Children of the Wave [1/1]
So I've recently gone on a total JDM spree when it comes to writing.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gen
Characters: Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles
Word Count:~2,000
Disclaimer: They own themselves.
Warnings: AU. Mentions of drugs and violence. Hints of underage attraction.
Summary: In a post-apocalyptic world, Jeff needs some help getting home.
***
He found the kid behind a dumpster.
That in itself wasn’t that odd; there were lots of kids behind dumpsters these days. Teenagers, little ones just barely past the toddling stage, thieves and baby hookers and vicious little animals. They all looked alike, after a little while, scraggly and scruffy, too thin, with a grey sheen on their oily skin. This one had shoes that tied, that used to be red, one leg sticking out into the alley where Jeff had almost tripped over it. He lay on his back on an old sofa cushion with embroidered flowers so ugly Jeff’s grandma wouldn’t even have liked them. With his mouth open like that and his hair hanging into his eyes, he looked just like every other god damned street rat out there. Jeff had seen it all before. None of it would have gotten his attention.
No, what got Jeff was the look in his eyes.
Most of the little runts had absent, faraway expressions. Some, ones that should have been in second or third grade, zonked out on some patch because they couldn’t handle what the Wave had done to their minds. Older ones with scabs on their elbows and yellow around their irises when they discovered the joys of old school blow-your-mind. The vacant expressions of the sick, the starving, the helpless.
This one barely even blinked when Jeff stopped in front of him, but he was the first kid - the first person - to look at Jeff this sharply in a long time. His eyes seemed to strip away Jeff’s jacket, his sweatshirt, his skin and muscles and bones until nothing was left but his thoughts. His deepest fears. His biggest regrets.
Jeff watched the lips move silently, chapped and cracked as they were, and finally found the willpower to unstick his feet from the ground and crouch down. He was too far away to grab the kid, but the foot closest to him still retracted, snail-like, towards the cushion.
“Hey,” he said.
The kid blinked slowly. His lips didn’t stop moving, but Jeff wasn’t surprised that they made no sound. Children of the Wave didn’t talk much. Some scientific hoo-hah had tried to explain it once, back when TV was still a staple in American households: How the Wave had scrambled their neurons, rearranged them into such different patterns that learning to speak the way their parents had became impossible for them. They could still do it, apparently, but nobody knew how to teach them. Jeff had looked at the man’s brown suit, his blue-and-yellow tie, and laughed into his TV screen face. He’d hocked the damn machine two days later, even though it hadn’t even been his.
Some scientists said it didn’t matter. That their gifts made up for what the Wave had taken away. Jeff wasn’t so sure about that, but who was he to argue? All he wanted was to get back to the shelter and get some food into his belly, and safe passage sounded pretty damn good right now.
“You hungry?” he asked the kid.
The boy didn’t blink this time, so Jeff put his hand on his stomach. The kid mimicked the gesture. The tiny stomach grumbled at the pressure.
“Yeah, you’re hungry,” Jeff said with a grin. He held out a hand. “I can fix that, if you let me.”
The kid cocked his head at him. Jeff wasn’t sure how much he’d understood, but he imagined he was digging through his brain right now, trying to decide what Jeff’s intentions were. Finally, he put his grubby hand in Jeff’s and let himself get pulled up, way too easily even for a boy of ten or so.
Jeff eyed the worn jacket and the threadbare jeans, but he didn’t let go of the kid’s hand. Wave kids needed touch, they said. Jeff had never tried it, but if he wanted to get to the shelter without running into state patrols, or worse, neighborhood controls, he really needed the help. The alternative was setting up shop behind a dumpster himself.
“Come on, kiddo,” he said, obnoxiously cheery. “Let’s get you home.”
It was going on dawn now - the grey night sky slowly turning into the lighter grey of day where the rooftops met the clouds. They had to book it. He never should have stayed out this late in the first place, but Jeff was an idiot on his good days, and dawn to dusk in a cramped shelter with two dozen other people was enough to drive anybody round the bend.
