On the Wings of Munin 4/?
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 | Part Three |
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.
This chapter is currently being posted unbeta'd. Any mistakes are my own.
Part Four
“Time.”
Jensen punched out a breath and let his arms go lax, allowing his weight to close the distance between his body and the floor. He dropped his forehead against the mat beneath him, chest heaving as he struggled to breathe through the mask strapped around his face.
“Let yourself breathe into the mask, Ackles. It won’t bite-- I will.”
Jensen blinked against the sweat that clung to his eyelashes, blurring his vision. He still managed to offer Sam a glare. However, he forced himself to do as instructed and breathe into the tainted oxygen pulsing steadily through the mask.
The first gulp of air caused his lungs to burn. The second made his eyes water like a bitch. The third eased the pressure in his chest.
He breathed heavily in relief, slumping once more back against the mat.
“See? That wasn’t so bad.” Sam preened, eyeing the stopwatch she clutched in one of her hands. “Your time could still improve, but your lung control is impressive. You just need to work on trusting your mask to do it’s job.”
She stooped down to unfasten the offending device, depressing a button on the side of the mask before removing it from Jensen’s face.
Jensen greedily gulped in the natural air the moment the mask was removed. He was a panting, shaking mess-- it was fucking embarrassing.
“Give the man a break, Sam.” Chad spoke up incredulously, eyeing his superior as if she had grown a second head. “Introducing them to the higher levels of oxygen isn’t an instant process. Their bodies need time to adjust to the change. You can’t expect the boys to take to the masks like fish to water.”
Sam stared at Chad flatly.
“That’s exactly what I expect.” She clarified, eyeing Jensen and then Chris, who seemed to be having his own issues breathing under the influence of the increased oxygen provided by the mask. “If there’s one thing we don’t have here, it’s time.”
Chad snorted. “That we don't, my lady. Problem is that the human body just doesn’t really give a damn about our agenda; if we push the higher oxy levels too hard then the only thing our boys are going to get is high.”
Everyone glanced at Chris, who had suddenly been overtaken by a case of the giggles halfway through Michael’s post-pro evaluation, much to the brunette scientist's annoyance.
Danneel arched a perfect eyebrow at Sam, lips quirking in unspoken agreement with Chad’s assessment.
Jensen watched with a sort of smug satisfaction as Samantha huffed in irritation and stormed over to Chris, glad that the tyrannical woman’s attention was directed elsewhere-- even if elsewhere happened to be at his partner’s expense. He finally allowed himself to relax fully into the cool press of the exercise mat beneath his aching body.
He had just decided that he would spend the rest of the night on the inviting mat when the soldier felt someone tug at his shoulder to roll him over. Jensen groaned but rolled with the persistent shove until he was laying on his back. He reluctantly peeled his eyes open and found Chad kneeling next to him, smiling crookedly at him.
Chad’s smile was really fucking creepy up close.
“Don’t take it personally, man. Sam’s been drillin’ all the Magni like this. She tends to forget you’re programmed like robots, but not built like them.” Chad offered, standing and holding out a hand to help Jensen up.
Jensen stared at the other man flatly.
The moment stretched out awkwardly. Jensen made no move to take the offered hand and Chad remained bent at the waist, ready to hoist the larger man to his feet. The two were locked in a sort of uneasy stare down, and it seemed neither man was quite sure how to break from it.
Chad finally blinked, comprehension dawning. “Okay,” he drawled out the second syllable, retracting his hand to scrub it through his greasy hair instead. “That probably sounded a lot shittier than I meant it to, in retrospect. My bad, man. My bad.”
Jensen simply ignored the other man and pushed himself shakily to his feet.
“Alright, Ackles, take Giggles there and get you both back to your cabin. Get your beauty sleep while you can-- we’re starting at 0900 hours tomorrow, and your asses had better not be late again.” Jim declared. The man was sitting in a desk chair, idly sipping at his coffee, just as he had been for the past four hours.
Jensen nodded tightly, just catching himself before he made the mistake of saluting the old man. He’d accidentally done just that the day prior and hadn’t lived it down for the entire training session. It was a mistake Jensen would ensure he didn’t make again.
He dutifully moved towards Chris, grabbing the other man’s arm and dragging him to his feet. Luckily, Jensen was prepared to take the brunt of his partner’s weight when the other man made it to his feet, for the second that Chris was upright he was leaning heavily against Jensen and giggling about his (apparently girly) eyelashes.
Jensen made sure to accidentally crack Chris’ shoulder against the bulkhead as they made their way from the room.
The sound of the Heimdall’s laughter followed them down the corridor and effectively drowned out the sound of Chris’ indignant cursing. Well, mostly.
That night sleep evaded Jensen.
He continued to mull over his earlier conversation with Michael Rosenbaum, trying to decide if there was some sort of hidden message lurking behind any of the Heimdall’s words. Unfortunately, try as he might, Jensen just couldn’t find any deeper meaning veiled within the conversation.
Still, sure that he was missing something important, Jensen turned the Heimdall’s words over in his head yet another time, determined to discover some missing link-- to what, even the Magni was unsure. Jensen just knew that the link had to be there.
It wasn’t even 0600 when Jensen arrived at the Heimdall’s lab, stride as determined as his expression. He discovered with some amount of relief that Michael Rosenbaum was the only scientist in the lab at the ungodly hour-- which made Jensen’s mission all the easier.
The brunette Heimdall glanced up from the specimen tray before him, expression confused though pleasant enough.
“Jensen,” Mike bade with a quirk of his lips. “I think you’re a bit early. You and Chris aren’t due back here until 2000 hours tonight.”
Jensen moved to stand across the table from the other man, confident that his expression gave away nothing of his thoughts. “I need to ask you a question.” He confessed baldly, wasting no time with idle pleasantries.
When the Heimdall’s gaze barely flickered towards Jensen before falling back to studying the blood smear he was currently analyzing, the soldier impatiently stole the glass slide from the scientist’s hand. He pointedly ignored the brunette’s indignant growl.
“It concerns the Vanir-- a specific Vanir, to be exact.”
Now Mike’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. “Alright,” he ventured, syllables as reluctant as his expression. The brunette scientist’s gaze settled almost longingly on the sample still clutched in Jensen’s hand.
Jensen moved the smear behind his back to ensure he had the other man’s full attention. From the glare Mike directed his way as a result, the soldier was assured that this was indeed now the case.
“I need to know if there are any records of a Vanir with black wings.”
Even to his own ears, the inquiry sounded ludicrous at best. However, seeing as Jensen seemed to have become a permanent resident of the Land of Weird as of late, he found it beyond himself to bother to care. His dream from the night before-- of the boy with wings of onyx-- haunted even his waking thoughts.
