I deserved that,” Chris conceded mulishly, “But dammit Jensen, this whole thing’s too big for us-- and now Brown’s sniffing around and asking your to play his bitch. This ain’t a good time for you to be deciding between your duty and your moral compass, dude.”
“That’s my choice, isn’t it?” Jensen’s voice leveled. “I don’t remember asking you to play mother hen, Kane. I certainly don’t need it. My mind’s made up.”
Chris’ eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah? And what did you decide, Jensen? Golden Boy or Outlaw?”
“I always did have a thing for cowboys.”
This drew a startled laugh of disbelief from the other soldier. Jensen couldn’t help his own lips curling in a reluctant grin. He turned, dropping his training bag carelessly and tugging his shirt over his head to cover his expression. He started slightly when he felt a hand clap the back of his shoulder before the garment could even clear his head.
“Nice to have you aboard, cowboy,” Chris drawled, his joy evident in his voice alone.
Jensen was glad that he still had the cover of his shirt to hide behind, because he couldn’t help responding with a brilliant smile of his own. “Nice to be here, soldier.”
“Do you think Brown suspects?” Samantha demanded late the next night. She sat perched on one of the lab tables, balancing precariously as she shared the corner with Danneel. The younger redhead eyed Jensen, her arms folded over her chest protectively.
“I don’t think so.” Jensen frowned. He quickly relayed his conversation with Brown to the two scientists.
Danneel’s frown deepened. “He doesn’t sound suspicious, but then again-- it’s Sterling Brown. There’s no way of telling what’s going on in that man’s head.”
“Amen to that,” Samantha retorted, folding her own arms. “Well, we’ll take this for the warning that it is. We have to be more careful-- and you, Ackles, are going to have one hell of a job cut out for you.”
Now it was Jensen’s turn to frown. “Pardon?”
Samantha slid off of the table and came to stand in front of Jensen. She stared up at him, expressionless. “You’re going to listen to Brown and do whatever the hell he tells you to. Then, you’re going to report your ass right back here and tell me everything the bastard’s planning.”
Jensen’s hands curled into fists at his side. He really should have expected this. Releasing a long breath, he nodded shortly. “Understood.”
Sam’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. “Really, now. Just like that?”
“What can I say? My trainer was awesome. I’m housebroken and everything.”
Now the older scientists’ eyes were narrowing in a glare, but the slight curl of her lips belied her amusement all too well. “Well thank god for small favors. Alright, then. No questions?”
“I pretend to listen to Brown and report back to you. It’s not rocket science.”
“Thank god,” Sam repeated, though this time her tone was full of dry humor. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from training a pair of knuckleheads like you and Kane, it’s that of all the things the Magni are good at-- science sure as hell ain’t one of them.”
Jensen smirked slightly in acknowledgement. “Agreed. But that’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”
Sam’s lips tilted into a full-blown grin.
That night was the first night Jensen dreamed of a boy with onyx wings.