Prodigal | J2 AU NC-17 | Chapter 1

[fufaraw]

Chapter 1

Alan and Donna Ackles' fourteen year old son vanished on his way home from school one Thursday afternoon. In spite of police, FBI, and later private investigations, in spite of an Amber Alert, search parties, scent dogs, and store window flyers and milk carton pictures, in spite of volunteer phone banks to receive phoned-in tips and online techs screening tweets that Jensen had been seen, alone or accompanied by a man of varying descriptions, an older couple, a woman and several other kids, in an old blue van, in a seven-eleven, in a mall in Provincetown or a church in Duluth—in spite of everything, there was no evidence, no real proof any of those sightings were of Jensen. There was no body found, no remains, and no closure for Jensen's family.

It had nearly wrecked them, individually, and as a family. Donna raged and mourned and hoped, and then tried to stop hoping, because it hurt too much. Mackenzie mourned too, missing her brother, and also fearful that if he could be taken, so might she. Alan tried to reassure her, but he wasn't sure he'd been successful. As days and weeks, eventually months went by, and Mack got used to Jensen's absence, her fearfulness faded, her natural eager joyfulness returned, and though she spoke wistfully of her brother once in a while, she seemed to have accepted what now was normal, for her family. Alan worked, following up with police and FBI, with the phone banks, and online sites, preoccupied with the search until his boss took him aside and told him he needed to refocus on his job, or Bruce would have to let him go. Alan took stock of the situation, and reluctantly took a step back. He never gave up hope some trace of Jensen would be found, but he shifted his focus away from the hunt, and tried to be a more attentive husband, father, and employee.

So when the land line which Alan had procrastinated removing from the home office rang, he recognized the adult baritone voice on the other end of the line, even though the last time he'd heard it was still breaking from a pre-adolescent treble. "Jensen?"

"Can you come get me?" Yes, of course, where—? But he had to promise first, swear several times over, "Don't tell Mom, okay? Or anybody else. And Dad, swear to me, no police."

"But-why--?"

"I'll tell you when you get here, I'll tell you everything. But you have to promise. Please! No police!"

Two hours to the rendezvous point, and Alan left a voice mail for Donna that he'd had to leave suddenly on business. He was sorry he couldn't pick up Mackenzie after school, so could she please arrange that? He'd be back tomorrow, or the next day, he'd call and let her know more when he knew something concrete. And he called his boss to ask for a couple of unexpected days off. His schedule cleared, he drove, and tried not to let the questions he could barely formulate overwhelm him.

The rendezvous point was nothing more than a highway mile marker. "Don't stop," the voice on the phone had said. "They might be watching." And Alan was left to wonder who might be watching. There shouldn't be much traffic, if any, so pull over and slow down, the voice said, and Jensen would be there.

Alan didn't expect the fourteen-year-old he last had seen, but the tall, slender figure who ran out from among the trees before the car even began to slow, hand pulling the door open to tumble into the seat, was completely unfamiliar. But the green eyes that met Alan's own were as familiar as anything, and when Jensen pulled the door shut and said, "Drive, Dad!" he obeyed.

Jensen stayed crouched below window level; curled in the passenger seat, dirty bare feet and long legs filling the footwell. One hand, though, reached out and grabbed a fistful of the hem of Alan's shirt, and didn't let go.

"Jensen? Can you tell me what's going on? Where have you been all this time? And why didn't you want me to call the police?"

The boy sighed. "Just drive. Get us at least a hundred miles from here, or more. Then we can stop at whatever town is closest. We can get a room, some food, and I'll tell you everything, I promise. But for now, can you just trust me and keep driving?"

Alan wanted to refuse. He needed answers, and he'd been patient enough to come alone and without telling anyone that Jensen had reappeared after three years of just being...gone, without explanation. He didn't want to wait anymore to find out why. But the fist tightened where it was clutched in his shirt, and the kid sighed a huge sigh, and familiar green eyes met his. "It's really good to see you, Dad."

Alan palmed a headful of shaggy, dirty hair, and nodded. "Good to see you too, kiddo." The answering smile was as sweet and as bright as always.

Jensen shifted position, and seemed to settle and relax. "I've been on the run for a couple of days. Is it okay if I nap till we get there?"

And Alan could only nod. The kid sighed again, settled on the seat and was asleep in minutes. Alan mentally reviewed what he knew of the region: a hundred and ten or twenty miles would put them near the town of Bedford. Big enough for fast food places and a couple of motels, but not a big metropolis, it would be a good place for them to stop for the night. Alan checked the gauge; he wouldn't even have to stop for gas before they got to Bedford.