Mike looked slightly perplexed. “Ackles, have you been smoking something with the sailors? You know that Sam will have your--”
“I’m not on anything, Mike, and I haven’t gotten more than two hours of sleep in as many days, so I’d really recommend answering my question before I give into the urge to take my frustration out on your nerdy ass.” Jensen snapped impatiently, slamming his hands against the steel lab table and nearly upending a rack of test tubes as a result. He watched disinterestedly as Mike scrambled to rescue the wooden rack before its contents succeeded in spilling across the lab table.
The scientist lifted his cautiously skeptical gaze to Jensen’s own. “There’s no one on record with… wings.” He answered slowly, openly eyeing Jensen. The brunette’s jaw twitched as he visibly warred between annoyance and curiosity at the soldier’s inquiry. “What’s this about exactly, Ackles?”
Jensen shook his head and pushed away from the table, trying to ignore the heaviness of disappointment weighing down on his chest. “Nothing,” he responded tersely. “It’s nothing. Forget I asked, alright?”
The Heimdall continued to eye Jensen but nodded nonetheless. The moment stretched between the pair as Mike openly studied the soldier, but finally he gave Jensen a dismissive nod and made to return to the work laid before him. “I’ll see you tonight, Jensen.”
“That‘s the plan.”
Jensen turned to leave the lab without a backwards glance. However, just before he rounded the bulkhead to make his way back towards his quarters, Mike called him back. Jensen paused and pivoted slowly on his back heel.
The scientist quickly pushed himself away from his makeshift desk and rose to his feet, closing the distance between himself and Jensen in a few long strides. The severity of Mike’s expression caught the soldier’s attention immediately.
Mike stopped just in front of Jensen and cleared his throat, glancing around almost skittishly before settling his uneasy gaze on the taller soldier.
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned since signing on to work as one of the Heimdall, it’s to trust your gut.” The look he fixed Jensen with was startling in its intensity. It was enough to give the soldier pause as he waited for the scientist to finish his warning.
“If there’s a reason you’re asking after this kid with w--” Mike stumbled over the word, but managed to quickly compose himself, “…wings--don’t second guess yourself, Ackles. No one alive knows everything about Ragnarok. There are, though, more people than you’d imagine who know something about it.”
At this, Jensen frowned and eyed the man with an openly critical eye. The scientist seemed to have said his peace, though, for Michael merely returned the incredulous look with a quirk of his lips before returning to his lab work.
Jensen hesitated in the doorway for a beat before reluctantly turning, forced to accept the conversation as over when the Heimdall returned to the blood smears spread across the lab table. That Jensen was leaving the lab with more questions than he’d come with was not escaping the soldier’s notice, either.
Jensen scowled to himself. No matter how many times he turned the conversation over in his head, he simply couldn’t put a finger on what about the exchange wasn’t sitting right with him. Maybe there was nothing to find. Perhaps Jensen’s paranoia from aiding the Heimdall was simply causing him to imagine treachery when there was none?
With a sigh, Jensen resigned himself to yet another night without the luxury of sleep. He rolled smoothly from the cot and landed in a crouch next to the bed. With a quick glance at the still-closed door of their cabin, he pried apart a slit in the underside of the cot and retrieved the stack of folders hidden within the stuffing of the bedding.
He then resettled on the cot, reaching out to adjust the level of the kerosene lamp, and under the low light of the lamp he began pouring over the Ragnarok files. By morning, he would have them memorized.
“So word on the street has it that you’ve taken to trying to meddle with my Magni kids, Brown.”
Brown glanced up, spotting Samantha Ferris standing in the doorway to his quarters. The woman was the picture of cold indignance, standing with her hands planted on her impressive hips and lips drawn firmly into a frown. The sight of her brought an easy smirk to Brown’s own lips.
He reached one hand up to pull a pair of wire-rimmed glasses from his face. “Samantha Ferris. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
The woman stepped into the room, cheek twitching irritably as she ground her teeth together. “You know damned well why I’m here, Sterling. You been sniffing around my boys, by chance?”
Brown blinked slowly. “Whatever gave you that idea, Samantha?”
“Maybe the fact that half the ship knows that you had a drink with Jensen Ackles last night, and that they either think you bed the boy or you’re trying to get him to play spy?”
At this, Brown laughed despite himself. “And you automatically assume the latter. Should my pride be offended?”
He watched with mounting irritation as Ferris’ lips twisted into an arrogant smirk.
“If you think I’m worried about Ackles’ virtue, then you’ve clearly never met the boy. He’s more than capable of handling any unwelcome advances with his own hands-- or fists, as would more likely be the case.” She eyed Brown openly. “And seeing as you aren’t sporting any broken limbs…”
“Enough,” Brown snapped, sitting forward and resting his elbows against his knees. He scowled at the other woman, façade forgotten. “My business with Jensen Ackles is exactly that, Ferris-- my business.”
Samantha moved closer until she was standing directly before Brown. She planted her hands on the arm rests of his chair, leaning in and simultaneously pressing Brown back into his seat. “You see, that’s where you’re wrong, Brown.” She hissed, eyes narrowed dangerously. “Those boys are my business, as are the rest of the Magni. You have an entire militia at your disposal-- so stay the fuck away from my soldiers, or I swear to God you’ll wake up to find your dick surgically removed and on display in my lab.”
The woman eyed him, lips twisting into a cold smile. “Understood?”
Brown put all the venom he could manage behind the glare he offered the Heimdall. “Crystal,” he still responded, his grip on the chair beneath him tight enough it was actually causing him pain.
“Excellent.” Samantha pushed away from his chair abruptly, turning to exit the room without a backwards glance. “Nice talkin’ to you, Brown.”
As the door slammed shut behind the woman, Brown launched the brandy snifter beside him at the tempered wood. The sound of the glass shattering against the closed portal was hardly satisfying.
Next time, Brown vowed to take his anger out on Ferris’ face instead.
Another day passed, and then another night, and still sleep did not come easily to Jensen.
Once again he was forced to admit defeat when he noticed that the sky outside the port window was beginning to lighten into the dusk of early morning. That night, he’d at least managed to sleep for a handful of hours before the screams of the boy with onyx wings plunged him back into the world of the waking.
It was the most that Jensen had slept in the past three days.
A sparing glance at his partner’s rumpled bedding revealed that Chris was having no better luck finding rest that night, for the other soldier’s cot lay empty.
After pausing long enough to put his undershirt to rights and pull on his boots, Jensen ventured out of his quarters and into the deserted hallway.
He longed to go topside for a bit of fresh air, however, rain was once again pounding against the ship from seemingly all sides. Even the crew was taking shelter below the deck, save for the unfortunate few who were forced above deck to steer the ship and keep lookout.
He was wandering the halls aimlessly when he came across Kane and Carlson. The two men were huddled together on one of four steps, sitting with their shoulders pressed together as they talked in hushed tones between themselves.
