The First Age

Ah. The jungle. Lots of beautiful things in the jungle. Flowers and vines and verdant views. Bet the sunrise was gorgeous from that pool deck. Speaking of, he had a plan for that deck as soon as the current occupation was passed. Otherwise, there was a lot of scary shit in the jungle too. Spiders and bitey ants. Trees with needles for bark. Snakes and panthers. And at this very moment, Jay Carpenter.  

The power was his signal. A beacon. A radar. Leading him onward. The gates they saw on the way up were busted open. Their buddy Zacarías was on foot, twinkle-toeing down the mountain in nothing but his bunny slippers. Jay had no doubt he could move some ass, old fucker that he was. But he was in the dark. Literally. Probably unfamiliar with the terrain snaking zig zags down. Jay sprinted the trail they climbed previously. Luckily, nicely cleared and ready for a race. Jay was the All-American shortstop though. He fucking flew as he ran.

Suddenly, some 30 meters ahead, burst a yell of surprise followed by one of pain. Jay grinned in the dark, imagining Amengual’s feet flying over his head as he tripped the abandoned log. He was close. Might as well announce himself. The power funneled ahead of him into a splay of tubes into which arose a catchy jingle. Jay wasn’t a shit singer, but blaring the words of a song he knew by heart, it was impossible to ignore him.
”Para bailar la bamba.”
“Para bailar la bamba se necesita una poca de gracia.”

As he drew closer to Zacarías’ location, his pace slowed slightly, eyes tight with the field until the moment the road came into view. Twenty yards. The song resumed.

” Una poca de gracia pa' mi pa' ti y arriba y arriba.”
“Ah y arriba y arriba por ti seré, por ti seré, por ti seré.”

A lone gunshot burst from the trees. Not even close. 





Zacarías’ gripped the hot rifle tight, turning frantically in a circle. Jay’s voice echoed from every direction. How was he alive! That goddamn song crawled under his skin, but Zacarías wouldn’t be hunted like a dog. He hid in the shadow of tree roots, eyes flared wide for any movement. Suddenly, on his left a burst of white popped fire that boomed in his heart. He aimed the rifle in that general direction, punching rounds into the darkness, and sprinted downhill.





From behind the shelter of a tree, Jay watched Zacarías huddle low, completely oblivious to his exact location. Using the same technique, the song changed to a taunt as he followed.
“Where are you, Zacar?”
The drug lord flinched, but his speed did not slow. Smart man. Sweet actually, thinking he had a chance.

The jungle blurred past him. Above, blues and pinks cast colorful shadows to their field. The darkness wouldn’t hide him much longer. He skid to a stop probably ten seconds ahead of Zacarías, and waited in silence as the figure of his hatred ran forward.

He jumped into the path, and Zacarías yelled furiously, rifle popping defense almost instantly, but the bullets dinged an invisible shield. Jay walked forward as the drug lord stepped back. When the magazine was spent, he dropped the gun and attempted to flee into the woods. That just wouldn’t do.





He saw the face and his heart lept in his chest. The heat of the rifle burned his eyes. Gun smoke curled the air. He ran, but the ankles yanked and his face plowed into the dirt. He clawed, kicking and twisting to get free until he realized he couldn’t move at all. Then suddenly, pain exploded across his face. His head wrenched back, blood dumped down his throat from the broken nose. Boots darkened the dirt, and he spat on them before flailing an arm upward. Searing pain sliced his wrist, and he screamed, recoiling it in horror.

”Yo no soy marinero.”
“Yo no soy marinero, soy capitán”

Zacarías sputtered, “Stop with the fucking butchering la bamba!” His chest heaved as he looked up to where Jay hovered. Quickly, he pulled a knife and slashed at the American’s legs, but the blade thudded in mid-air. Pain blossomed fresh in his chest. The air spun, back burning.





The knife lodged into a concrete block of power, which he snagged. “You mother fucker!” he accused, knife gripped tight. Zacarías flew across the dirt and Jay was on top of the man within moments, knife to his throat just to give him something to look at as he died. The drug lord resisted, missing hand smearing blood across Jay. His knee punched the man’s gut to get him to stop wriggling. The rest of him detained as he lowered closer, looking the man in the eyes.
“Don’t fucking insult my singing voice. I sang the fucking Star Spangled Banner at opening day, mother fucker.”

