trigger_man | (no subject)

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Jack hasn't left his room much in the couple days since he woke up outside, with no memory of the few days before that. No memory for kidnapping someone, of fighting Teja.

When he has gone downstairs, he definitely hasn't gone anywhere near the woods.

He still has no memory of anything he did while under that spell, and the thought that something took him over, that he has no memory of it, unnerves him like nothing else has in years.

He needs to get out of here, but the door back to his world is locked, and so he stays mostly in his room, dreading every time he falls asleep and the nightmares start again.

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"Yeah. They said it was some creature in that was in the woods. It caused nightmares and paranoia, and in the end it...kind of took people over."

He's clutching the back of the chair so hard his knuckles have turned white. At no time while he's been saying any of this has he looked at Carl.

Something took over Jack. Some creature got inside his best friend's head and drove him out of his mind and caused him to kidnap (and god knows what else) someone. Something evil and dark possessed his brother.

Inwardly, Carl is seething.

Outwardly, he's watching Jack closely, and notices the white-knuckle grip he has on the chair.

"Jack," he says softly. "Why don't we sit, huh? S'been a long couple of days."

It's only when Carl suggests they sit down that Jack realizes just how hard he's clutching the back of the chair.

He moves around the armchair, slowly taking a seat.

"I don't even know how it happened. I just remember the last few weeks, feeling like there was something bad in the woods."

He'd much rather stay standing, stay moving around the room, but he knows it'll only make Jack nervous - so he sinks into a nearby chair, raking a hand through his hair to try and sort his thoughts.

"I'd say if it started affecting people over the course of a few weeks, it wasn't really anything you could have stood a chance to resist," he contemplates. "No matter what you'd tried to do."

"Not exactly the kind of thing we got training in resisting back in Delta," he says with a weak attempt at humour.

He runs a hand through his hair, and he can feel it trembling slightly.

"But then there's a gap of a couple days and I don't remember anything until I was outside on the grass, with someone about to stab me in the chest. I guess I put up a fight when they came to rescue the guy I'd kidnapped."

This time, his voice shakes a little as he talks.

"You're pretty good at putting up a fight when you want to," Carl says, eyes falling to Jack's chest. "And in the case where you had no choice because something was...forcing you to fight, then I can't even imagine..."

A hint of the anger simmering inside him creeps into his voice, but it's not directed at Jack in the slightest. No, it's directed at whatever the fuck decided it was acceptable to start driving people around like goddamn skin-cars.

"How bad are you hurt?"

Jack shrugs, then winces.

"Couple knife wounds. One on my left arm, one in my right side. Other than that it's just bruises."

He doesn't need to mention that he can deal with the physical injuries a lot more easily than the mental ones.

"All right."

He shakes his head slowly, still disbelieving.

"Did you get someone to take a look at them or did you patch them up yourself?"

Jack shakes his head. "Went to the infirmary. They checked them out and sutured them."

He knows Carl can imagine just how that went.

He can. All too well, actually.

This time, it's his voice's turn to shake a fraction when he finally speaks up.

"I'm really fucking sorry for not being here, Jack."

"Don't," Jack says, steel in his voice, and this time he actually looks at Carl. "There probably wasn't anything you could have done, and I don't want to think about what could have happened if you were."

He doesn't know the man he kidnapped. If Carl had been here...would he have taken the first person he saw, or would whatever was controlling him have pointed him toward someone he knew? If Carl had been here, chances were he'd have been on the rescue team. What could he have done if Carl was the one who found him?

"I don't want to think about it either," Carl agrees, meeting Jack's eyes with a storm-clouded gaze of his own. "Especially the fact that there probably wasn't a damn thing I could do t'help you. Trust me, s'not something I'm enjoying considering."

He sighs, frustrated with himself.

"But...that don't change the fact that we're supposed to fight shit like this together."

Anything else just feels wrong.

Hearing that helps a little, even though it doesn't change anything that's happened.

"That isn't always an option, though. Especially when we're in such different places."

"I know. But it's hard t'ignore what they drilled into our heads, you know?"

Leave no man behind.

He offers Jack a slight smile.

"Maybe someone can make a inter-timeline panic button we can carry, for when we need help kickin' somethin's ass."

"Considering how often the door just won't show up for a while, I'm not sure how much that will help," Jack says with a small, hollow smile.

"True," he says. "It kept me out for months the time before last."

He actually hadn't been sure if it would let him back in at all, but he hadn't considered that option in any great detail, simply because he didn't want to think about what that would mean for he and Trudy.

(Part of him knows he has to accept the fact that he can't rely on the bar, but he's come to.)

"It's the thought that counts."

Carl sighs and leans back in the chair.

"Do you...need anything? From bar? Or medical?"

Jack shakes his head. "I got checked out in the infirmary right after."

He doesn't need to tell Carl just how well that went over. Or that he hasn't been eating much in the last couple days.