Jensen was just waking up as they entered the city limits of Bedford. His belly growled and Alan grinned at the sweetly familiar grumpy, half asleep expression on his son’s face. He could see the circles under his boys eyes and his hands tightened around the steering wheel in anger, as he turned into the first fast food joint they came to.

Jensen had no preference, "Whatever," so Alan doubled his own order of burger, fries, and coke in the drive-through, and found them a motel. "A smaller place," the boy asked. "Rooms that open onto the parking lot—no lobby or interior corridors, no elevators."

Alan paid for the room and parked in front of their door. He retrieved his gym bag from the back seat, leaving Jensen to bring the food, and unlocked the door, flipped on the lights. Jensen ghosted past him, set the food bag on a dresser, and swept the room with a quick, assessing glance. Alan threw the gym bag on the nearest bed, shut the door and flipped the security bar, and turned to hold out his arms. Jensen's long thin arms went around him and he suddenly had an armful of kid—his kid, missing for three years, and found again.

Alan held on tight, and Jensen just as tight, as Alan took stock. Taller than him, now, but thin, ribs evident. He loosened his arms and took a half-step back to see better. Jensen was looking too, hungrily. But there was something skittish about him. His body was quarter-turned away, and his eyes glanced at his dad beneath his brows and away again, he couldn't seem to look straight at Alan, his head lowered to hide his expression. Alan wasn't having any distance between them; he stepped up and wrapped Jensen in another hug, just breathing, before letting him go again.

"It's good to have you back, son." There had to be a story, and like as not it was bad, at least in part. But he couldn't stop the smile of gratitude. "We missed you so much."

Jensen ducked his head again, but one hand caught in Alan's shirt, bunched it in one fist, holding on as proof of reality. "Missed you, too," his voice was choked. Alan palmed the back of his neck, not pulling, just as an anchor.

"What happened, Jensen? Where've you been?"

A gasp and a sob, and the boy began to shake, eyes tight shut, unwilling to meet Alan's gaze. Alan reeled him in again, wrapping him up tight in an embrace, trying to convey that nothing—nothing—was going to take his boy from his family again.

Jensen shuddered against him, arms coming up, hands fisting in the back of Alan's shirt. He sobbed again, once, and drew a gasping breath. "It was wolves, Dad. They took me. They bit me. They. They turned me." Alan's embrace loosened in shock, and Jensen let go his grip on his dad's shirt, and took a step back. He tried, Alan could see how hard he tried, but he couldn't meet his dad's eyes. "I'm a werewolf, Dad."

An hour, a little more than an hour later, Alan watched his kid sleep while he decided what to do next. He'd promised no law enforcement, and he intended to keep that promise as long as he could. But they needed help and advice, so he called the only person he knew who had any dealings with werewolves, his boss. He kept his word and didn't mention Jensen, only asked for a contact that could help. Bruce was curious, of course, but he didn't push, and he gave Alan a name and a phone number, and promised to alibi Alan if Donna called. On his part, Alan said he'd reveal everything when he could, and thanked him.

Feeling out of his depth, Alan dialed the number. "Mr. Omundson, Bruce Babcock gave me your number, said you could help us. I know it sounds crazy, but my son says he was kidnapped, bitten, and turned by werewolves. He's been kept prisoner for three years, and has just now gotten back in contact with me. He's insisting that local law enforcement may be involved with these wolves and doesn't want to trust them, but he's scared the ones who took him want him back, and will come after him. We need help."

Fearful of having his preposterous story dismissed with laughter, Alan sagged a little in relief and gratitude when the voice on the phone deepened, asked few further questions, and gave simple instructions for the following day. Alan made a few notes on the motel scratch pad, and thanked Mr. Omundson before he hung up. He gathered the fast food trash, dumping it in the wastebasket, and went to take a shower. His spare t-shirt and briefs from his gym bag had gone to Jensen after his shower, along with the sweatpants, hoodie, and flipflops for him to wear the next day. Alan used the trash liner from the bathroom to bag the t-shirt and sweatpants Jensen had been wearing. Obviously not Jensen's own, the shirt was worn and washed nearly transparent, so large it billowed around the boy's lean body, and the pants were wide, and made for a much shorter man. Alan didn't want to leave them; vague notions of wolves tracking Jensen by his scent on the clothes, or maybe forensic clues on the fabric—whatever. He wrapped them in plastic and shoved them to the bottom of the gym bag.

He scrubbed off the day in the shower, pulled on the same t-shirt and briefs, and crawled into the second bed. Light from the partially open bathroom door spilled across the blanket-covered shape in the other bed—Jensen. His boy, whom he'd despaired of ever seeing again, found. Alan wanted to celebrate, to indulge in his relief and joy. But shock and dismay at the change in his son diluted that joy, and worry over the kid's future. But that would have to wait until tomorrow, and the meeting with Omundson.