To Jensen’s wry amusement, the pair took a moment to notice his presence.
“Ackles.” Carlson greeted upon finally spotting Jensen, smile as easy as his words. He didn’t seem to be embarrassed in the least to be caught in such close quarters with Jensen’s partner. Then again, when as many people were sardined on a ship as there were on Bifrost, close quarters defined their day-to-day life.
Chris startled and looked up at Jensen with slightly wide eyes. Jensen fought the urge to smirk at his partner.
“Carlson,” he returned instead, stooping to sit a step below the pair’s legs. He turned so that he was perching sideways on the step and eyed the two men. “What’re you two doing about so late?”
Carlson’s lips pulled into a secretive smirk. When Chris spotted the expression, he immediately elbowed the sailor in the ribs.
“Don’t make him think we did-that, you asshole!” The brunette soldier exclaimed indignantly. He continued to scowl at the man beside him.
Jensen allowed a smirk at the pair’s antics, unable to resist a moment longer when Carlson responded with, “That? What are you, ten?”
The sailor laughed, the sound as honest as it was deep and smoky.
When Chris began to reluctantly fight back a grin of his own after a handful of moments, Jensen’s smirk only widened.
“You’re both assholes.” Chris declared mulishly with a shove against Jensen’s shoulder.
Jensen finally gave into the urge to outright laugh.
“Kane was having some issues keeping his dinner down ‘cause of the waves,” Carlson volunteered helpfully. He made a show of ignoring the glare Chris directed his way.
Jensen grimaced, recalling all too well the mornings that he had spent curled over the ship’s railing during the earliest days of their voyage.
He did not miss how Carlson’s grin quirked when he noticed Jensen’s expression. Jensen offered the sailor the best death-glare he could conjure at the late hour.
“You know, for all the work that went into making you two the perfect soldiers, I find it pretty hard to believe that your stomachs are so weak.” Carlson observed with lazy amusement, clearly milking the moment at the other two’s expense. “It’s pretty pathetic, really.”
As one, Jensen and Chris offered the sailor a one-fingered salute.
Carlson grinned.
The trio fell into an easy silence for a while. The ship rocked erratically around them, tossed about by the wind and the rain, and occasionally the sharp clap of thunder broke the quiet of the otherwise silent vessel. Despite the utter chaos of the sea on which they traveled, the three men seemed moderately at ease within the safe walls of the ship.
Jensen’s gaze roamed the hallway for several minutes as he allowed his mind to drift. The sound of the storm outside had a surprisingly soothing effect on the soldier’s rattles nerves.
“So,” Jensen began at length, swinging a narrowed gaze to settle on Carlson. He carefully scrutinized the sailor’s expression as he continued. “I’ve got a few questions for you, Carlson-questions about what you told me before concerning Asgard.”
Immediately, Carlson’s expression closed off. Jensen could practically see the wall that went up around the sailor, but he was not deterred.
“I want to know more about the Vanir you think you saw.”
Carlson’s eyes narrowed in turn. He leaned forward to afford the hallway a sharp glance, ensuring that the corridor remained deserted before sitting back to fix Jensen with a glare. The expression was so foreign on the normally easy-going sailor’s face that it took the Magni soldier by surprise.
“Don’t just go around saying shit like that in the hallway, Ackles.” Carlson hissed, yanking Jensen close suddenly with a fist curled in the soldier’s shirt. "And I don't 'think' I saw anything-- I know what I saw."
Jensen’s own fist curled over Carlson’s, his jaw setting in silent warning as he firmly pried the other’s fingers from his shirt. He could feel his lips draw into a dangerous line.
“Then you won't mind answering the question.” Jensen returned, voice dangerously level. "Now would you?"
“Alright now, that’s enough.” Chris suddenly interjected, placing a firm hand flat against the other two men’s chests, putting a stop to the building tension between the pair before something could come of it.
A beat passed before Jensen allowed his partner to press him out of Carlson’s space. He noted with no small amount of satisfaction that bright spots of color had risen to the sailor’s cheeks and that Carlson’s body was tight with tension, clearly ready to protest further.
Jensen relished in the revelation that he’d managed to ruffle the usually impassive sailor’s demeanor, even if only for a moment.
For his part, Carlson’s gaze was practically simmering when he finally let some of the tension leave his shoulders.
“Fucking hell, Ackles.” The sailor scrubbed a hand through his hair and scanning the hallway a final time before punching out a sharp sigh. “What does it even matter what the kid looked like?”
The resignation in the other man’s voice did nothing to dissuade the excited churn of Jensen’s stomach at his apparent victory.
“It was a kid.” Jensen prompted, not caring that the severity in his voice swung Chris’ sharp gaze towards him or that it deepened the frown on Carlson’s brow. “I’m gonna need more than that, Steve.”
Carlson’s expression shuttered once more. “It happened too fast, alright? I didn’t get a good look at the boy’s mug.”
Jensen pressed on. “You saw something. You’re so positive it was one of the Vanir that you saw-why?” He leaned closer to Carlson, his fingers curling into the cloth of his uniform pants in an attempt to still his shaking hands. “Tell me what happened the day that you saw this kid.”
“Jensen,” Chris began voice equal parts bewildered and incredulous.
“Not now, Kane.” Jensen snapped in response. He didn’t spare his partner so much of a glance, too busy scrutinizing the way that Carlson was scrutinizing him. The two were locked in a sort of stand-still once more, and again Chris was the unfortunately stranded on the sidelines.
Jensen raised his eyebrows, expression as much a dare as his words. “Well, sailor? I’m waiting.”
The look the other man offered Jensen promised a slow and agonizing death. Carlson scrubbed a hand over his face and back over his hair, fingers twisting in the tangled curls as he punched out another sigh. It was only then that the sailor reluctantly began his tale.
“When I was a kid my family spent some time on Asgard. My dad was part of the recolonization effort. There were other kids on the island around that time, and when our parents were too busy working to keep an eye on us, we’d run rampant across Asgard-raised hell left and right, I can tell you that.”
The sailor’s voice was distant, detached.
“There was this younger kid that we always were stuck babysitting. His dad was one of the military top dogs and never had time for the brat, so me and the other kids kind of took him under our wing. The kid had the attention span of a gnat, though, and was always wandering off and gettin’ lost in the forest.”
“One of the times that the kid ran off, me and the boys came across this other kid-he couldn’t have been five.”
“The Vanir.” Chris surmised voice gruff with unease. He glanced anxiously down the corridor to ensure that they were still alone.
Carlson glanced at Chris. “The Vanir,” he confirmed.
Jensen felt as if his entire body was vibrating with anxious tension as he pressed on. “Describe the kid,” he commanded impatiently.