Carl can see that.

"All right," he says.

"I'm going to guess you've not been sleeping either." He pauses a moment. "Would you want me t'take a watch here on the couch while you got a bit?"

He isn't implying that Jack needs someone to fight off the nightmares - he just knows that sometimes it's easier for men like them to sleep if they know that they've got someone posted on sentry duty.

This is a kind of vulnerability that Jack doesn't like to admit to anyone, even Carl. Everything in him resists the thought of using Carl like some kind of nightlight against the shadows.

But considering most of his sleep the last few nights has been found at the bottom of a bottle, there's some small part of him that realizes this is the less self-destructive option. And that he would do the same for Carl in a heartbeat.

"Yeah," he says, his voice a little hoarse. "Thanks, Carl."

"Of course, Jack." He replies with a ever-so-slight shake of his head. No need to apologize. "Always."

And while being the less self-destructive option, it is also likely the option that's safest for others as well; there's little Jack could try to do that Carl couldn't make an even stand against to fend him off if he freaked out.

It's the other reason he agrees to have Carl stay; even having been told that the thing from the woods is gone, there's a part of him that's still afraid. That wonders if he's going to go to sleep and when he wakes up he's going to find out that he's lost more time and hurt someone else.

Maybe hurt them even worse this time.

He trusts that those who told him about what had happened were right, that the thing was really gone. But no one said that fear had to be rational.

"You seen Trudy in here since you came in?" he asks, just one more thing making him feel a little guilty about keeping Carl there for the night.

Carl nods.

"Yeah, we ran into each other the night I got back. That was a few days ago," he says. Inwardly, he feels a little guilty that it took him so long to find out what had happened to his best friend, but he knows Jack doesn't need to feel bad about that, so he keeps that emotion to himself. "She headed back t'base this morning."

Carl can hardly be blamed for not finding out about what was going on with Jack when Jack's been hiding out in his room for the last few days. Even in Milliways it takes time to find out about what's been going on and Jack hoped there weren't that many people in the bar that knew what he'd done.

"'Kay. I just...didn't want to spoil any plans you might have with her, considering you two kind of depend on luck to see each other."

"I appreciate that," he says honestly, and he does mean it. "But even if she were here, she wouldn't mind a shift in things, given the circumstances. It'd have been fine."

"Yeah," Jack says with a short nod. He knows Trudy wouldn't mind, that she would understand. It doesn't help him from feeling like a third wheel at times, though.

Jack runs a hand through his hair, then rubs the back of his neck. Between the not-sleeping and the stress and the healing of the last few days, he's beyond exhausted.

"I think I'll try and get some sleep now. Help yourself to anything I've got to drink, or the TV, or to the blankets and pillows in the closet." He swallows. "And if I have a nightmare or something..."

"I'll handle it," he says confidently and without hesitation.

(This is a mission, now. He'll see it through.)

"Thanks," Jack says, making eye contact with Carl for a moment before heading into the bedroom and grabbing clothes to sleep in.

It's clear the gratitude is for everything said and unsaid.

Once Jack has disappeared into the bedroom, Carl moves from the chair and grabs a glass of whisky out of the kitchen - at least Jack has the decency to keep a good single-malt on hand. (Though the amount in the bottle is a bit concerning, but he ignores that in favor of pouring three fingers into the tumbler before he heads back to the couch.)

The TV stays off, and the pillows and blankets stay in the closet; he kicks his boots off and folds an arm behind his head, resting the glass on his chest once he's stretched out.

Jack was possessed, by something that came here and hurt people. He's still angry, and more than a little bit unnerved.

Jack changes into a long-sleeved t-shirt and sweatpants, then opens the bedroom door a crack so he can hear that yes, Carl's still there.

He takes a seat on the bed, just sitting for a moment, his arms resting on his knees. It hurts to sit like that for too long, the curve of his back tugging at the sutures in his side. He needs the few seconds it takes, though, to take a few deep breaths and try and concentrate on something other than the thoughts that have been haunting him since he came to on the ground near the lake.

Finally, he swings his feet into bed, wrapping the covers around himself.

"Night, Carl," he calls out as he reaches for the switch on the lamp.

There's only one light on and Carl doesn't bother turning it off - if anything, it may help keep some of the 'shadows' at bay, in case Jack wakes up with another nightmare.

"G'night, Jack," he calls in response, lifting his head to drain the last of the whisky, grateful for the burn running down his throat to help focus his thoughts and ease his anger just a bit. The empty glass goes on the coffee table with a quiet thud, but aside from that, he settles in on the couch for the evening.

He won't sleep, even though he could use a few hours of rest.

This is more important.

Turning off the light, Jack lets his head hit the pillow, turning toward the faint shaft of light coming through the doorway.

It's okay. Carl won't let him do anything, if...

It takes a while, but finally sleep wins out.

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