The Anvil, Jensen/Jared 7/21
[ * * * ]
scene depicting torture
scene depicting torture
When Jensen regained consciousness, he lay on a hard cot, his face mashed into a thin ratty pillow. Wolf howled, indignant and confused by everything going on. Easy, boy, he thought, trying to calm his beast. He didn’t want to alert his captors that he was conscious until he’d had a chance to assess his situation. Eventually, Wolf got onboard with the idea and retreated.
Keeping his eyes closed, he listened, trying to take in his surroundings. It was dead quiet and whatever space he was in was cold, the thin mattress beneath him hard. He inhaled: no other scents than his in the immediate vicinity. Carefully, he opened his eyelids a crack.
He was in a grey cell, one dim light illuminating the space. He saw a metal bunkbed across from him. His throat was parched, his lips cracked from however long he’d been unconscious. As he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bumped up against something cold and hard around his neck— a collar.
Memory slowly began to return. He had been in the Rover… with Omundson… he wasn’t… some kind of interrogation or examination room… they had stripped him down… He remembered Omundson’s cruel smile through the bulletproof glass. Frak! He was well and truly fracked.
Sudden clanging on bars above his head made him jerk. “Wakey, wakey, Marshal! The Director wants to see you.”
Jensen had been so preoccupied with his thoughts, he hadn’t heard or scented the guard’s approach. He turned his head blearily, unused to the weight clamped around his neck.
The guard had a contemptuous look on his face as he shoved an orange bundle through a wider slot in the barred doors. “You’ve got five minutes to change into your prison issue.”
Jensen craned his neck to watch the guard stroll back down the hall. With a groan he pushed to sitting. He was on the bottom bunk of a set of bunkbeds. There was a toilet and, more importantly right now, a sink and faucet in the corner. He staggered over to it and turned on the water. It came out icy. He groaned as he splashed water over his face and with his hands took gulping mouthfuls of the stuff until his thirst finally felt sated.
When he straightened, absolute fatigue washed over him and he had to steady himself by grabbing the sink. It was like he had gone ten rounds in the ring with a giant gorilla and lost.
He tried to focus. Maybe it was the silver around his neck… or the radiation. Maybe they hadn’t given him any radiation meds yet? Whatever it was, something was sucking the life out of him.
He gathered up the bundle the guard had dropped on the floor. An orange coveralls bundled around some personal hygiene items. Spare underwear, a toothbrush and toothpaste, toilet paper, a well-washed towel, a t-shirt, and a pair of black sandals.
He knew he was at a crossroads here. He could fight right now and probably end up beaten and dragged in front of the Director anyway, or he could go with the flow, obey and dress as requested, until he had the lay of the land. He thought about his options for a moment. The Director already knew he was a Were, and an alpha at that. And imprisoned on the Rez, he would be in a dangerous, despised position as probably the only Marshal here. He may as well face the coming storm head-on.
Decision made, Jensen stripped off his black shirt and t-shirt and jeans, folding them in a neat stack on the bed. He kept his own underwear. The coveralls were a reasonable fit, as were the sandals. He tucked his hygiene products and spare clothing under the rough blanket on the cot that he’d been lying on and took one more long drink of water.
He wondered how long he’d been unconscious, and what was happening in Munter’s Gorge, if Jared was safe. Safekeeping was one of the first things Jeff had told him about after he had settled in. He wanted Jensen to understand the stakes living as a free Were entailed. The Iron Ridge pack had had an evacuation plan in place for almost as long as they had been in Munter’s Gorge, each Alpha fine-tuning and updating the plan.
Jensen had been both relieved and impressed at how detailed the plan was, up to and including owning a huge tract of land in Manitoba, south of the Clay River packs. He could only hope it wouldn’t come to that. But now, with Jensen’s capture, who knew how far Omundson would go to root out more Weres in Munter’s Gorge.
He didn’t actually remember if he said anything to Omundson that would give anyone in the pack away. Goddess knew what he might have already babbled under the drugs he’d been on. Or maybe the interrogation hadn’t even begun yet. Jensen could only wait and see.
He heard the guard returning, smelled his scent of too little deodorant, beer, and unwashed flesh, the clink of shackles in his hand. He made sure his expression was blank. He didn’t want to show the curl of disgust he felt.
“Turn and back up to the door. Hands through the opening.” The guard’s voice was bored. He’d done this a thousand times before.
Jensen did as directed. He felt the burn as the silver embedded shackles snapped round his wrists. There was barely any play between the cuffs.
“Take four steps forward and stop.” Once Jensen had complied, the guard tapped his headset. “Open cell D-7.”
The door clicked, and the guard swung it open. He came up behind Jensen and attached something to his cuffs. “No funny business. Move, out of the cell.”
Jensen turned, stepped out into the hall, and stopped. He was in the last cell of a small and tired-looking cell block. The thing on his cuffs turned out to be a length of chain which the guard was holding firmly in his hand.
“Stay to your left and proceed until we come to the end of the block.”
Jensen did as ordered, the guard following and holding the chain leash. He was in a small cell block that at some point had held Weres, but the scent was old, the Weres long gone.
“Nice little place you got here. Very homey.”
The guard smashed him on the side of the head with a baton, driving Jensen to a knee at the surprise attack.
“You shut your mouth, Were. You got no rights here. You only breathe because I say you can. You feel me?”
Jensen straightened and spat out a wad of blood right beside the guard’s boot. “Copy that.” Unable to use his hands, he staggered to his feet. The guard shoved him toward the end of the hall.
At the cell block gate the guard clicked his headset again, “Open main door, Cell block D.”
There was a warning buzz and a flashing light before the door opened. Two armed guards in full riot gear and head shields appeared on the other side of the door with guns raised. A third guard stood in the middle, waiting for the handoff.
“This is the piece of shit the Director’s waiting for. Watch him, he’s got training.” Jensen’s guard handed the leash off to the middle guard.
His new escorts led Jensen down a series of corridors, passing at least three passcard-secured doors. The building was old, pre-war if Jensen had to guess. But in spite of the rundown feel of the place, all the security gates had been updated to a heavy, Were-proof grade. Jensen made note of the code as the guard typed it in, not even trying to shield his actions from Jensen. If he could get ahold of a passcard and a code he might be halfway out of here
After more grey, poorly lit hallways, they brought him to a cinderblock room with a strangely modified steel chair bolted to the floor in the center of the room. Again, he noticed the red-eyed glow of a camera light on the ceiling. They shoved Jensen into it and snapped cuffs closed around his ankles. There was an opening in the back of the chair that allowed his shackled hands to fit through, so there was no need to uncuff him. Next, they swung one steel band attached on one side of the chair across his chest and latched it on the other side, then another across his thighs, holding him in place. Lastly, they clipped his collar to the back of the chair, effectively pinning him in place. The low-level burn he felt told him there was more than enough silver in the metal restraints to ensure he couldn’t use Were strength to break free. Wolf whined in protest, pacing restlessly.
“Is he secured?” A familiar voice came over the speakers.
“Yes, sir.”
The speaker went dead, and Jensen took a moment to glance around. The room was almost completely bare, just the three guards and a medical technician of some kind standing nervously by the wall beside a med cart. No chairs other than his. Two security cameras were mounted on the ceiling, one in front of him and one to the side. The red light glowing on the top of the camera indicated he was being recorded.
A few seconds later the Bureau Director Omundson sauntered into the room, followed by Sheppard, the Warden of the Big Horn Reservation.
Omundson simply stood there, staring at Jensen.
“I’m surprised you’ll step in the same room with me,” Jensen said dryly. One of the guards immediately backhanded him. Jensen’s head snapped sideways with the blow. He spit another mouthful of blood, this time at the Director’s feet, and had the satisfaction of making the man step backwards. “Of course, all the chains and guards to protect you must make a difference.”
“Hit that snarky bugger again. He needs to show the Director some respect!” Sheppard snarled, and the guard let loose.
Jensen’s head crashed against the back of the chair, and his vision went dark for a moment. When things came back into focus, he rolled his shoulder and spit out another gob of blood. He felt around in his mouth, checking for loose teeth. He straightened and stared at Sheppard. “Yeah, respect. Like how you respect the Weres in this compound. Poisoning them or pimping them out for money. They aren’t animals, they’re people.”
“Some would beg to differ,” Omundson said dryly. “You used to be people, Marshal, but then you stopped being that and started being them. When did it happen, Marshal? When were you turned, and by whom?”
