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"Jack."
Jack scowled. "Owen, I'm never going to get any rest if you don't leave me alone."
The rubble of Torchwood Three, in all its glory, spread out around Jack's dreamscape. It looked like early evening, and a mist was rising up off the bay. He found himself just to the left of the crater, close enough to see inside but far enough away that he was not in danger of falling. Owen was a little ways away, almost obscured by the rolling fog. There was someone standing next to the medic, an indistinct silhouette that radiated power. Jack quirked an eyebrow and waited for them to come closer.
Owen shook his head as he walked into full view. "I'm not here to talk to you. This guy wants—no, sorry, did I offend you?" He sneered at the shadow standing beside him. "Deal with it. Alright, fine," he added, when it hissed at him, power shivering from it like heat from tarmac on a summer's day. His voice mocking, Owen said, "Mithros, the God of the Sun and Shield, wants to speak to you."
That was surprising, Jack thought to himself. Nevertheless, he kept himself calm and his voice amused as he replied, "Owen, don't patronize the gods."
"Yeah, whatever." Owen hopped up onto the piece of upturned concrete and scowled down at the figure that walked beside him. "Speak, O Great One," he said sarcastically.
The shadow lengthened and brightened, and then it blazed with light, bright enough to chase away the mist of Jack's dream. A dark skinned man with a golden sword and spear stood where it had been. "I do not know how my brother puts up with you," the god told Owen dryly, and the medic smirked.
"I made a bargain," Owen mocked. Jack knew Owen very well and he could see where this was going. He stopped it before it got out of hand.
"As did I," he interrupted. "What is it you wanted—Mithros, did you say your name was? This isn't the same Mithros that Numair swears by, is it?" Jack stuffed his hands casually in his pockets and ran an appraising eye up and down the god.
He was a good looking man, if you could call him a man, and Jack wouldn't. Mithros had strong features, high cheekbones and a bare, muscular chest. His sword was rather long, Jack noticed with amusement, and he wondered dryly if the god was compensating. If not—well, he'd never slept with a god before.
That one time on the planet Knaxos didn't count.
"The very same," Mithros said darkly, eyes sharp and judgmental, as though he knew that Jack was running through a mental checklist. Who knew, Jack thought with amusement, maybe he did. "My brother has consented to allow me access to your dreams; will you allow me to show you what I wish?"
"Just the once," Jack cautioned, taking a wary step back. "I think I'm going to regret saying this, but I'd rather talk to Owen."
"Harkness, I'm touched."
"Shut up, Owen."
"Very well," Mithros replied, voice grave and vaguely disapproving. "I will show you." He sketched a vague half circle with his arm, and Owen gave an indignant yelp as Jack's dreamscape of Torchwood Three as well as Owen himself faded away.
"You didn't hurt him," Jack growled protectively as the world melted back into view.
"Your friend is unharmed," Mithros said offhandedly.
They were standing on a round, flat platform above the world. Jack looked down coolly, observing the planet. There was a storm over some islands to the east. If Mithros thought that this might impress Jack, he was mistaken. Jack had been traveling to distant worlds since he was hardly out of childhood; orbiting a planet, while pretty, was nothing new.
"Look out into the universe," Mithros stated grandly and Jack obeyed.
There was a shuttle drifting slowly toward them, venting something undoubtedly foul from one of its engines. It was vaguely elliptical in shape, some sort of propelling device jutting raggedly out from its back. As he watched there was a blazing golden light; the Gate, Jack thought. Brightness rippled across the barrier, and the shuttle passed through with a flash and without a sound.
"It's broken through," Jack stated the obvious, his face turned away from the god. "What do you want me to do about it?"
"Destroy it," Mithros commanded. "We want them gone. When they fall to the planet, I can direct them with wind and weather to land in your path; however, that is all I can do. They come from outside our world, and so we have no influence over them."
"If they die," Jack started, "will your Black God take them?"
"No," Mithros said. "He cannot touch them. Their souls will slip from our world and into the beyond, and they will go to the darkness. We want them gone, Harkness."
Jack nodded, watching the ship slowly approach the planet. "I need more bullets for my revolver," he said flatly. "And another diamond for my laser."
"Show me your weapons," the god commanded.
Jack passed the revolver over and unstrapped the laser from his leg. "I'd like an unlimited supply, please." His tone was cordial, but it was a demand, not a request.
"This is one of ten," Mithros stated.
