Fic (and Art) - Saviour (J2 AU) Part One
Saviour (Part One)
The barn is sturdy, and more importantly, so is the roof. Jensen's grandfather helped to rebuild it and he can vaguely remember hearing about how a storm destroyed a lot of property in the area, and how the community rallied together and rebuilt as much as they could with their own hands, as money was tight.
The barn looks out of place with the rest of the traditional farm; boxy and square with a low pitched roof, and built on solid foundations. As a kid Jensen was always drawn it; had a 'no sisters allowed' den in there when he was seven, hid in there for hours when he was a surly teenager mad at the world and everyone in it for no real reason, and now when he's not asleep in the storm shelter bunker under the stairs, he's up on the roof, just like he is now.
His grandfather used to say; “That barn ain't goin' nowhere. It'll still be standing tall when the world comes to an end.”
Jensen's pretty sure the world ended the day the creatures arrived on Earth, killing everything that made a sound, and the barn is still standing. So maybe his grandfather really did know everything, just like he claimed.
It's late, the sun long since set, and Jensen's standing on the roof of the barn looking out over his farm; over the land that his family has owned for generations. Strings of coloured Christmas lights criss-cross the farm, flooding it in light even in the pitch black of night, stopping at the very outskirts where the woodlands take over. There's an old silo in the centre of the field that used to be filled with corn when Jensen was young. There's still tall stalks of corn growing in the fields, but it's fighting for space in between thick weeds, and Jensen can't farm it any more, can't take care of it the way his grandfather did, and his father before him.
The farmhouse is to his right, as well as another more traditional hay barn, and the whole property is dotted with old tractors and trucks, full of rust from disuse. Paths around the farm are laid in sand to absorb any sound of footsteps.
He doesn't have a green thumb, not like his mom, but Jensen has done his best to take care of her vegetable garden behind the house, and anything that he doesn't eat he's learnt to preserve (thanks mainly to the well-stocked library in town).
Looking down at his digital watch, Jensen heads towards the beacon. Well, it's really an old security floodlight that he managed to re-angle so that it shines up into the night sky. Every night at 12am on the dot, Jensen carefully switches it on and takes a seat on the roof to watch the light show, as one by one the night sky fills with the shining lights of beacons from other survivors that are out there; people who are trying to carve some sort of silent life out of what is left behind after the creatures came and tore the old one apart.
He only wishes he could attach names to each beacon he can see, but from this vantage point he knows there are 14 of them. The nearest one is to his left and Jensen figures it's maybe 6 or 7 miles away. In his head he calls this beacon Saviour. It's the brightest of all the beacons, and whether that's because it's nearer or because the owner knows more about this stuff than Jensen does, he's not sure. But one day he hopes to meet them, whoever they are, and when that day comes, maybe Jensen's world will be a little less lonely.
He looks down at his watch; 12.05am. There's no sign of Saviour, no shining beacon to his left, just pitch black.
Jensen frowns. He can count on his hand the number of times any beacon is late. He figures it's the highlight of their day, just like it is for Jensen's. It's important; people rely on him to do it, and it's the only communication he has, his only lifeline to humanity in this world of silence.
It used to drive him crazy; to not be able to talk, to laugh, to scream, to have to do everything slowly and silently. Over time he's gotten used to the silence and the way of life that brings with it, and maybe it's saving his life, but he knows deep down that it's also costing him a lot too.
He used to tell himself that his real life, the one before the creatures, has just been put on hold, and that this is all just temporary; that somehow he'll get some of who he used to be back. But then he wakes in the bunker every day and nothing changes; this is his real life.
He carefully gets to his feet and looks to his left; squinting through the thick inky night looking for a sign that something is wrong; willing Saviour to shine. But there's nothing.
As the minutes pass Jensen's mind comes up with a list of possible explanations; maybe they're distracted by another task, maybe they're sick or asleep, maybe it's broken and they're having technical issues. Maybe they're under attack. Maybe they're already gone.
Jensen swallows thickly, and almost can't quite believe his eyes when he sees fireworks shoot up high into the night sky, filling it with bright explosions of red, blue, and white and every colour in between; the screeching, fizzing and popping sounding impossibly loud to Jensen's ears.
He's dazzled by it, and it takes Jensen a moment to realise that they're coming from the direction of Saviour.