The sailor’s eyes shifted back to Jensen, their annoyed squint not going unnoticed by the younger man. Jensen just didn’t find it in himself to care at the time.
“It’s been years.” Carlson snapped, cracking his knuckles distractedly as his gaze fell to the wood of the step next to Jensen’s leg. “And I was twelve.”
“You’ve got to remember something, man.” Chris beseeched.
The sailor’s gaze swung back to the brunette Magni’s, lips twisting into a grin that lacked an ounce of humor.
“Sure I do. The kid had wings.”
On his way to training the next day, Jensen found himself corned by Brown for the second time during the voyage. The man appeared to have been waiting for Jensen, judging by the already poured glasses of brandy that awaited them once Brown had ushered him into the General’s quarters. Jensen felt dread pool in the pit of his stomach.
“Please, have a seat.” Brown instructed breezily as he closed the door behind them.
“Actually,” Jensen declined, turning to face the older man but making no move further into the room. “I’m due at the lab in the next few minutes. I really should be going--”
“Ferris and her hounds can wait.”
Jensen blinked at the venom in the General’s voice.
He backed up a step, fighting the urge to reach for the door behind him. “I really should be going.” He insisted, sure to keep his voice firm and expression firmer. “If I’m late the scientists will start asking questions.”
The General was clearly not pleased to find the truth in Jensen’s logic. “Fine. I only require a moment of your time, in any case. I just wanted to be sure that you remember our talk, Ackles. I need to know that my men are loyal.”
The jibe in Brown’s words was as blatant as the nose on the man’s face.
Jensen squared his jaw. “Are you questioning my loyalty, by chance, General?”
Brown openly regarded Jensen. He did not deny the accusation.
Jensen fought back the urge to growl, settling instead for curling his fists at his sides. “I haven’t forgotten who signs my paychecks, Brown. I’ll do as my duty requires, and if playing spy is what you need from me, then so be it.”
Brown’s expression was transformed. He smiled widely, looking far too much like the cat who’d eaten the canary for Jensen’s liking, and reached out a hand to shake Jensen’s own.
“Good to hear, Ackles. That’s very good to hear.”
Jensen forced himself to shake the General’s hand. He also forced himself not to wipe said hand on his uniform slacks the instant Brown released it from his hold.
“If that’s all, General, I really should get going. We can’t afford stirring the Heimdall’s suspicion so close to D-day.”
Brown raised an eyebrow. “D-day?” He inquired archly.
Jensen flushed, coughing into his hand at his slip. “My apologies, sir. It’s what the Heimdall are calling the day we reach Asgard.”
“I see.” Brown’s lips were tilted into a superior smirk. “Well, I guess you’d best run along then. I’d rather avoid Ferris’ wrath whenever possible.”
Jensen wasn’t able to suppress a smirk of his own at that, though luckily Brown saw the expression as sympathy towards his words. In all reality, Jensen was imagining Sam storming into the General’s quarters to give him a what-for.
He certainly felt that Brown deserved the experience.
He pulled himself from his musings long enough to offer the General a sharp salute before he turned on his heel and left the room. If his steps were too rushed, well, it could be attributed to the fear of facing Sam’s wrath if he were to be late to training.
Late that night the Magni were summoned to the mess hall for a strategy debriefing. It would be the first time that the three Magni teams would set eyes on each other. It would also be the first-- and only-- time they were given direct orders prior to D-day.
Jensen sat with his shoulders pressed against Chris’, conspicuously eyeing the other four Magni that sat in front of them. From his partner’s tense posture, Jensen surmised that Chris was doing the same thing.
Each Magni worked as one-half of a team. There were three Magni pairs total. Jensen and Chris made up one team; the two women sitting on a table nearby made up the second, and the man and woman who had claimed the chairs closest to the officers were the final pair to the set.
Until now, the Magni teams had been kept apart from each other for reasons unknown. Perhaps the higher-ups simply wanted to forge a deeper bond between the partners by separating them from the other teams-- maybe they just wanted to be able to turn the teams against each other if such a thing were ever needed.
About a month ago, Jensen had given up trying to see reason behind the Aesir’s madness.
He frowned as Brown cleared his throat, lulling the room into a sort of uneasy quiet.
“It’s good to finally see all of you together.” The Lieutenant General eyed each Magni in turn, his expression openly appreciative. He reminded Jensen a bit of a kid on Christmas. “We have much to discuss before tomorrow, so it’s best if we just get down to business. Singer?”
An older man rose from his seat upfront, nodding to Brown before straightening and regarding the Magni much as the General had just done. “You’re a fine looking group of soldiers, I can tell you that much.” The old man grinned warmly, and despite himself Jensen felt a stirring of something other than loathing in his chest as he eyed the General of the Aesir.
“Now, I guess it’s best we get down to business.” The General’s voice turned grave. “Tomorrow, we will reach the outskirts of Asgard.”
A surprised murmur went up amongst the Magni. Jensen turned to Chris, his eyes widening in panic. Chris’ own expression mirrored Jensen’s.
“Well, hell.” Chris muttered just as Singer called the room to silence.
Jensen found himself agreeing with Chris’ sentiment whole-heartedly.
Singer was speaking once more. “Now, it is important for you each to realize that the time for training is over. Now’s the time for action. Tomorrow, you and your partner will leave the ship and swim to the shore of Asgard. It’s very possible that you or your partner may not make it to the shore alive. The waters will be treacherous-- Asgard has remained well-protected by its own means all these years. The waters will do their best to pull you under.”
“For those of you who do survive the swim to shore, your objective is to cross Asgard to the Fenrir base Gleipnir. There you will hopefully find other military personnel. Once you’ve reached the base you are to send one of your numbers back to the shores to signal the ships. We will be waiting in the wings until you do so.”
Singer glanced at Brown, and the Lieutenant General stepped forward with a proud lift of his chin.
“You will not be alone on the island. There are others who live in the forest-- they are an exceedingly hostile indigenous population, and they will not hesitate to kill you. You should adopt a similar mindset. Your enemy possesses special abilities that surpass even your own. It’s vital that you do not give them a chance to use these abilities should you find yourself facing a native down.”
Jensen’s fingers curled tightly in the material of his uniform pants as he fought to keep his posture relaxed. It was a hard effort. All he wanted to do in that moment was surge from his chair and introduce Sterling’s face to his fists. He felt tension radiating off of Chris as well and took a small comfort in the knowledge that his partner was feeling just as outraged as he was.
And that was before Brown opened his mouth again and spoke the words that would leave Jensen seeing red for the rest of the night.
“Aside from reaching Gleipnir, your objective is to eliminate any natives that do happen across your path during your journey. Ideally, we wish to capture the natives and bring them back to our scientists for analysis. However, should this task prove to be impossible, then extermination will be in order. We will take control of Asgard-- and we shall do so by any means necessary.”
