| Title: Opening Gambit Author: Jo Series: Endgame, prologue Pairing: Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles, Jeffrey Dean Morgan Rating: R Summary: The end of days Warnings: AU, general mayhem & destruction (throughout the series), heavy religious imagery/content Disclaimer: This absolutely, sincerely has never happened, and I hope it never does. I made it all up, y'all. Notes: For the Bat Out of Kansas challenge, prompt #1. Massive thanks to azewewish and cupiscent for the smashing betas. I couldn't do this without them. Oh, and for those who might not be sure…this is a gen fic.
The husky, low voice swirled around Jeff, brushed over his eardrums like crushed velvet, and he smiled. "Of course," he said, eyeing the petite woman in front of him. She returned the smile with one of wicked glee. One hand came up to pat his cheek as she stepped in to press against him. "I know it's not ideal," she murmured, as his hands slid along blood-red form-fitting leather to frame her hips. "But the reward will be worth it." "I know." He bent his head to touch his lips to hers, not surprised when she took control of the kiss. A gloved hand tangled in his hair, yanking hard, and he tasted copper after she pulled away. Jeff just grinned and ran his tongue over his lower lip. "You only have a few minutes. Now go," she said, voice cold, words clashing like swords. Long dark hair swirled around her shoulders as she spun on her heel. Jeff watched until she was out of sight, the loud rumble of a Harley filling the air, before he turned and started up Figueroa.
Standing in the mouth of the alley, looking out at the destruction that was downtown Los Angeles, Jared was hard pressed to remember a time when his mouth didn't taste of ash and his nostrils weren't filled with the reek of decay. Shifting the canvas bag, filled with scavenged cans and boxes of food, Jared took a deep breath and coughed. Enough time later for introspection. Right now, he had to get back to the small room he'd holed up in, had to make sure he was inside when the sun set. The mobs roaming the area were always worse once darkness fell. Another explosion to the northwest -- the Valley, Burbank possibly -- rocked the air. Jared couldn't help but flinch. "Hail Mary, full of grace," he whispered, and touched a hand to the gold cross beneath his battered shirt. His mother had given him the bit of gold when he was seven, following his First Communion. He'd worn it every day since. The feel of the metal against his skin was reassuring. He finished the prayer, ran a forearm across his forehead in an effort to wipe away the sweat. He only succeeded in smearing the dirt and grime that had collected on his skin. He couldn't remember the last time he had had a shower. Or a decent meal. But then, compared to the cities that had been wiped out -- New York, Washington, London, Tokyo, Cairo, Toronto, Moscow -- being clean and well fed seemed such a small thing. The world had, literally, gone to Hell, and Jared was starting to believe that it was never going to get better. As he watched, clouds of smoke filled the air over the hills. Definitely Burbank. He'd thought nothing was left in that area to make that sort of conflagration; it seemed he was wrong. Just as he knew he was wrong to thank God that the wind was blowing north, away from Los Angeles proper. But, he knew that life had devolved into survival of the fittest. And he intended to survive as long as possible. Closing his eyes, touching the crucifix once more, he started to say another prayer as he turned away to move deeper into the alley. He was halfway to the shadows and what passed for safety - if any place could be called safe these days - when he heard the voice. "How touching." Jared whirled, dropped to a crouch, the bag landing beside him with a quiet clank. His hand moved to his back pocket. Eyes darting, he searched for the source of the sarcastic voice. There was a scrape, a scuff, the quiet thud of a boot hitting asphalt, and a man stepped into view. He was tall, close to Jared's own height, with short, spiky brown hair and a hint of stubble along a strong jaw. Black leather pants encased long legs, flaring out over battered black combat boots. A black leather jacket hung from broad shoulders, framing a bare, muscled chest, and what looked to be tribal symbols crawled up the sides of his neck from beneath the collar. Despite the heat, he didn't seem to sweat, though a faint sheen covered his skin. "Who are you?" Jared was slow to straighten from the crouch and kept a wary eye on the newcomer. "Name's Jensen." He strolled closer, each footfall seeming to echo through the confines of the alley, and flashed Jared a wide, friendly smile. "And you're Jared." There were perhaps six feet separating them when Jared realized that the smile didn't touch Jensen's eyes. He took a step back, fingertips brushing the bulge of the knife in his pocket, and tried to calculate how far it was to the nearest open door. "Where'd you come from?" "Here and