Jensen stares as the fireworks continue, and even through the dark of night he sees the tall stalks of corn sway and part as creatures dart across his property towards the sound of the fireworks. He freezes where he stands, wishing he'd brought the shotgun up with him, but it would seem that every creature he sees has one sole focus; Saviour.
Then, just as abruptly as they started, the fireworks stop and the world is once again shrouded in deafening silence.
Out of the corner of Jensen's eye, Saviour lights up the night sky. Only it's not the bright white beacon Jensen looks forward to seeing every night.
It's shining bright red.
Jensen's heart is beating so fast, he feels light-headed. He forces himself to carefully sit down and take steady but controlled breaths. Now is not the time to panic; he needs a cool head to think this through.
A red light has got to be a warning, right? But after the fireworks that seems kind of pointless; it's clear that it's unsafe now; that the creatures will be swarming all over that area. Jensen can still see them moving across his own property, scrambling desperately to get there. And who knows how many creatures a noise that loud will attract.
Or maybe the red beacon isn't a warning sign at all, but a plea for help. Maybe they're asking for assistance. What if this is a call for help, and Jensen's the closest person who can offer it? Can he turn a blind eye to his Saviour?
Jensen's head is spinning. It's madness to risk movement at the moment, with so many creatures on high alert after all the noise of the fireworks, and the amount he's seen on his property alone.
He looks up at the night sky, still covered in a blanket of blood-red light; all the other beacons have gone, and the longer he stares at it, the more his resolve grows; maybe this time he can change something, maybe he can make a difference
He tries not to think about that night, but the memories come flooding in, sharp flashes of claw marks gouged into the walls. Empty shotgun shell carpeting the floor. The blood-splattered walls.
Slamming his eyes closed, Jensen forces himself to focus.
These creatures are hunters and they use their acute hearing to track their prey. They're ruthless killers, large and reasonably stealthy, but they're blind. Light makes no difference; whether it's daylight or night, it doesn't seem to affect their hunting skills. It's all about sound.
So Jensen is stuck up here until sunrise; he at least needs to be able to see them. Hopefully when all is clear he can head down to the bunker and gather some supplies, check his maps, maybe get some shut-eye, before leaving to look for his Saviour.
The sand path that he started to lay towards Saviour remains unfinished. It'll take him to the waterfall, and maybe half a mile more before it stops. After that Jensen will be facing dangerous open trails filled with noisy obstacles.
He's not sure if he can make it, but he has to at least try.
His own beacon is still shining, the only one apart from the red light of Saviour. He carefully checks it over; makes sure that everything is in working order and leaves it on, something that he's never done before in all the nights he's been lighting it.
He hopes that Saviour will see it, and that they'll get his message.
I'm here. I see you.
Less than 10 hours later, Jensen's barely slept, but he's walking barefoot along the sand path on his way towards Saviour. It's probably not the most sensible decision he's ever made, but it's now or never, and the latter isn't an option.
The woods are a strange place to be. The rustle of the wind through the trees gives it an eerie feel that always puts Jensen on edge; it's full of thick shadows that seem to skip like fairies in between the tall trees. There's no sound of birds, and honestly Jensen can't really remember the last time he heard any. Maybe they're all gone, hunted into extinction, or maybe they too are living a life of silence.
Jensen hears it before he sees it; the rush of falling water. This is one of the first sand paths he laid from the farm. He always came here as a child, and now it's become a necessity in a world of silence; eventually you need an outlet for all the emotions you have to silently store, burying it all deep down until it's safe to release it. Here you can scream, yell, cry, and do whatever you can to let out the frustrations of daily life.
He feels the tension in his body relax a little as the path rounds a corner and the waterfall comes into view. A tall rush of cascading water from the clifftop above, that crashes into a deep plunge pool before tumbling and bubbling over rocks and boulders. The closer he gets the louder it gets, and by the time he's walking along the water's edge the roar is deafening.
When he sees him, it takes a while for Jensen to believe his eyes; that there really is a tall dark-haired man, maybe mid to late twenties, standing by the edge of the river a little farther upstream. He's barefoot like Jensen, wearing worn jeans and a light grey t-shirt, and even from here he can tell that they're both blood-stained.
Jensen watches as the man tips his head up towards the sky and screams; sees the way his hands fist tightly, his nails biting into the skin of his palms, his arms rigid by his sides, his stomach tense with the strain, any sound immediately swallowed by the rushing roar of the water.
