Fic: Above the Dust, J2 AU 1/?

[ladyjanelly]

What have I been doing lately besides making a baby?

 writing some fic.  Unbeta'ed, no ending in sight, but here for your amusement--

Above the Dust

 September, 1935

Jensen flexes his wings and turns into a slow sweeping curve.  The show’s caravan stretches out below him like a chopped up snake that still knows how to slither.  All the pieces winding around the hills together but not touching each other. 

 

He rolls onto his back.  Arches, twists and feels the sun shine dry and warm on his chest and he falls for just a second before he turns again and cups the rising air under his feathers. 

 

He misses clouds.  The way their coolness slipped between his feathers.  The mist of them on his face.  It’s dry now and too bright but better than being down below.  Flying is always better than riding.  Trapped in the dark heat of one of the trucks ‘til his wings cramp or stretched out on one of the roofs breathing in the dust.  Feeling it coat every inch of him inside and out. 

 

Safer up here too.  No chance of some yokel seeing him and Trent fussing at him for giving away the glimpses that people aught to pay for.  The carnies say he looks like a bird up so high.  He thinks if that’s true they should look like rabbits or mice or something but they still look like who they are.

 

He lets himself drift. Soaring on the rising heat coming from the baked earth below. Saving his energy for the up and down as much as he can.  He watches the ground.  Trent says if Jensen's gonna tire himself out flyin’ around like this and not be able to help set up camp then he’d better keep his eye out for stuff that’s more useful than he is.  Jensen is always the one that finds water.  Little streams set back from the road and hidden like secrets.

 

Looking for streams, that’s how he sees the boy.  Sprawled like a dead thing down-slope from the road and half hidden in the brush.  Thinks he’s dead at first lyin’ there so still.  Jensen circles around a couple of times.  Lookin’ close for anybody else.  Anybody that could grab onto him when he lands.

 

He gets closer and the boy isn’t a boy.  He’s a man.  Tall and lean and strong-looking.  Beat all to hell though.  Blood clotted with dirt on his face and flies creeping over his eyelashes and his cracked lips and his battered knuckles.  The dust makes him all one color from his hair to his feet.

 

Jensen touches down.  Wishes he’d left his boots on even if they get so heavy after a couple hours of flyin’. He walks the last few steps over to the man’s side.  Feels the poke and grit of rocks and twigs sharp against the soles of his feet.  He reaches out and puts his fingers on the man’s throat.  His skin’s too hot and too dry but the beat of his heart is strong and steady. 

 

The man stirs and Jensen snatches his hand back.  Juts his wings straight out of his back and as far away from the stranger as he can hold them.  The man’s hazel eyes look Jensen over and then the man licks his lips.  Not that it does him much good as dry as his tongue has to be.  “’m I dead?”  he rasps out and Jensen shakes his head. 

 

The man closes his eyes again and Jensen's not sure that was the answer he was hoping for.  The man lies quiet for a while.  Like he’s thinking or maybe gathering the strength to talk some more. 

 

“Please,” he finally says and he doesn’t bother to open his eyes.  “Please help me.”

 

Jensen nods even though the guy can’t see him.  Touches his shoulder one last time and then steps away.  Three brisk steps and then he pushes off the earth and back into the sky. 

 

=========

 

 

 

Jeff sees Jensen through the cracked and dusty windshield of the truck he’s driving.  Coming in low to circle around.  Matching speed with the convoy of tired looking vehicles.  He lands on the roof with a soft thump and Jeff smiles.  Kid’s getting better at that.  He remembers the first time Jensen tried the stunt.  Nearly scared the heart right out of Jeff’s chest when he went tumbling down over the hood and out of sight.  He could have kicked the boy after he skidded to a stop and found him clinging to the truck’s grill all white-faced and wide-eyed.  Could have but didn’t because nobody kicks Jensen. 

 

None of them would, at least.

 

He hears Jensen's steps light on the roof and then his feet appear at the passenger side window.  He slides in to perch there on the edge.  Feet tucked under the side of the seat and his butt hanging down the outside of the door so he can duck his head into the cab.

 

“Find something?”  Jeff asks. 

 

Jensen nods and Jeff tries to puzzle out the uncertain enthusiasm in his eyes.

 

“Something Trent won’t like?”

 

Jensen chews on his lower lip for a second and then shrugs.  Not sure then.  Great.  The kid climbs out to stand on the running board then leans in to shuffle around in the floor of the cab.  He grabs a soiled white rag and Jeff’s canteen and straightens again.  Flutters the rag and gestures up the road.  He’ll leave a marker where Jeff’ll see it.  Canteen must mean whatever he’s found is alive which means Trent’s even less likely to be thrilled.  Unless it’s another cougar cub and not a stray pup.