“The little twerp was in here only a year ago. I showed him some of our best stuff. Surely, he wasn’t a Were then,” Sheppard whined; his voice panicky.
Omundson waved the two guards on either side of Jensen out of the way, pacing around him.
“I’ll get the answer out of you, one way or the other. Tell me.”
“It’s no great secret.” Jensen tried to shrug, but his chains prevented it. “A moment’s carelessness, and suddenly I was going hairy under the full moon.”
“How, exactly?”
“The last Were I tracked, Ty Olson. The hunt went sideways, and he got the drop on me. One little scratch. No one tells you the silver meds can fail. I decided after visiting the Rez that it wasn’t where I wanted to spend the rest of my days. Can you blame me?” The lie slipped easily from his tongue. It was so close to the truth it could easily have been true, and those, Jensen knew, were the best kind of lies.
“Interesting. Truth is, I’ve had my suspicions about you, Marshal. Your sudden desire to retire seemed out of character. I just never thought you would be a traitor to your race. I’ve read your file. I don’t understand how you could side with these… things. After what they did to your family? How could you dishonour their memory so easily? Have you no shame? And of course, there’s the fact that you couldn’t possibly have done this all on your own. I want to know who helped you.”
Jensen’s mouth tightened at the mention of his family. Omundson could never understand. “No one helped me,” he said.
Omundson waved a hand, and one of the guards stepped forward and hit Jensen again.
“Who helped you?”
Jensen smirked; he could taste the blood on his teeth. “You don’t think every Marshal out there doesn’t have friends in low places that he can get help from? Yeah, I got a little help, but most of it was all me. After all these years hunting them, I know enough about Weres and their habits to avoid being discovered.”
Omundson waved his hand again, and the guard struck him in the face.
“You might not be as pretty after this,” Omundson warned.
One eye was already swelling shut. “Fuck you,” Jensen replied without heat and closed his remaining eye just before the guard took another swing.
“How is it, Marshal, that you were taken in wearing skin tech that is used almost exclusively by gold and diamond mines? Who are these friends in low places?”
“Oh, you know, off the internet.”
The next blow caught him in the gut.
“And this boyfriend of yours, Jared… Padalecki, is he a Were?”
Jensen tried not to freeze up. Omundson even knew Jared’s name. “More of a friends with benefits arrangement.”
“Does he know you’re a Were?”
“I don’t think he has any idea.”
“How did you explain your knot?”
“He’s a simple country boy. I told him it was a birth defect.” Jensen laughed cruelly. “All he really cared about was getting fucked, hard and often. I obliged.”
“What a gentleman.”
Jensen smirked.
“So, you don’t talk to this Jared about your being a Were. What about Williams? He’s almost like a father to you. Did you tell him?”
“Why would I tell a senior captain in the Bureau for Hunters Affairs that I’m suddenly a Were?”
“Hmm. Curious, that. The most important change in your life since the death of your family, and you had no one you could reach out to talk about it to, or get advice from? Not your former friends in Dallas, who haven’t heard from you since you moved out. Did you really shed your old life like a skin and never look back? No contact with anyone at all? Really, Marshal, you expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t care what you believe. You’re not going to let me out of this hellhole anytime soon. What more can you do to me?”
“Oh, there’s a lot we can do, my friend,” Sheppard interjected, clearly impatient at the slow pace of the interrogation.
Wolf’s snarl slipped out before Jensen could stop it. Clearly, Wolf was not a fan of Sheppard.
Omundson gestured for the man to be silent.
“So, you’re saying Captain Williams, whom you’ve been friends with for years, didn’t know?”
“No.”
“What about this Sheriff who offered you a job so quickly. Is he a Were as well? Tell us what you know.”
“Beaver’s not a Were.”
“Yet he hired you almost instantly. What kind of hold did you have on him?”
Jensen snorted in derision. “Nothing. Have you seen the calibre of the local cops and security around here?” Jensen cast a meaningful gaze at the two guards. “They’re all yokels. Beaver almost pulled something, trying to recruit a real professional onto his force. The man wants to retire soon and leave the town in good hands.”
Omundson laughed out loud. “And you think that would be you?”
Jensen stayed silent.
Like a dog with a bone, Omundson returned to his questioning. “You didn’t answer, does Beaver know you’re a Were?”
“No.”
“Are Williams and Beaver Weres?”
“If you think Williams and Beaver are Weres, boy, are you barking up the wrong tree.”
“Why is Williams making so many trips to Munter’s Gorge suddenly?”
“You should ask him, not me.” Jensen eyed Omundson through his one good eye. The Director was growing red in the face. He ran his hand through his beard and motioned to the guard. The time the guard punched Jensen in the ribs. Jensen heaved and gasped for air.
“Are Williams and Beaver Weres?” Another blow, then another. All the while, Omundson methodically circled him like a great silver bird, repeating the questions again and again punctuated by blows to the face and gut.
Inside him Wolf was howling in rage, railing against not being able to shift and tear out these humans’ throats. The pain of his attempts to take over was almost as bad as the pain Omundson was inflicting.
“You ever wonder how you’d turn out?” Jensen coughed, barely able to get his breath, “If you were turned, I mean? You’d make a pretty Were yourself. All that silver hair.”
Omundson turned to the med tech standing near the door. “Get the shot ready. We’re getting nowhere.”
Omundson asked Sheppard to join him outside, leaving Jensen alone with the guards and the tech.
The tech rolled his cart next to Jensen and turned to the guards. “Unbutton his coveralls for me, will you?” he said as he turned to gather supplies. One guard reached and yanked Jensen’s coveralls open and ripped the collar of his t-shirt down to mid chest, while the other used scissors to cut down his coveralls sleeve, exposing his left arm. Jensen growled, “Easy on the t-shirt, you ass, you guys only gave me one.” The guard snickered as Jensen thrashed against his bonds as the tech calmly put sensors on his forehead and chest. A monitor on his cart flickered to life, as Jensen’s heart rate tracked across the screen. The tech nodded and said, “Okay, we’re good.” The guards stepped back as he prepared a syringe, but instead of injecting it, he only laid it on a clean tray on the cart and then stepped back.
During this brief reprieve, Jensen let his head slump forward as far as the collar would allow and tried to rest and concentrate on calming Wolf. His whole body hurt, inside and out. The silver embedded in his bindings prevented his body from healing as fast as it should. He tried to focus on the future. This place couldn’t hold him. Soon, he would be back with Jared, back with his friends. Wolf whimpered in agreement. Soon… all he had to do was hold on.
He startled awake when he felt a needle slide into his arm. “No, no…”
“Relax, Marshal.” Omundson’s falsely soothing voice filled his ear. “We’ve made some new developments at the Bureau since you retired. Meet Silvex, our newest interrogation drug. You should start to feel its effects shortly. Once you do, it should speed things up immeasurably.”
Jensen squeezed his eyes shut as the drug shot through his system. He wanted to scream; it felt like liquid fire. The burning sensation went on and on and on. He was sweating like crazy, his whole body shaking as the drug ravaged through him, the pain building. What kind of drug was this?
Then he realized maybe the pain was the point. The pain wouldn’t stop until Omundson got the answers he wanted. Jensen wasn’t even sure the pain would stop then. There probably wasn’t even an antidote. It wasn’t the Bureau’s style to worry about the Were. It would only wear off in its own good time. Jensen hung grimly onto that fact as the agony mounted.
“Again, how many people know you’re a Were?” Omundson’s voice now sounded like a record played at half speed. Probably what made the pain seem so intense. Everything was slowed down, a pain-filled, psychedelic ride.
“I told you, no one,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice slurred and slow.
The blow from the guard was in slow-motion as well. Jensen watched unblinking as the fist launched toward his ribs. He could almost see the impacting judder of his skin as it made contact and then slowly retreated.
Was he going insane?
“What about Winters? Did you kill him so I wouldn’t learn about you and your friends when I interviewed him?”
“I wasn’t even in the building. I have no idea who killed Winters,” Jensen ground out through the pain.
“What about your boyfriend, Jared. Does he know you’re a Were?”
“No, I told you,” Jensen huffed, panting, his words rolling out of his mouth at half speed. He blinked, he couldn’t keep up, and the pain kept spiraling. Wolf whined, running in circles. Jensen felt queasy, the combination of the drug and Wolf’s discomfort all too much.