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 | Part Three |
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.
This chapter is currently being posted unbeta'd. Any mistakes are my own.
Part Four
“Time.”
Jensen punched out a breath and let his arms go lax, allowing his weight to close the distance between his body and the floor. He dropped his forehead against the mat beneath him, chest heaving as he struggled to breathe through the mask strapped around his face.
“Let yourself breathe into the mask, Ackles. It won’t bite-- I will.”
Jensen blinked against the sweat that clung to his eyelashes, blurring his vision. He still managed to offer Sam a glare. However, he forced himself to do as instructed and breathe into the tainted oxygen pulsing steadily through the mask.
The first gulp of air caused his lungs to burn. The second made his eyes water like a bitch. The third eased the pressure in his chest.
He breathed heavily in relief, slumping once more back against the mat.
“See? That wasn’t so bad.” Sam preened, eyeing the stopwatch she clutched in one of her hands. “Your time could still improve, but your lung control is impressive. You just need to work on trusting your mask to do it’s job.”
She stooped down to unfasten the offending device, depressing a button on the side of the mask before removing it from Jensen’s face.
Jensen greedily gulped in the natural air the moment the mask was removed. He was a panting, shaking mess-- it was fucking embarrassing.
“Give the man a break, Sam.” Chad spoke up incredulously, eyeing his superior as if she had grown a second head. “Introducing them to the higher levels of oxygen isn’t an instant process. Their bodies need time to adjust to the change. You can’t expect the boys to take to the masks like fish to water.”
Sam stared at Chad flatly.
“That’s exactly what I expect.” She clarified, eyeing Jensen and then Chris, who seemed to be having his own issues breathing under the influence of the increased oxygen provided by the mask. “If there’s one thing we don’t have here, it’s time.”
Chad snorted. “That we don't, my lady. Problem is that the human body just doesn’t really give a damn about our agenda; if we push the higher oxy levels too hard then the only thing our boys are going to get is high.”
Everyone glanced at Chris, who had suddenly been overtaken by a case of the giggles halfway through Michael’s post-pro evaluation, much to the brunette scientist's annoyance.
Danneel arched a perfect eyebrow at Sam, lips quirking in unspoken agreement with Chad’s assessment.
Jensen watched with a sort of smug satisfaction as Samantha huffed in irritation and stormed over to Chris, glad that the tyrannical woman’s attention was directed elsewhere-- even if elsewhere happened to be at his partner’s expense. He finally allowed himself to relax fully into the cool press of the exercise mat beneath his aching body.
He had just decided that he would spend the rest of the night on the inviting mat when the soldier felt someone tug at his shoulder to roll him over. Jensen groaned but rolled with the persistent shove until he was laying on his back. He reluctantly peeled his eyes open and found Chad kneeling next to him, smiling crookedly at him.
Chad’s smile was really fucking creepy up close.
“Don’t take it personally, man. Sam’s been drillin’ all the Magni like this. She tends to forget you’re programmed like robots, but not built like them.” Chad offered, standing and holding out a hand to help Jensen up.
Jensen stared at the other man flatly.
The moment stretched out awkwardly. Jensen made no move to take the offered hand and Chad remained bent at the waist, ready to hoist the larger man to his feet. The two were locked in a sort of uneasy stare down, and it seemed neither man was quite sure how to break from it.
Chad finally blinked, comprehension dawning. “Okay,” he drawled out the second syllable, retracting his hand to scrub it through his greasy hair instead. “That probably sounded a lot shittier than I meant it to, in retrospect. My bad, man. My bad.”
Jensen simply ignored the other man and pushed himself shakily to his feet.
“Alright, Ackles, take Giggles there and get you both back to your cabin. Get your beauty sleep while you can-- we’re starting at 0900 hours tomorrow, and your asses had better not be late again.” Jim declared. The man was sitting in a desk chair, idly sipping at his coffee, just as he had been for the past four hours.
Jensen nodded tightly, just catching himself before he made the mistake of saluting the old man. He’d accidentally done just that the day prior and hadn’t lived it down for the entire training session. It was a mistake Jensen would ensure he didn’t make again.
He dutifully moved towards Chris, grabbing the other man’s arm and dragging him to his feet. Luckily, Jensen was prepared to take the brunt of his partner’s weight when the other man made it to his feet, for the second that Chris was upright he was leaning heavily against Jensen and giggling about his (apparently girly) eyelashes.
Jensen made sure to accidentally crack Chris’ shoulder against the bulkhead as they made their way from the room.
The sound of the Heimdall’s laughter followed them down the corridor and effectively drowned out the sound of Chris’ indignant cursing. Well, mostly.
That night sleep evaded Jensen.
He continued to mull over his earlier conversation with Michael Rosenbaum, trying to decide if there was some sort of hidden message lurking behind any of the Heimdall’s words. Unfortunately, try as he might, Jensen just couldn’t find any deeper meaning veiled within the conversation.
Still, sure that he was missing something important, Jensen turned the Heimdall’s words over in his head yet another time, determined to discover some missing link-- to what, even the Magni was unsure. Jensen just knew that the link had to be there.
It wasn’t even 0600 when Jensen arrived at the Heimdall’s lab, stride as determined as his expression. He discovered with some amount of relief that Michael Rosenbaum was the only scientist in the lab at the ungodly hour-- which made Jensen’s mission all the easier.
The brunette Heimdall glanced up from the specimen tray before him, expression confused though pleasant enough.
“Jensen,” Mike bade with a quirk of his lips. “I think you’re a bit early. You and Chris aren’t due back here until 2000 hours tonight.”
Jensen moved to stand across the table from the other man, confident that his expression gave away nothing of his thoughts. “I need to ask you a question.” He confessed baldly, wasting no time with idle pleasantries.
When the Heimdall’s gaze barely flickered towards Jensen before falling back to studying the blood smear he was currently analyzing, the soldier impatiently stole the glass slide from the scientist’s hand. He pointedly ignored the brunette’s indignant growl.
“It concerns the Vanir-- a specific Vanir, to be exact.”
Now Mike’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. “Alright,” he ventured, syllables as reluctant as his expression. The brunette scientist’s gaze settled almost longingly on the sample still clutched in Jensen’s hand.
Jensen moved the smear behind his back to ensure he had the other man’s full attention. From the glare Mike directed his way as a result, the soldier was assured that this was indeed now the case.
“I need to know if there are any records of a Vanir with black wings.”
Even to his own ears, the inquiry sounded ludicrous at best. However, seeing as Jensen seemed to have become a permanent resident of the Land of Weird as of late, he found it beyond himself to bother to care. His dream from the night before-- of the boy with wings of onyx-- haunted even his waking thoughts.