Drive-through breakfast next morning, a stop to fill the gas tank, and they were leaving town behind, headed northwest as Omundson had directed. Jensen slowly relaxed as they drove, the road bordered on both sides by forest. He asked about his mom, and Mackenzie, and anything Alan could tell him about his friends from school. There wasn't much to tell. The family had gradually lost touch with the kids, for the most part, as they matured and drifted away. Jensen seemed to let that go, with some unspoken regret. After a while, he dozed, head nodding, until he leaned against the window glass and surrendered to the hum of the tires and the forward motion of the car. Alan let him sleep.

Lunchtime found them in a small town more than midway to their destination. Alan offered to find a diner, but Jensen said no, to stick with takeout. They found a shady place to park and eat their burgers—two for Jensen, and a strawberry shake. As they drove through town, Alan spotted a thrift shop and stopped. They found a couple pairs of jeans and some decent t-shirts that fit Jensen, two overshirts, a belt, and a hoodie of his own. There was a pair of work boots in decent condition that fit him, so they added them to the pile, along with a nearly-new backpack to hold everything, and Alan even found a change of clothes or two for himself. He stopped again at a chain store for toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, razors and shave gel, and a new pair of sneakers for Jensen, and picked up multiple packs of briefs, socks, and undershirts for them both. He had no idea how long they would be away from home, but at least now they were better equipped. Jensen changed into jeans, t-shirt and button down, socks and sneakers, and they headed for the town that was their destination, less than two hours away.

They parked in the lot of the motel as Omundson had instructed. Jensen was reluctant to enter the lobby, but a glance inside showed a glass wall on the other end, doors wide open to the pool area beyond, and no one in the lobby itself except the man at the reception desk. With an air of steeling himself, Jensen followed Alan inside. Before they reached the desk a tall, distinguished gentleman with a mane of iron grey hair apparently materialized from the shadows and stepped forward to meet them.

"Alan?" he inquired, and at Alan's nod, he offered a handshake. His white shirt, tailored black suit and silk tie put Alan in his jeans and sneakers at a disadvantage, but the man's smile and his handshake were warm and reassuring. He included Jensen in his smile, but didn't greet him by name, or offer to shake his hand. A touch at Alan's shoulder directed him toward a door opening off the lobby, and they moved in that direction.

The room was a small conference room, with a table and chairs for eight; at the far end of the room was a seating area with comfortable looking armchairs, sofa, and lamps. The lighting was muted, but the drapes were open to a sunny courtyard, and indeed, the glass doors were open, too. Birdsong and a breeze stirring the trees that fringed the patio just outside muted the traffic noise.

"I'm Timothy Omundson. I'm very pleased to meet you both." He moved toward the sitting area. "Come, sit. Make yourselves comfortable. Can I offer you something to drink?" Omundson gestured toward a side table that held cans of soda, water bottles, glasses, and ice. There was a coffeemaker, a thermal urn of hot water, cups, baskets of teabags and sweetener packets, and a lidded cream pitcher. Alan snagged a water bottle for himself and, after a glance and a nod from Jensen, another for the boy.

"I'm so glad you called. Bruce was absolutely correct to refer you to me." Omundson looked from one to the other. "I'm one of four alpha lieutenants for the Ghost River Pack, I represent and report directly to the Pack Alpha. Believe me, we deeply regret what has happened to you, Jensen," he gazed at the boy for a moment, but didn't appear upset when Jensen didn't respond, but kept his gaze focused on the floor. Omundson turned to Alan to continue. "The Alpha himself has ordered a thorough investigation. These wolves will be caught, and they will be punished, made an example of. This sort of thing is never supposed to happen," his tone was grave and somehow apologetic.

"Turning a human is a serious business, and by our law and custom is always, only at the human's request. Turning someone against their will is a very serious crime among werewolves, and kidnapping is every bit as heinous a thing as it is among humans—especially when the victim is a child."

Omundson stirred, shifted on the cushion of his chair before he continued. "There has been some trouble with a separatist sect of wolves. They believe in a more primitive lifestyle than most of us. They live apart, and refuse to honor or keep the laws we have forged to make life alongside humans possible, and beneficial to humans and wolves alike.

"Somehow, Jensen attracted the attention of these wolves; they decided they wanted him, they stalked him, and they abducted him." He had been speaking primarily to Alan. Now he bent his head to seek Jensen's eyes. "How much have you explained to your dad, Jensen?"

Jensen's lips pressed together and he shook his head.

"What? Jensen, what haven't you told me?" Alan's alarm rose.

Omundson spoke directly to Jensen, kindly, gently. "If you find it too difficult, I can explain. It's all right."