Zacarías sneered, teeth red, defiant. “How are you alive?” He spat.
Jay grit his teeth, “Let me guess. Right now you’re thinking you should have taken a head shot,” his grin did not touch his eyes. Zacarías did not do him the favor of confirming the question. Guess there would be no closure there.

Jay just stared into the man’s eyes, glowing brighter with each passing minute from the above dawn. He memorized their look as he held him down. The power drilled its work, and Zacarías wreathed beneath him, torturous screams echoing across the jungle, but he was imprisoned. Jay just stared, jaw tight, saying nothing, and absorbed every second of life leeching from those eyes. When the fight stopped and the haunt glossed, he swallowed finally, and released the body of its prison.

He just stood there, covered in Zacarías blood. It was mixed in with his own. His mother’s. The spatter of his father’s. It was anticlimactic, finally killing the man that chased him for all these years. It was over, but among the empty haunts, Axel’s voice was loudest.
’War is all we know.’

The power churned, aching to be used, but with deadpan decision, it was the trio of gunshots that punched the air with finality. Two to the chest. One to the head.

Eh, fuck that. He emptied the entire goddamn magazine into the fucker’s head. Meat and potatoes, anyone?

He tossed the worthless rifle. Dropped the knife, and paused to look up the mountain, frowning.

Instead, he turned and ran down hill. The car waited where they left it. Starting it up, he sped away in a spray of gravel.


About half an hour after he left the mansion, a shit old car paused at the front gate. From it climbed Jay. Drenched in blood, dried mostly, but sticky as balls. Scion came out to greet him, a question writ on his face for the car.
“I wasn’t climbing that fucking hill again,” Jay said, tossing him the keys.

The doors to the mansion were wide open. The bodies were laid nicely, his only acknowledgement for what happened a split-second glance at the pair under the sheet. On his way, he snagged a bottle of tequila, drinking it straight as he emerged onto the pool deck.

Carefully, because that was fucking expensive good tequila, the kind you didn’t get in the Custody. He laid it aside on a table, shoved off his shoes, and walked past Natalie and Jensen with nothing but a hollow glance. Sunrise was nice from up there, he noted moments before a splash devoured him.

Warmth drowned him. Reminded him of the first time he jumped in the training pool on base. They played submarine, training to stay underwater as long as possible. The best days of his life. Jay’s lungs were freshly healed. He sat on the bottom of the pool a long time, tears mixing unseen, before his head emerged from a cloud of red and filth.

He just nodded, hand retracting to his lap. In the time he came to know Natalie, he found a soul steeped in self-preservation. He understood and was not offended when the offered hand of comfort was deflected toward another, although the reason why tightened fresh flutters his chest. “You love him,” he said, searching her face for a flicker of confirmation. He didn’t need the cue. Instead, he searched for the evidence of self-acknowledgement. He couldn’t help but think of Jessika in that moment, but he did not speak to what was left behind. Jay was an incredible person, and slept eluded him these past few nights for one strong reason. Worry.

Because to love was to worry. “Do you know what the Bible’s most common repeated saying is?” His tone drawled with heavy accent, but it lacked even an ounce of condescension. He always found the answer odd, that a collection of works most important to the Hebrews was not to uphold law, love each other, or even love their maker. “It’s ‘do not be afraid.’ That makes us think that the greatest force on earth is not love, but rather, it’s fear. This might break him. If it does, I won't abandon the pieces.” Then, after a moment, he added, "we won't."

Waves of the power echoed in the distance. Jay’s hold on the Gift was expanding to greater strength. Every few moments, Jensen winced with the sudden surges, as if he could watch what unfolded with the inner sense of horror. It dredged his soul, knowing what was happening, and knowing that he spurred Jay to action. The whole of this bloody ordeal would taint Jensen’s soul, but he accepted the dark lacquer willingly, if only to spare others from further pain.