“How did you get access to the skin tech?”
“The internet.” Jensen clenched his teeth as the burning sensation concentrated in his chest. The fire was eating its way to his heart. It felt like his chest was going to crack open and explode. He couldn’t catch his breath, and it had nothing to do with the blows raining down on his ribs and gut. The fire was a burning glow; he could almost see it through the exposed skin of his chest. He was burning, burning alive. He choked, gasping from the heat. Wolf panicked, and Jensen along with him. He tipped his head up and howled at the top of his lungs, thrashing wildly.
The panicky voice of the tech who injected the drug floated over him. “Sir, something’s wrong. I’ve never seen the drug work like this.”
“He’s faking. He’ll talk when the pain gets bad enough.” Omundson’s voice was cool, confident.
The tech checked his machine and shook his head. “Sir, his heart rate is through the roof. He’s going to stroke out if we don’t do something!”
Everyone’s voices got slower and slower, until he couldn’t put together what they were saying anymore. All he could feel was pain in this slow motion, unending hell. Pain blotted out everything. The only respite he had was a cool sensation pouring into his heart. It tried to spread, but the molten hell was eating away at it as fast as it tried to branch out. Maybe his heart would give out soon and put an end to it all. That was one sure way to escape. Not the way he’d hoped, but better than this. At least that way, Jared and Jim and Williams and the rest of the pack would be safe. Jensen and Wolf kept howling; it was the only thing that helped, Wolf roiling inside him, hurting as badly as he did. As he howled, he thought he could see the waves of heat flowing out of his mouth like ribbons. They rippled up into the air, dissipating in the room.
There was a second sharp jab in his arm, and then darkness.
Jared woke up screaming. Pain was flowing through every part of his body. He clutched his chest; it literally felt like someone had dipped his ribs in acid, eating its way to his heart. Vaguely he sensed Jeff barrel across the room, yelling his name. But Jared howled. It seemed the only thing that eased any of the pain.
Jeff pulled the sleeping bag off him and was touching him all over, looking for a wound. “Jared, my God, what’s wrong? Where are you hurt?” Jeff pulled him into his arms. “Jared, say something, I can’t find a wound anywhere. What’s going on? Kim, find Dr. Darcy. Get him here as fast as you can.”
Jared didn’t hear any of it. He was trying to narrow in on the source of the pain. It was radiating from his heart. He followed as it flowed into his bond with Jensen and out of his body in a long golden thread. He reached out, following the thread far beyond the cave or the mountains. He followed it across country, zooming over the trees and fields. It grew harder and harder to go farther, the pain like a blowtorch burning him more and more as he got closer. Jensen! Jensen was in trouble! His life was in danger. Jared tried to shove energy across the bond, praying that by the time it reached his mate, it wouldn’t be too weak to do any good.
He kept moving energy, working until he could barely stay conscious. Then suddenly the link snapped, and Jared was sent tumbling, falling, spinning through the air until he finally snapped back into his body— alone. The link was dead. What had just happened? Had he just witnessed his mate’s death? Jared’s mind reeled. The amount of energy he had been able to send had obviously not been enough.
Jared sagged into Jeff’s arms, utterly exhausted, emotionally and physically.
“Jared, talk to me. Are you okay? What just happened?”
Jared opened pain-filled eyes. He was so tired he couldn’t form more than “Jensen” before he passed out.
“What’s wrong with him? We’ve used Silvex before to great effect.” From far away, Jensen heard Omundson ranting as the tech worked over him.
“Works with most Weres, Director. For a small minority, the effect was exactly this, devastating. Our theory is that the Silvex triggers an allergic reaction in these Weres. If we hadn’t administered the antidote when we did, he would be dead now.”
“Just great. The one Were I need it to work on. Do we have any alternatives? A lesser dose?”
“No, sir. At this point, his body would go into shock if we administered even a small amount. I’m afraid you are left with the traditional methods.”
“Fine. Take him back to his cell. We’ll start over tomorrow.”
“But, sir, he might not be ready tomorrow.”
“I don’t care.”
Jensen faded in and out of consciousness. When he woke up again, he was in his cot back in cell block D.
He tried to sit up, but he simply didn’t have the strength. Frak. Once again, he was dying of thirst. What he wouldn’t give to have a glass of water.
There was movement to his right. Someone was hovering over him. Jensen tried to pull back, but he had nowhere to go.
“It’s okay, it’s alright. I’m a friend, one of the few you’ve got in here. I’ve got water. Could you manage to drink?”
Jensen forced his eyelids open a crack. A blurry orange jumpsuit hovered over him, the vague impressions of a tall older Were, a beta with black curly hair and a beard. He licked dry lips as the man lifted him enough to hold a cup to his mouth. As the cold liquid slipped into his mouth, Jensen moaned in relief.
“Too much, sorry.”
Jensen managed to grab his hand and hold it in place.
“Oh, I gotcha. Drink as much as you want, just take it slow. I don’t want you to get sick.”
He nodded and forced himself to slow down. He kept drinking. It felt like a gushing stream, but in reality, it was probably only a few sips. Finally exhausted, he pushed the glass away.
“Done for now? Okay, just grunt, move a hand, anything, and I’ll give you more. I’ll be right here.” The man said gently, laying him back down on his thin pillow and adjusting the blankets over him.
Jensen slipped into dreamless sleep.
Dr. Darcy removed her stethoscope from Jared’s chest with a sigh. “I don’t know what to say, Jared. There are no signs of any permanent harm, yet from what the Alpha said, there is no doubt you were in great pain.”
“It was Jensen,” Jared said firmly. He was lying in his sleeping bag, propped against the wall by a mass of spare sleeping bags that Dylan must have collected. Dylan, Kim, Dr. Darcy, and the Alpha all gathered around him, worried looks on their faces.
“You felt him through the bond?” Jeffrey was looking at him, the only one in the room to really believe him, he could tell. “Could you sense where he was? Anything about him?”
Jared shook his head, tears brimming in his eyes at his obvious failure. “No, he was so far away I couldn’t even get to him. But he was in pain; he was dying. I don’t know, when the link broke, do you think he died? Did I just feel my mate’s death?”
“Don’t jump to any conclusions, Jared. If Jensen was in as much pain as you were, he may just have passed out. That would have broken the link,” Kim offered, squeezing Jared’s hand.
“It’s almost unbelievable that you could sense him at all. His last known location was near the Big Horn Reservation. Jared, no one in our recorded history has ever been able to link to a mate even a tenth of that distance. What you’ve done is amazing.” Jeff rubbed his shoulder. “Jensen’s a fighter. I think it’s what Kim said; he may just have passed out. That would explain the sudden break.”
“I need to go to him. Get him out of there.”
“And we will, just as soon as we know more. You’ve just got to be strong a little while longer.”
Just then, Jared’s burner phone buzzed. Jeff picked it up off the niche in the cave wall that Jared had left it on. “Mind if I take this? I’ll put it on speaker.”
Jared nodded. He was too exhausted to manage any of this.
“Mac, here.” Jeff used the code word they’d worked out to talk among themselves when on the burner phones.
Williams’ distinctive drawl came over the phone, “Hey, it’s Darius calling. I wanted to let you know I don’t think Henry is going to make it home today. The flight’s delayed, and his boss wants him to stick around a while longer.”
Jeff looked over at Jared, his expression grim. “That’s too bad. Any idea when his next flight will be?”
Williams replied, “Looks like it may be a while. I hear there’s a storm coming your way, and that’s not helping the flights, either. Everything’s going to be socked in. The snow is supposed to hit from two fronts is what I’m hearing.”
“Damn,” Jeff breathed.
“So, you folks better huddle up and get to cover, too. No one messes with Mother Nature.”
“You’re so right. We’ll do that. If storms like these keep coming, we might not see you till spring.” Jeff chuckled, but his face was dead serious.
“Well, stay safe. I’ll be thinking of you. And if I hear any more updates on Henry, I’ll call.”
“Thanks, Darius. You be careful out there, too.”
“I aim to.” The line went dead.
“Damn,” Jeff growled, holding the phone so hard the plastic began to creak. He instantly eased off. “So, we’re going to get hit by both the Marshals and the military. God damn.”
Kim rubbed Jeff’s arm. “At least we evacuated in time. And I checked with Pepper, who’s on shift at the entrance; the snow is coming down thick and heavy. It should definitely bury our tracks.”