On the second scream the man's knees buckle, sinking into the wet mud from the spray of the waterfall. With his head in his hands, the man's back rises steeply with each deep breath he takes.
Jensen shouldn't be watching this; he's intruding into someone's private and personal space, viewing something that he has no right to see. He doesn't know this man, he doesn't know his story or what horrors he's witnessed, he doesn't even know his name, and yet he can't help but hope, that maybe, just maybe, this stranger could be his Saviour.
The sun is high in the blue sky, and Jensen's beacon is nowhere in sight. But it's possible, isn't it? That this man followed Jensen's beacon, looking for a safe haven; looking for Jensen. That somehow he managed to survive the swarm of the creatures, and got this far, less than a mile from Jensen's property.
He walks steadily towards the man, his arms raised and palms open, like he's trying not to spook a wild animal.
The man must sense Jensen's presence, because he lifts his head, pulling his hair from his face. Sitting back on his heels he turns to face Jensen.
Jensen stops walking, his palms still out and open, and nods a hello, and then gestures towards his farm, hoping that the man will understand. He's here to help.
Now that he's closer he can see that the man is shaking; whether that's from cold or shock, Jensen's not sure.
The man looks up at him, licking his dry lips, and nods, his hands flying around purposely, and it takes a while for to it to click with Jensen; sign language. Jensen shrugs, and shakes his head. He doesn't understand.
Jensen points at his ears, and then gestures at the man, trying to ask whether he's deaf, and to his surprise the man seems to understand him. He shakes his head, a flicker of horror visible on his face before he drops his gaze.
So maybe someone he knew was deaf; maybe someone he lost.
Jensen holds out his hand, and the man reaches for it, and Jensen pulls him up to his feet. The man looks exhausted in every way that a man can; his shoulders slumped with the weight of the world, his eyes bruised with lack of sleep, tears have streaked paths through the dirt on the man's face.
He stuffs something small and plastic into his jeans pocket, covering it with his large hand, like he's protecting it from harm. His gaze seems to fix on a point off into the distance, and Jensen can't help but wonder what is running through the man's mind.
Then he leans forward, right into Jensen, his lips brushing the shell of Jensen's ear.
“I'm Jared.”
Jensen nods, and then leans into Jared.
“Jensen.”
Their eyes meet and Jensen lets himself relax into it; takes his time to study the moles on Jared's face and the swirling colours of his eyes.
Jared leans further into him this time; his skin is cool and damp from the spray of the river, and Jensen tries not to stare at Jared's blood-stained clothes, tries not to notice that Jared doesn't have a injury that could bleed like that.
“I can't...I'm not-” Jared stops, lowering his head, and then huffs, blowing his hair from his face; it makes him look much younger than Jensen suspects he is.
“Are you the beacon that's still shining?”
His tone is soft, even over the raging river, but it seems heavy to Jensen; full of emotion and uncertainly. But maybe that's just Jensen. It's been a long time since he's seen another person, since he's talked to someone. It's overwhelming.
“Yeah, that's me. You should come with me; to my farm. It's safer there.”
Jared stares at him, his eyes piercing right through Jensen like it's as easy as breathing.
“You're alone.”
Jared's not asking a question, but Jensen nods anyway, wondering if that's obvious, that maybe Jensen's loss is written clearly on his face for all to see.
Jared nods, and Jensen turns around, heading back to the farm. Jared follows silently behind, sort of like he's resigned, and lost in his own head. A few times when Jensen turns around to check on him Jared is staring ahead, his expression blank, working on autopilot; simply surviving.
And for once, Jensen is grateful for the silence. It feels like they both need it right now.
The bunker isn't much to talk about, but it's underground, beneath the barn, and Jensen has padded it out with sound insulation that he found at the hardware store in town, so it's safe. Or at least, as safe as you can get these days.
It's a reasonably sized room with two sets of bunk beds placed on opposite sides of the off-white walls. The bottom bunk to the right is where Jensen sleeps, the bed is neatly made, and his stuff is crammed under the bunk, and stored on the top bunk too; mostly piles of neatly folded clothes and books.
There's a working tap and a small kitchenette with cupboards filled with various kitchenware, and food at the far end. By the door there's a small desk which houses his grandfather's old transistor radio that he's been trying to mend, and an old TV, and other bits and pieces that he's collected for no other reason than to keep him busy on long and lonely nights. There are tools too, some from the farm, others he collected from the hardware store. If he's honest he doesn't really have a head for this technical stuff, but he has plenty of time on his hands to learn.
