Reality Crisis

After his talk with Peter Jack hadn't been feeling very sociable. That hadn't stopped him from going out to a bar after the alcohol that Peter brought was gone. The young immortal had thrown out one of the few words that could skewer Jack straight through all of his painful places: Ianto. See, when he and Peter first met, Jack had gotten very drunk, and apparently had uttered Ianto's name when Peter poured him into bed. Having him thrown back in his face today had put Jack back more than a few emotional steps. The only way it could have been worse was if Steven's name had come up.

Jack went to his favorite local haunt where the bartender was sympathetic to Jack wanting liquor and to be left alone, and would ensure that Jack got both in abundance. He spent the next few hours there trying to forget, drink himself numb, but eventually the bar closed and even Captain Jack Harkness, one of the Chosen, was politely shooed to be on his way. He couldn't get angry about it no matter how much he wanted to so instead clumsily patted the barkeep on the shoulder, assured the man he could get home on his own then stumbled out into the street.

Nathan had gone out for a while. Peter had offered to go with him, and had been hurt for a bit when his brother wanted some time to himself. A bit later, Peter figured that Nathan hadn't had the same sort of time alone Peter had suffered through, and quit worrying. There was something he'd been putting off for a while, but now that Nathan was here, it was something he needed to do. He needed help with it.

When he arrived at Jack Harkness' door, Peter had a few bottles of alcohol, and two large mugs of coffee from the storerooms in the basement. The booze in his pocket, Peter held a mug in each hand and kicked gently at the door. Hopefully the coffee would be a sufficient bribe, but if they needed to get drunk to talk about dealing with being immortal, Peter was ready.

The rash of voices shouting over the intercom from the engineering deck was indecipherable, even to his acute Vulcan ears. In fact, if anything, the overlap of yelling only succeeded in causing him great inter-cranial pain, quickly escalating from mere irritation to incessant migraine. Spock leaned over the console, pressed the response button, and spoke in a tone most disgruntled (not very comely of a Vulcan.)

"Mr. Scott, please silence your subordinates and state the nature of your complaint."

"My complaint?!" Scotty's thick Scottish drawl, no doubt accompanied by exasperated spitting inflection (Spock hoped the engineer had the good sense to disinfect his view screens,) responded. "This is far from complaint, Commander. I've got an engineering nightmare down 'ere. Dunnae expect t'be able to go to warp. And if we get another hit to our port nacelle we'll be--"

The ship jolted in response to another strike from the unknown vessel.

"Photon torpedo, sir," Sulu called out from the helm. The helmsman's ability to keep his calm was something than Spock both appreciated and made note to acknowledge as praiseworthy. "Strike to the starboard side."

"Engineering reports warp core at critical capacity, Commander," Chekov added.

And the Captain still on the planet, Spock thought.

"Sulu, you have the conn. Uhura--" Spock paused for a moment as he looked to her. She had an eagerness in her expression, confusingly comprised of both concerning anticipation and excitement. His own expression was masked in stoicism. He was the acting Captain while Kirk was on the planet. That meant he had to see the entire crew as equals. But she did make that difficult. "--inform me as to when Captain Kirk is within transporter range. I'm going to engineering."
( This was all highly irregular. )

Castiel hadn't participated in the cleaning of the dead reptiles, nor had he done much more than look around since the rain stopped. He was still trying to understand what had happened, but all he was picking up from his movements were all of the rumors circling around. Most of it was nonsense and useless, though a few hit on plausible explanations, but whenever Castiel listened further he realized they were just speculating like the others.

It was frustrating, and quickly grew tiresome, and before long Castiel's mood had plummeted again to where it had been before he'd spoken to Piotr and renewed his sense of purpose.

Castiel didn't feel like seeking out the large human again, though. Piotr wasn't a bad man, but there was no pull towards him either. He wasn't somebody Castiel knew or had a history with. Dean wasn't really an option for a mood boost either, since he was still aggravated over the scaley rain. The angel didn't assume Sam was any better, and Fred was probably with him.

The angel's thoughts then turned to one of the few others in this world who he knew and had something more than a chance encounter with. He hadn't seen Jack in a while, not since they'd parted ways. He couldn't remember very clearly how they'd left, he'd been too distracted by the return of his voice and the implications of his time as human to pay attention to his verbal communication with the man. Still, he thought they'd been aimiable, and with nobody else to talk to Castiel's mind was quickly made up.

He teleported to Jack's room in die Festung, keeping himself invisible at first. He found the man sleeping; looking and, after a quick lean in and sniff, smelling like he'd committed to a rather long night of drinking. Castiel made himself visible, standing patiently as he waited for Jack to wake up, though after a moment he remembered doing something similar to Dean and nearly being shot for his trouble. The bullet hadn't worried him, but Dean had given him a rather sound verbal lashing afterwards that made him think Jack wouldn't appreciate a similar sight on waking up.