He stopped at the corner, peering out into the open street. Two feet below him, he felt more than saw the kid do the same, and bit back a chuckle.
“Here’s the deal,” he said. “Those medical hotshots said you lot can feel people. So if there’s a big group nearby where we are, I want you to squeeze my hand so this beautiful day doesn’t start with our brains splattered all over the sidewalk. Okay?”
He couldn’t see more than the top of the kid’s head, one tuft of dark hair defying gravity at the back, but when he felt small fingers squeeze his once and then let go, he figured he’d been heard and understood.
“Okay. Here goes.”
He pulled the boy out into the street, sticking close to the houses. The boulevard had been nice once, he’d heard, but that was before the shops boarded up their windows and people started torching cars and tossing their trash into the street. The palm trees were pretty, though, swaying gently in the ocean breeze.
It was some thirty blocks to the shelter from here, and with a kid in tow, the walk felt even slower than usual. Jeff amused himself by talking at the boy, no matter how dangerous it was.
“So,” he said. “I don’t suppose you know your name?”
The kid looked up, only briefly, but Jeff saw no recognition in his eyes.
“Eh, figured. Well, I can’t keep calling you ‘kid’. Don’t suppose you have something in mind?”
The boy didn’t react this time, but Jeff wasn’t really expecting it. He stopped at the curb of an intersection and looked around. Grinned when he spotted a faded and torn marquise reading J&T Packaging in barely legible print.
“How do you feel about ‘JT’?” he asked. Still nothing. Oh well. Jeff hadn’t had this patient an audience in ages. “Sorry ‘bout naming you after a store,” he said cheerily. “It’s pretty big, though. Must have been successful.”
He tugged the kid forward, not-quite-sprinting across the wide open intersection. He flattened both of them into a doorway on the other side, but nobody came running at them with a semi-automatic. After a few achingly long moments, he started walking again.
“You even been to the beach, JT?” he asked. “It’s pretty damn spectacular, you know. People say it’s dangerous now, with the shore patrols and the raiders, but considering I might get blown to bits just walking home, I don’t really mind. When the moon’s full, you can see it reflected in the water and it shimmers like a whole sea of treasures.”
He looked up at the sky. Damn it, it was too light already.
“Saw a dolphin once, too. It was dead, but it musta been pretty when it was alive.”
He had almost managed to lose himself in the memory of running his fingers over that smooth, slick skin, when the kid squeezed his hand, hard. Biting back a curse, Jeff whirled around. Doorways were shit, way too open. There was a mostly-burned Honda close-by, but cars were only good from up close (when you were under them) and far away (when you were inside). He almost cried in relief when he saw the metal grating in the sidewalk close-by. He let go of the kid to wrench it free and peered into the hole. It was shallow enough that they’d get out later, and he didn’t hesitate before he grabbed JT under the arms and lifted him in. The boy situated, he dropped down beside him, dragged the grating back in place and slid down into a kneel.
He gestured for the boy to get down himself before he slipped out of his jacket. The kid looked lost, incredibly so, but Jeff didn’t have time to reassure him before he pulled him against his chest and pulled the coat over both their heads.
“Stay still,” he whispered into the boy’s ear. “Not a sound.”
It wasn’t long before he heard the roar of the convoy on concrete. State patrol, then. For agonizing minutes, they seemed to idle right above them, and Jeff could almost hear them yelling, “What’s that over there?” But they didn’t. The boy’s clammy body pressed against his chest, his fast and shallow breathing echoed in his ears. Cold from the concrete soaked into his thighs. And then, finally, finally, he heard the truck pull away. He waited for a long time, maybe too long, before he dared to pull the jacket off. Slipped the grating off as quickly as possible, pulled himself and then JT out of the vent. Eighteen blocks from home still. Jesus Christ.