"Alright then," Jack agreed, holding out the gun. "Stick a preservative on the revolver as well and we'll call it a deal."
Mithros passed the gun back. "It will last a thousand years," he decreed, "and it will never run out of ammunition. So mote it be." He then snapped his fingers, and a diamond roughly the size and shape of the one Jack had given to Mistress Carra appeared in his hand. He passed it over. "Anything else?"
Jack regarded his revolver. "A thousand linear years, I hope. It won't need gunpowder, either? Or any kind of maintenance? " He cocked back the barrel and was gratified to see it fully loaded.
"Yes. You'll have to clean it every so often," Mithros muttered. "But I believe you enjoy doing that, yes?"
Jack nodded. "No oil, no gunpowder, no bullets; it'll never run out?"
"No."
Jack grinned, but it wasn't pleasant. "Excellent. I'll get rid of your aliens, then."
"Very good," the god boomed and sketched another half circle with his arm. The image faded away, and Jack had a moment's glimpse of Owen's supremely pissed-off face before everything went black.
Jack woke to a pale, foggy dawn. "So mote it be," he murmured, and rose for the day.
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Daine took Alanna aside the next day, riding out in front with her, far enough ahead that Jack and Numair could not hear. The Lioness arched an eyebrow but followed, nudging Darkmoon to a trot.
"He's a bit sensitive," Daine said after a moment. The loud sounds of their horses' hooves drowned out her words, and Daine saw Alanna straining to hear.
"Jack? I'd noticed," she replied wryly after a moment. "Do you know what happened to him?"
Daine shook her head sadly. "No. He used to work somewhere, and then he left. I don't know why, but it was something bad, something that hurt him. Someone died, I think, but I don't know who he was to Jack."
"He?" Alanna asked with raised eyebrows. Daine shrugged.
"Red keeps on saying that Jack misses his friends," she continued softly, "although he won't say anything else. Cloud's convinced that he's a wolf."
"A wolf?" Alanna demanded incredulously. "Is that a good wolf, or a bad wolf? I know how you see wolves, Daine, but that isn't necessarily how the rest of the world sees them." Her purple eyes were dark and wary.
"Bad wolf," Daine muttered, almost to herself. Those words rung a little bell in her head; there was an image of a blonde girl, glowing golden… Daine shook her head. "No," she added to Alanna. "A Lone Wolf, she says. The Bad Wolf's cub. I keep on dreaming—" she paused, frowning, the image wavering in the forefront of her mind.
Alanna glanced at her curiously. "Dreaming?"
I am the Bad Wolf… the words echoed slowly in her mind and then vanished like the wind. Daine reached for them but they were gone. She could not remember. She shivered.
"There's a goddess in my dream," Daine replied slowly, "But I've never seen her before, not anywhere, and Numair doesn't know who she is, either. She keeps on saying the same thing, over and over, but I can never remember what it is."
"A goddess called Bad Wolf?" Alanna frowned, intrigued. "I've never heard of her. What does she look like?"
"I can't really—" Daine bit her lip and concentrated. "Golden," she said slowly, "and she's crying."
"And she's his—what, his mother?"
"No." Daine sighed, looking down at Cloud's shaggy mane. "I don't really know."
"It's a pity we can't just ask him," Alanna muttered sourly.
Daine shook her head. "You'd scare him off," she said. Jack's attitude was deceiving; he was all charming smiles and bright eyes, but if anyone tried to touch anything slightly below the surface, even gently, he shrank and threatened to bolt. There was such terror in him.
She understood that, deeply. But she also knew that they could help Jack, if only he would let them.
Alanna scowled. "I'm really not good with this sort of thing," she commented. Daine chuckled a little.
"I know. Anyway, just don't bring up his past; he closes right off. He's got a good heart, though," she told her friend earnestly.
"Yes, I can see that." They rode in silence for a moment. "Although I don't know how," Alanna added, sounding a little perplexed. "He's done nothing but tell me that he's dangerous."
"He must've done something," Daine mused. "But I can't imagine what."
"We've all done something, Daine," Alanna growled darkly. Daine sighed.
"I suppose."
There was a silence.
He speaks to Red, Cloud told Daine after a moment.
I know, Daine replied silently. But I don't want to turn everything he tells Red into gossip. I'd rather he tell us, instead of having some sort of grapevine. That just isn't fair.
The pony thought for a moment. He should just tell you, she said sourly after a moment. It would help him, just as it helped you. Two-leggers are stupid.
