beanside | Fic: Ain't Found A Way

Another chapter of Deathknell!

Title: Ain't Found A Way
Authors:

beanside
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Never happened. Never will. Fiction, all of it.
A/N: Another unbetaed bit.

The courthouse didn't look anything like what he'd expected, Jensen thought. He was used to the sterile box-like buildings of the US. This was anything but. Instead, it was a beautiful, turn of the century building, warm and welcoming. The walls were painted with soothing colors, the pictures of wide open vistas instead of religious figures.

Jeff and Jared were in line getting the license for the wedding. As he watched, Jared bent, kissing the back of Jeff's neck lightly, whispering something that made Jeff smile. Jeff's hand slid back, and for a second, Jensen thought he was going for a crude grope, but then his hand turned, fingers lacing together and squeezing gently.

When Jared smiled like that, Jensen found himself thinking, the whole room brightened.

"They really love each other, don't they," Jensen murmured, looking at Kane. "I don't get that, but they do."

"Yeah. I don't get it some days, and I watched it happen. Somehow, they managed that whole fairytale epic love bullshit," Kane said, shaking his head with a smile that took the sting out of the words. "God knows they've earned it."

God; the word should've made him flinch. Then again, maybe it wasn't Bentley's God. Jensen hoped not, hoped there was no fire and wrath waiting because Jeff held Jared's hand. It was bad enough knowing what Bentley did to men like them. Sodomy is the province of whores and beasts. You took on their sins and were tainted; now I burn that filth from you, as a man throwing soiled robes aside-

Jensen stared for another moment, mind whirling. "That's... good."

Jeff bent his head and murmured something to Jared, stroking his thumb over Jared's knuckles. Like Jared was special; like this was sacred. Maybe it was.

He couldn't kill Jeff. Worse, he didn't want to. It didn't matter that Jeff had abandoned Nikki to Edward's sadism. It didn't matter what he'd done. How could Jensen expect anyone to care about two broken slaves they didn't know?

One of whom had killed his grandmother. One of whom was worthless, Morgan's murdering whore. Jensen had known that Matthew Dean was disgusted by what Morgan had created; why would he want that reminder, Nikki and Jensen close enough to taint him?

Fine, so Jeff wasn't a saint. He wasn't a monster, either. Just a man who happened to be stupidly in love.

He couldn't do that to Jared. Sweet, kind Jared with a smile that made the world brighter. He couldn't take that away from him.

"I need to use the restroom," Jensen muttered. "Be right back."

Kane gave him a sideways glance. "Do you know where it is?"

"We passed it on the way in. I'm not two, Kane." Jensen lowered his eyes. "Sorry," he murmured. "I-"

Kane laughed. "Sarcastic little bugger."

Warily, Jensen asked, "That's an okay thing?"

"Yeah." There was a warmth in Kane's eyes that Jensen couldn't want. "That's a good thing."

"Oh." Jensen itched to fold his hands behind his back and ease away into a comfortable distance. Instead, he shoved his hands in the pockets of the over-sized jacket. Pockets; one more little luxury, a place to hide secrets. "I'll be- it'll just be a minute."

"Take your time." Eyeing the line, Kane muttered, "Goddamn bureaucracy."

It was a nice cover, but Jensen could still feel Kane watching him as he walked around the corner towards the well-marked men's room. From there, it would only be a short stretch to the exit. From there, the street, the city, and crowds dense enough to be lost in.

Jensen paused outside the bathroom door, considering. His pulse rose in his throat, beating behind where the scorpion waited.

He could run. He could be out of the city before Jeff, Kane and Jared realized who he was and what he was here to do. From there, his options narrowed: he could hide away, somehow tear out the scorpion without killing himself, and spend the rest of his life running from the US and the UN both; he could be caught and imprisoned or, worse, deported back to Bentley; or he could be killed by the police, by the scorpion, or by something as stupid as a passing bus.

In all three cases, they would send someone else who would kill Jeff and Jared. Then Bentley and Chancellor would have no threat to deal with, and the US would have no hope. Even if Jeff showed no inclination to make things better, to leave his safe little life, he was still Morgan's grandson. He was still a threat just by breathing, a nightmare that woke Chancellor at night, the Lost Heir that got new slaves through one more torture in case tomorrow was the day they'd be freed.

There was no question that Jeff had to live. The only question was what Jensen was willing to do about it.

The hand on his shoulder brought him around, ready to strike, ready to kill.

A bland-looking man held up his hands. "I come in peace and love, brother," he said. His voice lilted gently, soothing and beautiful. "Our master has sent me to aid his chosen in his task."

