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beansideTitle: Faster Than Sound
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nilchance and beanside
Pairing: Eventual JA/JDM/JP (and others)
Rating: R (future installments will range from PG-13 to NC-17.
Disclaimer: This never happened. Never will. No offense intended.
Summary: This is an RPS Post Apocalyptic AU, set 50+ years in the future.
Warnings: References to non-con and slavery. Violence.
A/N: As always, much, mucho thanks go tomona1347, who is awesome and whips us into shape. *MWAH*
Of all the options they'd given him to help control his temper, the two that had stuck with Jared were to him, the oddest. He hadn't liked the punching bag because it just made the anger grow. He'd sucked at meditation. But knitting, he could do. It relaxed him, kept his fingers busy and let his mind sort through the many issues that plagued it. The other was jogging. He could take Bisou, jog along the Seawalk and enjoy the beauty of his new hometown.
Today, they were driving down the mountain to a local park, though. The drive to Stanley Park took too long, and he hated leaving Jeff alone to deal with Jensen.
But more than anything, he needed this run. It happened every time he went on a mission. The day after, the cold realities started to set in again, and the high from helping someone faded. It was a losing battle. They all knew it. How could you hope to really make a difference when the US sanctioned the trafficking of humans?
He pulled the transport into a parking spot outside the park, lips twisting in a faint, bitter smirk at the archway. In sweeping bronze, it proclaimed this to be the Morgan Coulson Memorial Park. By all accounts the former First Lady had been a hell of a woman. She'd been caught inside Australia's borders with her young grandson, Matthew Dean. Three years later, she'd come home to find the country in shambles, and the Constitution reduced to so much trash.
Former Vice-President Chancellor had been crafty, though. He'd played on the public's love for their recently-deceased president and his family. He'd played on the peoples fearon the fact that Dean Pharmaceuticals had crafted a moderately useful treatment for Deathknell. With one open vote, the United States became a monarchy, with the Presidency passing to the next male heir of the Coulson family. Which happened to be the seven year old Matthew Dean.
A day after Chancellor's announcement, the child had disappeared, and Morgan was under what amounted to house arrest for her part in it. She became a rumor, rarely seen, shut in with the child slaves that were a gift from Chancellor.
Their great emancipator, Jared thought bitterly. An old woman who kept children on a leash.
Bisou nosed Jared and he rumpled her fur. "Okay, baby. Enough woolgathering."
The park was well known to local joggers for its long, easily sloping trails and for the huge jungle gym that dominated the playground area. It looked like something that belonged in an ancient theme park, with nets to climb and tunnels to crawl, balls to slide into.
If Bisou looked like she needed more after the run, he might let her play on it some days. Knowing Bisou, though, today she'd rather go back up the mountain and play in the new layer of snow. But for now, it was time to get moving. "Ready, Bisou?"
Judging by the way she was pulling at the leash, her answer was yes.
They started off slow and easy, Jared's long legs covering ground quickly. Small wildlife startled in the brush ahead, and Bisou barked as a rabbit darted across her path.
"You tell it, sweetheart." Jared felt the tension in him loosening as he warmed up, the low level buzz of restless energy being washed away.
Helping to rehab a slave was rewarding, but it also brought back a lot of shit he'd left behind. Memories of being held down, of rough touches, of being used as though he was nothing more than a piece of meat.
After his family had died in the last wave of Deathknell, he'd lived with a poor family in Alabama. He hadn't been anything more to them than the credits that they'd gotten from the government. But he could still remember the little shrine they kept to the former first family. They could barely afford food, but there was always oil to keep the lamp burning in front of the picture of them. President Coulson, his wife Morgan, their two daughters, their son-in-law, president of Dean Pharmaceuticals, and little Matthew.
When Jared'd been taken as a slave at fourteen, he'd thought back to that picture. For a while, he'd wondered if Matthew was going to come back and save them all. After the first year, the only thing he wondered was how long it would be before his master killed him one night.