Mike looked slightly perplexed. “Ackles, have you been smoking something with the sailors? You know that Sam will have your--”
“I’m not on anything, Mike, and I haven’t gotten more than two hours of sleep in as many days, so I’d really recommend answering my question before I give into the urge to take my frustration out on your nerdy ass.” Jensen snapped impatiently, slamming his hands against the steel lab table and nearly upending a rack of test tubes as a result. He watched disinterestedly as Mike scrambled to rescue the wooden rack before its contents succeeded in spilling across the lab table.
The scientist lifted his cautiously skeptical gaze to Jensen’s own. “There’s no one on record with… wings.” He answered slowly, openly eyeing Jensen. The brunette’s jaw twitched as he visibly warred between annoyance and curiosity at the soldier’s inquiry. “What’s this about exactly, Ackles?”
Jensen shook his head and pushed away from the table, trying to ignore the heaviness of disappointment weighing down on his chest. “Nothing,” he responded tersely. “It’s nothing. Forget I asked, alright?”
The Heimdall continued to eye Jensen but nodded nonetheless. The moment stretched between the pair as Mike openly studied the soldier, but finally he gave Jensen a dismissive nod and made to return to the work laid before him. “I’ll see you tonight, Jensen.”
“That‘s the plan.”
Jensen turned to leave the lab without a backwards glance. However, just before he rounded the bulkhead to make his way back towards his quarters, Mike called him back. Jensen paused and pivoted slowly on his back heel.
The scientist quickly pushed himself away from his makeshift desk and rose to his feet, closing the distance between himself and Jensen in a few long strides. The severity of Mike’s expression caught the soldier’s attention immediately.
Mike stopped just in front of Jensen and cleared his throat, glancing around almost skittishly before settling his uneasy gaze on the taller soldier.
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned since signing on to work as one of the Heimdall, it’s to trust your gut.” The look he fixed Jensen with was startling in its intensity. It was enough to give the soldier pause as he waited for the scientist to finish his warning.
“If there’s a reason you’re asking after this kid with w--” Mike stumbled over the word, but managed to quickly compose himself, “…wings--don’t second guess yourself, Ackles. No one alive knows everything about Ragnarok. There are, though, more people than you’d imagine who know something about it.”
At this, Jensen frowned and eyed the man with an openly critical eye. The scientist seemed to have said his peace, though, for Michael merely returned the incredulous look with a quirk of his lips before returning to his lab work.
Jensen hesitated in the doorway for a beat before reluctantly turning, forced to accept the conversation as over when the Heimdall returned to the blood smears spread across the lab table. That Jensen was leaving the lab with more questions than he’d come with was not escaping the soldier’s notice, either.
Jensen scowled to himself. No matter how many times he turned the conversation over in his head, he simply couldn’t put a finger on what about the exchange wasn’t sitting right with him. Maybe there was nothing to find. Perhaps Jensen’s paranoia from aiding the Heimdall was simply causing him to imagine treachery when there was none?
With a sigh, Jensen resigned himself to yet another night without the luxury of sleep. He rolled smoothly from the cot and landed in a crouch next to the bed. With a quick glance at the still-closed door of their cabin, he pried apart a slit in the underside of the cot and retrieved the stack of folders hidden within the stuffing of the bedding.
He then resettled on the cot, reaching out to adjust the level of the kerosene lamp, and under the low light of the lamp he began pouring over the Ragnarok files. By morning, he would have them memorized.
“So word on the street has it that you’ve taken to trying to meddle with my Magni kids, Brown.”
Brown glanced up, spotting Samantha Ferris standing in the doorway to his quarters. The woman was the picture of cold indignance, standing with her hands planted on her impressive hips and lips drawn firmly into a frown. The sight of her brought an easy smirk to Brown’s own lips.
He reached one hand up to pull a pair of wire-rimmed glasses from his face. “Samantha Ferris. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
The woman stepped into the room, cheek twitching irritably as she ground her teeth together. “You know damned well why I’m here, Sterling. You been sniffing around my boys, by chance?”
Brown blinked slowly. “Whatever gave you that idea, Samantha?”
“Maybe the fact that half the ship knows that you had a drink with Jensen Ackles last night, and that they either think you bed the boy or you’re trying to get him to play spy?”
At this, Brown laughed despite himself. “And you automatically assume the latter. Should my pride be offended?”
He watched with mounting irritation as Ferris’ lips twisted into an arrogant smirk.
“If you think I’m worried about Ackles’ virtue, then you’ve clearly never met the boy. He’s more than capable of handling any unwelcome advances with his own hands-- or fists, as would more likely be the case.” She eyed Brown openly. “And seeing as you aren’t sporting any broken limbs…”
“Enough,” Brown snapped, sitting forward and resting his elbows against his knees. He scowled at the other woman, façade forgotten. “My business with Jensen Ackles is exactly that, Ferris-- my business.”
Samantha moved closer until she was standing directly before Brown. She planted her hands on the arm rests of his chair, leaning in and simultaneously pressing Brown back into his seat. “You see, that’s where you’re wrong, Brown.” She hissed, eyes narrowed dangerously. “Those boys are my business, as are the rest of the Magni. You have an entire militia at your disposal-- so stay the fuck away from my soldiers, or I swear to God you’ll wake up to find your dick surgically removed and on display in my lab.”
The woman eyed him, lips twisting into a cold smile. “Understood?”
Brown put all the venom he could manage behind the glare he offered the Heimdall. “Crystal,” he still responded, his grip on the chair beneath him tight enough it was actually causing him pain.
“Excellent.” Samantha pushed away from his chair abruptly, turning to exit the room without a backwards glance. “Nice talkin’ to you, Brown.”
As the door slammed shut behind the woman, Brown launched the brandy snifter beside him at the tempered wood. The sound of the glass shattering against the closed portal was hardly satisfying.
Next time, Brown vowed to take his anger out on Ferris’ face instead.
Another day passed, and then another night, and still sleep did not come easily to Jensen.
Once again he was forced to admit defeat when he noticed that the sky outside the port window was beginning to lighten into the dusk of early morning. That night, he’d at least managed to sleep for a handful of hours before the screams of the boy with onyx wings plunged him back into the world of the waking.
It was the most that Jensen had slept in the past three days.
A sparing glance at his partner’s rumpled bedding revealed that Chris was having no better luck finding rest that night, for the other soldier’s cot lay empty.
After pausing long enough to put his undershirt to rights and pull on his boots, Jensen ventured out of his quarters and into the deserted hallway.
He longed to go topside for a bit of fresh air, however, rain was once again pounding against the ship from seemingly all sides. Even the crew was taking shelter below the deck, save for the unfortunate few who were forced above deck to steer the ship and keep lookout.
He was wandering the halls aimlessly when he came across Kane and Carlson. The two men were huddled together on one of four steps, sitting with their shoulders pressed together as they talked in hushed tones between themselves.