The chill crept up Jensen's spine. He glanced down the hallway, but no one had come for him yet. Taking the man's arm, he steered him into the restroom and locked the door.

Once they were alone, Jensen asked, "Our master?" The word seemed foreign in his mouth, as if it had been years instead of days. His heartbeat still throbbed thick in his throat, rising up to choke him.

"Of course." The man dropped to his knees, head bowed. "I am to aid you in the cleansing, the righteous purification of the Sodomite and his faggot brethren."

Jensen felt a muscle in his cheek twitch. "Righteous purification," he echoed.

The man beamed up at him, as if he felt the sun on his face. "Yes, brother. Then we will return to Bentley, for his blessings and purest of love-"

"No." The word tore free, no agendas, no masks. Jensen clenched his jaw, but it was already spoken.

The man looked at him, honestly puzzled. "What?"

That's not love," Jensen said. His head felt light; this was suicide and liberation at once, blasphemy rich on his tongue. "That's not sacred."

"Have you fallen under the Sodomite's spell?" The man shook his head. "Our master feared this. You must resist the temptations of the the flesh, my brother. Pray with me for God's strength and forgiveness for your lack of faith."

"It doesn't have to be like this," Jensen said desperately. "We don't have to be his slaves. I don't want to hurt you. He brainwashed you, he brainwashed us both, but he can't reach you here-"

The man's eyes rolled up until they showed milky-white. "Lord, he knoweth not what he say, the Sodomite has breached his mind and harmed him. See that he is still your faithful servant beneath it, and give me the strength to kill the Sodomite who has harmed him, in your name. Quia apud te propitiatio est..."

Jensen winced as he heard the familiar Latin refrain of Psalm 129, one of Bentley's favorites. "Pater de caelis, Deus, miserere nobis," he murmured, laying a hand on the man's shoulder. He could feel the bones pressing up into his hand, and the soft hollow where the scorpion lay. When the man breathed, Jensen caught the shine of the implantation scar. "I see what has to be done."

A shiver of excitement ran through the man. "Let us pray together brother. Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo."

Jensen let his lips shape the familiar prayer--the Our Father. One of the first things Morgan had taught him. When he laid his hand on the man's head as though in blessing, the pale blue eyes met his, dewy with the zeal of the believer.

"You honor me," the man whispered, quivering. "Our Master's chosen vessel honors this humble servant."

"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti," Jensen murmured, letting his other hand creep closer to the hollow of the man's throat. He let his thumb rest there for a moment, then sighed and dug his fingers into the man's shoulder. His thumb pressed in, pressed on the scorpion, crushing it against the bone. It triggered, lightning sharp under Jensen's hand, burning him.

The man jolted, eyes wide and stunned. Then scorpion's venom spilled through his system in seconds; the man's eyes went dull, his body folding under Jensen's hand until he fell face-first on the dirty bathroom floor. The man twitched once, twice, and was still. Beneath his face was a small puddle of blood, as if he bit through his tongue as he seized.

The commotion in the hall continued unabated. A man died, Jensen's whole life changed, and the world went on.

"Amen," Jensen said softly. "I'm sorry."

His hand was still red and sore where he'd pressed it into the man's throat, stinging as Jensen rinsed his hands in the sink. He left the man where he was, blocking the door to the bathroom. It would look like a stroke or a seizure, a natural death.

Nobody paid Jensen any mind as he eased back into the hallway and rejoined Christian. Jeff and Jared were at the front of the line now, heads bent together over their certificate.

"Hey, good timing," Christian murmured. "They're just about ready to go into the courtroom for the ceremony."

Jensen followed them to the courtroom, a sunny room with rich, dark wood. The judge was a petite older woman who smiled at them as they entered. He and Christian sat in the front row of the court, and watched as Jeff and Jared held a quick conference with the judge. She looked briefly startled, then nodded.

"Well, then. Let's get this started," she said, obviously pitching her voice for an audience. "We've come here today to recognize the choice these two men have made to join their lives together. Marriage is sacred, a promise to love beyond reason, to protect and shelter another person's heart as you would your own."

A tiny thrill of something spread in Jensen's stomach at the words, something quiet and warm. He rubbed at the ache beside his ribs and looked at them, together, content.

Morgan would've been happy to see it. She'd bitch, of course, about useless sentimentality and wastes of time, about the lack of the great-grandchildren she was owed, but she'd have been proud of Jeff. Maybe, for a few minutes, she would've been proud of Jensen.

Jeff smiled up at Jared, clasping his hands tightly.