Then his growth spurt had hit, and his master didn't find him pretty enough any more. By the time he was sixteen, he was working in the markets, pulling the heavy carts. After all, slaves were much cheaper than horses. And whereas laws prohibited forcing animals to work more than five hours, there was no such law protecting slaves.
He'd seen more than one of his fellow slaves drop dead in the heat.
And then, one blisteringly hot day, this tall, well dressed guy had come up looking for supplies. The good stuff, expensive as hell. His master went around the other side of the cart to get the decent supplies, and something in Jared just... snapped. The unfairness, the pain, the anger just welled up, and before he knew it, Jared was grabbing an open jar of ink and throwing it at the customer.
Even now, Jared found himself smiling at the memory of the look on Jeff's face. At the time, the near-comical shock just served to fuel his anger, and he'd grabbed a display of brushes and hurled them as well.
The slice of the whip knocked his breath out, sending him to his knees in a haze of agony. Jared barely heard his master stepping around him, apologizing to Jeff, telling him that he was profoundly sorry for his slave's behavior.
Jeff spoke to Jared's master, his voice a sharp growl of sound. Then, his master was at his side, unfastening his harness, slipping the spiked choke chain around his neck. "Now you've done it, you little bastard. He's bought you, wants to punish you for himself."
Jared winced, remembering how he'd begged to stay, terrified of this dark, hard-eyed man.
His master had just shaken his head, and handed the leash to Jeff. They'd strolled through the market, Jared stumbling behind him. Jeff had paused at a small stand, bought a hamburger and handed it to Jared without a word.
It was a long walk to Jeff's transport, trailing behind Jeff's longer strides. Jared was too used to shackles only letting him shuffle along; muscles he hadn't used in years burned as he tried to keep up. He'd already been expecting the worst, to be killed and buried and forgotten, but he remembered not wanting to make things worse by tripping. In the end, it hadn't mattered; Jeff caught himself towards the edge of the market and, cursing under his breath, slowed down enough to give Jared a break. Jared had been convinced that he misheard Jeff's muttered apology.
Finally, they reached Jeff's transport, the same one he had now. But standing next to it, slouched against the fender had been another man. Smaller but with a wicked look to him. Kane, back before the Agency devoured his life.
"I was about to come get you," he'd drawled, kicking a clump of dirt with his scuffed cowboy boots. Then, his eyes landed on Jared, and he'd sighed. "Dammit, Jeff, why do you have to be such a fucking sap?"
Somehow his memory didn't extend to Jeff's answer, only that it was said with affection.
Jared sped up as they crested the hill near the back of the park. Best view in the place, especially this early. It looked into the stunning gardens, plants and flowers laid out around Japanese-inspired pagodas, and a beautiful labyrinth of inlaid tiles. Until the sun fully rose, the lights were left on, turning the area into a brilliant surreal land.
He shook his head, clearing the thought from his mind. He should bring Jensen down here.
This was where Jeff had brought him first. They were parked outside of these gardens when Jeff reached back to remove the collar. It was here, staring out into the distance, that Jared barely heard Jeff tell him that he was free. Jeff was gentle, kind, fingers warm and soothing against Jared's skin. "We'll be home soon," he'd assured him, turning back to the road. "It'll be okay."
That had been about the time Jared tried to strangle Jeff with his leash. Looping it over Jeff's throat and bracing against the back of the seat, Jared pulled with everything he had. He still had nightmares about the sound Jeff made as his breathing cut off.
The last thing he remembered was Kane's fist coming at his face and a jolt of lightning erupting behind Jared's eyes. The next thing he remembered was waking up on a soft couch, covered with a fuzzy afghan. He could hear breathing not far from him. His fists clenched, and Jared got ready to fight.
It had taken Kane and Jeff the better part of the night to convince him that he was truly free. Finally, around two am, sitting in Jeff's decadent bathtub, the light had gone on in his brain.
Jared slowed down as they rounded the last corner, settling into an easy jog that would give he and Bisou time to cool down. "And here I am, five years later. Not a half bad end to the story, right?"