To Jensen’s wry amusement, the pair took a moment to notice his presence.
“Ackles.” Carlson greeted upon finally spotting Jensen, smile as easy as his words. He didn’t seem to be embarrassed in the least to be caught in such close quarters with Jensen’s partner. Then again, when as many people were sardined on a ship as there were on Bifrost, close quarters defined their day-to-day life.
Chris startled and looked up at Jensen with slightly wide eyes. Jensen fought the urge to smirk at his partner.
“Carlson,” he returned instead, stooping to sit a step below the pair’s legs. He turned so that he was perching sideways on the step and eyed the two men. “What’re you two doing about so late?”
Carlson’s lips pulled into a secretive smirk. When Chris spotted the expression, he immediately elbowed the sailor in the ribs.
“Don’t make him think we did-that, you asshole!” The brunette soldier exclaimed indignantly. He continued to scowl at the man beside him.
Jensen allowed a smirk at the pair’s antics, unable to resist a moment longer when Carlson responded with, “That? What are you, ten?”
The sailor laughed, the sound as honest as it was deep and smoky.
When Chris began to reluctantly fight back a grin of his own after a handful of moments, Jensen’s smirk only widened.
“You’re both assholes.” Chris declared mulishly with a shove against Jensen’s shoulder.
Jensen finally gave into the urge to outright laugh.
“Kane was having some issues keeping his dinner down ‘cause of the waves,” Carlson volunteered helpfully. He made a show of ignoring the glare Chris directed his way.
Jensen grimaced, recalling all too well the mornings that he had spent curled over the ship’s railing during the earliest days of their voyage.
He did not miss how Carlson’s grin quirked when he noticed Jensen’s expression. Jensen offered the sailor the best death-glare he could conjure at the late hour.
“You know, for all the work that went into making you two the perfect soldiers, I find it pretty hard to believe that your stomachs are so weak.” Carlson observed with lazy amusement, clearly milking the moment at the other two’s expense. “It’s pretty pathetic, really.”
As one, Jensen and Chris offered the sailor a one-fingered salute.
Carlson grinned.
The trio fell into an easy silence for a while. The ship rocked erratically around them, tossed about by the wind and the rain, and occasionally the sharp clap of thunder broke the quiet of the otherwise silent vessel. Despite the utter chaos of the sea on which they traveled, the three men seemed moderately at ease within the safe walls of the ship.
Jensen’s gaze roamed the hallway for several minutes as he allowed his mind to drift. The sound of the storm outside had a surprisingly soothing effect on the soldier’s rattles nerves.
“So,” Jensen began at length, swinging a narrowed gaze to settle on Carlson. He carefully scrutinized the sailor’s expression as he continued. “I’ve got a few questions for you, Carlson-questions about what you told me before concerning Asgard.”
Immediately, Carlson’s expression closed off. Jensen could practically see the wall that went up around the sailor, but he was not deterred.
“I want to know more about the Vanir you think you saw.”
Carlson’s eyes narrowed in turn. He leaned forward to afford the hallway a sharp glance, ensuring that the corridor remained deserted before sitting back to fix Jensen with a glare. The expression was so foreign on the normally easy-going sailor’s face that it took the Magni soldier by surprise.
“Don’t just go around saying shit like that in the hallway, Ackles.” Carlson hissed, yanking Jensen close suddenly with a fist curled in the soldier’s shirt. "And I don't 'think' I saw anything-- I know what I saw."
Jensen’s own fist curled over Carlson’s, his jaw setting in silent warning as he firmly pried the other’s fingers from his shirt. He could feel his lips draw into a dangerous line.
“Then you won't mind answering the question.” Jensen returned, voice dangerously level. "Now would you?"
“Alright now, that’s enough.” Chris suddenly interjected, placing a firm hand flat against the other two men’s chests, putting a stop to the building tension between the pair before something could come of it.
A beat passed before Jensen allowed his partner to press him out of Carlson’s space. He noted with no small amount of satisfaction that bright spots of color had risen to the sailor’s cheeks and that Carlson’s body was tight with tension, clearly ready to protest further.
Jensen relished in the revelation that he’d managed to ruffle the usually impassive sailor’s demeanor, even if only for a moment.
For his part, Carlson’s gaze was practically simmering when he finally let some of the tension leave his shoulders.
“Fucking hell, Ackles.” The sailor scrubbed a hand through his hair and scanning the hallway a final time before punching out a sharp sigh. “What does it even matter what the kid looked like?”
The resignation in the other man’s voice did nothing to dissuade the excited churn of Jensen’s stomach at his apparent victory.
“It was a kid.” Jensen prompted, not caring that the severity in his voice swung Chris’ sharp gaze towards him or that it deepened the frown on Carlson’s brow. “I’m gonna need more than that, Steve.”
Carlson’s expression shuttered once more. “It happened too fast, alright? I didn’t get a good look at the boy’s mug.”
Jensen pressed on. “You saw something. You’re so positive it was one of the Vanir that you saw-why?” He leaned closer to Carlson, his fingers curling into the cloth of his uniform pants in an attempt to still his shaking hands. “Tell me what happened the day that you saw this kid.”
“Jensen,” Chris began voice equal parts bewildered and incredulous.
“Not now, Kane.” Jensen snapped in response. He didn’t spare his partner so much of a glance, too busy scrutinizing the way that Carlson was scrutinizing him. The two were locked in a sort of stand-still once more, and again Chris was the unfortunately stranded on the sidelines.
Jensen raised his eyebrows, expression as much a dare as his words. “Well, sailor? I’m waiting.”
The look the other man offered Jensen promised a slow and agonizing death. Carlson scrubbed a hand over his face and back over his hair, fingers twisting in the tangled curls as he punched out another sigh. It was only then that the sailor reluctantly began his tale.
“When I was a kid my family spent some time on Asgard. My dad was part of the recolonization effort. There were other kids on the island around that time, and when our parents were too busy working to keep an eye on us, we’d run rampant across Asgard-raised hell left and right, I can tell you that.”
The sailor’s voice was distant, detached.
“There was this younger kid that we always were stuck babysitting. His dad was one of the military top dogs and never had time for the brat, so me and the other kids kind of took him under our wing. The kid had the attention span of a gnat, though, and was always wandering off and gettin’ lost in the forest.”
“One of the times that the kid ran off, me and the boys came across this other kid-he couldn’t have been five.”
“The Vanir.” Chris surmised voice gruff with unease. He glanced anxiously down the corridor to ensure that they were still alone.
Carlson glanced at Chris. “The Vanir,” he confirmed.
Jensen felt as if his entire body was vibrating with anxious tension as he pressed on. “Describe the kid,” he commanded impatiently.