 

Jensen takes wing again and Jeff watches him fly up into the harsh yellow sky.  Even after all these years the sight still catches the breath in his chest.  Whatever Jensen's found, Jeff will try to make sure he keeps it if he wants it.  Boy asks for so little and gives so much.  Deserves any little joy they can gift him with.

 

===============

 

Jared expects to wake up dead.  Doesn’t expect heaven but the close heat and jarring rattle of motion aren’t what he thought hell would be, either.  It hurts too much, being awake, and he slips back down into the quiet and dark.

 

The world is still when he comes to next.  Still too hot and the air too heavy on his chest to breathe easy but better than all that shaking.  He flexes his body.  Feels the tight swollenness of his knuckles, the pull of busted ribs and the ache of too many places on him hit too hard.  The sunlight seeping through his eyelids is a dull red glow and not the burning white glare he’d thought would kill him.

 

A shuffling noise lets him know he’s not alone.  He hears a soft hooting call, like an owl too close and he forces his eyes open to see where the hell he ended up.

 

Two faces peer down at him and no warning could have prepared him for the sight.  They have to be imps or trolls or some critters out of his momma’s fairy tales.  Heads too small on bodies like hunch-backed teenage girls.  Big eyes and ears and mouths but their skulls are the size of small cantaloupes.  They’re dressed in identical gingham dresses and monsters in normal clothes makes Jared wonder if he really is in hell or if he’s lost his mind. 

 

And then the one on the left hoots at him and reaches a freakishly oversize hand towards his face. 

 

Jared lets out a squeak of his own that’s anything but manly and scrambles back.  God knows what’ll happen if it touches him.  He makes it half the length of his body back before he comes up against a wooden wall.  He pushes up to his feet and he’s not cornered if he was willing to push on past one of them but his stomach twists at the thought of their skin on his.

 

“Ooh!” chirps the one on the right and smiles at him and steps in closer and Jared’s hands curl into fists.

 

“Hey!” A woman’s voice cries from somewhere behind the creatures and suddenly a veil of white comes between Jared and them.  Strong hands slam Jared back against the wall and Jared’s sure he’s taken too many kicks to the head because between him and the imps is an honest-to-God angel.  He faces off against Jared like the wrath of the Lord, white wings shielding the monsters from Jared’s sight.  Green eyes blaze with righteous anger and his lip curls in distain.  He’s not as tall as Jared but he’s built of lean muscle and sharp lines and Jared’s sort of expecting a flaming sword or something.  

 

“Jen,” calls the high hollow voice of one of the creatures and the angel takes a step back. 

 

A woman steps between Jared and the angel and puts a hand on each of their chests.  “He was just startled, Jensen,” she tells the angel.  “He wasn’t wanting to hurt the girls.” 

 

And “Jen” takes another step back, his wings rustling and lowering some.  He looks smaller.  And scared, wide-eyed and nostrils flaring.  One of the creatures ducks around his wing and wraps its arms around his waist, laying its head on his chest.  It croons tunelessly at him and he takes another few steps back away from Jared.  One wing flips back and gathers the other creature close and when he’s far enough away to feel safe he turns and the odd trio walks into the fading light.

 

All the fight burns out of Jared at once and his legs shake so bad he sinks down to the hard-packed dirt.  He looks up at the woman--older but not old--and he can’t make his brain put three words in any sort of order.

 

“I’m Sam,” she says and turns away to pour him a tin cup of water from a pitcher on a nearby rickety table.  “That was Jensen with the wings and Holly and Molly.  I take care of them and a couple of the other freaks.  Those that can’t put together their own shows or look after themselves.”

 

Jared swallows a big gulp of the water.  Feels it slide down his throat and loosen the panic in his chest.  “Looked like he was lookin’ after himself pretty good there for a second,” he says and his voice is rougher than the ground he’s sitting on.

 

Sam smiles and it’s not unkind.  “He watches over them girls ‘cause they’re the only ones around here more helpless than he is.”  Jared must have some stupid look on his face.  She shrugs.  “He may look like an angel but he’s just a boy that came with wings. I was there when Trent bought him from his daddy.  Heard how he was born.  He was just a scrawny little mess of feathers and bruises the first time I saw him.  Better off with us anyway.  But I’ll tell you this. No freak’s born as not-right as him that doesn’t have anything else wrong with him somewhere.  Jensen?  He’s not right in his head.  Trust me.  He needs all the help he can get.”          .