Bisou wagged her tail and Jared slowed down further, easing the pace until they were both breathing normally. Then he grabbed a bottle of water from the car and poured half in her travel bowl, chugging the other half himself.
Yeah. Not a half bad end. He was in a position to help people now, recovering slaves who were just as hurt and lost as he had been. As he sometimes still was, if he was honest with himself. The therapy might've ended, the knitting and jogging might've helped, but there were still nights that he woke up trembling and weak. There were still days he spent so choked with anger that he had to bury himself in paperwork to keep from boiling over at the nearest target. Which was usually Jeff.
God, Jeff. Jeff deserved so much better than what Jared put him through on the bad days, but somehow Jeff never saw that. After the first night, Jared had never laid a hand on him again, and after the beginning of therapy he'd never made Jeff bleed. He'd said shit, though. Or been silent for days at a time. He'd disappeared. He'd scratched up his own skin, destroyed furniture, screamed. He'd had nightmares that kept them both up, Jeff rocking him through it, and it was hard. It was still hard, and it was always going to be hard, and none of it was Jeff's fault.
That didn't stop Jeff from agonizing over it. Jared still woke up with Jeff watching him, mapping every scar, looking like he was bleeding inside. That had never gone away. Hell, lately Jeff spent most of his time in the loft, sketching, painting, pacing with frustration written in every stride. Something was haunting him, and if Jared had to kneecap Jeff and tie him to a chair to get him to talk, he fucking well would.
It wasn't that Jared owed Jeff. It was that he loved him. Every frustrating habit, his cold feet and his cigarettes. His hands, his voice, his kiss. His smile. His laugh. Jared was in deep, completely sunk and happy with it. He was Jeff's--it had taken him a long time to even think that without flinching--but it wasn't about slavery or ownership. It was about finding his home.
Jeff had saved him. Kept him going when all Jared wanted was to sleep forever and forget. Prodded him through therapy and PT, through getting his GED and starting community college. Jeff had helped him through the first year: learning to laugh again, renting movies until Jared figured out which kind he actually liked, late-night cramming for finals, the fine art of hanging around on the couch to watch TV with his feet in Jeff's lap. And when the time came, Jeff had helped him move out to the dorms.
The dorms had been too loud, too empty. His roommate was a pushy asshole who stared at the tattoo. The dorm smelled like bleach and marijuana. There hadn't been a rough voice in his ear in the morning, a tired smile over coffee, a fond touch rumpling his hair. What there were was dreams: slick skin and heat, filthy words growled against his throat, fever and desperation and tangled sheets.
Jared hadn't lasted long before Jeff was helping him move back in.
They'd been sitting in the middle of Jared's boxes, taking a break from unpacking to watch a soccer game on BBC, when Jared leaned over into Jeff's lap and kissed him. For one godawful second, Jeff hadn't moved, hadn't breathed, his mouth frozen stiff against Jared's. It was awkward and silent, and Jared had been pulling back when he'd felt Jeff's hand in his hair. Jeff looked up at him like he'd been waking up from his own nightmare. And then Jeff pulled him down, and kissed him back.
Bisou shoved insistently against Jared's leg, making the same disgruntled noise as when she found her humans making out instead of pay attention to her. Jared laughed, bending to rumple her fur. "Sorry, baby. It'll be a while before that happens again."
She leaned into his leg, giving him a big doggy grin, and Jared laughed again, opening the transport door for her. She bounded into place, and he fastened the harness that kept her safe quickly. "If we hurry, maybe there will still be some deer out for you to chase."
She shoved her cold nose at his throat and licked his chin. "Yeah, I figured you'd like that."
Closing the door, Jared let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. The jog had settled his nerves and let him fit in his skin again. Trying to rehab Jensen didn't seem like too much. It would be all right. He'd be all right.
Authors:
nilchance and beansidePairing: Eventual JA/JDM/JP (and others)
Rating: R (future installments will range from PG-13 to NC-17.