This is Jensen's space, this is where he sleeps and stores his belongings, and he feels sort of weird sharing it with Jared, who's still standing in the doorway as Jensen moves into the room and places his backpack on his bed. Despite all the crap that has accumulated here, it feels empty and impersonal, and Jensen's never really thought about that until now.
Jared walks into the room, and carefully closes the door, and in that moment Jensen's hyper aware that there's a stranger in here, someone he really doesn't know at all. It should probably feel weirder than it does.
“Erm, you can take the spare bunk, and I'm sure I've got some clothes for you. I'm gonna check the farm and I'll pick some veggies for dinner. You can wash up here, and just use whatever you want. What's mine is yours, I guess.”
He whispers it; you can't be too careful. Jared looks out of place and sort of overwhelmed, like taking his shoes off might be too much for him right now.
“OK. Thank you.”
Jensen digs out an old shirt and some sweats, hands them to Jared along with a towel and a washcloth. He runs some water into the basin. It doesn't get hot; it's lukewarm but it'll have to do. In that moment, he can't help but wonder where Jared comes from. Is it some sort of mansion that has hot water, a shower, and an oven, and all the mod cons that Jensen's left behind out of necessity?
With a slightly awkward nod, Jensen leaves the bunker and heads up to farm. Nothing seems out of place, and he doesn't see any new tracks from the creatures, so he goes about his silent everyday chores; checking the vegetable garden, and picking what he needs for food, making mental notes that he'll need to do some laundry and get it hung out to dry, that he'll need to go to town and get some clothes for Jared, maybe some extra canned goods too as he needs to feed more than himself now.
It's a couple of hours before he heads back down to the bunker, and Jared didn't leave. There could be a million reasons why, and Jensen's head is filled with things he wants to know about this mystery man. Could he really be Saviour? And yet now really doesn't seem like the right time to pry and push for answers.
When he enters the bunker Jared's huddled over the desk, Jensen's old Henley stretched across his broad shoulders, his face a picture of concentration as he solders together wires, the room filled with the heady scent of melted metal.
Jared startles, like a child caught with his hands in a cookie jar.
“Shit. I, er, I hope this is OK, I just-”
Jensen smiles softy as Jared horrified expression. “Are you kidding? I have no idea what I'm doing, and if you can fix any of this, you're welcome to it.”
Jared sets down his tools, and turns on the small stool, uncurling his long legs that were somehow crammed under the desk. “The radio is pretty much fixed now. I just need a couple more minutes to-”
“Seriously? What are you-an engineering genius? I've been working on that for weeks and got nowhere.”
Jared ducks his head and scratches the back of his head. “No, not at all, but I've always been good with this kinda stuff, it just sort of makes sense to me. I was in college studying engineering before-”
Jared stops, and yeah, there's is no need to finish the rest. The world changed when the creatures came and there is no going back to how it used to be.
“There's more where that comes from if you're good at this stuff. I was thinking about setting up some sort of security system, with cameras around the property, so that I can keep an eye out for the creatures-” Jensen stops himself there, because damn, this isn't the time to mention them, not after whatever Jared's been through. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-”
Jared's sniffs, and looks down at the floor. “It's OK.”
Jensen takes a deep breath, unsure what he's supposed to do. Jared needs space and time, and he sure as hell doesn't need to tell Jensen what happened the other night, and to honest, Jensen really isn't the mood for sharing stories either. Maybe space is what they both need. “I'm just gonna get us some food; you must be starving, and then we can turn in for the night.”
They play around with the transistor radio for a bit, hopping channels and asking if there's anyone out there, but on one replies. Either it's not working properly, which Jensen doubts, or other than the beacons, there's just no one else out there, which Jensen doesn't want to think about.
They eat and the conversation is polite; they talk about what food they like, and what veggies Jensen grows and how he likes spending time in the garden. They agree that together they'll head into town tomorrow, to pick up clothes for Jared and some general supplies now that there are two of them. Jared asks about the hardware store and Jensen agrees to take him, and they tiptoe around any subjects that are too painful or personal.