Jensen's gaze flickered up to Omundson's face, briefly, and he nodded, once. He sat tense, his posture pulled in, almost defensive, and Alan wanted to reach out and touch his son in reassurance, pull him in for a hug, but Omundson's hand on Alan's arm distracted him.

There was a quiet knock on the doorframe, where a young man in jeans and a polo shirt stood. Omundson nodded at him, and turned to Jensen. "Jensen, I doubt you've seen a doctor since you were turned, am I right?"

The boy gave a single, tense nod. His posture had gone rigid, his eyes wide, and it was obvious he was preparing to either run or fight.

"Jensen." There was a note in Omundson's voice that caught Alan's attention, but seemed to affect Jensen even more, as he appeared to relax some of his building tension. "It's all right. This is Paul, he's a medical technician. He's just going to take your height, weight, check your blood pressure, that kind of thing, and have you answer a few questions. Nothing invasive or painful, I promise." He waited a beat, till Jensen's gaze flicked up for a second to meet his own, and the kid nodded.

Alan reached out a hand to clasp his shoulder. "You sure, son?" and Jensen nodded again as Omundson repeated, "He'll be fine. Don't worry."

As Jensen rose and crossed to the door to follow Paul, Omundson told him, "Your dad and I will have a chance to talk while you're busy."

Omundson suggested they step outside. There was a walking path behind the motel that wound through a wooded area, and Alan had to admit getting outside and moving felt a little better.

"Alan—may I call you Alan? And will you call me Tim?"

"Of course."

"Thank you. Perhaps if I go through some general information first, you can ask questions, and then maybe we can discuss further?" At Alan's nod, Tim continued.

"As I said earlier, this sect of werewolves holds primitive beliefs that most of werekind have left behind. We've moved forward, toward more civilized and enlightened beliefs. The Fenris pack clings to the old ways, and among those is the practice of mate-theft."

"...mate..?" Alan wasn't clear on the meaning, but he had suspicions.

"Yes. They believe alphas have the right to take any omega they find appealing, and keep them as their own."

Alan was increasingly confused. "Omega? What—"

Tim took a breath before he spoke. "I'm so sorry. I forget that many humans aren't actually aware of, let alone familiar with, our existence. Let me try to explain, and if you have questions I'll try to answer them."

Watching Alan for his response Tim was gratified to see the man gather his focus and put his alarm and questions aside for the moment. He met Tim's gaze with his own. "Please," he said.

Tim nodded approval. "Bear in mind that we are a different species from humans, we evolved differently, for whatever reasons nature saw fit. Humans are predominantly male and female, and human society has been built on that arrangement. Though your society is coming to accept greater parity between the sexes, reproduction remains a matter of the male impregnating the female, and the female gestating the child and giving it birth."

Alan didn't reply, just regarded Tim, waiting.

"Werewolves have three genders," Tim went on. "It has to do with reproduction, of course, but it's also a matter of family, of pack, of how our society works." A side glace showed Alan was listening. "Alphas are more aggressive, bold and prone to action. They defend the family, the pack. The head of the pack, both family and extended family, community, is always alpha."

Alan nodded, absorbing information and waiting for Tim to go on. "Betas are probably more similar to human. They are usually our workers, our facilitators. They are craftspeople, tradespeople; they get things accomplished within the pack. Often they are supervised or take orders from the alphas, but it's the betas who get things done."

Alan nodded, still listening, knowing there was more to hear.

"Omegas are—not weak, their strength is their ability to nurture and care for others. Our artists and often our writers are omegas, but they usually stay close to family; their talents are oriented to the care and well-being of the pack members."

"The thing that sets us apart from human development, though, is that alpha, beta, and omega can be either male or female. Sex roles aren't confined to gender, with werewolves. Betas can mate with alphas, with other betas, or with omegas. There have been alpha pairings, but they are rare. The most usual, and the most successful pairings, when it comes to reproduction, are alpha and omega."

Alan gave a slow nod, and then asked, "So...a female? alpha," he looked to Tim, who nodded. "And a...male omega, can...mate?"

"Yes," Tim smiled. "But the difference is, it's the omega who carries the offspring, and gives birth. Regardless of the omega's gender."

Alan blinked, absorbing this new and unfamiliar information. "Oh."

"It's the alpha who impregnates the omega," Tim continued, gentling his voice. "And humans who are turned are always omega werewolves." He waited for the information to sink in.

Alan stared at Tim in dawning horror. "You mean...my son was kidnapped by those alphas...on purpose? To turn him into a-an omega? For them to b-breed him, like a woman?" Rising horror and anger choked Alan's voice, and his body reacted to his emotions, hands balling into fists. Color had drained from his face and now it flooded back, fists came up and he stepped toward the alpha, threat in every line of his body.