there," Jensen said. His smile twisted, but he continued to watch Jared as his steps slowed. "Hell, mostly. You need to come with me." "Uh, right. I don't know you from Adam, dude. Why the hell should I go anywhere with you?" Jared took another step back. Something wasn't right here. As Jensen's smile faded completely, Jared felt his stomach roll as a sick feeling swept over him. "And how the hell do you know my name?" "Not safe on the streets." Broad shoulders rolled in a shrug. Jared's eyes were drawn to the motion before snapping back to Jensen's face. "Still doesn't explain why I should go with you." "Still alive," Jensen pointed out, as if that explained everything. "So?" Cautious, unable to keep a fissure of unease from creeping up his spine, Jared kept his eyes on Jensen's. The one thing his father had taught him about fighting was that the other guy's eyes always telegraphed his next move. "So am I." "How long you think that'll last?" Jensen asked. His head tilted, and he smiled again. The stance - and unblinking gaze - reminded Jared of an exotic bird. "Out here on your own, no one to watch your back? Gets lonely, don't it?" Lonely. With just a few quiet words, Jensen reached deep inside Jared and tugged hard. He couldn't deny that the last few months had been bad, with no one to talk to, no one to share the quiet eeriness of the night. "Sometimes," he said, the word slow, dragged out of him by a force he couldn't name. Jensen nodded. "Thought so. What d'you want, dude? Women? Men? Whatever it is, I can get it for you. All you gotta do is come with me." It was so easy to listen to what he was offering. So easy to let the words lull him, to believe in the safety that Jensen was offering. Jared opened his mouth to agree. The words vanished as something dark and fleeting flashed through the steady gaze watching him. A heavy feeling of unease and danger pressed down on him. "Actually," he said, shifting his weight and wishing (again) that he had his knife in his hand, "I've got a place to stay. I'll be okay." Hazel-green eyes narrowed. Jensen took another step forward and reached behind his back, jacket lifting a little as his hand slid beneath it. "You need to come with me, Jared." "No." Shaking his head, unkempt hair falling in his eyes, Jared edged closer to the nearest doorway. Something was definitely wrong. "Think I'm better off on my own." "Fool," Jensen snapped, spitting the word out as his hand came forward again. A foot of glistening steel twirled between his fingers, sullen light flashing off the silver blade. Rainbow colors played along the length of the metal, reminding Jared of an oil slick. His breath came fast, hot and harsh in his throat, and his hand closed in a convulsive grip over the crucifix around his neck. "What the hell, man," he stammered, stomach churning as a sour taste filled the back of his throat. Jensen watched him with eyes that were more green than hazel now. The knife twirled in his fingers, light continuing to flash off of it in a sickening display. "On your own means dead. You don't want to die." "I don't want to go with you, either," Jared said, voice flat. He wished he had a better weapon than the small switchblade tucked into his back pocket -- and wished he had actually pulled it out of his pocket minutes ago -- but he would do his best to make Jensen regret it if he came too close. Sure, Jensen's knife was a lot bigger, but Jared knew he had the longer reach. "Stupid, stupid boy." Jensen's eyes seemed to swirl with a sick gleam. Jared felt his stomach roll again. "They said you wouldn't listen. Shame. Guess we'll have to do this the hard way." They…who? What? The click of a gun being cocked ripped through the air like thunder. Jared's head jerked up, and even Jensen froze. "Think you need to be leaving, son." The words were delivered in a low, gravelly growl as a third man stepped into view. Clad in jeans and a wife-beater that was more dingy than white, he stood there and watched Jensen with calm eyes. "What is this, Grand Central Station," Jared muttered, taking the opportunity to put some more distance between his chest and that knife. "No, Grand Central Station vanished in the bomb that took out New York." The devilish grin the newcomer flashed at Jared made dark eyes crinkle, but the gun never wavered. It remained pointed at Jensen's head. "Small loss," Jensen said. His voice was calm, level. "You don't wanna get mixed up in this." "Oh, I think I do. Nasty looking pig sticker you got there, and the kid ain't got nothing but his fists. Don't see how that's a fair fight." "Old man, who in Hell said I was going to fight fair?" "'Bout what I figured." The gun twitched then, barrel moving towards the mouth of the alley before snapping back to Jensen. "Go on. Get outta here." "Think you can take me?" Jensen asked, curiosity as plain as the freckles sprinkled across his nose. The black symbols down his neck seemed to writhe as he shrugged his shoulders. "I think I can put a hole in you that'll sting like a bitch before