Jeff walked the rest of the way in silence. He could see the kid looking up at him several times, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk anymore. He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted the familiar brick building, drew himself and the kid into the doorway.
“Hey,” he said quietly. He tapped the chalk symbol close to the floor with his fingers, a white oval intersecting with a horizontal line. “If you’re ever in trouble, look for this, okay?” he asked. “They’ll help you out.”
The kid looked up at him, moistening his cracked lip where a drop of blood was welling up, and Jeff nodded. Time to get both of them home safe.
He knocked quietly, two pairs of short raps, and pressed his ear against the metal of the door.
“Who is it?” he heard from inside.
“Jensen,” he said. “It’s Jeff. Let me in.”
“Password?”
Jeff rolled his eyes. “We don’t have one,” he said. “Just look through the damn door spy. It’s me.”
The door opened as far as the chain would allow, revealing the freckled fifteen-year-old, his forehead contorted into a frown. “Yeah, you and some kid. Who’s this?”
“He followed me home, Mom,” Jeff said, grinning when Jensen rolled his eyes. “Now let me in. There’s patrols around.”
Jensen closed the door in his face. After some fumbling and clinking, it swung open all the way. Jeff tugged JT into the dark hallway. He felt his tension drip away when the door closed firmly behind him.
“He’s not a dog, you know,” Jensen said.
“Nope, he’s a Wave kid,” Jeff said cheerfully.
Jensen gaped at him for a moment before he picked up his book from the stool behind the door, turned on the clip-on reading lamp, and fished his cracked glasses out of his pocket. “It’s your funeral,” he said. “Mom’s in the kitchen.”
“Got it,” Jeff said. He looked down at JT, grinning when he saw the kid stare at Jensen with wide-eyed fascination. “Hey Jen, you’ve got a fan,” he said, not even waiting for the blush that would no doubt blossom on Jensen’s cheeks before he strode down the hallway, JT in tow, towards the light that meant the kitchen and safety and home.
***
Yeah. Don't ask me.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gen
Characters: Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles
Word Count:~2,000
Disclaimer: They own themselves.
Warnings: AU. Mentions of drugs and violence. Hints of underage attraction.
Summary: In a post-apocalyptic world, Jeff needs some help getting home.
***
He found the kid behind a dumpster.
That in itself wasn’t that odd; there were lots of kids behind dumpsters these days. Teenagers, little ones just barely past the toddling stage, thieves and baby hookers and vicious little animals. They all looked alike, after a little while, scraggly and scruffy, too thin, with a grey sheen on their oily skin. This one had shoes that tied, that used to be red, one leg sticking out into the alley where Jeff had almost tripped over it. He lay on his back on an old sofa cushion with embroidered flowers so ugly Jeff’s grandma wouldn’t even have liked them. With his mouth open like that and his hair hanging into his eyes, he looked just like every other god damned street rat out there. Jeff had seen it all before. None of it would have gotten his attention.
No, what got Jeff was the look in his eyes.
Most of the little runts had absent, faraway expressions. Some, ones that should have been in second or third grade, zonked out on some patch because they couldn’t handle what the Wave had done to their minds. Older ones with scabs on their elbows and yellow around their irises when they discovered the joys of old school blow-your-mind. The vacant expressions of the sick, the starving, the helpless.
This one barely even blinked when Jeff stopped in front of him, but he was the first kid - the first person - to look at Jeff this sharply in a long time. His eyes seemed to strip away Jeff’s jacket, his sweatshirt, his skin and muscles and bones until nothing was left but his thoughts. His deepest fears. His biggest regrets.
Jeff watched the lips move silently, chapped and cracked as they were, and finally found the willpower to unstick his feet from the ground and crouch down. He was too far away to grab the kid, but the foot closest to him still retracted, snail-like, towards the cushion.
“Hey,” he said.