The final question left him tight-lipped. Cayli was old enough to make her destination in the afterlife uncertain, but Jensen believed the girl was blessed. “Caroline asked me to preside. It was an honor. We broadcast it for distant family and friends.” His head hung, looking at his own hands abandoned in his lap. As much as Natalie did not want comfort, his needed to comfort someone. The Carpenters served that for him, and it was his pleasure to be a small life raft in any way possible these past few weeks.

Natalie didn’t answer. She didn’t expect Jensen thought she would; it had not been phrased as a question. But the pale intensity of her eyes did not blink away, either. She read him in turn, without surprise of the discovery. The comfort he gave was probably not the one he imagined -- for she was glad to hear him promise it, knowing what he meant. Maybe it was entirely selfish of her to find relief in such cruelty. There was something about Jensen that brushed her with a terrible sadness. But if they stood parallel now, and she was consoled by it, she did not think there was a bridge to be nurtured between them. His soul was too gentle a companion, its shadows too deeply mourned.

Her attention shifted slowly to watch dawn’s slow spread. For a long time she said nothing, just lingered over those last words. She couldn’t talk about this with Jay. Cayli’s name had not been uttered at all these past few days, and she understood why, yet she didn’t grieve the same way. She was not even sure she had a right to the feeling given such brief acquaintance, but she supposed she ought to know by now that emotion did not claim to be logical. Natalie kept such ghosts closer; a torment, true, yet unforgotten also. And she’d needed to know.

“Thank you,” she said eventually.

Quiet followed for some time after. The pressure in her palm eased, and the silence was not unpleasant. She hoped he did not find it so either.


Natalie had known where Jay would come when he returned; it was why she waited here, to make sure she had not been wrong about him coming back at all. It was a strange mix of relief and anguish to watch him slip whole beneath the pool’s surface. She thought back to the James’s mansion, what seemed now like it might have happened an eternity ago. Only this time instead of frozen margaritas and a kid turning tricks, it was straight tequila and sensory deprivation. She did not do him the disservice of watching his grief, though she felt it tearing at her own.

Red rode the waves rippling from his eventual emergence. Pink rivulets flattened his hair.

The strike of her gaze was unflinching, yet she was not sure if it would find his eyes, or if hers would be the last face he wished to see and might turn him away from the connection. Natalie knew well enough the armour he would choose, uncertain only if it would come with the swing of a weapon alongside, to cut those last cords in self-preservation. Testament to his power over her that she would not recoil from whatever he decided. Testament to her own that it was Jensen’s words she thought of then, and what that really meant.

She searched him. The sting in her eyes by now an exhausted glaze, like the pink light glowing soft in the sky behind his head. Then her legs uncoiled and fell over the edge, boots and all. She watched the blood leech around where she sat. How much easier it would be if the sin went with it. “Is this the skinny dip you promised me, Jay? Because you realise you’re still wearing the pants.” Her voice was hoarse. The words themselves weary; hollowed out humour, knowing it was inappropriate given all he had lost and how quickly, and knowing too that he was the only one likely to understand what lay raw beneath her flippancy. No words comforted such wounds, and he would not want them.

He pushed through the surface of the pool to a veil of pink water and a jungle sunrise that pinched his eyes red. Because it was surely sleep deprivation and stinging sunbeams that painted their bloodied color. Nothing else.

He didn’t notice the little splash until a touch turned him about. Natalie bobbed, her hair splayed a ring around her shoulders. Her eyes were red too, though he doubted for the same reason. In their center that icy blue pierced his soul, and he wondered what she saw when she looked at him. It was the question that tugged his chin upward, though. Despite his best effort, only a half-hearted smirk touched his lips as he pulled her closer with the hook at her hip. He was too tired to conjure a sarcastic remark. After a moment, he scrubbed a hand through his hair, snagging the ends to tousled shapes. Then he sunk his chin to her shoulder, burying his face in her hair.

The ache was unbearable. Or maybe it was the threshold between reality of a mission completed and blissful focus of solitary duty marking an end that came too swiftly. The heat swarmed his eyes, though no tears fell. He was too tired to cry. Too tired to remember. But with nothing else to do except hold on to the only thing that was left: the only person that saw through horror, rejected fear, and found something buried among the pile of shit that was the whole of his life.