you can get close enough to use that knife." "Good point." "I thought it was." The grin reappeared. "Now how about you make yourself scarce." "This isn't over," Jensen said, voice cold. His eyes shifted to Jared, and he smiled. The pure amount of evil and malice in it made Jared's skin crawl. "I'll be seeing you." "Not if I have anything to say about it," Jared muttered Jensen laughed, and Jared knew that he had never heard a colder, more evil laugh in his life. Booted feet rang on gritty asphalt as Jensen walked toward the mouth of the alley. Then, in one smooth motion, he spun, crouched, and his arm snapped forward. The weight of a body crashing into Jared dragged him to the ground. There was a thunderous crack right over his head, and when Jared could see again, Jensen had vanished. The knife he had carried was buried in the concrete wall, right about where Jared's heart would have been if the older man hadn't knocked him down. Jared stared at it with wide brown eyes. "Jesus." "Not quite. I'm Jeff." A strong hand grasped Jared's wrist and hauled him to his feet. "I was passing by and thought maybe you could use a hand." "Thanks," Jared said, still staring at the knife. What kind of force was required to bury six inches of steel in concrete? He wasn't sure he really wanted to know. "I wouldn't do that." Jeff nodded when Jared's fingers stopped a few inches short of touching the handle. "That knife's lethal." "I don't plan on stabbing myself with it," Jared said, sourly, and reached for it again. "Not like that. Ever hear of the Four Horsemen?" Jared froze. "Like, the Apocalypse?" he asked, snatching his hand back and giving Jeff a cool, wary look when Jeff nodded. "That was Pestilence." "Pest…riiiiight." With a snort, Jared turned away, picking up the bag by his feet. "Bet you don't feel sick any more, do you?" Jared stumbled. "What…how…?" "Should've paid closer attention to what he said," Jeff said, shrugging. He left the knife where it was and started walking. "Come on. Ain't safe around here once the sun goes down." After a moment, Jared fell into step with him. Damned if he knew why, though. Curiosity, maybe. All he did know was that Jeff offered something he hadn't had in months -- someone to listen, to talk to. Jared's intuition hadn't failed him yet, and it was telling him that he could trust Jeff. And he'd helped Jared against the crazy… That brought Jared's thoughts back into focus. Pestilence. Uh huh. "Dude, he was crazy. Not evil." "Good Christian boy like you doesn't know his Scriptures? Pestilence is neither evil nor good, son." Jeff continued walking, crossing the street after they emerged from the alley. He seemed to take it for granted that Jared would follow. "Closest description for him and the other Horsemen is amoral. Death's the worst of the bunch. He's a cold, emotionless son of a bitch." "I suppose you know him, too," Jared said, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. "I've had a few run-ins with him." Jeff shrugged and kept walking. Jared stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Jeff took a few more steps before he turned around. "You're serious." "Dead serious. How d'you think he knew your name?" "I…" Well, fuck. Jared frowned, then shook his head. "Good point." "Better start thinking. The others he was referring to…don't think I need to tell you who they are, do I?" "The other Horsemen?" Jared swallowed when Jeff nodded. Heat washed over his skin, making it prickle with fresh sweat, and the taste of smoke and ash was heavy in the air. It didn't take much to believe the Apocalypse was coming. "Why was he after me?" "Because," Jeff said, smiling. "You're an important player in this little chess game." "Me?" The word came out as a half-squeak. There was no way that Jeff was serious. "Bullshit." "There's a knife stuck in a wall back there says otherwise," Jeff said, and then started walking again. He turned the corner. Jared hesitated for a few seconds before following. "So," he said, as he caught up with Jeff, "where are we going?" "Got a place not far from here," Jeff replied. He didn't even look around, just smiled a little. "Couple friends there, people who know what's what. It's someplace you'll be safe." Safe... Jared wanted to laugh. He didn't. Nowhere was safe anymore. Not if this really was the Apocalypse. "Jared Padalecki," he said, and made his decision. Jared stuck out his hand. "Friends?" Jeff reached over, gave Jared's hand a firm shake. "Jeff Morgan. And I ain't ever gonna say no to a friend." Only a few months since the world had gone to hell, but it seemed like forever since Jared had had a friend.
"I love it when a plan comes together," Jensen said, appearing behind her. A cold smile curved his lips when she reached back and up to curl her fingers around the black leather band that now circled his throat. "Let's get out of here." She laughed again. "I hear the Middle East is nice this time of year. Maybe Orlando and Karl will join us…"
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