The world seemed to still for a moment. Held in a perfect moment of sunlight picking the gray strands of Jeff's hair, of Jared's answering smile. Their lips moved, words soft, barely a rumble in the stillness of the room.

Jeff slid a thin band of gold onto Jared's hand, almost managing to hide the way his fingers trembled.

Jared laughed, nearly fumbling the ring as he slid it onto Jeff's finger. "I love you," he murmured.

Jensen felt his lips curl into a smile at Jeff's answering laugh.

"I love you, too, butterfingers."

A minute later, the woman pronounced them married. It was so quick a thing, to sentence both of them to death. They shared a sweet, chaste kiss, hands twined together between them. Jensen felt it again, the quick tightening of his chest, a flicker of fear. He gripped his stinging hand tightly, and the pain settled him.

Something bumped his shoulder, startling him. When Jensen looked, it was only Kane nudging him and smiling crookedly. There was a discomforting shine to Kane's eyes. "It's enough to turn your stomach," Kane said fondly.

Jensen managed a laugh. Then Jared turned, not dropping Jeff's hand, and teased, "You love it, you sap. C'mere for pictures. You too, Jen."

Why would they-? But it was too late, Kane was already steering him towards the front of the church.

Jeff looped an arm around his shoulders, tugging him so close he could breathe the warm scent of Jeff's aftershave. It was comfortable, familiar, even after only a few days. Then the photographer snapped off a few shots, blinding them. Kane swore; Jared smacked him upside the back of his head and warned him, "Watch your fucking mouth at my wedding, dude."

The camera went off again-

And Nikki jerked away from the flash, her hiss muffled by the black hood.

Edward lowered the camera, scowling. Jensen had learned to hate that expression, twisting Edward's coolly handsome face. His looks held a faint echo of Morgan, a cheap imitation that was more mockery than flattery. He had her clever hands, talented with the knife and belt. Nikki's bare back was a canvas of wounds.

Putting the camera carefully aside, Edward strode to Nikki and jerked the hood up. He wrenched a handful of her hair with it, and in the bald fluorescent lights the strands looked like a torn spiderweb. Maybe that was the starvation talking.

"I told you not to talk, whore," Edward said conversationally. "You ruined the shot. It has to be perfect. You want Jeff to send for you, don't you?"

Nikki stared up at him from her knees. One eye had swollen shut, blood seeping around the lashes. He could see her fighting with her temper; her attention jerked to Jensen, and she exhaled through her teeth, forcing herself to stand down.

Unfortunately, the idiot wasn't done. He nudged Nikki's chin with the toe of his boot, forcing her to crane her head back. "Don't look at it," Edward said, "I'm your master. Respect your better, girl."

And that was it, Nikki's patience fractured. "I would if I saw my better, Eddie."

Jensen let his head drop. He stared at the floor, waiting for the crack of the whip or the impact of Edward's boot on his scored back. That was the game; Nikki disobeyed and Jensen caught the punishment. Jensen fumbled his duty or let Edward feel the drag of teeth and Nikki paid.

Until Edward got bored with the rules.

Silence hung over their heads for a few long moments, tightening like the screws on a vise. Jensen closed his eyes, hating the helpless sting of tears. God damn Nikki for slipping, damn her for fighting back. Couldn't she have just-

"You're lucky," Edward said finally. "You're lucky it's me. Do you know what Jeff would do to you, girl? He'd cut that quick tongue out of your head."

"Maybe," Nikki said. "But I know he'd kick your ass, and I think it'd be worth the trouble."

Edward stiffened, hands clenching into fists.

Fear crept up Jensen's spine, choking his throat. He said, "Nikki," but his voice was a dry, faint thing.

Nikki straightened, tilting her chin up, and spat, "Morgan told us about you, Edward. The weak, whiny little boy who tortured anything small than you. She told us what you did to her cat, and that Jeff tore a strip out of you. Broke your nose, didn't he? Made you come crying to Mommy-"

"Nikki," Jensen said sharply. "Don't-"

He barely had time to turn before the sole of Edward's boot slammed into his temple, knocking him into the wall. His vision swam with darkness and fire, and he barely felt himself hit the floor. There was wetness on his upper lip, dripping ticklishly in down his chin. His heart pounded in his ears; he wondered if this was dying.

Nikki's voice went shrill as a siren, in and out. Jensen forced his eyes open again.

"Shut up!" Edward barked. A vein pulsed in his temple. "Shut up, that bitch didn't know anything. She shouldn't have told you-"

"Morgan always hated you," Nikki crooned. Her eyes were bright and wide, her teeth bared. She'd never been so beautiful. "Thought you were a spoiled bitch. Blood shows, doesn't it? Sucks to be a bastard, to know that you're nothing to her, that Jeff was always her favorite."