Disclaimer: This never happened. Never will. No offense intended.
Summary: This is an RPS Post Apocalyptic AU, set 50+ years in the future.
Warnings: References to non-con and slavery. Violence.
A/N: As always, much, mucho thanks go to
mona1347, who is awesome and whips us into shape. *MWAH*Of all the options they'd given him to help control his temper, the two that had stuck with Jared were to him, the oddest. He hadn't liked the punching bag because it just made the anger grow. He'd sucked at meditation. But knitting, he could do. It relaxed him, kept his fingers busy and let his mind sort through the many issues that plagued it. The other was jogging. He could take Bisou, jog along the Seawalk and enjoy the beauty of his new hometown.
Today, they were driving down the mountain to a local park, though. The drive to Stanley Park took too long, and he hated leaving Jeff alone to deal with Jensen.
But more than anything, he needed this run. It happened every time he went on a mission. The day after, the cold realities started to set in again, and the high from helping someone faded. It was a losing battle. They all knew it. How could you hope to really make a difference when the US sanctioned the trafficking of humans?
He pulled the transport into a parking spot outside the park, lips twisting in a faint, bitter smirk at the archway. In sweeping bronze, it proclaimed this to be the Morgan Coulson Memorial Park. By all accounts the former First Lady had been a hell of a woman. She'd been caught inside Australia's borders with her young grandson, Matthew Dean. Three years later, she'd come home to find the country in shambles, and the Constitution reduced to so much trash.
Former Vice-President Chancellor had been crafty, though. He'd played on the public's love for their recently-deceased president and his family. He'd played on the peoples fearon the fact that Dean Pharmaceuticals had crafted a moderately useful treatment for Deathknell. With one open vote, the United States became a monarchy, with the Presidency passing to the next male heir of the Coulson family. Which happened to be the seven year old Matthew Dean.
A day after Chancellor's announcement, the child had disappeared, and Morgan was under what amounted to house arrest for her part in it. She became a rumor, rarely seen, shut in with the child slaves that were a gift from Chancellor.
Their great emancipator, Jared thought bitterly. An old woman who kept children on a leash.
Bisou nosed Jared and he rumpled her fur. "Okay, baby. Enough woolgathering."
The park was well known to local joggers for its long, easily sloping trails and for the huge jungle gym that dominated the playground area. It looked like something that belonged in an ancient theme park, with nets to climb and tunnels to crawl, balls to slide into.
If Bisou looked like she needed more after the run, he might let her play on it some days. Knowing Bisou, though, today she'd rather go back up the mountain and play in the new layer of snow. But for now, it was time to get moving. "Ready, Bisou?"
Judging by the way she was pulling at the leash, her answer was yes.
They started off slow and easy, Jared's long legs covering ground quickly. Small wildlife startled in the brush ahead, and Bisou barked as a rabbit darted across her path.
"You tell it, sweetheart." Jared felt the tension in him loosening as he warmed up, the low level buzz of restless energy being washed away.
Helping to rehab a slave was rewarding, but it also brought back a lot of shit he'd left behind. Memories of being held down, of rough touches, of being used as though he was nothing more than a piece of meat.
After his family had died in the last wave of Deathknell, he'd lived with a poor family in Alabama. He hadn't been anything more to them than the credits that they'd gotten from the government. But he could still remember the little shrine they kept to the former first family. They could barely afford food, but there was always oil to keep the lamp burning in front of the picture of them. President Coulson, his wife Morgan, their two daughters, their son-in-law, president of Dean Pharmaceuticals, and little Matthew.
When Jared'd been taken as a slave at fourteen, he'd thought back to that picture. For a while, he'd wondered if Matthew was going to come back and save them all. After the first year, the only thing he wondered was how long it would be before his master killed him one night.
Then his growth spurt had hit, and his master didn't find him pretty enough any more. By the time he was sixteen, he was working in the markets, pulling the heavy carts. After all, slaves were much cheaper than horses. And whereas laws prohibited forcing animals to work more than five hours, there was no such law protecting slaves.