“Good. That’s one less worry.” Jeff shook his head. “William’s call confirms Omundson really does have Jensen. I hoped they were simply delayed, but this settles it.” Jeff squeezed Jared’s shoulder. “What I said, though, still stands. Omundson is not stupid. He wouldn’t just kill Jensen, maybe torture him, that must have been what you felt just now, but he wouldn’t kill him. It would be too much of an admission of defeat that a Were got the best of him.” Jeff stood up. “I’m sorry, I have to go warn Osric and Jim and brief all my lieutenants. I’ll be back as soon as I take care of this.”
“Go. I’ll be all right. You’ve got a pack to take care of.”
“I can stay with him!” Dylan offered.
“That would be wonderful, son. I’d really appreciate that.”
Jared smiled weakly at Dylan and then turned to Kim and Jeff. “Yes, go, both of you. I’m in good hands.”
Jeff patted Dylan on the back as he left, his whole face beaming with pride.
After they left, Dylan turned to Jared and said, “So, anything you’d like?”
“Could you get me some water, please? I’m dying of thirst.”
Jensen woke. Still groggy, he tried to sit up, but his hands and feet were cuffed in place on some kind of bed. Someone, dressed in white, maybe a doctor, was checking his heart.
“His heartbeat is still irregular. Keep giving him fluids, and I’ll get the kitchen to send down soup and crackers. He needs to regain his strength.”
Behind the doctor, someone else said, “Yes, sir.” He thought he recognized that voice.
The doctor left grumbling something about ”Savages” and ”Gonna kill him” as he left.
Jensen was in the same cell he’d woken up in earlier, but with the doctor present, he had been cuffed to his bed. A guard still remained inside the cell, while another had a gun pointing through the bars at his head.
“No sudden moves, or he’ll blast your head off,” the guard cautioned, nodding toward the guard outside the cell, before he began removing the manacles from Jensen’s bruised and bleeding wrists and ankles. What surprised Jensen was that he did it gently, careful not to tear the skin more than it already was. He didn’t get a good look at both their faces, but Jensen inhaled deeply. He wanted to remember this one.
After finishing up, the guard set a red case down on the cot across from Jensen. “Here’s a first aid kit. Clean and wrap those wounds up. We don’t want him losing a limb to infection.” Jensen blinked, his eyesight clearing. He could see the older Were from before standing spread-eagled, both hands against the wall. Clearly, some kind of Were/cell protocol.
“Yes, sir,” The Were replied as the guards left. Once they were gone, the inmate finally broke position and approached Jensen. “Water?”
Jensen nodded, licking his lips. He was still weak. Everything hurt, but the removal of the manacles helped. That much less silver eating away at his energy.
“Was that the welcome committee?” Jensen commented when the Were returned with his water.
The older Were smiled, “Jaeger’s okay, but Smitty’s a sadist. You don’t want to be in his gun sights for long; his finger tends to twitch. Think you can sit up on your own?”
Jensen tried to shove upright, but his limbs were like rubber.
“I’m Casson, by the way, Brad Casson. I don’t think I introduced myself before. You were kinda out of it.” Casson set the cup of water down to help Jensen up so he was able to lean against the back wall of his cot. Then he held the cup to Jensen’s mouth. This time, Jensen drained it in one gulp. “Thirsty, right? The Silvex does that. I’ll get you more.”
“Thanks. I’m Jensen, Jensen Ackles.”
“Yeah, we know, the whole Rez knows. The ‘always gets his man, Marshal, that turned Alpha’. You’re a bit of a living legend around here. Of course, there’s a lot of folks that you sent here over the course of your illustrious career that would like to make you just a legend, if you know what I mean?”
Casson returned with another cup of water. Jensen raised the cup to his mouth this time, with only a little help from Casson.
Casson leaned in and said quietly, “Of course, I’m also one of the few Weres in here who knows you helped break out fifty of us a couple weeks back. But I can’t let that information get out, or Sheppard would blow a gasket.”
“You know?” Jensen only mouthed this.
Casson kept his head close to Jensen’s ear. “I’m one of the betas that is working for the Resistance. I helped supply some of the details that got you in.”
Jensen nodded. “Appreciated.”
Jensen leaned back, thirst finally quenched, but utterly exhausted. “So, what happens next?”
“My guess is they’ll interrogate you the old-fashioned way since the Silvex didn’t work. And then once they finally decide they’ve wrung you dry, you’ll be put to work in the mines like the other alphas. Maybe even in the ring, if you’re a good fighter.”
“Just like that?”
“Yeah, Sheppard likes to keep shaking his money tree. It wasn’t enough to simply have a bordello of unwilling omegas; he’s got a fighting ring of alphas, too. Next step I heard is legalized pay-per-view.”
Jensen nodded. “Yeah, so did I.” Jensen leaned forward, keeping his voice lowered, “Any progress getting cameras in there?”
Casson glanced toward the hall before moving closer, and mouthed, “Soon.”
“Speaking of cameras, I thought I saw cameras in the ceilings of both rooms they interrogated me in. What’s that about?”
“Sheppard. He’s kind of fanatical about keeping an eye on everyone and everything going on here. He’s got a bank of monitors in his office, sits and watches them at all hours. There are cameras everywhere throughout the main buildings.”
Jensen felt his eyebrows rise. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
They heard footsteps coming from down the hall. Casson quickly grabbed the med kit and opened some gauze, and gently wiped Jensen’s wrists down with iodine.
It was Smitty, escorting a Were carrying a lunch tray. As the Were passed the tray through a slot in the cell door, the guard grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Lunch,” he said with a maniacal grin before he spat in Jensen’s soup. The guard released the Were’s arm so he could hand the tray over to Casson. Neither the Were nor Casson said anything.
Laughing, the guard escorted the Were back down the hall.
Casson looked dismayed, but Jensen simply reached out for the chicken noodle soup, which was still hot. “I’ve eaten worse. And I’m sure it’s not the last time.” He spooned most of the spittle onto the paper napkin on the tray before digging in.
Casson nodded. “We’ll finish cleaning you up after you’re done.” He retreated to the other bunk and lay down, folding his hands behind his head and closing his eyes.
Pushing back his revulsion, Jensen swallowed more of the soup. As the food hit his stomach, he realized he was starving. He devoured the bowl and all the crackers and banana that had accompanied his meal. He particularly liked the box of orange juice. It soothed his raw, aching throat.
There was a second juice box, which he offered to Casson, but the beta waved him off and moved over to start cleaning and bandaging his wounds. “You need the calories. Enjoy while you can.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you end up here, Casson?”
Casson’s gaze grew distant. “They nabbed me on a spot blood check in the military. I’d been in the Marines for ten years by that point and thought I was safe. I didn’t realize they were now screening for the lycan antigen. They came to my house on base, but I wasn’t home yet; I’d stopped to get groceries. While he waited, the Marshal decided to have a little fun with my wife.
“She wasn’t a Were, but the Marshal didn’t even bother to find out, just assumed she was. He grabbed her and tried to rape her. She fought back… he just drew his gun and shot her. It was all over by the time I got home. No trial, no charges against the Marshal. We’d only been married five years. The happiest years of my life.” When Casson looked away, there was a glimmer of tears in his eyes. When he finally looked back at Jensen, it was with some effort that he kept his voice steady, “It’s been ten years now since they sent me here, and not a day goes by when I don’t want that Marshal dead.”
“I am so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
Casson started cleaning Jensen’s wounds again. “You could say not all Marshals are like that, but honestly, no one would believe you. There’s a hundred stories like mine. If I’m honest with you, even with my help, you have a very low life expectancy here. Mining accidents happen all the time. Same with dirty moves in the ring. A lot of ways, a Marshal could end up dead. You’re going to have to watch your back, Ackles.”
“So why aren’t you trying to kill me?”
“Colin and Colby, they’d told me what happened when Sheppard gave them to you. They were so surprised, they needed to tell someone. They swore me to secrecy. I wanted to know more, so I asked Beaver. He told me about you, too, what you’d been through, that you were one of the few good ones. I believed him. So I’m giving you a pass, but I’m not sure many others will.”
Jim had never mentioned anything about this. Too late now to wonder what else Jim had told Casson. To distract himself, he asked, “What were you in the military?” He knew Weres were more integrated in society than the Bureau ever guessed, but this was new.