Edward's face turned to stone.

Through the dizziness and the wrenching gut-deep sickness, Jensen saw the warning. There was rules, he had to distract Edward now and remind him that he was here to punish. He had to get Edward away from Nikki, had to get the violence split between them. That was the game. But his mouth wouldn't work, forming words in silence, and all he could taste was blood.

Edward went to his tools, and picked up a metal bar. His knuckles were white as he gripped it.

Had to get up, had to speak, had to do something-- Jensen pushed himself up on the wall, tried to rise, but pain blinded him. When he could see again, there was bile in his mouth and he was on the floor again. His face was wet, and the floor was slick with blood, but he had to, he had to, he couldn't.

Nikki laughed, a bitter sound, and spat on Edward. There was bleak madness in her eyes. "Go on, kill me. I don't give a fuck. Kill me, Jeff'll know, he'll make you pay for-"

Edward struck, and Nikki fell. Jensen couldn't see her, but he heard her scream and the thick crunch of bone. He heard the wet sound, and her silence. It filled his ears and his mouth, that bitter sound, and his howl replaced hers. Now that it was over, now that it didn't matter, Jensen screamed.

"Jen?"

Jensen twitched, wrenched back again, and put out a hand to steady himself. There was sweat on his face; he could still smell... "Yes," he said, trying to sound even. "What?"

Christian was looking at him, one eyebrow cocked.

"Sorry," Jensen murmured, ducking his head. "I didn't catch that."

"Mm. I said that if it's okay with you, Jared and I'll run and get lunch, and you and Jeff can head back to the house." When Jensen just stared, Christian prompted, "To get set up?"

"Oh." The thought of being hit by another assassin sat easier on Jensen's mind than being alone with Jeff. Someone had to protect him, though. "Yeah. That's fine."

"Glad to hear it," Christian said. "Shall we?"

As they stepped out of the courtroom into a small mob of people, Christian frowned, glancing at Jeff. They exchanged a look that set Jensen on edge. Kane started to reach in his jacket, and Jensen caught a flash of Agency ID.

He had settled for this path, but a courthouse filled with police wasn't a good place to tell them the truth. For one thing, it'd be hell to defend Jeff.

Forcing his expression into neutrality, Jensen bumped into Jared's arm and asked quietly, "What is it?"

Jared looked down at him with a puzzled frown. "Dunno. I can ask, if you want--"

"No," Jensen said carefully, and backed up into the closed door. "I don't- too many people. I'm a little..." With a sheepish smile and a desperation he didn't have to fake, Jensen looked between Jeff and Jared. "Can we go? Please?"

With a last stroke, Jeff let go of Jared's hand and touched Jensen's shoulder. "Sure," he said soothingly, "we're on our way out. C'mon."

As they went down the hall, Jensen caught a glance of the taped off bathroom. There was a gurney, and a shape under a white sheet. When an officer looked in their direction, Jensen turned his face away and walked a little faster. Nothing had tasted as good as the open air of the parking lot.

Then again, maybe not; they were vulnerable in the open. Jensen scanned the roofs for the tell-tale glint of a sniper's scope. The absence made him more nervous, not less.

Jeff paused by their transport to snag Jared's jacket. He stroked his fingers down Jared's jaw, then leaned close and brushed a kiss on Jared's smiling mouth. Then he let go, smoothing Jared's jacket down. Something passed between them that Jensen didn't, couldn't, understand. Jared turned the mega-watt smile on Jensen, brief and blinding. Then he was gone.

The delay was fine. It gave Jensen a moment to go behind the transport and glance in the undercarriage, checking for bombs. No sign.

Jeff smiled as he slid into the transport with Jensen. As the engine turned over, Jeff smiled at his wedding band. He stroked his thumb over the ring, reverent. "Still seems kinda unreal," he murmured. "I'm glad you were there."

Jensen's face felt hot. He leaned away from the heater and nodded, swallowing the lump that tightened this throat. "Thank you. I was... I liked being there."

Morgan had told him a lot about Jeff. He was brave, he was a good man. He would be good for the country. It was like some storybook king that people pledged their swords and lives to serve. Except the books had knights, not murdering whores. After all that time and all those stories, Jensen had expected Jeff to be like Morgan: hard and strong. He'd expected Jeff to have the cold edge to his voice, the brisk hands that patched wounds.

Instead, Jeff was warmth. He was kind, gentle and easy. Morgan was a lot of things, but never easy.