The kid blinked slowly. His lips didn’t stop moving, but Jeff wasn’t surprised that they made no sound. Children of the Wave didn’t talk much. Some scientific hoo-hah had tried to explain it once, back when TV was still a staple in American households: How the Wave had scrambled their neurons, rearranged them into such different patterns that learning to speak the way their parents had became impossible for them. They could still do it, apparently, but nobody knew how to teach them. Jeff had looked at the man’s brown suit, his blue-and-yellow tie, and laughed into his TV screen face. He’d hocked the damn machine two days later, even though it hadn’t even been his.
Some scientists said it didn’t matter. That their gifts made up for what the Wave had taken away. Jeff wasn’t so sure about that, but who was he to argue? All he wanted was to get back to the shelter and get some food into his belly, and safe passage sounded pretty damn good right now.
“You hungry?” he asked the kid.
The boy didn’t blink this time, so Jeff put his hand on his stomach. The kid mimicked the gesture. The tiny stomach grumbled at the pressure.
“Yeah, you’re hungry,” Jeff said with a grin. He held out a hand. “I can fix that, if you let me.”
The kid cocked his head at him. Jeff wasn’t sure how much he’d understood, but he imagined he was digging through his brain right now, trying to decide what Jeff’s intentions were. Finally, he put his grubby hand in Jeff’s and let himself get pulled up, way too easily even for a boy of ten or so.
Jeff eyed the worn jacket and the threadbare jeans, but he didn’t let go of the kid’s hand. Wave kids needed touch, they said. Jeff had never tried it, but if he wanted to get to the shelter without running into state patrols, or worse, neighborhood controls, he really needed the help. The alternative was setting up shop behind a dumpster himself.
“Come on, kiddo,” he said, obnoxiously cheery. “Let’s get you home.”
It was going on dawn now - the grey night sky slowly turning into the lighter grey of day where the rooftops met the clouds. They had to book it. He never should have stayed out this late in the first place, but Jeff was an idiot on his good days, and dawn to dusk in a cramped shelter with two dozen other people was enough to drive anybody round the bend.
He stopped at the corner, peering out into the open street. Two feet below him, he felt more than saw the kid do the same, and bit back a chuckle.
“Here’s the deal,” he said. “Those medical hotshots said you lot can feel people. So if there’s a big group nearby where we are, I want you to squeeze my hand so this beautiful day doesn’t start with our brains splattered all over the sidewalk. Okay?”
He couldn’t see more than the top of the kid’s head, one tuft of dark hair defying gravity at the back, but when he felt small fingers squeeze his once and then let go, he figured he’d been heard and understood.
“Okay. Here goes.”
He pulled the boy out into the street, sticking close to the houses. The boulevard had been nice once, he’d heard, but that was before the shops boarded up their windows and people started torching cars and tossing their trash into the street. The palm trees were pretty, though, swaying gently in the ocean breeze.
It was some thirty blocks to the shelter from here, and with a kid in tow, the walk felt even slower than usual. Jeff amused himself by talking at the boy, no matter how dangerous it was.
“So,” he said. “I don’t suppose you know your name?”
The kid looked up, only briefly, but Jeff saw no recognition in his eyes.
“Eh, figured. Well, I can’t keep calling you ‘kid’. Don’t suppose you have something in mind?”
The boy didn’t react this time, but Jeff wasn’t really expecting it. He stopped at the curb of an intersection and looked around. Grinned when he spotted a faded and torn marquise reading J&T Packaging in barely legible print.
“How do you feel about ‘JT’?” he asked. Still nothing. Oh well. Jeff hadn’t had this patient an audience in ages. “Sorry ‘bout naming you after a store,” he said cheerily. “It’s pretty big, though. Must have been successful.”
He tugged the kid forward, not-quite-sprinting across the wide open intersection. He flattened both of them into a doorway on the other side, but nobody came running at them with a semi-automatic. After a few achingly long moments, he started walking again.
