Jared is used to talking. It is a strange familiarity for a slave, who should always be seen, and never be heard. Jared wears his words like armored plating, speedily bypassing social expectations with the eloquence and ease of a more educated man.

It just goes to show that anyone call bullshit their way through life; they just need to know the magic words.

His mouth might get them into trouble from time to time (all the fucking time), but it is just as capable of getting them water and food, a place to sleep for the night.

And it hides them.

Jared likes to think that if he talks enough, no one will notice that Jensen never says a word.

Most people think he is rude at first. He is, but that isn't the point. It's not that Jensen doesn't want to talk. He can't; it's not his fault.

Once the fact that Jensen is mute settles in, Jensen is cast out of thought like yesterday's garbage. They think that mute means dumb, means deaf, means harmless.

Jensen's not dumb, he's not deaf, and he sure as hell isn't harmless.

He's actually well educated, for a slave. Like Jared, his pale skin sets him outside the ranks of most slaves, drawing attention to themselves merely by the misfortune of their race. White slaves are a rarity, like water, like diamonds. They don't end up on plantations or farms. They aren't enlisted into the military.

They are pets. Pampered and paraded by their owners like thoroughbred race horses.

Jared isn't sure he likes the idea of being nothing more than a dog on a leash, but the description is an accurate one, despite how unpleasant the reality.

It's not until they are outside, on the run and scared out of their fucking minds that they realize just how unpopular that makes them with other slaves.

They made the mistake of turning towards Louisiana, out of Texas and towards the sea, rumors of ships that would take you far, far away to the Old World drawing them to the lights like flies.

They don't last a single night in New Orleans.

The authorities there are, if possible, even more belligerent than those in the Capital, and there is been no support for them from Slave houses, legal or otherwise. Runaway slaves tend to band together for shelter and protection, but the Coons had make it clear that folks like Jared and Jensen aren't ever welcome.

There is been a fight, of course, one they barely walked away from, and Jensen drags him north.

From then on it is Canada or the West Cost.

The North East is no longer an option for anyone; the wars destroyed the former seats of power, and the new Capital Seat in Houston have never authorized reconstructions. The stories they hear are of ghost towns and pestilence, horrors still clinging to the ancient buildings, even a hundred and fifty years later.

Jensen veto's Canada - The Canadian Government have a shoot to kill order on anyone, friendly or hostile, who tries to cross the border.

There aren't many options beyond that.

Jared shivers where he sits, knees hunched to his chest. The blistering heat of the day cools faster than either of them had expect out in the open. It is a rookie mistake, getting caught out here without shelter, but Jared likes to think they are learning.

He catches a rabbit - it takes all day to set and bait the trap, then wait. Such long, tedious hours of boredom.

It is a scrawny thing, but there is enough meat on it to keep them on their feet.

They need food desperately. Jared's feeling the pangs of his own hunger something fierce, and Jensen's looking more and more like a ghost each day. Neither of them started with weight to spare.

Jared talks as Jensen cooks. Words falling over themselves a hundred miles a minute. He likes to think that his words bring something to Jensen, though he doubts he can call it peace.

Comfort maybe, since Jensen can no longer talk to himself.

He tries sometimes, the words silent though his lips move, like he's forgotten that there won't be any sound when he opens his mouth. The startled look of confusion then loss kills Jared every time.

So he fills the silence with bullshit and babble, sometimes talking them both to sleep. After seven, eight, nine hours, his throat feels like one more world will cut him to shreds and make him bleed. Jensen glares at him and shuts him up, and Jared starts all over again in the morning.

It's a good system.

Read the next story in the Confederate Verse The Allocation of Blame by SplashPink (A J2 Slave!AU)