The sailor’s eyes shifted back to Jensen, their annoyed squint not going unnoticed by the younger man. Jensen just didn’t find it in himself to care at the time.
“It’s been years.” Carlson snapped, cracking his knuckles distractedly as his gaze fell to the wood of the step next to Jensen’s leg. “And I was twelve.”
“You’ve got to remember something, man.” Chris beseeched.
The sailor’s gaze swung back to the brunette Magni’s, lips twisting into a grin that lacked an ounce of humor.
“Sure I do. The kid had wings.”
On his way to training the next day, Jensen found himself corned by Brown for the second time during the voyage. The man appeared to have been waiting for Jensen, judging by the already poured glasses of brandy that awaited them once Brown had ushered him into the General’s quarters. Jensen felt dread pool in the pit of his stomach.
“Please, have a seat.” Brown instructed breezily as he closed the door behind them.
“Actually,” Jensen declined, turning to face the older man but making no move further into the room. “I’m due at the lab in the next few minutes. I really should be going--”
“Ferris and her hounds can wait.”
Jensen blinked at the venom in the General’s voice.
He backed up a step, fighting the urge to reach for the door behind him. “I really should be going.” He insisted, sure to keep his voice firm and expression firmer. “If I’m late the scientists will start asking questions.”
The General was clearly not pleased to find the truth in Jensen’s logic. “Fine. I only require a moment of your time, in any case. I just wanted to be sure that you remember our talk, Ackles. I need to know that my men are loyal.”
The jibe in Brown’s words was as blatant as the nose on the man’s face.
Jensen squared his jaw. “Are you questioning my loyalty, by chance, General?”
Brown openly regarded Jensen. He did not deny the accusation.
Jensen fought back the urge to growl, settling instead for curling his fists at his sides. “I haven’t forgotten who signs my paychecks, Brown. I’ll do as my duty requires, and if playing spy is what you need from me, then so be it.”
Brown’s expression was transformed. He smiled widely, looking far too much like the cat who’d eaten the canary for Jensen’s liking, and reached out a hand to shake Jensen’s own.
“Good to hear, Ackles. That’s very good to hear.”
Jensen forced himself to shake the General’s hand. He also forced himself not to wipe said hand on his uniform slacks the instant Brown released it from his hold.
“If that’s all, General, I really should get going. We can’t afford stirring the Heimdall’s suspicion so close to D-day.”
Brown raised an eyebrow. “D-day?” He inquired archly.
Jensen flushed, coughing into his hand at his slip. “My apologies, sir. It’s what the Heimdall are calling the day we reach Asgard.”
“I see.” Brown’s lips were tilted into a superior smirk. “Well, I guess you’d best run along then. I’d rather avoid Ferris’ wrath whenever possible.”
Jensen wasn’t able to suppress a smirk of his own at that, though luckily Brown saw the expression as sympathy towards his words. In all reality, Jensen was imagining Sam storming into the General’s quarters to give him a what-for.
He certainly felt that Brown deserved the experience.
He pulled himself from his musings long enough to offer the General a sharp salute before he turned on his heel and left the room. If his steps were too rushed, well, it could be attributed to the fear of facing Sam’s wrath if he were to be late to training.
Late that night the Magni were summoned to the mess hall for a strategy debriefing. It would be the first time that the three Magni teams would set eyes on each other. It would also be the first-- and only-- time they were given direct orders prior to D-day.
Jensen sat with his shoulders pressed against Chris’, conspicuously eyeing the other four Magni that sat in front of them. From his partner’s tense posture, Jensen surmised that Chris was doing the same thing.
Each Magni worked as one-half of a team. There were three Magni pairs total. Jensen and Chris made up one team; the two women sitting on a table nearby made up the second, and the man and woman who had claimed the chairs closest to the officers were the final pair to the set.
Until now, the Magni teams had been kept apart from each other for reasons unknown. Perhaps the higher-ups simply wanted to forge a deeper bond between the partners by separating them from the other teams-- maybe they just wanted to be able to turn the teams against each other if such a thing were ever needed.
About a month ago, Jensen had given up trying to see reason behind the Aesir’s madness.
He frowned as Brown cleared his throat, lulling the room into a sort of uneasy quiet.
“It’s good to finally see all of you together.” The Lieutenant General eyed each Magni in turn, his expression openly appreciative. He reminded Jensen a bit of a kid on Christmas. “We have much to discuss before tomorrow, so it’s best if we just get down to business. Singer?”
An older man rose from his seat upfront, nodding to Brown before straightening and regarding the Magni much as the General had just done. “You’re a fine looking group of soldiers, I can tell you that much.” The old man grinned warmly, and despite himself Jensen felt a stirring of something other than loathing in his chest as he eyed the General of the Aesir.
“Now, I guess it’s best we get down to business.” The General’s voice turned grave. “Tomorrow, we will reach the outskirts of Asgard.”
A surprised murmur went up amongst the Magni. Jensen turned to Chris, his eyes widening in panic. Chris’ own expression mirrored Jensen’s.
“Well, hell.” Chris muttered just as Singer called the room to silence.
Jensen found himself agreeing with Chris’ sentiment whole-heartedly.
Singer was speaking once more. “Now, it is important for you each to realize that the time for training is over. Now’s the time for action. Tomorrow, you and your partner will leave the ship and swim to the shore of Asgard. It’s very possible that you or your partner may not make it to the shore alive. The waters will be treacherous-- Asgard has remained well-protected by its own means all these years. The waters will do their best to pull you under.”
“For those of you who do survive the swim to shore, your objective is to cross Asgard to the Fenrir base Gleipnir. There you will hopefully find other military personnel. Once you’ve reached the base you are to send one of your numbers back to the shores to signal the ships. We will be waiting in the wings until you do so.”
Singer glanced at Brown, and the Lieutenant General stepped forward with a proud lift of his chin.
“You will not be alone on the island. There are others who live in the forest-- they are an exceedingly hostile indigenous population, and they will not hesitate to kill you. You should adopt a similar mindset. Your enemy possesses special abilities that surpass even your own. It’s vital that you do not give them a chance to use these abilities should you find yourself facing a native down.”
Jensen’s fingers curled tightly in the material of his uniform pants as he fought to keep his posture relaxed. It was a hard effort. All he wanted to do in that moment was surge from his chair and introduce Sterling’s face to his fists. He felt tension radiating off of Chris as well and took a small comfort in the knowledge that his partner was feeling just as outraged as he was.
And that was before Brown opened his mouth again and spoke the words that would leave Jensen seeing red for the rest of the night.
“Aside from reaching Gleipnir, your objective is to eliminate any natives that do happen across your path during your journey. Ideally, we wish to capture the natives and bring them back to our scientists for analysis. However, should this task prove to be impossible, then extermination will be in order. We will take control of Asgard-- and we shall do so by any means necessary.”