The angel thought for a moment, then reasoned that their interactions warranted a more familiar presence and sat down on the bed near Jack's chest, hands folded neatly in his lap. He remembered that beds were places of less clothes, but since he wasn't and had no reason to be in the blankets he didn't bother removing any of his.

As he sat his mind wandered he stared into the wall (instead of at Jack, something else Dean had instructed him on indirectly), and he unhappily found himself stuck once more on the problem of his father being gone.

Peter was still going over what Murphy had told him about the various communities available. He wasn't comfortable with the idea of being bribed into whatever 'helping out' the woman in charge of die Festung would want. He'd... arrived here, but that didn't obligate him in any way.

Still, he wasn't quite ready to move on. He didn't know enough about the beings that lay beyond the walls to really be ready, it had been a long-ass day already, and... well, he was hungry. Seriously hungry. Over the last few years, acquiring so many abilities had made some changes to his body. He barely required sleep (in all honesty, he couldn't sleep more than a handful of hours a month), but his metabolism was fast enough that he was regularly hungry, needing to fuel himself more often.

He didn't want to speak to the woman in charge, not yet. So for the time being, with a telekinetic shield up to protect him from the falling creatures, Peter searched for something to eat.

There was only so long a man could dwell in a bottle. Only so long he can avoid his own memories and guilt through the attempt at suicide by alcohol poisoning. Not that it would take to Jack, but he has woken up in a ditch more than once since being here. Scared the hell out of a few passerbyes when he sucked in a sharp breath and sat up. He must have been dead. The bad aftertaste in his mouth had been familiar anyway. This was no way to spend eternity.

He still didn't want to think too much or Ianto and Steven would be right there in his mind, staring at him without an ounce of blame in their eyes. Neither of them would blame him for what he did to them, primarily because he held enough blame for the three of them. But also because they both had loved Jack. Both of them with an innocence that defied belief. Just two more ghosts for Jack. Two more incidents Jack could have avoided if he'd been just a little bit more patient. A little bit more...something. Anything.

Well. If he wasn't going to be drunk or find someone else to pass through his bed, then he was going to figure things out. Oh, he had this city down having spent more than a little time in the bars, wandering the streets. He even got the little community that sprang up outside the walls just inside the forest. What he didn't have the first clue about was New Troy. Something new to discover, to take his mind off of his ghosts. Decision made Jack went back to his top floor apartment, cleaned himself up, shaved then got dressed in clean clothing. He put his coat back on, smoothed his lapels then strolled casually out of die Festung and off into the direction of New Troy.

Oddly, he thought, the trip was without encounter. Jack had been expecting zombies. Faeries. Something. The most he got was an irrate bird who felt Jack had wandered too close to its nest. Pesky little thing took a peck at his hair. So it was with a jaunty stride that he came to New Troy. He stopped to take in the sight of the city, compare its condition with die Festung then he smiled and walked right in.

What the fuck was it with this place?

She couldn't get her damn feet under her and now she'd been politely blown off again by some guy leaving her hanging. You don't drink and kiss a gal then tell her that you don't do things until you date a while. Faith wasn't looking for dates she was looking for things that would keep her from thinking too hard about how much better it made her feel to make someone else bleed.

She'd left the pathetic excuse for a bar with a bottle of booze and after about a block slammed her fist through the corner of a brick wall with a snarl. The shower of brick dust and pieces of building flying made her feel better.

The morning after his confusing encounter with Fred had started off well. First he'd been approached and presented with his own clothes, washed now, and he'd changed back into them to return the uncomfortable pants and shirt to their original owner. Then, with the little old woman and him both working fervently, Castiel's work mending the camp's fabric goods had actually ended for the day fairly in the mid morning. But afterwards he hadn't been sure what to do and had been standing, looking around in confusion when a group of the camp members recruited him to help carry some goods into the city.

He'd been resistent at first, not wanting to leave without letting Fred know and not really having seen her since they both seemed uneasy around each other, but the old woman had promised to let her know where he'd gone and he'd finally relented, returning to the city he'd glimpsed when he'd arrived. He carried quite a bit, maybe a little more than he should have, but he didn't complain and when they'd gotten past the armed guards the traders had told him to leave them be until they were ready to head back before nightfall. They didn't seem to like him much and he didn't want to be in the way, so he'd gone, walking through the city aimlessly.

He wasn't in the mood to be curious. He was unhappy that things with Fred seemed to have gone bad, he'd upset her somehow. And Sam was still invisible to him, in that tent with the magic folk, and he'd barely glimsped Dean since they'd gotten to the camp. It was very frustrating and hard for the angel, who only wanted to know what was going on, but now he wasn't even able to teleport himself someplace else to think on things without upsetting anybody, waiting to be called in to help. Or working out how to get his voice back.

No, he was here, in this dreary looking town. All of the buildings looked similar, except one, and he meandered towards it out of required curiosity. Getting closer revealed the place to be a bar, and as he stood in front of it he contemplated whether or not he should enter. Then again, he had nothing better to do, and a drink might get his mind off things. After all, Dean seemed more or less able to cope with things he probably shouldn't, usually by downing copius amounts of alcohol.

