Owen Harper, dead twice over, was glaring at Jack. "You're an idiot, Harkness," he snapped.
Jack glared right back at his former colleague. "Owen. You're dead. Get the hell out of my dream. I won't stand for this." They were in some kind of dream version of the Millennium Center in Cardiff, next to the wreckage that used to be Torchwood Three. It was eerily quiet, a damp, misty morning. Chunks of the sidewalk were ripped away, exposing the remains of the underground Torchwood Hub, now nothing more than a great, collapsing crater. There was water bubbling somewhere within. Amongst the rubble Owen stood, looking, as he always had, utterly pissed off.
"No," he said flatly, crossing his arms. "No, I won't. And don't go blaming that weirdo Gainel, either, this is me you're talking to. I owe him a favor."
"How the hell do you owe him a favor?" Jack demanded, trying not to stare at the remains of the place where he'd lived for at least fifty years, and even begun to consider a home during the last ten. The thing that looked like Owen quirked a devilish smile at him and Jack looked away from the familiar expression.
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
Jack sighed, suddenly weary. This was not as bad as the false Ianto, but it came close. Was he to be literally haunted by his past, now? Owen's deaths—both of them—had been almost entirely his fault. "What do you want?" Jack asked, turning his face away from the specter.
"You ran away," the medic accused furiously, uncrossing his arms. "I can't believe you ran away!"
The words hit Jack all at once, and he nearly staggered under the force of them. His head jerked up and he stared at the man. No one but Owen could get that perfect tone, the one that bordered on insulted and insulting. He choked a little. This was not the god Gainel playing tricks. Jack took a breath, collected himself as best as he could and responded, voice cracking.
"What else could I do? Everyone died, Owen!" He stared at his dead coworker and did not allow himself to tremble. Jack wanted to hug him; he wanted to kiss him. God, god, it was Owen.
The man looked good; his cheeks had a healthy glow about them, and the bandages around his right palm, from where he had cut himself once and never healed, were gone, replaced by a whole and healthy hand. He was as he had ever been—a study of contrasts, pale skin and dark eyes, high cheekbones and dark, slightly curled hair cut short around his head. He was, Jack thought desperately, a sight for sore eyes.
And then, of course, the bastard opened his mouth.
"Just because your precious fuck buddy—" Owen huffed.
"Don't you dare start on that, you don't know the half of it," Jack snapped. Oh, yes, this was definitely Owen. Jack recognized the conflicting urge to hug him and break his nose.
"Yeah, yeah," Owen grumbled, shifting his weight uncomfortably under Jack's glare. "Listen, Harkness. I'm doing old Gainel a favor here, since you don't want him tampering with your dreams."
"How did he find you?" Jack demanded, still restraining himself from any form of physical contact, even though he badly wanted to embrace the other man. Owen could be hugged, and Jack had done it several times before, but not when he looked like this. This was business, and it was Jack who was in distress, not Owen. The dead man waved a hand.
"I'm not really alive and I'm not really dead," he said dismissively. "The stuff of dreams, Gainel said. Anyway, my body's gone. You brought me back to life the first time, I think you should remember. I wasn't going anywhere, after that."
"You were eradiated," Jack said softly, regretfully, and the urge to hug him increased tenfold. "Tosh said you were trapped when the reactor went critical."
"Yep. My body decomposed—that was fun, by the way—" sarcasm dripped from his voice, "but I was still hanging around, when it was over, only this time I wasn't corporal." He scowled.
"Oh, Owen," Jack breathed, giving in and gripping his arm in sympathy. "I'm so sorry."
"Yeah, well, you should be." Owen shook Jack off, and he removed the hand. No, no hugging here. It was so like Owen, Jack thought with desperate fondness. "Gainel's offered me a place in this Black God's realm here, in exchange for passing you messages. So here I am, passing you messages." He handed Jack an envelope, scowling. "Like a bloody pigeon."
Jack huffed a small laugh at his tone and took the envelope. As soon as his fingers touched the coarse paper, the landscape started to ripple.
"I'll be seeing you," Owen sneered, and everything went dark.
Jack opened his eyes.
Sunlight was just peeking over the horizon, casting a misty, early morning glow around the landscape. He was in his bedroll, and he knew that. He was in Tortall, and Owen was dead and Jack could deal with it; there was none of the fury that had risen sharply in him when Gainel had taken Ianto's form. Jack sighed and rolled over.