Jared does the washing up, and Jensen dries and carefully puts everything in its place. They make Jared's bed up with some extras linens that Jensen has stored away, and it all feels very easy, like they've been doing it for years.
It isn't until Jensen's lying on his back in bed in the dark that it really hits him; he's not alone. He knew from the beacons that there were other people out there, but they all felt so far away, so unreal to Jensen, like a dream that could never be fulfilled.
But now Jared's here, and everything in Jensen's life is going to change and he just isn't sure if he's prepared for that.
“You saved my life today.” Jared whispers into the pitch-black room. “I'll never forget that.”
Jensen holds his breath, but Jared doesn't say anything else. He thinks about how if Jared wasn't here, he'd still be living his life in exactly the same way as before; desperately lonely, desperately craving a connection.
“Yeah, me too, Jared. Me too.”
Jensen's dreams all filled with creatures swarming the farmhouse like a plague of locusts. His ears are filled with the high-pitched screams and cries of his family calling for him. He jackknife’s awake, his heart pounding, cold and damp sheets glued to his skin.
He turns on the small oil lamp by his bed, and sees Jared sleeping soundly. Looking down at his watch, he sees it's still early, but Jensen needs to go to the farmhouse.
Barefoot, he quietly leaves the bunker and heads up and out of the barn. His feet sink into the soft sand of the all too familiar path that leads to the steps and the big wraparound porch of his childhood home.
In the dim light, he see that it's seen better days; the pale blue paint his mother chose is peeling off the walls, the windows are smeared in a thick layer of grime and some of the panes are cracked and broken.
Jensen walks up the stairs, feet following the yellow-painted marks so that he avoids all the creaks and loose floorboards; one careful foot at a time.
He steps silently into the hallway of the farmhouse; the stairs are in front of him, more
yellow-painted marks leading the quietest route to the second floor. He tries not to look at the claw marks that rip deep into the plastered walls up to the second floor.
He doesn't go up there. Not any more.
Jensen heads into the living room, again following the yellow marks on the once pristine oak floorboards that are now covered in dried leaves, twigs, dust and dirt.
Hung throughout the living room walls Jensen's past is laid out for him see, as the smiling faces of his family look down on him; his mom, his sister, and his grandparents. Silent snapshots capturing birthdays, vacations, and barbecues; a family once full of chatter and screams of delight, who sang under the stars along with the gentle riff of his grandfather's guitar, who yelled in anger and slammed doors after heated arguments, who cried because they laughed too hard.
If he closes his eyes Jensen knows he could hear it all; a haunting echo of a past that he can't leave behind.
Jensen runs his fingers over the glass on the photograph in front of him; imagines it's his mom's face he can feel under his fingertips, the soft curls of his sister's hair, or the coarse stubble of his grandfather's beard.
I'm so sorry.
It's not quite a whisper, more like his mouth miming the syllables. It hurts too much to come here, and yet he can't stay away; sometimes he just needs to see them, especially if he's been dreaming.
Jensen blinks away the tears building behind his eyes and pushes all the hurt, grief, and guilt deep down. He can't do this here, it's too risky.
He turns around and sees Jared in the hallway, bare feet standing on yellow painted marks. His hair is a little wild from sleep, and Jensen's clothes are definitely too small for him; Jensen's sweat pants cut Jared's shins in half, an old band t-shirt stretched over Jared's chest. It'd be funny if Jared didn't look so heartbroken, so horrified. He spins around and leaves before Jensen can stop him.
It comes from the steps at the front of the house; a muffled yelp of pain that sounds so loud it almost doesn't seem real. Jensen's heart is racing so loud it sounds like base drums in his head.
Jensen's in the generous hallway of the farmhouse before he really knows what he's doing, his gaze searching for Jared who is frozen to the spot halfway down the steps, his body twisted sideways, one hand plastered over his mouth, the other around his foot, bright red blood dribbling over his knuckles and spilling in fat drops onto the wood of the steps.
Then Jared's whole body goes as rigid as a board, and then Jensen sees it; the sway of corn in the field as it parts and a creature emergences from the corn. It stalks towards them on four spiked legs, its large head raised high as it follows the echo of Jared's cry of pain.
Jared's terrified eyes meet Jensen, and he sees so much in that moment that it's hard to process it all; horror, pain, guilt, an apology, a goodbye.