It was the interruption of a Russian voice that shattered the globe of depressing thoughts that was his fragile brain. Jay looked up long enough to behold the outline of Scion Marveet looming above.

“Helicopter is five minutes out. Get ready,” he said, glancing at two towels abandoned on a lounge chair before disappearing inside. Jensen offered a hand, but Jay shook his head, and the preacher ventured away. They were left alone for perhaps the only minutes of peace they knew since boarding the plane in Moscow. And excluding that crash in the shitty hotel at the border.

“Skinny dipping is only worth it in the ocean,” he said, searching her face. Weariness etched deep as he cupped her shoulders, rubbing down the length of her arms, his expression soft and wishing for a time when his biggest problems were about baseball and girls. At least baseball wasn’t a problem anymore. Girls? Probably live with that for the rest of his life.

He started to kiss her, but hesitated. She was probably far from desiring affection. Farther to want it from him. After watching what he could do. Worse, watching what he didn’t do.  The shock of seeing his mother was the reason they were all dead. He was in control until then. If he hadn’t froze? Seconds made the difference.  If he hadn’t froze. If he hadn’t was a familiar road he walked pretty often. All the long road all the way back to that Thanksgiving when he enlisted. Might as well call it If Jay Carpenter Hadn’t Fucked Up Boulevard.

Dizziness swarmed, but all Jay did was wince and close his eyes. He wanted to sink beneath again. Instead, it was painful effort to push out of the pool, but when he did, the filth flowed away. Mostly. He grabbed his boots, which were in fact quite caked with brown and red, but they were his, slung a towel around his neck and searched the skies. About that time, a familiar sound pulsed on the air. The wind picked up, and the noise of engines lowered to the rooftop helipad. From the black beast poured a team not unlike what Jay worked in these same jungles – or close enough to them – years ago. How did Scion know? Had he arranged it? Must have.

He offered to help Natalie if she needed it and they wandered to the front of the mansion. Scion’s (formerly Zacarías’) mercenaries waited; weapons at the rest. Their team lead stood alongside Scion in the driveway as the soldiers emerged on ground level. Jay’s brows lifted to find almost fully unmarked men, but they moved with the scalpel-like precision of a team known only to Custody-trained. The noise of the helicopter purred too perfectly to be the property of clunky Americans or second-hand market.

He spoke with a small sense of reverence, explaining for Jensen and Natalie, should they listen. “They’re ZARS.” He licked his lips, having never seen them in action first hand, and fully aware of the manpower each dark shape represented. Three approached Scion, which meant one more was on watch, a pilot waited in the helicopter, which surprisingly wasn’t powering down, and another one would be at the ready. Suppose it made sense. They probably didn’t want to stick around for breakfast. Too bad. Jay was getting hungry. Or that’s what he assumed knotted his stomach horribly.

From the house, Jay and the others watched one of the private mercenaries draw Yasmine to the driveway, plunking her alongside the other mercenaries. She was worn and scraped up, as though having been caught on the run, and not treated well since being caught. It was like watching a battlefield re-enactment. Two sides facing each other. The mediator, Scion, walked forward and offered to shake hands with the Custody ZARS squad leader. Jay couldn’t hear what was said above the noise of the engines, nor did he summon the power to do so. He didn’t particularly care and was dabbing at the water on his neck when quick movement stunned him.

In swift, bloody action, the Custody special forces mowed down Amengual’s mercenaries. Yasmine fell along with them. Jay blinked but kept his jaw tight at the teeth. Those men turning on Zacarías was the reason him, Natalie and Jensen were alive. When the Custody forces glanced their way, Jay felt the power burst into existence from Jensen. He himself followed suit, but the squad leader did nothing except signal to his men to return to the helicopter.

Scion jogged over, yelling. “Unless you want to walk out of Mexico, let's go.” and waved them to follow. 

Jay exchanged worried looks with Jensen, who seemed to be considering the offer before both dropped the power. With a dry swallow, he told them to go ahead. Their work was done. No loose ends. ”I’ll be right behind you,” he turned and went inside.