“You even been to the beach, JT?” he asked. “It’s pretty damn spectacular, you know. People say it’s dangerous now, with the shore patrols and the raiders, but considering I might get blown to bits just walking home, I don’t really mind. When the moon’s full, you can see it reflected in the water and it shimmers like a whole sea of treasures.”
He looked up at the sky. Damn it, it was too light already.
“Saw a dolphin once, too. It was dead, but it musta been pretty when it was alive.”
He had almost managed to lose himself in the memory of running his fingers over that smooth, slick skin, when the kid squeezed his hand, hard. Biting back a curse, Jeff whirled around. Doorways were shit, way too open. There was a mostly-burned Honda close-by, but cars were only good from up close (when you were under them) and far away (when you were inside). He almost cried in relief when he saw the metal grating in the sidewalk close-by. He let go of the kid to wrench it free and peered into the hole. It was shallow enough that they’d get out later, and he didn’t hesitate before he grabbed JT under the arms and lifted him in. The boy situated, he dropped down beside him, dragged the grating back in place and slid down into a kneel.
He gestured for the boy to get down himself before he slipped out of his jacket. The kid looked lost, incredibly so, but Jeff didn’t have time to reassure him before he pulled him against his chest and pulled the coat over both their heads.
“Stay still,” he whispered into the boy’s ear. “Not a sound.”
It wasn’t long before he heard the roar of the convoy on concrete. State patrol, then. For agonizing minutes, they seemed to idle right above them, and Jeff could almost hear them yelling, “What’s that over there?” But they didn’t. The boy’s clammy body pressed against his chest, his fast and shallow breathing echoed in his ears. Cold from the concrete soaked into his thighs. And then, finally, finally, he heard the truck pull away. He waited for a long time, maybe too long, before he dared to pull the jacket off. Slipped the grating off as quickly as possible, pulled himself and then JT out of the vent. Eighteen blocks from home still. Jesus Christ.
Jeff walked the rest of the way in silence. He could see the kid looking up at him several times, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk anymore. He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted the familiar brick building, drew himself and the kid into the doorway.
“Hey,” he said quietly. He tapped the chalk symbol close to the floor with his fingers, a white oval intersecting with a horizontal line. “If you’re ever in trouble, look for this, okay?” he asked. “They’ll help you out.”
The kid looked up at him, moistening his cracked lip where a drop of blood was welling up, and Jeff nodded. Time to get both of them home safe.
He knocked quietly, two pairs of short raps, and pressed his ear against the metal of the door.
“Who is it?” he heard from inside.
“Jensen,” he said. “It’s Jeff. Let me in.”
“Password?”
Jeff rolled his eyes. “We don’t have one,” he said. “Just look through the damn door spy. It’s me.”
The door opened as far as the chain would allow, revealing the freckled fifteen-year-old, his forehead contorted into a frown. “Yeah, you and some kid. Who’s this?”
“He followed me home, Mom,” Jeff said, grinning when Jensen rolled his eyes. “Now let me in. There’s patrols around.”
Jensen closed the door in his face. After some fumbling and clinking, it swung open all the way. Jeff tugged JT into the dark hallway. He felt his tension drip away when the door closed firmly behind him.
“He’s not a dog, you know,” Jensen said.
“Nope, he’s a Wave kid,” Jeff said cheerfully.
Jensen gaped at him for a moment before he picked up his book from the stool behind the door, turned on the clip-on reading lamp, and fished his cracked glasses out of his pocket. “It’s your funeral,” he said. “Mom’s in the kitchen.”
“Got it,” Jeff said. He looked down at JT, grinning when he saw the kid stare at Jensen with wide-eyed fascination. “Hey Jen, you’ve got a fan,” he said, not even waiting for the blush that would no doubt blossom on Jensen’s cheeks before he strode down the hallway, JT in tow, towards the light that meant the kitchen and safety and home.
***
Yeah. Don't ask me.