Yes, Daine smiled. They are.
Daine?
Daine blinked at Red's hesitant voice, and slowed Cloud's trot, looking back. Alanna, looking confused, slowed with her. "What is it?" she asked.
"It's Red," Daine explained. Yes? She brought Cloud to a stop and turned back, looking over her shoulder.
Daine. Tell Jack I smell gunpowder. The dappled gelding behind them pranced uneasily, much to Jack's apparent confusion. Then Red squealed in fright, Jack's yip of surprise drowned out by the harsh sound of the horse's hooves as he suddenly bolted down the road.
Daine urged Cloud to follow and the mare obeyed, breaking into a gallop as well. Red! Daine called to him, stop running, it's alright!
Alanna on Darkmoon came close behind, gesturing to Daine. They split up, Alanna on one side and Daine on the other, trying to crowd Red into stopping.
No it's not! Red shrieked hysterically, threatening to buck as the two horses closed in beside him, No, it's all wrong!
"Easy there!" Jack pulled back on the reins and, with a fair amount of ingenuity for someone who claimed to have not ridden in ages, yanked Red to the side. The frantic horse's head turned where Jack pulled him, and his forward motion was halted. He pranced, clearly terrified, and reared up, squealing and striking out at Darkmoon with his hooves. "S'alright, what's gotten into you? Easy!" Jack protested, clinging to his mount's neck. Alanna's mount squealed back, ears flat and huffing, but he backed down.
"He says he smelled gunpowder," Daine said, pulling Cloud to a halt and leaping off her back. She dodged over to the gelding and grabbed his bridle, ducking the flailing hooves and pulling him down. "Easy, Red," she muttered. What happened?
There was gunpowder, the horse gasped, eyes rolling. I can smell it, it's there, I—
Daine— Cloud's voice cut in uneasily. Her head was up and her ears perked as she looked around, nostrils flaring. I can smell it too.
"Please don't run, Cloud," Daine said firmly, not turning from Red. Her pony snorted.
I'm not going to run, she replied indignantly.
Is that what that smell is? Spots interjected nervously as Numair rode toward them.
"Is everyone alright?" The mage asked, panting as Spots slowed from his frantic gallop to catch up. Kitten stuck her head out of his saddlebag and cheeped, looking around with wide eyes. "Jack, what happened?"
"Everyone's smelling gunpowder," Daine told him, frowning. She reshaped her nose to that of a hyena, inhaling deeply. Red jerked in response to the sudden change, but she held him firm.
RedJack(is it just me or does Jack smell particularly odd? Red's right)
CloudtreesgrassNumair(Beloved)—
SpotsKittenDarkmoonAlanna
Something acrid and harsh that could only be—
"Jack," Daine said, eyes still closed, "Let me see your revolver. I need to make sure I smell the right thing."
Something hard and wooden touched her shoulder. "The safety's on," Jack warned, "But be careful anyway. Point the barrel away from yourself, please." Daine reached up and took it, concentrating. She inhaled deeply, checking the revolver's smell against that of the air.
Gunpowder.
"They're right," she said, reshaping her nose and opening her eyes. "The place reeks of it. Here." She passed the weapon back up to Jack, who looked thoughtful.
"That's wrong," he said quietly, sniffing the air himself, although the smell was too faint for human noses. "You lot don't use gunpowder, unless…" he paused. "We should go check it out," he said decisively after a moment.
"So we're a 'we' now?" Alanna asked, and Jack glared.
"Well, since you won't leave me alone, I suppose we are," he scowled at her, picking up Red's reins. He looked from Alanna to Numair, eyes passing over Kitten and then down to Daine. "Well? Are we going or what?"
"What about the weevils?" Numair asked. The dragon in his saddlebag looked up at him, then at Jack, before grumbling and disappearing again, presumably to take a nap.
"This might be more important," Jack replied darkly.
I don't like this, Red muttered uneasily as Daine relinquished his reins to Jack.
Head up, Darkmoon reassured him. We're all together aren't we? We'll fight them if we have to.
Daine sighed and patted Red's cheek. "It'll be alright," she told him. "Jack'll take care of you. He's scared," she added to Jack, who blinked down at his mount. He stoked Red's neck, suddenly looking concerned.
"It'll be fine," he said, although Daine didn't know whom he was reassuring. She sighed again and got back onto Cloud. Reshaping her nose, she sniffed the air. "This way," she muttered and led them off the road, following the scent deep into the woods.
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