Jensen sighed. Morgan was mistaken. There was no way that Jeff was cut out for this life. Jeff wouldn't survive a damn week in office. Even if he was willing to do what was necessary to get there, which his past said he clearly wasn't, Jeff would be assassinated in days hugging an orphan or something. He wasn't meant to lead. He was just a nice guy.

He still had to live. Jensen still had to protect him. Maybe more, now, because he wasn't some kind of savior. It wasn't Jeff's fault, any of it. Nikki hadn't been. And if she wasn't Jeff's fault, if Jeff hadn't failed her, then it was clear who had. Jensen.

"You okay?" Jeff asked.

It would wait. Later, after they celebrated the wedding. Then, he would tell Jeff the truth, and to take Jared and run.

Yeah. As if it was some strategy that kept Jensen quiet now, and not this. Not some twisted need to squeeze a few more minutes of warmth. Jeff would hate him, and he'd be right to, and it was better if he knew, but... just a few more minutes, was all. Just a reminder of why this was worth dying for.

"Yeah," Jensen said. "I'm fine."

The house was quiet when they pulled in. No sign of life in the woods around the house, but that didn't mean anything. Jensen's nerves were humming, like they had been all day. If the old men didn't kill him, maybe his heart would give out.

"Girl must be asleep on the bed," Jeff grinned. "She thinks she's being all stealth and shit. I'm going to duck upstairs real quick. I think I have some champagne in the mini fridge up there. Would you grab some glasses?"

Jensen nodded, heading towards the kitchen as Jeff climbed the ladder to the loft.

A soft growl caught his attention as he entered, and Jensen stilled. "Bisou?"

As he turned, a flicker of movement reflected in the chrome of the stove. Without thinking, he dropped, spinning as he fell.

The knife missed him by inches, burying itself into the wood of the counter. Someone was crowded close. Jensen got a split-second look at his attacker--tall, dressed head to toe in white camouflage for winter-- before he kicked out, trying to push the man away from him.

The man stumbled back, pulling another blade from his uniform. Definite professional, Jensen thought, scrambling to his feet. Then came the flash of a badge, branding the man as one of the Apostate. Fuck. They never worked solo.

The man lunged again, knife nicking along Jensen's shoulder as Jensen wrenched away. It drew a thin, stinging line of blood. Beneath his mask, Jensen saw the man's lip curl in triumph.

Dumb bastard never saw the butcher block Jensen was gripping behind his back.

It was pretty impressive, the kind of splatter you could get from the corner of a heavy cutting board to the head. Warm blood bathed his face, spraying as the assassin crumpled. He wasn't dead, not yet. Jensen scooped the knife up from the floor, crouching next to the unconscious man.

The knife sliced through skin and gristle, leaving the man gurgling quietly on the floor. Jensen quickly opened the pantry door, and felt his breath rush out in relief as an unhurtBisou wagged her tail at him. "Good girl," he whispered softly. "Stay here, okay?"

As Jensen stepped into the living room, the other assassin was just easing off the ladder into the loft.

Jensen darted towards the ladder, scaling it silently, adrenaline racing through him. Jeff had to live. Nothing else mattered.

Jeff was bent over the table, the assassin sliding in beside him. Even as Jensen lunged forward, opening his mouth to yell a warning, he knew that he would be too late--

He barely saw Jeff move, a quick blur of a raised hand. The assassin stumbled backwards, dropping his knife and yowling in pain. The man turned towards Jensen, and Jensen stared at the paintbrush protruding from the man's eye

The knife in Jensen's hand gleamed in the cold winter light of the skylight, the blood that sprayed from the jugular glistening like floating rubies. He stepped back as the assassin fell forward, eyes widening at the bloody blade that Jeff held in his hand, the neat circle of blood spreading on the back of the uniform.

Jeff was staring at him. Probably just figuring out what he'd brought into his home. For that matter, what the hell was Jeff? Fuck. All the words froze in his throat; he couldn't do this, he could cover from the woods, he was already turning--

"Jensen," Jeff said sharply. "Stop."

It wasn't comfort, it was command, and it made Jensen's hands lock on the loft's rails. He hadn't known, hadn't believed that Jeff's voice could sound like that. Like the echo of Morgan's voice. He hadn't even made it onto the ladder. Jensen stared down at the floor, whereBisou waited and peered up at them. She'd tracked blood into the living room. He was tired, he hurt, and suddenly he wanted to laugh. He was too damn tired to run, and there was nowhere else to go anyway.

"Jen," Jeff said again, gentler. "C'mon. I think I've chased you enough."

With his heart locked in his throat, Jensen turned around.

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