The creature is at the bottom of the stairs; its ugly face turned up to the sky like it's sniffing out the sound of them. It moves closer to Jared, until it's nearly face to face with him, and just when Jensen is about to slam his eyes closed, unable to watch, the creature cowers away, scuttling back on its legs, it's body visibly shaking as it shrinks farther and farther away from them.
Then it's running away, legs as unstable as a newborn calf, disappearing into the woodland until it's nowhere in sight.
Jensen can't quite believe what he just saw, but there's no time to ponder it here, out in the open. He hurries towards Jared, shoving his shoulder under Jared's armpit, and taking as much of his weight as he can, his hand gripping Jared's waist, his skin overheated.
They hobble down the stairs, and that's when Jensen sees the rusty nail poking out the floorboard, surrounded by a pool of Jared's blood. After that it's all a bit of blur, both of them stumbling across the sand paths on full alert until they get into the barn, awkwardly pulling open the door to the safety of the bunker.
It isn't until Jensen's helped Jared onto his bed that he collapses onto his own, loose-limbed and exhausted. They're sitting opposite each other, stunned into silence, chests heaving and hearts still racing like they've ran a marathon.
“What the hell just happened?” It's still just above a whisper, but Jensen's tone is tense.
“I'm not sure.” Jared looks deep in thought, his brow creased with it, like he's trying to solve a problem. Then he hisses, and bends down to look at his foot. There are blood-red footprints all over the grey cement floor of the bunker.
Jensen stands and retrieves the well-stocked first aid kit from under the sink in the kitchenette. “Jared, if you know something then you need to tell me.”
Jared sits up, his face a little pale. “I just need some time; to think it all through. But I'll tell you, Jensen. I'll tell you everything.”
They hole up in the bunker for the rest of day and night. It's not worth the risk of heading out there now; not after a close call like that. There's enough food in the kitchen for the both of them, plus Jensen has emergency provisions squirrelled away, just in case.
Jensen takes care of Jared's foot; flushes it out, and wipes it clean with antibacterial wipes and then smears on a thick layer of antibacterial cream just be safe. It's a deep wound; Jared's full weight must have been on that nail. He's going to have to keep an eye on it; they can't afford for it get infected.
He covers the wound with a bandage and then wraps it up with stark white gauze, clapping a hand on Jared's leg when he's finished. “You're a good patient. Barely flinched.”
“Yeah, well, I was clumsy kid, always getting into scrapes.” Jared huffs, his lips curling into a half smile. “I guess some things don't change.”
After that Jared spends a lot of quiet time at the desk, fingers busy with wires and tools, his face all screwed up in concentration, his huge body somehow huddled over the tiny desk. He's working on something that he pulled out of his pocket, but Jensen doesn't ask any questions; he hopes that Jared will tell him when he's ready.
Neither of them can face food until the evening, and they make up some kind of casserole, filled with of tins of beans, various spices, and leftovers. It's actually pretty good.
They're both reading on their bunks, Jared's bandaged foot elevated on a pillow, when Jared quietly asks; “Those picture in the house; they were of your family?”
“Yeah.” He wants to say more, but the words just don't come. He looks at Jared with a silent apology, but all he sees is understanding on his face.
“I should never have invaded your personal space like that.” Jared takes a deep breath. “I don't know what I was thinking. I'm so sorry.”
“It's OK.” Jensen shrugs his shoulders.
“But then I almost got you killed.”
“Well, we're both still here, so no apologies needed.”
“Jensen, I-” He huffs, pushing the hair away from his face. He looks agitated, like he wants to say something, but can't find the right words. He shakes his head in frustration.
Their gazes meet across the bunk beds, and Jensen wishes he could read Jared's mind, hear all the things that he wants to say, maybe find some answers to all the questions that Jensen has. It would make this easier on both of them
They don't talk much after that, and it isn't until Jensen turns off the oil lamp, lying motionless in the dark and willing the image of that creature looming down on Jared to disappear, that he hears Jared whisper into the dark.
“I had a brother. His name was Cole. It was just the two of us.”
There's a pause, but Jensen doesn't say anything; if this is helping Jared, if this is how he wants to do this; then so be it.
“He's gone because of me.”
The words hang heavy in pitch black of the bunker; weighing Jensen down like the all too familiar foe of his own guilt.
Jensen doesn't sleep well that night, and judging by the tossing and turning and the squeak of hinges on Jared's neighbouring bed, neither does he.
Part Two