Omundson had been chosen and trained to handle difficult situations with humans, and now he stood his ground, softened his posture and put a sure hand on the father's shoulder. "As an omega, Alan. Not like a woman. Jensen's a werewolf, now." The man's gaze met his, full of dawning futile rage and sorrow, and realization of his own helplessness to defend his son. Tim allowed his grip to tighten, to gently shake the man, in reassurance and support.

"This is why turning a human against their will is against our law. Rest assured, these rogue wolves will be found, and they'll be punished. Our lawkeepers are on constant watch for members of this cult. This isn't the first time this has happened, and it won't be tolerated." He squeezed Alan's shoulder again, gently, and the man's eyes filled with tears, his posture eased, shoulders slumped under the weight of this new knowledge. "I'm just sorry Jensen was a victim this time."

One last forlorn hope made Alan ask, "How can you be sure? How do you know?"

"It's one reason we're giving Jensen a checkup," Omundson put out a hand, and spoke quietly. "Alan, I understand fully how you feel right now, and honestly, I share your need to find and punish these wolves. Please believe there are laws in place that cover these kinds of situations—not because they're frequent, but because although we've dragged our society forward from those days, there are those individuals, those groups, who cling to them, who keep and practice these beliefs. And whenever something like this happens, we are equipped and prepared to deal with it."

Alan wanted to demand more information, but truthfully, he wasn't really sure what to ask. And as he stood there, his thoughts turned to his son, and how he was going to face him, knowing what he now knew.

*    *    *

The checkup was, as Omundson had promised, simple, painless, and over quickly. He was asked to strip, and Paul did a visual examination, front and rear, head to toe. Jensen stepped on the scale, and then stood while his height was measured. Paul made a few notes, then asked some questions and made more notations in the folder, and smiled. "Okay, we're done. Get dressed and let's get you back to your dad."

His dad knew. The alpha had explained, at least part of it, Jensen could tell when he stepped back into the room. Paul left the folder with the alpha and flashed a smile at Jensen as he passed him on his way out of the room. The beta had been gentle and matter-of-fact; none of Jensen's fears had been realized. At least, so far. He made himself glance at his dad, and saw only sympathy and welcome on those familiar features. Alan held open an arm, and Jensen sat next to him and welcomed the one-armed hug, and the lack of the revulsion and disappointment he'd been half-expecting.

The alpha paged through Paul's report, nodding at what he read there. Then he closed it and set it on the coffee table and looked up at Alan and Jensen.

"Jensen's instinct to run was the right one," he said. "And though I understand he, and both of you, have taken some precautions since you met, the truth is the alphas who took him will probably be tracking him, intent on taking him back."

Alan's arm tightened briefly as he started to speak, but Omundson continued. "He was also right to avoid law enforcement as much as possible until we could step in. In some more remote areas, the law is sympathetic to the Fenris wolves' beliefs, and some officers are actually members of the pack. So you did well, Jensen." He sent an approving look Jensen's way, but the boy's eyes were lowered and he never saw it. Tim looked back to Alan, and continued.

"The Fenris wolves will, no doubt, be watching your house in case Jensen shows up there. I understand Jensen has a younger sister?"

Alarm prickled down Alan's back and he felt Jensen seem to shrink next to him. "Yes. You don't think—"

"It's a possibility. Not a very high one, but I've dispatched a pair of my men to watch your house, and shadow..."

"Mackenzie," Jensen stammered.

Omundson nodded. "Mackenzie on her way to and from school, and so on. Purely a precautionary measure," he reassured Alan.

"Meanwhile," the alpha sat back, took a breath and seemed to radiate a fresh energy. "We need to get Jensen somewhere safe, start getting him set up with a place to live, a chance to make friends and think about his future, get him enrolled in school. Summer's coming, and maybe he can get back into the habit of study before school starts in the fall."

He sat back, regarding Jensen, and asked. "Have you thought about what you want to do now, Jensen?"

Jensen shook his head. "I just always wanted to go home, to my family, my friends, my school." His voice was low, almost hesitant. He shook his head again, regret plain on his features. "It wasn't until I ran that I finally realized I couldn't ever go back."

Alan had been watching them both, and he turned to the alpha for clarification. "He can't come home?"

Omundson's expression was regretful. "They know where your family lives, Alan. It's where Jensen would be expected to go. And as I mentioned, his sister is another possible candidate for them, in case Jensen himself doesn't return." He peered at Alan, emphasizing his point. "It's not safe, not for either of your children. Actually, I'd rather hoped we could move all of you to the town I have in mind, so Jensen could have his family with him, again."

Alan blinked. That possibility had never occurred to him. And then he remembered tasks still undone. "My wife--she doesn't know about any of this, yet. She thinks I'm on a business trip."