Castiel entered the small place, ignoring the few patrons and going to the bar, sitting and looking at the bottles of liquid behind the bar as the bartender approached and asked him what he wanted. Castiel looked towards a man drinking something dark next to him and pointed to it, and the bartender seemed to understand.

It wasn't much longer after that that Castiel was two glasses in, staring blearily at the half of the third in front of him. He was definitely feeling the effects of the booze, but he wasn't sure if it was making him feel better about things or worse. He just felt... light.

(Happens directly after this)

Spike shoved through the bodies coming up to him, not holding back his strength as he moved from room to room of the house of pleasures, testing the air and hunting a bit until he found a doorway that opened to a descending staircase. He'd had a good tour of the place earlier, so he knew that every other room was probably empty, but this is what he'd been hunting for. The secret in the basement.

"Oi, Captain boy, over here," he called, peering down into the darkness. There were lights below, flickering, and definitely something moving down there. "I think I found the mistress of the manor."

He adjusted the tiny pants he'd been forced into slightly, then grit his teeth. "I say we go in and kill whatever's there, that should stop the forest from turning on us."

Spike was in another world. Not physically, maybe, but as he staggered throughout the house of pleasures his mind was on a different plane of existance. Since he and Jack had gotten here he hadn't seen the other man. His time had been nothing but sex, drugs, and some good old fashioned pleasure sport.

It had culminated the night before when the primal nature these people seemed determined to pull from him had finally reared it's bumpy, fanged head and he'd bitten a rather delicious young morsel, draining them dry. But it hadn't been human. Maybe he should have known that from the get go, after all the longer he was here the more he felt some kind of pull at his soul. He was all too experienced with the soul tug-of-war to not notice it. It didn't worry him too much, though, he'd still been content to stay here and be enveloped, forgetting the world he didn't care about outside the building.

When he'd bitten that delicious neck, though, everything had changed. It was magic, whoever these people were, it was all magic. And even in the throws of one of the most powerful consumption highs of his life he'd known there was something else going on here.

( He waved off his followers, the small flock of bodies who followed him everywhere in this place, )

Jack stood just outside the walls of die Festung with the wind tugging at the tails of his coat as he eyed the forest that seemed to have sprung up over night. In his experience things that just appear never meant anything good. The smart thing to do was to find a high vantage point and observe the forest for a while, see what went in or came out of it. Jack wasn't doing the smart thing these days, not since his ability to care about his wellbeing went the way of Ianto and his grandson. He had every intention of going in there to find out first hand what was going on. He was just making something of a production about it.

"Who can impress the forest, bid the tree unfix his earthbound root?" He smiled, chuckling to himself for the reference.

Belia's guards had alerted her to the new arrival as soon as he had appeared outside the gates. Sam had gotten there first before they could escort the man in, but she had taken that as an opportunity to learn more. Her spy in the bar had reported things back that were quite... enlightening.

And a concern. She knew full well that if the chosen decided to organize, she would have her work cut out for her. She needed to do what she could to circumvent that which meant putting up a cooperative front for now.

She waited for the new arrival-Jack Harkness-to be escorted inside and fiddled ever so slightly with the spread of sandwiches and drinks that were awaiting him.

The bar was in the back end of nowhere in the universe. Mercenaries, low lifes, slave traders, drug pushers, loan sharks and other unsavory types made up the patrons that frequented this place. And Captain Jack Harkness. Though he counted himself as one of their numbers.

He looked at the glass in front of him. It was far from his first drink and farther still from his last. The liquid inside it held a color undefined by humans, and a kick they could never handle. It wasn’t technically legal anywhere and suited Jack’s purposes beautifully.

He’d been here for the equivalent of more than a few Earth days, drinking until he passed out or died from alcohol poisoning. He’d just revive and start all over again. As long as his money held out they didn’t throw him out. He wasn’t looking for trouble and whatever trouble found him he settled. Decisively and lethally. But he always cleaned up after his mess, sending the remained to whatever point in time wherever using the Agency vortex watch. Then he’d sit back down, order another round and that was how it went.

This was how Jack wanted it. He wanted his heart numb, and his thoughts pickled so he wouldn’t have to think about Ianto. Steven. The Doctor. Angelo. Twelve children. Gray.

The glass had been lifted for Jack to drain and it suddenly felt like he was falling backwards off of the barstool. He landed harshly on his back and ass feeling like he’d just stepped off of the Time Vortex the hard way which served to sober him up enough that the city in the near distance surrounded by the high wall wasn’t too blurry.

“…what the hell.” Jack stumbled to his feet, dusting off his greatcoat as he stared, able to pick out guards patrolling the outside of the walls. The place looked post-apocalyptic and like no planet or time he’d been to before. “Well this is new.”