Several minutes later, he returned, tequila bottle tucked under each arm, obviously taking longer to account for simply walking in and stealing two bottles. When the helicopter lifted off, all tugged the cork from the bottle with his teeth and tipped it back, watching the land roll beneath like green waves. Though he found no peace in the brightening horizon, at least he felt at home, surrounded by the brothers of a family he deserved.

When he sank into her Natalie felt the stability of her foundations waver. She had expected the cut, not the embrace, and soft surprise slipped the weapon of her own emotions against her instead. Her eyes blurred before she closed them against the sting, rising with vicious heat that clenched her jaw to iron. No hesitation marked the arms that reached to cradle around him, though. Her hand smoothed his head. Breathing came tight; a pain she couldn’t quite describe yet would not trade for how deeply she realised she felt it, and why. The pillar of her strength could bear them both. She would not crumble.

At some point in the quietness of self-restraint, the arms that sheltered pulled him tighter. Most of the blood soaking her through was his, and selfish relief finally stirred the ashes of grief before the seconds slipped away to the regret of denying what she felt. For the fears she had not allowed herself to realise when she could feel his pulse gushing from the wound in his side. For the fact that despite how his world burned, he was warm and alive and here.

She didn’t acknowledge Scion’s presence, or his words. Neither did she regret where he found them.

Her eyes searched Jay’s in kind as his hands trailed her arms in the moment that followed. If her expression was empty, it was only the rawness of weariness, not a mask to shut him out. Unshadowed honesty met the softness of the way he looked at her, unabashed by the way she looked at him in turn. She didn’t search for ways to comfort. Meaningless platitudes never armed her tongue, and if she was going to offer anything it would have been to lead him into the sort of solace denied by present circumstance. His lips pressed close, like he recognised that alignment of her soul, until hesitation marred like he feared a flinch away instead. Her hand cupped his jaw, thumb tracing against the roughness. He knew her better than to listen to the lies he told himself. “Tokeh,” she said softly against him. Her forehead leaned to rest against his. “The beach? That’s it’s name.” Her description had curled embers of seduction before, a beckoning into the waters of a frayed dream; beautiful illusion, the escape of a moment. This time it was offered tenderly. The certainty of a promise that sped her heart with more vulnerability than she was accustomed to feeling, let alone sharing. One day. A talisman for the darkest days lining the road ahead. For both of them, probably.

She hauled herself up on the side of the pool, but let Jay help her to her feet. Water sluiced, sinking a weight as heavy as her emotions. The boots had been a shit idea. Not that she’d been thinking of practicalities. She pulled the towel around her shoulders as the beating winds of the helicopter began to stir the air, and by the time they circled to the front of the mansion her tired composure shrugged into place. Jay’s explanation should have pierced her mind with question, but she only watched quietly. Her eyes did not turn away from the brutality when it came. Death rained numbness. Self-protective walls hid what she did not desire to feel.

The tangled web of politics thrust deep, banished with the rising acid of bile in the back of her throat, but for the acknowledgement that Scion would not risk Jensen James. Neither did she believe he would risk a Dominion, whatever prior convictions painted a useful enemy of an American interloper. Ambition meant too much. Thus no suspicion roused for their immediate safety, though neither did she consent to loading herself into the helicopter until Jay returned with his chosen oblivion. Beyond that, she stared out at the soft fingers of dawn, until the beauty turned her stomach, and she closed her eyes instead.

Jensen lingered at the edge of the scene. Mr. Marveet was urging him onward, but Jensen carefully asked for the elder man to remove his hand from his shoulder. Yet as soon as the weight disappeared, Jensen almost wanted it back. His head swarmed like he may float away or faint or something. Inevitably, his gaze was drawn horribly back to this nightmare, exactly what he did not want to see.

It was the lonely pace of Natalie that finally anchored him. A strong soul, but she was reinforced by another. As much as she worried about Jay, Jensen worried about her. Those whom he prayed for were gone to a place where prayer wasn’t needed. Jensen hung his head.

When finally Jay emerged and the pair proceeded toward the helicopter, Jensen went ahead. They were likely ignorant that he stayed to ensure their safety, but that was what he preferred.