“Marine medic. Went through some heavy shit in my day.”
“Thank you for your service,” Jensen said quietly. “Is that why they sent you to look after me?”
Casson paused and pursed his lips before answering. “Yeah, I help out the docs and look after the less serious issues. Sheppard wants you alive. I think he has plans for you.”
He was in a grey cell, one dim light illuminating the space. He saw a metal bunkbed across from him. His throat was parched, his lips cracked from however long he’d been unconscious. As he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bumped up against something cold and hard around his neck— a collar.
Memory slowly began to return. He had been in the Rover… with Omundson… he wasn’t… some kind of interrogation or examination room… they had stripped him down… He remembered Omundson’s cruel smile through the bulletproof glass. Frak! He was well and truly fracked.
Sudden clanging on bars above his head made him jerk. “Wakey, wakey, Marshal! The Director wants to see you.”
Jensen had been so preoccupied with his thoughts, he hadn’t heard or scented the guard’s approach. He turned his head blearily, unused to the weight clamped around his neck.
The guard had a contemptuous look on his face as he shoved an orange bundle through a wider slot in the barred doors. “You’ve got five minutes to change into your prison issue.”
Jensen craned his neck to watch the guard stroll back down the hall. With a groan he pushed to sitting. He was on the bottom bunk of a set of bunkbeds. There was a toilet and, more importantly right now, a sink and faucet in the corner. He staggered over to it and turned on the water. It came out icy. He groaned as he splashed water over his face and with his hands took gulping mouthfuls of the stuff until his thirst finally felt sated.
When he straightened, absolute fatigue washed over him and he had to steady himself by grabbing the sink. It was like he had gone ten rounds in the ring with a giant gorilla and lost.
He tried to focus. Maybe it was the silver around his neck… or the radiation. Maybe they hadn’t given him any radiation meds yet? Whatever it was, something was sucking the life out of him.
He gathered up the bundle the guard had dropped on the floor. An orange coveralls bundled around some personal hygiene items. Spare underwear, a toothbrush and toothpaste, toilet paper, a well-washed towel, a t-shirt, and a pair of black sandals.
He knew he was at a crossroads here. He could fight right now and probably end up beaten and dragged in front of the Director anyway, or he could go with the flow, obey and dress as requested, until he had the lay of the land. He thought about his options for a moment. The Director already knew he was a Were, and an alpha at that. And imprisoned on the Rez, he would be in a dangerous, despised position as probably the only Marshal here. He may as well face the coming storm head-on.
Decision made, Jensen stripped off his black shirt and t-shirt and jeans, folding them in a neat stack on the bed. He kept his own underwear. The coveralls were a reasonable fit, as were the sandals. He tucked his hygiene products and spare clothing under the rough blanket on the cot that he’d been lying on and took one more long drink of water.
He wondered how long he’d been unconscious, and what was happening in Munter’s Gorge, if Jared was safe. Safekeeping was one of the first things Jeff had told him about after he had settled in. He wanted Jensen to understand the stakes living as a free Were entailed. The Iron Ridge pack had had an evacuation plan in place for almost as long as they had been in Munter’s Gorge, each Alpha fine-tuning and updating the plan.
Jensen had been both relieved and impressed at how detailed the plan was, up to and including owning a huge tract of land in Manitoba, south of the Clay River packs. He could only hope it wouldn’t come to that. But now, with Jensen’s capture, who knew how far Omundson would go to root out more Weres in Munter’s Gorge.
He didn’t actually remember if he said anything to Omundson that would give anyone in the pack away. Goddess knew what he might have already babbled under the drugs he’d been on. Or maybe the interrogation hadn’t even begun yet. Jensen could only wait and see.
He heard the guard returning, smelled his scent of too little deodorant, beer, and unwashed flesh, the clink of shackles in his hand. He made sure his expression was blank. He didn’t want to show the curl of disgust he felt.
“Turn and back up to the door. Hands through the opening.” The guard’s voice was bored. He’d done this a thousand times before.
Jensen did as directed. He felt the burn as the silver embedded shackles snapped round his wrists. There was barely any play between the cuffs.
“Take four steps forward and stop.” Once Jensen had complied, the guard tapped his headset. “Open cell D-7.”
The door clicked, and the guard swung it open. He came up behind Jensen and attached something to his cuffs. “No funny business. Move, out of the cell.”
Jensen turned, stepped out into the hall, and stopped. He was in the last cell of a small and tired-looking cell block. The thing on his cuffs turned out to be a length of chain which the guard was holding firmly in his hand.
“Stay to your left and proceed until we come to the end of the block.”
Jensen did as ordered, the guard following and holding the chain leash. He was in a small cell block that at some point had held Weres, but the scent was old, the Weres long gone.
“Nice little place you got here. Very homey.”
The guard smashed him on the side of the head with a baton, driving Jensen to a knee at the surprise attack.
“You shut your mouth, Were. You got no rights here. You only breathe because I say you can. You feel me?”
Jensen straightened and spat out a wad of blood right beside the guard’s boot. “Copy that.” Unable to use his hands, he staggered to his feet. The guard shoved him toward the end of the hall.
At the cell block gate the guard clicked his headset again, “Open main door, Cell block D.”
There was a warning buzz and a flashing light before the door opened. Two armed guards in full riot gear and head shields appeared on the other side of the door with guns raised. A third guard stood in the middle, waiting for the handoff.
“This is the piece of shit the Director’s waiting for. Watch him, he’s got training.” Jensen’s guard handed the leash off to the middle guard.
His new escorts led Jensen down a series of corridors, passing at least three passcard-secured doors. The building was old, pre-war if Jensen had to guess. But in spite of the rundown feel of the place, all the security gates had been updated to a heavy, Were-proof grade. Jensen made note of the code as the guard typed it in, not even trying to shield his actions from Jensen. If he could get ahold of a passcard and a code he might be halfway out of here
After more grey, poorly lit hallways, they brought him to a cinderblock room with a strangely modified steel chair bolted to the floor in the center of the room. Again, he noticed the red-eyed glow of a camera light on the ceiling. They shoved Jensen into it and snapped cuffs closed around his ankles. There was an opening in the back of the chair that allowed his shackled hands to fit through, so there was no need to uncuff him. Next, they swung one steel band attached on one side of the chair across his chest and latched it on the other side, then another across his thighs, holding him in place. Lastly, they clipped his collar to the back of the chair, effectively pinning him in place. The low-level burn he felt told him there was more than enough silver in the metal restraints to ensure he couldn’t use Were strength to break free. Wolf whined in protest, pacing restlessly.
“Is he secured?” A familiar voice came over the speakers.
“Yes, sir.”
The speaker went dead, and Jensen took a moment to glance around. The room was almost completely bare, just the three guards and a medical technician of some kind standing nervously by the wall beside a med cart. No chairs other than his. Two security cameras were mounted on the ceiling, one in front of him and one to the side. The red light glowing on the top of the camera indicated he was being recorded.
A few seconds later the Bureau Director Omundson sauntered into the room, followed by Sheppard, the Warden of the Big Horn Reservation.
Omundson simply stood there, staring at Jensen.
“I’m surprised you’ll step in the same room with me,” Jensen said dryly. One of the guards immediately backhanded him. Jensen’s head snapped sideways with the blow. He spit another mouthful of blood, this time at the Director’s feet, and had the satisfaction of making the man step backwards. “Of course, all the chains and guards to protect you must make a difference.”
“Hit that snarky bugger again. He needs to show the Director some respect!” Sheppard snarled, and the guard let loose.
Jensen’s head crashed against the back of the chair, and his vision went dark for a moment. When things came back into focus, he rolled his shoulder and spit out another gob of blood. He felt around in his mouth, checking for loose teeth. He straightened and stared at Sheppard. “Yeah, respect. Like how you respect the Weres in this compound. Poisoning them or pimping them out for money. They aren’t animals, they’re people.”
“Some would beg to differ,” Omundson said dryly. “You used to be people, Marshal, but then you stopped being that and started being them. When did it happen, Marshal? When were you turned, and by whom?”
“The little twerp was in here only a year ago. I showed him some of our best stuff. Surely, he wasn’t a Were then,” Sheppard whined; his voice panicky.
Omundson waved the two guards on either side of Jensen out of the way, pacing around him.
“I’ll get the answer out of you, one way or the other. Tell me.”