There was something scratchy in his hand. He blinked, looked down, and saw the envelope.
"Right," he mumbled drowsily. "Obviously." Carefully, he opened it.
You are our substitute Guardian, as promised;
there is something heading toward the Gates
and the Great Gods want it gone.
"Great," Jack muttered, slowly waking up. "Because gods can't ever be specific."
"Jack?" Numair walked over, towering above him and blocking the light. Jack, supine, squinted up at him. "We need to break camp if we're going to reach Pirate's Swoop by tonight."
"Right," Jack said again, slipping the note into his bedroll, and then staggering out of it.
They ate a quick breakfast and broke camp, mounting their horses and riding down the road. The farther they got from the town, the smaller the road became, and as the trees rose more and more densely around them, Red started to shy, huffing nervously.
"Easy there," Jack murmured to his frightened horse and glanced at Daine in confusion, hoping for a translation. She was looking around warily, and had pulled her bow from where it was clipped to her saddle. "Daine?"
"Killer unicorns," she growled, pulling an arrow from the pouch in her saddle and notching it, although she didn't pull it back. "Stay close."
Jack, always prepared, unclasped his revolver from his belt. Numair shot a look at the weapon but did not comment, which was good. It was an anachronism and would be awkward to explain, Jack thought with wry amusement. The horses huffed nervously as they walked. The woods had fallen silent except for the quiet clip-clopping of hooves. There were no birds.
Red tossed his head and Jack hummed to him, resting a hand on the horse's neck. Adrenalin was starting to make him antsy, and he carefully cleared his mind. No need to be nervous; he was a trained soldier, and in his time he'd fought scarier things than unicorns.
There was a squeal from deep in the woods. It sounded like a horse, but the noise came from deeper in the throat and Daine tensed. "Go, quickly!" she called, "That was a hunting cry—I'll follow."
Numair looked like he wanted to argue, but Spots made it impossible; he lunged forward, apparently at Daine's command. Numair yelped indignantly—clearly, the mage was not the best of all riders—but caught himself as the gelding raced forward. Jack himself gave a little yip of surprise as Red leaped to follow, hooves clattering in a swift gallop as they raced down the road. Jack clung to his reins and wondered how the hell he was supposed to get a clear shot from the back of a damned horse. Red's movements jostled his arm.
Suddenly, something white and streaked with black leaped out onto the road, silver claws grinding stone. Red and Spots started, spinning and squealing in alarm. Jack clung on to his horse and looked over, meeting the killer unicorn's eyes in surprise and then defiance.
It was smaller than he would've expected, and its dark horn curled like a corkscrew. The tail was long and whip-like with a tufted end like a lion, and its short, pony-like legs ended in claws rather than hooves. It bared its fangs threateningly, eyes forward-facing and far more intelligent than he had expected. It snarled at him.
It lunged first at Spots with its dark horn, but Numair's horse, is seemed, was not as helpless as he looked. The black and white gelding squealed, rearing and striking out with his hooves. Numair did not make a sound this time but clung to his horse determinedly and a bolt of black, glittering power whistled from his outstretched hand to the creature, which feinted and fell back. There was the sound of hoof beats behind them as Cloud and Daine caught up. The gray pony was racing toward them, and Daine had fired three bolts. They all hit home; three dead unicorns lay in the road, but it seemed that they hunted in herds, because Jack counted at least twelve more of them, closing in from the woods.
"Look," Daine called to the advancing herd, "I'd rather not kill you, if you just—"
A large, shaggy one pranced forward, huffing and snorting. It looked like it was the alpha, or whatever killer unicorns had for a leader. They all had black tangled in their white fur, Jack noticed, and then realized that the dark streaks looked like dried blood. It bared its teeth at Daine, and clearly said something unpleasant, because Daine fired.
That was all it took. The herd, surrounding them, lunged as one, claws screeching against the stone and mouths foaming, teeth bared.
Jack was reluctant to use his revolver, given that it was an anachronism, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He made a swift decision, and then fired; there were five loud cracks in rapid succession, and Red reared in fright at the noise. Five unicorns went down, two more with Daine's bolts, and Numair threw his strange power at three more. The remaining two fled, kicking up dirt with their claws as they disappeared into the forest.