Jensen nodded, he'd asked his dad not to tell his mom anything.

"You were pretty cryptic on the phone, and I wanted to wait until I had something concrete to tell her." He sought Jensen's gaze, to assure him, "She's going to be overjoyed to have you back, son." He shook his head, overwhelmed at the moment. "But all this—it's a lot."

He peered at Omundson. "I need to tell her, before we make any decisions."

"Well." The alpha clapped his hands together as he rose. "We need to move Jensen right away. You're welcome to come with, get a feel for the town, and call your wife from there this evening. You can start talking about what your family needs to do from that point. But it's best if we move Jensen along from here."

He beckoned to someone at the door and then turned back to Alan and Jensen. "Jensen, you may ride with me if your father isn't coming."

"I'm coming," Alan quickly informed him as he and Jensen stood up.

"Good. I'd like you both to ride with me. I can tell you a bit more about how things will proceed from here, where we're going, and answer any questions you may think of."

Alan started to speak and Tim smiled. "I'll have someone drive your car. I think this time will be more productive if we can talk together, rather than you driving alone, yes?" He waited for Alan's agreement.

"Good. We'll arrive in time for dinner. I've arranged a night's stay for you both, and tomorrow we'll start looking for your new home." He smiled directly at Jensen, who wasn't sure how to react.

The big black luxury SUV had blacked out windows so no one outside could see in. The interior was plush, with deep smooth leather seats, pile carpet underfoot, and a minibar. There was a glass partition between the driver and the passenger compartment, and the seats faced each other. The alpha and Jensen's dad sat facing front, and Jensen took the seat facing them. The alpha cracked a small bottle of mineral water and asked Jensen and his dad what they'd like to drink. Jensen took a bottle of water.

It was almost spooky how quiet the ride was, there was nearly no road noise at all, and no noise or vibration from the engine, either. Just the three of them, confined in this very comfortable, but small, space, with nothing but the sound of quiet conversation. The alpha's voice was soothing as he talked to Jensen's dad, and Dad's voice was familiar and comforting. No one was paying attention to Jensen, or demanding his attention in return, and he could feel his heartbeat slow and calm. For the first time since he'd made his getaway, he felt safe. The motion of the car was hypnotic, and he was so tired. He tucked into the corner of the seat and allowed some of his tension to ease, and as he was wondering if he would ever not be tired again, he fell asleep.

He woke at his dad's touch as they pulled into Wolverton. It looked like any other small town, neat, one and two-story businesses and stores lined sidewalks on generously wide two lane streets. Everything looked well-kept and clean, and people went about their business as the SUV drove through town. Everything looked so normal. Jensen was suspicious, but he couldn't detect any sense of wrongness or danger—Wolverton seemed to be exactly as it appeared.

The boarding house where they'd been dropped off was nice—clean fresh bedding, fluffy towels, and windows open to the evening breeze. Alan's car was parked in the lot beside the house, and their bags brought up to the room. Tim suggested they relax a bit, before meeting him and a couple of townspeople for supper at a restaurant nearby. He left a man he introduced as Lee Rumohr, a tall and solidly muscled alpha, head shaved bald and with a short-clipped salt and pepper beard and mustache, to show them around if they wanted to get out and see some of the town. Lee smiled and told them he'd be fine hanging out in the front room, gossiping with their hostess, if they chose to stay in. But he'd be there to show them to supper.

Both Alan and Jensen understood Lee was there to guard them, just in case. Though they weren't sure what from.

*    *    *

Tim, Paul, and Hugo didn't have long to wait in the restaurant's back room before they were joined by the mayor. "Kim. Good to see you, I'm glad you could come on such short notice."

Mayor Rhodes shook hands, and pinned Tim with an inquisitive glance. "What's going on, Omundson? Are we taking in strays, now?"

Tim smiled and nodded. "Appears as though we are," he agreed. "I'll fill you in on any questions you have unanswered after this meeting."

Rhodes nodded, realizing Omundson didn't want to start explaining, only to have to start again in a few minutes.

Still too early for supper, the place was nearly empty, and the event room was closed, except to them and the man who walked in a few minutes later, accompanied by two alphas. Tim stood and reached for a handshake. "Alpha. You didn't have to come. But I'm glad to see you." He gestured to the round table, where a couple of folders lay ready.

"Always good to see you, Tim." Pack Alpha Morgan nodded at Mayor Rhodes and took a seat, and Tim and Paul sat opposite him. "This is a bad business, of course I came. I need to see this boy and find out what happened to him. I want to get an impression of his father, and his family. We're all treading unfamiliar ground, here. I just want this to have a good conclusion for everybody."

Hugo and Morgan's two men stood around the table, some distance back, there just in case of trouble. Tim pushed one of the folders to Morgan, who opened it and started to read. A paragraph or two in, he raised his gaze to Paul.