“It’s no great secret.” Jensen tried to shrug, but his chains prevented it. “A moment’s carelessness, and suddenly I was going hairy under the full moon.”
“How, exactly?”
“The last Were I tracked, Ty Olson. The hunt went sideways, and he got the drop on me. One little scratch. No one tells you the silver meds can fail. I decided after visiting the Rez that it wasn’t where I wanted to spend the rest of my days. Can you blame me?” The lie slipped easily from his tongue. It was so close to the truth it could easily have been true, and those, Jensen knew, were the best kind of lies.
“Interesting. Truth is, I’ve had my suspicions about you, Marshal. Your sudden desire to retire seemed out of character. I just never thought you would be a traitor to your race. I’ve read your file. I don’t understand how you could side with these… things. After what they did to your family? How could you dishonour their memory so easily? Have you no shame? And of course, there’s the fact that you couldn’t possibly have done this all on your own. I want to know who helped you.”
Jensen’s mouth tightened at the mention of his family. Omundson could never understand. “No one helped me,” he said.
Omundson waved a hand, and one of the guards stepped forward and hit Jensen again.
“Who helped you?”
Jensen smirked; he could taste the blood on his teeth. “You don’t think every Marshal out there doesn’t have friends in low places that he can get help from? Yeah, I got a little help, but most of it was all me. After all these years hunting them, I know enough about Weres and their habits to avoid being discovered.”
Omundson waved his hand again, and the guard struck him in the face.
“You might not be as pretty after this,” Omundson warned.
One eye was already swelling shut. “Fuck you,” Jensen replied without heat and closed his remaining eye just before the guard took another swing.
“How is it, Marshal, that you were taken in wearing skin tech that is used almost exclusively by gold and diamond mines? Who are these friends in low places?”
“Oh, you know, off the internet.”
The next blow caught him in the gut.
“And this boyfriend of yours, Jared… Padalecki, is he a Were?”
Jensen tried not to freeze up. Omundson even knew Jared’s name. “More of a friends with benefits arrangement.”
“Does he know you’re a Were?”
“I don’t think he has any idea.”
“How did you explain your knot?”
“He’s a simple country boy. I told him it was a birth defect.” Jensen laughed cruelly. “All he really cared about was getting fucked, hard and often. I obliged.”
“What a gentleman.”
Jensen smirked.
“So, you don’t talk to this Jared about your being a Were. What about Williams? He’s almost like a father to you. Did you tell him?”
“Why would I tell a senior captain in the Bureau for Hunters Affairs that I’m suddenly a Were?”
“Hmm. Curious, that. The most important change in your life since the death of your family, and you had no one you could reach out to talk about it to, or get advice from? Not your former friends in Dallas, who haven’t heard from you since you moved out. Did you really shed your old life like a skin and never look back? No contact with anyone at all? Really, Marshal, you expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t care what you believe. You’re not going to let me out of this hellhole anytime soon. What more can you do to me?”
“Oh, there’s a lot we can do, my friend,” Sheppard interjected, clearly impatient at the slow pace of the interrogation.
Wolf’s snarl slipped out before Jensen could stop it. Clearly, Wolf was not a fan of Sheppard.
Omundson gestured for the man to be silent.
“So, you’re saying Captain Williams, whom you’ve been friends with for years, didn’t know?”
“No.”
“What about this Sheriff who offered you a job so quickly. Is he a Were as well? Tell us what you know.”
“Beaver’s not a Were.”
“Yet he hired you almost instantly. What kind of hold did you have on him?”
Jensen snorted in derision. “Nothing. Have you seen the calibre of the local cops and security around here?” Jensen cast a meaningful gaze at the two guards. “They’re all yokels. Beaver almost pulled something, trying to recruit a real professional onto his force. The man wants to retire soon and leave the town in good hands.”
Omundson laughed out loud. “And you think that would be you?”
Jensen stayed silent.
Like a dog with a bone, Omundson returned to his questioning. “You didn’t answer, does Beaver know you’re a Were?”
“No.”
“Are Williams and Beaver Weres?”
“If you think Williams and Beaver are Weres, boy, are you barking up the wrong tree.”
“Why is Williams making so many trips to Munter’s Gorge suddenly?”
“You should ask him, not me.” Jensen eyed Omundson through his one good eye. The Director was growing red in the face. He ran his hand through his beard and motioned to the guard. The time the guard punched Jensen in the ribs. Jensen heaved and gasped for air.
“Are Williams and Beaver Weres?” Another blow, then another. All the while, Omundson methodically circled him like a great silver bird, repeating the questions again and again punctuated by blows to the face and gut.
Inside him Wolf was howling in rage, railing against not being able to shift and tear out these humans’ throats. The pain of his attempts to take over was almost as bad as the pain Omundson was inflicting.
“You ever wonder how you’d turn out?” Jensen coughed, barely able to get his breath, “If you were turned, I mean? You’d make a pretty Were yourself. All that silver hair.”
Omundson turned to the med tech standing near the door. “Get the shot ready. We’re getting nowhere.”
Omundson asked Sheppard to join him outside, leaving Jensen alone with the guards and the tech.
The tech rolled his cart next to Jensen and turned to the guards. “Unbutton his coveralls for me, will you?” he said as he turned to gather supplies. One guard reached and yanked Jensen’s coveralls open and ripped the collar of his t-shirt down to mid chest, while the other used scissors to cut down his coveralls sleeve, exposing his left arm. Jensen growled, “Easy on the t-shirt, you ass, you guys only gave me one.” The guard snickered as Jensen thrashed against his bonds as the tech calmly put sensors on his forehead and chest. A monitor on his cart flickered to life, as Jensen’s heart rate tracked across the screen. The tech nodded and said, “Okay, we’re good.” The guards stepped back as he prepared a syringe, but instead of injecting it, he only laid it on a clean tray on the cart and then stepped back.
During this brief reprieve, Jensen let his head slump forward as far as the collar would allow and tried to rest and concentrate on calming Wolf. His whole body hurt, inside and out. The silver embedded in his bindings prevented his body from healing as fast as it should. He tried to focus on the future. This place couldn’t hold him. Soon, he would be back with Jared, back with his friends. Wolf whimpered in agreement. Soon… all he had to do was hold on.
He startled awake when he felt a needle slide into his arm. “No, no…”
“Relax, Marshal.” Omundson’s falsely soothing voice filled his ear. “We’ve made some new developments at the Bureau since you retired. Meet Silvex, our newest interrogation drug. You should start to feel its effects shortly. Once you do, it should speed things up immeasurably.”
Jensen squeezed his eyes shut as the drug shot through his system. He wanted to scream; it felt like liquid fire. The burning sensation went on and on and on. He was sweating like crazy, his whole body shaking as the drug ravaged through him, the pain building. What kind of drug was this?
Then he realized maybe the pain was the point. The pain wouldn’t stop until Omundson got the answers he wanted. Jensen wasn’t even sure the pain would stop then. There probably wasn’t even an antidote. It wasn’t the Bureau’s style to worry about the Were. It would only wear off in its own good time. Jensen hung grimly onto that fact as the agony mounted.
“Again, how many people know you’re a Were?” Omundson’s voice now sounded like a record played at half speed. Probably what made the pain seem so intense. Everything was slowed down, a pain-filled, psychedelic ride.
“I told you, no one,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice slurred and slow.
The blow from the guard was in slow-motion as well. Jensen watched unblinking as the fist launched toward his ribs. He could almost see the impacting judder of his skin as it made contact and then slowly retreated.
Was he going insane?
“What about Winters? Did you kill him so I wouldn’t learn about you and your friends when I interviewed him?”
“I wasn’t even in the building. I have no idea who killed Winters,” Jensen ground out through the pain.
“What about your boyfriend, Jared. Does he know you’re a Were?”
“No, I told you,” Jensen huffed, panting, his words rolling out of his mouth at half speed. He blinked, he couldn’t keep up, and the pain kept spiraling. Wolf whined, running in circles. Jensen felt queasy, the combination of the drug and Wolf’s discomfort all too much.
“How did you get access to the skin tech?”
“The internet.” Jensen clenched his teeth as the burning sensation concentrated in his chest. The fire was eating its way to his heart. It felt like his chest was going to crack open and explode. He couldn’t catch his breath, and it had nothing to do with the blows raining down on his ribs and gut. The fire was a burning glow; he could almost see it through the exposed skin of his chest. He was burning, burning alive. He choked, gasping from the heat. Wolf panicked, and Jensen along with him. He tipped his head up and howled at the top of his lungs, thrashing wildly.