Red squealed again, prancing down once and then back up again. From the side, Jack could see the whites of his eyes.
"Easy," Jack whispered, pulling the reins tight as Red squealed once more and tried to bolt. "Easy, you're alright, see? No harm done." He quickly put the gun away and patted his huffing horse's neck. Red threw up his head and stilled, trembling. Jack sighed at his apparent calm, relaxing, and then, suddenly, Red's tense muscles coiled again and he bucked wildly.
Yelping with surprise, Jack went flying and hit the road hard. Red gasped, standing stiff with terror, staring at down him with white rimmed eyes. Stunned, Jack blinked at his horse. "Ow," he muttered.
"Mithros, Mynoss and Shakith!" Numair breathed. He stared at the dead unicorns and didn't seem to notice that Jack had taken an unscheduled dismount. "That was a massive herd. Is everyone alright? Daine, Jack?"
"M'fine," Daine replied and looked over at Jack, sitting in the road. She couldn't hide an amused snort. "Jack? Are you alright? Did Red throw you?" She slid from Cloud's back and walked over to calm Jack's gelding, who looked ready to bolt again.
Jack got up and scowled at his horse. "Yeah," he muttered sourly. Red snorted and then turned to Daine, huffing anxiously.
"He panicked," Daine said, stroking the gelding's nose. "He says he's sorry."
"S'alright," Jack replied and looked down to reload his revolver. Honestly, he thought wryly as he unclasped it again and dug into his pockets for some spare bullets—he would need to get more from somewhere eventually—this was completely typical. He'd shot the enemy, survived killer unicorns and then his damn horse threw him.
"What made that noise?" Numair asked, peering at Jack's revolver from Spots' back.
"Revolver," Jack said. He didn't look up as he re-loaded it. "Don't worry about it."
"That was a weapon?" Numair demanded, eyeing the gun in Jack's hand. "How—"
Daine patted Red's cheek and then moved to inspect the unicorns that Jack had killed. "A very small, metal crossbow," she murmured.
Jack smirked a little at the metaphor, clipping his gun back to his belt. He took Red's reins, because the horse looked ready to bolt again and strolled over to inspect the damage himself. "You could say that, yeah. But the ones that ran off—" His voice trailed.
"You're right," Numair said. "Daine, we should keep moving, before they come back for more."
Daine nodded. "It's odd that they didn't listen to me," she muttered, walking over to mount Cloud again. "Usually they leave me alone, at least, if only because I have a reputation. They must be hungry, Numair."
"Or migrating," Numair added. He looked back at the dead immortals thoughtfully. "I haven't seen a herd that big in a while."
Jack glanced back down at the unicorn that he had killed. They were rather beautiful, in a fierce sort of way, he thought sadly. "Do they have a mating season?" Jack asked. It was a shame to kill them, really.
"Maybe," Numair said, anxious to leave. "I don't know very much about them. Come on."
Daine conferred silently with Cloud. The pony turned, hooves scraping on the stone, and Spots followed. Red took a step, but Jack held his the reins, holding him back without mounting. His horse snorted and glared.
Daine turned after realizing that Jack was not with them. "Jack?" she asked. "Numair's right, we really shouldn't linger. There might be more."
"Nothing," Jack murmured. "Just—curious." He pulled Red along with him as he approached one of the dead creatures. His horse protested, snorting and stamping, but Jack insisted and Red went. Jack crouched down beside the dead creature, studying its build and shape, so he would remember. He wondered briefly what a regular, harmless unicorn looked like. Red pulled back at the reins in his hand, annoyed.
"Jack, what are you doing?" Numair asked.
"Just—oh." Something caught his eye. The blood of the animal was silver, and there was rather a lot of it to his left; it glinted in the sunlight. He moved over to another unicorn, one taken down by Daine's bolt. Red tugged irritably on the reins again. There was a familiar bite pattern on one of its flanks, the wounds not quite healed. The silver of the blood had caught his eye. "This one has been in a fight," he said quietly. "Look, something bit it, deeply."
"I've never seen anything like that before," Daine murmured, slipping off Cloud again and coming closer. She touched Red's side as she came, and the horse huffed and stopped tugging. "Numair, does anything hunt Immortals, besides us?"