He'd seen more than one of his fellow slaves drop dead in the heat.
And then, one blisteringly hot day, this tall, well dressed guy had come up looking for supplies. The good stuff, expensive as hell. His master went around the other side of the cart to get the decent supplies, and something in Jared just... snapped. The unfairness, the pain, the anger just welled up, and before he knew it, Jared was grabbing an open jar of ink and throwing it at the customer.
Even now, Jared found himself smiling at the memory of the look on Jeff's face. At the time, the near-comical shock just served to fuel his anger, and he'd grabbed a display of brushes and hurled them as well.
The slice of the whip knocked his breath out, sending him to his knees in a haze of agony. Jared barely heard his master stepping around him, apologizing to Jeff, telling him that he was profoundly sorry for his slave's behavior.
Jeff spoke to Jared's master, his voice a sharp growl of sound. Then, his master was at his side, unfastening his harness, slipping the spiked choke chain around his neck. "Now you've done it, you little bastard. He's bought you, wants to punish you for himself."
Jared winced, remembering how he'd begged to stay, terrified of this dark, hard-eyed man.
His master had just shaken his head, and handed the leash to Jeff. They'd strolled through the market, Jared stumbling behind him. Jeff had paused at a small stand, bought a hamburger and handed it to Jared without a word.
It was a long walk to Jeff's transport, trailing behind Jeff's longer strides. Jared was too used to shackles only letting him shuffle along; muscles he hadn't used in years burned as he tried to keep up. He'd already been expecting the worst, to be killed and buried and forgotten, but he remembered not wanting to make things worse by tripping. In the end, it hadn't mattered; Jeff caught himself towards the edge of the market and, cursing under his breath, slowed down enough to give Jared a break. Jared had been convinced that he misheard Jeff's muttered apology.
Finally, they reached Jeff's transport, the same one he had now. But standing next to it, slouched against the fender had been another man. Smaller but with a wicked look to him. Kane, back before the Agency devoured his life.
"I was about to come get you," he'd drawled, kicking a clump of dirt with his scuffed cowboy boots. Then, his eyes landed on Jared, and he'd sighed. "Dammit, Jeff, why do you have to be such a fucking sap?"
Somehow his memory didn't extend to Jeff's answer, only that it was said with affection.
Jared sped up as they crested the hill near the back of the park. Best view in the place, especially this early. It looked into the stunning gardens, plants and flowers laid out around Japanese-inspired pagodas, and a beautiful labyrinth of inlaid tiles. Until the sun fully rose, the lights were left on, turning the area into a brilliant surreal land.
He shook his head, clearing the thought from his mind. He should bring Jensen down here.
This was where Jeff had brought him first. They were parked outside of these gardens when Jeff reached back to remove the collar. It was here, staring out into the distance, that Jared barely heard Jeff tell him that he was free. Jeff was gentle, kind, fingers warm and soothing against Jared's skin. "We'll be home soon," he'd assured him, turning back to the road. "It'll be okay."
That had been about the time Jared tried to strangle Jeff with his leash. Looping it over Jeff's throat and bracing against the back of the seat, Jared pulled with everything he had. He still had nightmares about the sound Jeff made as his breathing cut off.
The last thing he remembered was Kane's fist coming at his face and a jolt of lightning erupting behind Jared's eyes. The next thing he remembered was waking up on a soft couch, covered with a fuzzy afghan. He could hear breathing not far from him. His fists clenched, and Jared got ready to fight.
It had taken Kane and Jeff the better part of the night to convince him that he was truly free. Finally, around two am, sitting in Jeff's decadent bathtub, the light had gone on in his brain.
Jared slowed down as they rounded the last corner, settling into an easy jog that would give he and Bisou time to cool down. "And here I am, five years later. Not a half bad end to the story, right?"