The panicky voice of the tech who injected the drug floated over him. “Sir, something’s wrong. I’ve never seen the drug work like this.”
“He’s faking. He’ll talk when the pain gets bad enough.” Omundson’s voice was cool, confident.
The tech checked his machine and shook his head. “Sir, his heart rate is through the roof. He’s going to stroke out if we don’t do something!”
Everyone’s voices got slower and slower, until he couldn’t put together what they were saying anymore. All he could feel was pain in this slow motion, unending hell. Pain blotted out everything. The only respite he had was a cool sensation pouring into his heart. It tried to spread, but the molten hell was eating away at it as fast as it tried to branch out. Maybe his heart would give out soon and put an end to it all. That was one sure way to escape. Not the way he’d hoped, but better than this. At least that way, Jared and Jim and Williams and the rest of the pack would be safe. Jensen and Wolf kept howling; it was the only thing that helped, Wolf roiling inside him, hurting as badly as he did. As he howled, he thought he could see the waves of heat flowing out of his mouth like ribbons. They rippled up into the air, dissipating in the room.
There was a second sharp jab in his arm, and then darkness.
[] * * * []
Scene ends
+ + +
Jared woke up screaming. Pain was flowing through every part of his body. He clutched his chest; it literally felt like someone had dipped his ribs in acid, eating its way to his heart. Vaguely he sensed Jeff barrel across the room, yelling his name. But Jared howled. It seemed the only thing that eased any of the pain.
Jeff pulled the sleeping bag off him and was touching him all over, looking for a wound. “Jared, my God, what’s wrong? Where are you hurt?” Jeff pulled him into his arms. “Jared, say something, I can’t find a wound anywhere. What’s going on? Kim, find Dr. Darcy. Get him here as fast as you can.”
Jared didn’t hear any of it. He was trying to narrow in on the source of the pain. It was radiating from his heart. He followed as it flowed into his bond with Jensen and out of his body in a long golden thread. He reached out, following the thread far beyond the cave or the mountains. He followed it across country, zooming over the trees and fields. It grew harder and harder to go farther, the pain like a blowtorch burning him more and more as he got closer. Jensen! Jensen was in trouble! His life was in danger. Jared tried to shove energy across the bond, praying that by the time it reached his mate, it wouldn’t be too weak to do any good.
He kept moving energy, working until he could barely stay conscious. Then suddenly the link snapped, and Jared was sent tumbling, falling, spinning through the air until he finally snapped back into his body— alone. The link was dead. What had just happened? Had he just witnessed his mate’s death? Jared’s mind reeled. The amount of energy he had been able to send had obviously not been enough.
Jared sagged into Jeff’s arms, utterly exhausted, emotionally and physically.
“Jared, talk to me. Are you okay? What just happened?”
Jared opened pain-filled eyes. He was so tired he couldn’t form more than “Jensen” before he passed out.
+ + +
“What’s wrong with him? We’ve used Silvex before to great effect.” From far away, Jensen heard Omundson ranting as the tech worked over him.
“Works with most Weres, Director. For a small minority, the effect was exactly this, devastating. Our theory is that the Silvex triggers an allergic reaction in these Weres. If we hadn’t administered the antidote when we did, he would be dead now.”
“Just great. The one Were I need it to work on. Do we have any alternatives? A lesser dose?”
“No, sir. At this point, his body would go into shock if we administered even a small amount. I’m afraid you are left with the traditional methods.”
“Fine. Take him back to his cell. We’ll start over tomorrow.”
“But, sir, he might not be ready tomorrow.”
“I don’t care.”
Jensen faded in and out of consciousness. When he woke up again, he was in his cot back in cell block D.
He tried to sit up, but he simply didn’t have the strength. Frak. Once again, he was dying of thirst. What he wouldn’t give to have a glass of water.
There was movement to his right. Someone was hovering over him. Jensen tried to pull back, but he had nowhere to go.
“It’s okay, it’s alright. I’m a friend, one of the few you’ve got in here. I’ve got water. Could you manage to drink?”
Jensen forced his eyelids open a crack. A blurry orange jumpsuit hovered over him, the vague impressions of a tall older Were, a beta with black curly hair and a beard. He licked dry lips as the man lifted him enough to hold a cup to his mouth. As the cold liquid slipped into his mouth, Jensen moaned in relief.
“Too much, sorry.”
Jensen managed to grab his hand and hold it in place.
“Oh, I gotcha. Drink as much as you want, just take it slow. I don’t want you to get sick.”
He nodded and forced himself to slow down. He kept drinking. It felt like a gushing stream, but in reality, it was probably only a few sips. Finally exhausted, he pushed the glass away.
“Done for now? Okay, just grunt, move a hand, anything, and I’ll give you more. I’ll be right here.” The man said gently, laying him back down on his thin pillow and adjusting the blankets over him.
Jensen slipped into dreamless sleep.
+ + +
Dr. Darcy removed her stethoscope from Jared’s chest with a sigh. “I don’t know what to say, Jared. There are no signs of any permanent harm, yet from what the Alpha said, there is no doubt you were in great pain.”
“It was Jensen,” Jared said firmly. He was lying in his sleeping bag, propped against the wall by a mass of spare sleeping bags that Dylan must have collected. Dylan, Kim, Dr. Darcy, and the Alpha all gathered around him, worried looks on their faces.
“You felt him through the bond?” Jeffrey was looking at him, the only one in the room to really believe him, he could tell. “Could you sense where he was? Anything about him?”
Jared shook his head, tears brimming in his eyes at his obvious failure. “No, he was so far away I couldn’t even get to him. But he was in pain; he was dying. I don’t know, when the link broke, do you think he died? Did I just feel my mate’s death?”
“Don’t jump to any conclusions, Jared. If Jensen was in as much pain as you were, he may just have passed out. That would have broken the link,” Kim offered, squeezing Jared’s hand.
“It’s almost unbelievable that you could sense him at all. His last known location was near the Big Horn Reservation. Jared, no one in our recorded history has ever been able to link to a mate even a tenth of that distance. What you’ve done is amazing.” Jeff rubbed his shoulder. “Jensen’s a fighter. I think it’s what Kim said; he may just have passed out. That would explain the sudden break.”
“I need to go to him. Get him out of there.”
“And we will, just as soon as we know more. You’ve just got to be strong a little while longer.”
Just then, Jared’s burner phone buzzed. Jeff picked it up off the niche in the cave wall that Jared had left it on. “Mind if I take this? I’ll put it on speaker.”
Jared nodded. He was too exhausted to manage any of this.
“Mac, here.” Jeff used the code word they’d worked out to talk among themselves when on the burner phones.
Williams’ distinctive drawl came over the phone, “Hey, it’s Darius calling. I wanted to let you know I don’t think Henry is going to make it home today. The flight’s delayed, and his boss wants him to stick around a while longer.”
Jeff looked over at Jared, his expression grim. “That’s too bad. Any idea when his next flight will be?”
Williams replied, “Looks like it may be a while. I hear there’s a storm coming your way, and that’s not helping the flights, either. Everything’s going to be socked in. The snow is supposed to hit from two fronts is what I’m hearing.”
“Damn,” Jeff breathed.
“So, you folks better huddle up and get to cover, too. No one messes with Mother Nature.”
“You’re so right. We’ll do that. If storms like these keep coming, we might not see you till spring.” Jeff chuckled, but his face was dead serious.
“Well, stay safe. I’ll be thinking of you. And if I hear any more updates on Henry, I’ll call.”
“Thanks, Darius. You be careful out there, too.”
“I aim to.” The line went dead.
“Damn,” Jeff growled, holding the phone so hard the plastic began to creak. He instantly eased off. “So, we’re going to get hit by both the Marshals and the military. God damn.”
Kim rubbed Jeff’s arm. “At least we evacuated in time. And I checked with Pepper, who’s on shift at the entrance; the snow is coming down thick and heavy. It should definitely bury our tracks.”