"He's not mated?"

Paul shook his head. "There's no mating mark, I checked carefully. There's a bite mark high on his inner thigh; that's how he was turned. But he wasn't mated."

"Bastards!" Morgan tamped his genuine anger and continued to read. "They grabbed him just to turn him, to breed him." He glanced up from the folder to Paul. "Has he whelped?"

"He was really skittish, and I didn't want to push. I didn't do a thorough exam, just what you see there. But I'd guess yes."

Tim had read the report before Morgan arrived, and had a little time to live with his own anger. "They'd have turned him loose—or killed him—before now, if he hadn't," he suggested, and Morgan nodded, and his gaze fastened on Omundson.

"So, he ran?"

Tim nodded.

"How'd he get away? And why now?"

"Things we don't yet know," Tim replied. "But we'll find out."

He shifted in his seat and changed direction a bit. "We have him set up for a full physical, so we'll have a better idea of his condition and the conditions he was kept in. He looks a little thin. And he's obviously terrified of everybody, and everything."

Morgan regarded him, listening.

"I want him to meet with Sam Ferris. He's going to need counseling, and it would be good to have him assessed by a psychiatrist before suggesting how he proceeds from here."

Paul, Kim, and Morgan all agreed with him.

"I was planning, if he's up to it, to get him started catching up with schoolwork over the spring and summer—Beaver can tutor him, maybe call in some other teachers to work with him. I think it would do him good to start school in the fall. Get him into class, among other weres his age. The bastards who had him didn't see any point in continuing his education, of course, so it will do him good to get engaged again with academics. It's also important for him to be in a group of his own peers, other werewolves his age, so he can learn how to socialize. He's never had that."

Morgan agreed. "He went from human to breeder in a minute. No explanation, no preparation. How much does he even know about being a werewolf?" he mused. "That's something that needs to be addressed; werewolf first, and omega as well. For that matter, he may have no idea about gender roles, other than the alphas who had him." He swiped a hand down his face. "Christ. That poor kid." He leaned to speak to one of his lieutenants. "Tahmoh, this takes priority, you hear me? Intensify the hunt for these guys. I want them found, and I don't want to wait till some other poor kid gets grabbed."

"Yes, sir." The man was already tapping his keypad.

Morgan's gaze met Kim's, and her response was firm and committed. "My office will coordinate with your operatives, and with the sheriff's department. "

Morgan and Omundson both smiled at her, briefly, but gratefully. "Every bit of cooperation and coordination will help," Omundson told her.

"I'll brief Ty tonight," Rhodes said, then glanced at Omundson. "Unless you would rather walk him through what we know yourself."

"I trust your ability," Omundson said. "If either of you needs more information, I'll be glad to provide as much as I can."

Morgan nodded again in agreement. "Keep everybody updated and informed." The Alpha turned back to Omundson. "What do we know about these particular wolves? Has..." he looked down at the folder. "Jensen. Has Jensen described them? Told us anything about them, or where they're located? Anything?"

Tim shook his head. "The boy was so nervous I wanted to get him here, and safe, before I asked him any more questions. All I had to go on was what Alan said Jensen told him—which is all in that folder."

"We need more intel."

Tim cracked a half-smile. "I think Alan's been watching too much CSI television. He bagged the clothes Jensen was wearing when he showed up. Apparently, the kid stole them off a laundry line."

Morgan looked puzzled, and Omundson continued. "Alan thought maybe 'forensics' could pull some info off the clothes. Or the kidnappers could track Jensen's scent through the clothes."

A small smile played around Kim's mouth, too. "Well, at least he was thinking," she gave Jensen's dad that much credit.

Tim's half-smile was rueful. "For all the good it will do. I'll sit down with Jensen in the next day or two. Or maybe Jim can, if Jensen's more comfortable with him, or Samantha, and see if we can coax the rest of his story out of him."

"Okay, good." Morgan glanced at his watch. "When are they supposed to get here for supper?"

"Next half hour or so," Hugo spoke up, phone in his hand. "Lee says they've not left Ms. Abbott's yet."

Morgan turned to the med tech. "Paul, I think you should stay. A roomful of alphas isn't going to make the kid feel at ease, I'm guessing."

Paul agreed that made sense.

"And see if you can get Jim down here," Morgan told Tim. "Another beta in the room will help, too. It won't hurt to go ahead and introduce them tonight."

Tim glanced at Hugo, who stepped out of the room to make the call. Morgan said, "I think that's enough people for tonight, it's getting kind of crowded already. We don't want to overwhelm the boy all at once." Omundson agreed, and Morgan asked, "What do we know about the family?"

