He found the kid, or they found each other, begging for death on the top of a sun bleached Camaro. They've been driving together ever since.
He was green-eyed and dusty haired and never stood a chance.
He was doing the thing all boys did when they found true fear, begging for their mothers.
There are no mothers in the wasteland.
His hands and feet were bound to a rusted blood colored camaro and Jason savors a long lost taste in his parched mouth. A gang must have got to him, wild humans who had lost their humanity together and were hell-bent on going crazy, and stealing a poor boy's clothes while they were at it.
At least they let him keep his pants.
But the sun would kill him soon, if it wasn't already. Jason didn't want to care, but no one should die on their back and wailing for a mother that would never come.
The boy was blind with sunstroke, his messy hair went halfway down his neck, and his skin was burned with pagan symbols.
They wrapped around the ends of his eyes, to the joints of his toes, separating and connecting until his whole body told the story of his manufactured gods in a language that Jason would never care to understand. He didn't hold himself to a religion, that way it was easier to survive.
Jason sighed, and weighed his chances of falling into a trap while trying to rescue a boy who drove an unarmored car on the fury road.
He took a gun and bolt cutters from his spiked Humvee, and approached the poor boy.
A gleeful war cry from a short man dressed in brown leather was silenced as quickly as it began when Jason fired a few wildly aimed bullets. He winced, hoping the sound wouldn't draw any of his motorcycle-riding friends from their hiding spots.
The boy was oblivious to the trouble he'd caused, and the closer Jason got to the chained up car, he realized he was not asking for his mother, but praying instead. Murmuring unintelligible words in a sort of pattern, it was obvious he was trying desperately to catch the attention of his false gods.
Jason ignored the pained and delusional cries for help, and opened the Camaro's faded door.
The chains converged in the center of the car, attached to a stained and broken center console.
Jason stretched to cover the chains with the bolt cutters and silently wondered what this poor soul had done to anger a gang so much they would tie him spread eagle in the hot sun.
The first chain went easily, but was strung so tightly that it snapped back and almost hit Jason in the face. Had he not dodged it, he might have a broken nose.
A surprised groan from the boy, but he hadn't moved. The tension holding his hand subsided and the boys arm curled towards his stomach. He continued with the next three chains, keeping his face at a safe distance.
He'd wasted two bottles of water on the kid.
He didn't want to be impolite, but the boy had yet to wake up and was taking up space in the back seat of his humvee.
He would talk in his sleep and Jason was glad the noise didn't get them killed when his car made the slow, silent crawl through Rock Rider Canyon.
Jason contemplated leaving him at the reservoir if he didn't wake up.
A small shift in noise from the backseat told him he'd missed that chance.
Against his better judgment, he handed the kid his own bottle, while keeping his eyes on the road ahead. It was taken from his hand tentatively, and a tattooed hand snaked its way around the passenger seat before pulling the body attached over the center console.
He settled in his seat with a small huff, and Jason stole a quick glance at him, chugging his water faster than should have been possible.
"Slow down," Jason's voice was husky from not talking for so long "That's my water too."
The boy looked at him as if he was driving the car with his feet. "Sorry," he set the bottle down in one the cupholders "I didn't thank you."
The boy nodded in reply, and stared out at the wasteland through the window.
The boy didn't talk much, which was fine with Jason, who barely said three words every day.
The silence of the Humvee was only interrupted twice. The first was two hours after the kid woke up, and consisted only of introductions.
"My name is Perseus, just so you know."
Jason nodded, "Jason."
The second was when night had fallen, Jason burned some old fabric and a few sticks for warmth, and Perseus sat uncomfortably on the other side of the fire.
"Why did you save me?"
Jason looked up from his can of dog food, Perseus hadn't even touched his, and was now staring at him. He blinked, surprised.
"It's not as if I'm not grateful…"
"No one should die without being on their feet," Jason told him nonchalantly.
"And where are you taking me?"
"There's a camp I trade with sometimes, you'll be fine there."
He looked like he wanted to say something more urgent, but he didn't, and Jason didn't feel like prying. He trailed his way back to the Humvee while Perseus stayed by the fire. He wondered if the kid did any praying to his gods, or if he thought they had answered them when Jason had cut him from his shackles.