Bisou wagged her tail and Jared slowed down further, easing the pace until they were both breathing normally. Then he grabbed a bottle of water from the car and poured half in her travel bowl, chugging the other half himself.
Yeah. Not a half bad end. He was in a position to help people now, recovering slaves who were just as hurt and lost as he had been. As he sometimes still was, if he was honest with himself. The therapy might've ended, the knitting and jogging might've helped, but there were still nights that he woke up trembling and weak. There were still days he spent so choked with anger that he had to bury himself in paperwork to keep from boiling over at the nearest target. Which was usually Jeff.
God, Jeff. Jeff deserved so much better than what Jared put him through on the bad days, but somehow Jeff never saw that. After the first night, Jared had never laid a hand on him again, and after the beginning of therapy he'd never made Jeff bleed. He'd said shit, though. Or been silent for days at a time. He'd disappeared. He'd scratched up his own skin, destroyed furniture, screamed. He'd had nightmares that kept them both up, Jeff rocking him through it, and it was hard. It was still hard, and it was always going to be hard, and none of it was Jeff's fault.
That didn't stop Jeff from agonizing over it. Jared still woke up with Jeff watching him, mapping every scar, looking like he was bleeding inside. That had never gone away. Hell, lately Jeff spent most of his time in the loft, sketching, painting, pacing with frustration written in every stride. Something was haunting him, and if Jared had to kneecap Jeff and tie him to a chair to get him to talk, he fucking well would.
It wasn't that Jared owed Jeff. It was that he loved him. Every frustrating habit, his cold feet and his cigarettes. His hands, his voice, his kiss. His smile. His laugh. Jared was in deep, completely sunk and happy with it. He was Jeff's--it had taken him a long time to even think that without flinching--but it wasn't about slavery or ownership. It was about finding his home.
Jeff had saved him. Kept him going when all Jared wanted was to sleep forever and forget. Prodded him through therapy and PT, through getting his GED and starting community college. Jeff had helped him through the first year: learning to laugh again, renting movies until Jared figured out which kind he actually liked, late-night cramming for finals, the fine art of hanging around on the couch to watch TV with his feet in Jeff's lap. And when the time came, Jeff had helped him move out to the dorms.
The dorms had been too loud, too empty. His roommate was a pushy asshole who stared at the tattoo. The dorm smelled like bleach and marijuana. There hadn't been a rough voice in his ear in the morning, a tired smile over coffee, a fond touch rumpling his hair. What there were was dreams: slick skin and heat, filthy words growled against his throat, fever and desperation and tangled sheets.
Jared hadn't lasted long before Jeff was helping him move back in.
They'd been sitting in the middle of Jared's boxes, taking a break from unpacking to watch a soccer game on BBC, when Jared leaned over into Jeff's lap and kissed him. For one godawful second, Jeff hadn't moved, hadn't breathed, his mouth frozen stiff against Jared's. It was awkward and silent, and Jared had been pulling back when he'd felt Jeff's hand in his hair. Jeff looked up at him like he'd been waking up from his own nightmare. And then Jeff pulled him down, and kissed him back.
Bisou shoved insistently against Jared's leg, making the same disgruntled noise as when she found her humans making out instead of pay attention to her. Jared laughed, bending to rumple her fur. "Sorry, baby. It'll be a while before that happens again."
She leaned into his leg, giving him a big doggy grin, and Jared laughed again, opening the transport door for her. She bounded into place, and he fastened the harness that kept her safe quickly. "If we hurry, maybe there will still be some deer out for you to chase."
She shoved her cold nose at his throat and licked his chin. "Yeah, I figured you'd like that."
Closing the door, Jared let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. The jog had settled his nerves and let him fit in his skin again. Trying to rehab Jensen didn't seem like too much. It would be all right. He'd be all right.
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-03-16 06:53 pm (UTC)Looks like the calm before the storm. I like spending a little time in Jared's head - understanding how he felt in the beginning and his perception of Jeff is very cool. Love the backstory. As always, looking forward to more.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-19 01:00 pm (UTC)