"Very little," Tim told him. "Except—there is a younger sister. I put a couple of alphas on to watch the house, and to see the girl to school and wherever else she goes."

Morgan nodded approval. "The family hasn't moved since Jensen was taken?"

Omundson shook his head. "I got the impression they stayed in case he found his way home. Alan said Jensen called the old land line. He knew that number, but of course they'd all updated their phone plans in the time he's been gone, so he didn't know any of those numbers."

Morgan took a moment to be grateful for the family's hope, before he spoke his approval to Tim. "Good thinking, putting guards on the girl. The bastards might suspect Jensen would try to go home. And if not, they might snatch the girl as a substitute."

"Jensen said that was why he didn't go home," Tim said.

"Well, whatever he's been through the last three years, it sounds like he's developed some good instincts," Morgan said.

Hugo stepped back into the room, and spoke to Omundson. "Beaver's on his way. Should be a few minutes."

Morgan nodded his thanks, and stood. "Been sitting all afternoon," he said, stretching and walking around the room.

Two beta severs knocked and entered, given permission. They carried trays of utensils rolled in cloth napkins, glasses, and pitchers of ice water.

"Alpha?" the woman asked Tim. "Is there an expected number of people?"

"Set places for a dozen," he told both betas. "There probably won't be that many, but best to be prepared."

The servers moved in and quickly wiped down and set places at the round table and a couple of others, and quietly left the room. As they were finishing up, an older beta rapped on the door frame.

"Hey, Jim," Omundson said, shaking hands with the man, who also greeted Alpha Morgan with a deferential handshake. "So glad you could come on short notice."

"It's good to see you under any circumstances, my friend," Morgan smiled. "But I think your expertise is going to come in handy with the kid who's just turned up."

Jim Beaver didn't waste time asking questions, just listened to the quick briefing both alphas sketched for him. He got the basics of what was going on; he'd find out details later. He took a seat next to Kim, nodding a greeting. "Mayor."

"Hey, Jim. Crazy goings-on, huh?"

Before Beaver could answer, Hugo was at the door.

"Alpha," he spoke to Morgan. "They're here."

Morgan nodded, and Hugo stepped in, so Lee could usher Alan and Jensen into the room.

Tim moved forward to greet Alan with a handshake. "Alan, Jensen, this is Pack Alpha Jeffrey Dean Morgan. He's the leader of the Ghost River Pack, the territory from the Dakotas and Nebraska to the Oregon and Washington coast."

Alan's eyes widened a bit. "That's a lot of ground to cover."

Morgan smiled. "That's why I have Tim and three other alphas to help keep an eye on things. I'm glad to meet you both."

Jensen kept his body turned a quarter away, and his gaze didn't come up to meet Morgan's. Jeff shook hands with Alan, but didn't offer a handshake to Jensen. "This is Woverton's mayor, Kim Rhodes."

"Mayor," Alan said, as Kim shook his hand. Jensen gave a small nod, but didn't meet the mayor's gaze, either.

"And this is Jim Beaver," Morgan introduced the last member of their party.

Jim reached for Alan's hand, and gave Jensen an assessing look. Jensen wouldn't look up, but Jim included him when he said, "Pleased to meet you both."

"Jim's the principal of our local high school. I thought it might be nice for both of you to meet him."

Alan managed a smile.

"Well, come, everybody, have a seat," Morgan said, gesturing to the round table. "There's a full menu, but I recommend the steak. Aubry has a secret rub that's excellent."

The meal went relatively well. There was some quiet discussion between Morgan, Omundson and Rhodes. Beaver sat next to Alan, with Jensen on his dad's other side, and Beaver talked a little about the high school, and asked Jensen what his interests were. Jensen flickered a somewhat alarmed gaze up at the principal, but bit his lip rather than respond. Alan mentioned the things that his son had shown an interest in before his abduction, doing what he could to keep the conversation alive. Jensen managed to nod or shake his head to a few direct questions, and he seemed to relax by a fraction, as Beaver continued to appear calm and encouraging.

The meeting broke up after dessert. Hugo stepped forward to escort the Ackles back to their B&B, and Alan said their good nights. Jensen seemed to relax once they were in their room with the door shut. He climbed under the covers and was asleep in minutes. Alan watched him sleep, and wished his wife was there to see their son, safe.

But he couldn't help dreading the revelation that had to come before Jensen could be reunited with his mom. Alan settled into his own bed, but it was a while before sleep came for him.

Comments are like fuel for the soul || Master Post | Chapter 2

Comments

[anniespinkhouse.livejournal.com]

Jensen's dad is a good man to have in his corner. Sensible Jensen for contacting him first.

[fufaraw]

Yeah, fictional dad sort of became his own character. I like fictional dad a whole lot more than irl dad.