"Not that I'm aware of," the mage replied, craning his neck from Spots' back.
"This looks like a weevil," Jack growled darkly. The marks looked awfully familiar.
Daine crouched beside him to look. "Those are… some nasty teeth," she commented.
"Yes. Look. Four primary canines," Jack whispered, his hand outstretched, hovering over the puncture marks.
"Don't touch it, the blood burns," she warned.
"Yeah, I figured it was something like that," Jack replied wryly and continued to count the wounds. "Eight secondary canines and a larger-than-average bite, because they have hinged jaws. Do you know of anything else that can do this?"
"No," Numair replied and Daine shook her head.
"Could they have been chased out?" Daine asked. "Migrating away because of these weevils?"
"Possibly," Jack agreed, rising to his feet and offering Daine a hand. She took it and they both walked back to Cloud. Red came up to Jack's side, swishing his tail. He was walking a little faster than Jack, eager to get away from the dead unicorns. "But I feel like one of these is too difficult for them. Too fast."
"Maybe it didn't know that yet," Daine suggested, taking Cloud's reins. "Maybe it had to learn. The unicorn got away, didn't it?"
"Fair point." Jack reached for Red's saddle in order to mount up, but the gelding shied away from him. "Hey, it's alright," he told his horse, surprised. Daine paused.
"He wants to tell you that going near dead things is gross," she explained. "I know," she added to the horse. "But Jack was trying to see the bite mark on one, and he wouldn't let you get hurt. He thinks he knows what did it."
She paused and then quirked a wry smile. "He doesn't care what did it, it's still gross," she told Jack. "And he also wants to know about the loud sound you made." Jack blinked, shrugged and took out his revolver.
"Tell him it's like a bow but nosier, and with better accuracy, and it will never hurt him, not if I have any say in it," Jack said firmly. He offered the weapon to the horse, handle first. "And next time, don't try to bolt and I'll leave you back, if you want. I was afraid you were going to run off while I looked, that's all. "
Delicately, Red bent down to sniff it and then snorted, pulling his head up.
"He wouldn't have run." Daine gestured to the gun. "He doesn't like it. Says it smells… bad."
"Tell him that smell is called gunpowder," Jack said with a wry smile. Red lowered his head again, resting his nose on Jack's shoulder.
"He says that he'll trust you, and won't bolt next time. He also doesn't like your—revolver, is that what you called it?" Daine regarded him curiously.
"Yes," Jack agreed, but he didn't answer her unspoken question. "Tell him I know a few people who agree with the sentiment, but it's saved my life a few times." Not that it really mattered; he'd just wake up. Still, the idea was important.
It was odd to be explaining it to a horse, but Jack had seen a lot of odd things, and, for now at least, it was important that Red trusted him. A wise man back in the nineteenth century had once told him that a good horse was priceless and, in an age where there was no other form of transportation, Jack believed him.
Red huffed a little and took his nose off Jack's shoulder. "May I get back on you now?" Jack asked politely. It was very hard not to turn that into an innuendo, even when talking to a horse, but he didn't and was rather proud of it.
Red, to his surprise, nodded. Jack raised his eyebrows at the gesture, but clambered onto the gelding's back without delay. "We should get out of here," he said.
"Yes, finally," Numair agreed, relieved, and led the way. He urged Spots into a clumsy trot. Daine rolled her eyes at his form and brought Cloud around to Numair's side, hissing for him to straighten his back. Jack felt a vague amusement uncurl somewhere deep in his stomach and he quirked a little smile, nudging Red to follow. These two were really quite the pair, he thought fondly.
Horror abruptly raced down Jack's spine, fierce and unexpected. He'd become attached, he realized, appalled, as Red's hooves clacked against the road. He'd become attached to Daine and Numair and their strange world of magic. He even liked Red. Jack swallowed, faltering in his posting and then sitting the trot in shock.
This was bad. No, it was beyond bad, it was awful. People he loved died. People he didn't love died. Everyone died, because he was immortal. They died whether he knew them or loved them or hated them. It just hurt less if he was ambivalent, because if he wasn't ambivalent, he was generally at fault for his friends' death.
Or his family's deaths. Jack shuddered, and did not think about his daughter's accusing eyes. He had to get out of here.