“Good. That’s one less worry.” Jeff shook his head. “William’s call confirms Omundson really does have Jensen. I hoped they were simply delayed, but this settles it.” Jeff squeezed Jared’s shoulder. “What I said, though, still stands. Omundson is not stupid. He wouldn’t just kill Jensen, maybe torture him, that must have been what you felt just now, but he wouldn’t kill him. It would be too much of an admission of defeat that a Were got the best of him.” Jeff stood up. “I’m sorry, I have to go warn Osric and Jim and brief all my lieutenants. I’ll be back as soon as I take care of this.”
“Go. I’ll be all right. You’ve got a pack to take care of.”
“I can stay with him!” Dylan offered.
“That would be wonderful, son. I’d really appreciate that.”
Jared smiled weakly at Dylan and then turned to Kim and Jeff. “Yes, go, both of you. I’m in good hands.”
Jeff patted Dylan on the back as he left, his whole face beaming with pride.
After they left, Dylan turned to Jared and said, “So, anything you’d like?”
“Could you get me some water, please? I’m dying of thirst.”
+ + +
Jensen woke. Still groggy, he tried to sit up, but his hands and feet were cuffed in place on some kind of bed. Someone, dressed in white, maybe a doctor, was checking his heart.
“His heartbeat is still irregular. Keep giving him fluids, and I’ll get the kitchen to send down soup and crackers. He needs to regain his strength.”
Behind the doctor, someone else said, “Yes, sir.” He thought he recognized that voice.
The doctor left grumbling something about ”Savages” and ”Gonna kill him” as he left.
Jensen was in the same cell he’d woken up in earlier, but with the doctor present, he had been cuffed to his bed. A guard still remained inside the cell, while another had a gun pointing through the bars at his head.
“No sudden moves, or he’ll blast your head off,” the guard cautioned, nodding toward the guard outside the cell, before he began removing the manacles from Jensen’s bruised and bleeding wrists and ankles. What surprised Jensen was that he did it gently, careful not to tear the skin more than it already was. He didn’t get a good look at both their faces, but Jensen inhaled deeply. He wanted to remember this one.
After finishing up, the guard set a red case down on the cot across from Jensen. “Here’s a first aid kit. Clean and wrap those wounds up. We don’t want him losing a limb to infection.” Jensen blinked, his eyesight clearing. He could see the older Were from before standing spread-eagled, both hands against the wall. Clearly, some kind of Were/cell protocol.
“Yes, sir,” The Were replied as the guards left. Once they were gone, the inmate finally broke position and approached Jensen. “Water?”
Jensen nodded, licking his lips. He was still weak. Everything hurt, but the removal of the manacles helped. That much less silver eating away at his energy.
“Was that the welcome committee?” Jensen commented when the Were returned with his water.
The older Were smiled, “Jaeger’s okay, but Smitty’s a sadist. You don’t want to be in his gun sights for long; his finger tends to twitch. Think you can sit up on your own?”
Jensen tried to shove upright, but his limbs were like rubber.
“I’m Casson, by the way, Brad Casson. I don’t think I introduced myself before. You were kinda out of it.” Casson set the cup of water down to help Jensen up so he was able to lean against the back wall of his cot. Then he held the cup to Jensen’s mouth. This time, Jensen drained it in one gulp. “Thirsty, right? The Silvex does that. I’ll get you more.”
“Thanks. I’m Jensen, Jensen Ackles.”
“Yeah, we know, the whole Rez knows. The ‘always gets his man, Marshal, that turned Alpha’. You’re a bit of a living legend around here. Of course, there’s a lot of folks that you sent here over the course of your illustrious career that would like to make you just a legend, if you know what I mean?”
Casson returned with another cup of water. Jensen raised the cup to his mouth this time, with only a little help from Casson.
Casson leaned in and said quietly, “Of course, I’m also one of the few Weres in here who knows you helped break out fifty of us a couple weeks back. But I can’t let that information get out, or Sheppard would blow a gasket.”
“You know?” Jensen only mouthed this.
Casson kept his head close to Jensen’s ear. “I’m one of the betas that is working for the Resistance. I helped supply some of the details that got you in.”
Jensen nodded. “Appreciated.”
Jensen leaned back, thirst finally quenched, but utterly exhausted. “So, what happens next?”
“My guess is they’ll interrogate you the old-fashioned way since the Silvex didn’t work. And then once they finally decide they’ve wrung you dry, you’ll be put to work in the mines like the other alphas. Maybe even in the ring, if you’re a good fighter.”
“Just like that?”
“Yeah, Sheppard likes to keep shaking his money tree. It wasn’t enough to simply have a bordello of unwilling omegas; he’s got a fighting ring of alphas, too. Next step I heard is legalized pay-per-view.”
Jensen nodded. “Yeah, so did I.” Jensen leaned forward, keeping his voice lowered, “Any progress getting cameras in there?”
Casson glanced toward the hall before moving closer, and mouthed, “Soon.”
“Speaking of cameras, I thought I saw cameras in the ceilings of both rooms they interrogated me in. What’s that about?”
“Sheppard. He’s kind of fanatical about keeping an eye on everyone and everything going on here. He’s got a bank of monitors in his office, sits and watches them at all hours. There are cameras everywhere throughout the main buildings.”
Jensen felt his eyebrows rise. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
They heard footsteps coming from down the hall. Casson quickly grabbed the med kit and opened some gauze, and gently wiped Jensen’s wrists down with iodine.
It was Smitty, escorting a Were carrying a lunch tray. As the Were passed the tray through a slot in the cell door, the guard grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Lunch,” he said with a maniacal grin before he spat in Jensen’s soup. The guard released the Were’s arm so he could hand the tray over to Casson. Neither the Were nor Casson said anything.
Laughing, the guard escorted the Were back down the hall.
Casson looked dismayed, but Jensen simply reached out for the chicken noodle soup, which was still hot. “I’ve eaten worse. And I’m sure it’s not the last time.” He spooned most of the spittle onto the paper napkin on the tray before digging in.
Casson nodded. “We’ll finish cleaning you up after you’re done.” He retreated to the other bunk and lay down, folding his hands behind his head and closing his eyes.
Pushing back his revulsion, Jensen swallowed more of the soup. As the food hit his stomach, he realized he was starving. He devoured the bowl and all the crackers and banana that had accompanied his meal. He particularly liked the box of orange juice. It soothed his raw, aching throat.
There was a second juice box, which he offered to Casson, but the beta waved him off and moved over to start cleaning and bandaging his wounds. “You need the calories. Enjoy while you can.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you end up here, Casson?”
Casson’s gaze grew distant. “They nabbed me on a spot blood check in the military. I’d been in the Marines for ten years by that point and thought I was safe. I didn’t realize they were now screening for the lycan antigen. They came to my house on base, but I wasn’t home yet; I’d stopped to get groceries. While he waited, the Marshal decided to have a little fun with my wife.
“She wasn’t a Were, but the Marshal didn’t even bother to find out, just assumed she was. He grabbed her and tried to rape her. She fought back… he just drew his gun and shot her. It was all over by the time I got home. No trial, no charges against the Marshal. We’d only been married five years. The happiest years of my life.” When Casson looked away, there was a glimmer of tears in his eyes. When he finally looked back at Jensen, it was with some effort that he kept his voice steady, “It’s been ten years now since they sent me here, and not a day goes by when I don’t want that Marshal dead.”
“I am so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
Casson started cleaning Jensen’s wounds again. “You could say not all Marshals are like that, but honestly, no one would believe you. There’s a hundred stories like mine. If I’m honest with you, even with my help, you have a very low life expectancy here. Mining accidents happen all the time. Same with dirty moves in the ring. A lot of ways, a Marshal could end up dead. You’re going to have to watch your back, Ackles.”
“So why aren’t you trying to kill me?”
“Colin and Colby, they’d told me what happened when Sheppard gave them to you. They were so surprised, they needed to tell someone. They swore me to secrecy. I wanted to know more, so I asked Beaver. He told me about you, too, what you’d been through, that you were one of the few good ones. I believed him. So I’m giving you a pass, but I’m not sure many others will.”
Jim had never mentioned anything about this. Too late now to wonder what else Jim had told Casson. To distract himself, he asked, “What were you in the military?” He knew Weres were more integrated in society than the Bureau ever guessed, but this was new.
“Marine medic. Went through some heavy shit in my day.”
“Thank you for your service,” Jensen said quietly. “Is that why they sent you to look after me?”
Casson paused and pursed his lips before answering. “Yeah, I help out the docs and look after the less serious issues. Sheppard wants you alive. I think he has plans for you.”
¤ ¤ ¤
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