There wouldn't be no trouble except for that king-shit cop!

User Name/Nick: Liz
User DW: this journal works!
E-mail/Plurk/Discord/PM to a character journal/alternate method of contact: PM to this journal is ok, plurk: madwomanwithabox (barely used), Discord: madwomanwithabox (most reliable form of contact)
Other Characters Currently In-Game: None, but just a reference point, you may know me from previous muses such as Allison Argent (TEEN WOLF, Warden w/graduated inmate) and Opie Winston (Sons of Anarchy, Warden w/o graduated inmate)--what can I say? I missed it here. ;P <3

Character Name: John James Rambo
Series: RAMBO movie franchise (please note that holes in the movie character's backstory will be plugged by information from the original David Morrell novel where necessary)
Age: approx. 35 as of the end of the first film
From When?: Just before the end of the film--a gunshot in the final scene before he's taken into custody, rather than missing him, will hit him to end his life and bring him to the Barge.

Inmate Justification: What I'm looking for here is something healthier than what he gets in canon, which is basically hard time in prison where he gets to where he needs to be as a warden. XD At the end of the film, John--who is already struggling with debilitating PTSD and is a survivor of childhood abuse--has been badly retraumatized, struggles with severe depersonalization, and believes he's utterly alone with no one to trust. Working with a warden will make him realize that people do care, and connect back to his own humanity so he can be better equipped to help others.

Arrival: As I really wanted John to be a warden, but feel he got a rough shake in the movies, I want to give him a more comfortable time rehabilitating, so the Admiral will invite him to the Barge for his second chance, hoping to get a future warden out of the deal. But shhhh, don't tell John. XD

Abilities/Powers: John is bog standard human, but has elite military training as a Green Beret (American Army, Special Forces) in guerilla warfare, munitions, hand to hand combat, wilderness survival, field medicine, languages, and specialized transport (some piloting and heavy machine operations). He won't have his favorite weapons on hand, and canonically has been cooperative in a prison environment, so his military skills will be handily managed with standard prison means and methods like confinement in Zero, among other things.

Inmate Information: John grew up in an abusive home rife with addiction: mother died when he was young, father was an alcoholic that nearly killed him when he was young. John's deep ties to his mother's people (Helga Rambo was of Navajo descent) allowed him to defend himself with bow and arrow by shooting his father. He was otherwise a good kid, drafted to Vietnam, and given his early training in hunting, survival, and archery, he was recruited to serve in Special Forces as part of an elite unit during the Vietnam War. Through that time, save for his direct comrades he was treated very much as a weapon, an object, a disposable commodity. Even his direct CO spoke of and to him in this fashion, and yet this man ended up being the closest thing John Rambo has to a father figure.

During the war, John did a lot of killing and caused a lot of harm, but the highlights all focus on forms of self harm and self sacrifice, and he later received countless rewards for valor and bravery including several Purple Hearts and later the Medal of Honor. He was a POW during the War, and forced to engineer his escape by giving himself dysentery, yet was later redeployed. He also bore witness to the horrific death of a comrade by explosive ordinance, a man he saw as brother and friend.

Directly before the action of FIRST BLOOD, John also discovered he was the last surviving member of his unit, which along with leaving him feeling absolutely deserted means he has not yet grieved the loss of a man who was his best friend {and strictly via headcanon regarding John Rambo being bisexual, potentially someone John was in love with}. He later went on to assault multiple sheriff's deputies after an arrest for vagrancy, stole a military vehicle, destroyed a lot of public property via explosives, shot the sheriff of a small town, and was publicly accused of murdering one of the aforementioned deputies.

It's noteworthy that the events leading to these assaults began with his vagrancy arrest, which began when the local sheriff of the town he was passing through quite literally ran him out of town and picked him up on charges when he tried to return. John's behavior was unremarkable at the time and he was posing no threat save that he was essentially homeless. Carrying all his worldly possessions and a bedroll, he walked into town, was passively forced to take a ride from the sheriff, and when asking about a place to eat was told to find somewhere in the next town over.

John's behavior defaults to action and strength, but not to violence per se. Though physically gifted and a combat virtuoso, he is also highly intelligent and meek by nature. He also suffers from severe and likely untreated PTSD. He craves companionship but has been denied human contact due to his condition for years, struggles to hold a traditional job due to his illness, and is quite literally starved for positive physical contact: few occasions in his life have brought him touch that wasn't derived from the war, a fight, or other situations where someone wanted to harm him or kill him. The worst of his issues will be related to trust and self image, but basic decency and physical human contact will go a long way towards making inroads with him.

Path to Redemption: John needs to reclaim his dignity, understand his mental illness better, reconnect with his humanity, and learn to trust again. The path to this will be complex, but easy. He's touch starved to the point where human contact is both a pain point and a source of physical discomfort, so innocent touches or physical affection are something he needs to acclimate to. Initially, John will default to passive yet violent reactions to negative situations: arm himself or lash out, but even if combative he will default to escape, distance, and restraint over trying to actively hurt someone.

The best way to connect and rehabilitate this man is, quite simply, to befriend him. Encourage personal connections ranging from romance to poker or drinking buddies. His ideal warden will become his friend, and milestones will include displays of physical vulnerability like turning his back on them as well as personal admissions to his feelings and his problems. Treating him well and letting him contribute something to the community beyond his military training will remind him that he's a human being with needs and wants, and that he's entitled to have those needs and wants.

Critically (CW: very mild disordered eating habits) through a combination of headcanon and evidence in the films, John has a phobia of eating and drinking in public due to what happened to him in FIRST BLOOD. Seeking out nourishment resulted in what happened, and as such he's going to be incredibly skittish about using the dining hall, likely either struggling to nourish himself or sneaking food to his cabin in order to eat. A clear milestone, and possibly a signal of imminent graduation, will be the first time he's comfortable enough to eat a snack or small meal in the dining hall without illness, hesitation, or struggle.

History: Wikipedia link which includes information from both the novel and the films. As previously noted, John's history is taken primarily from the films, but where a conflict arises or a fact is missing, I will be pulling from the novel for exclusively personal background information primarily connected to his heritage, his upbringing, and his life prior to his participation in the Vietnam War. I will also include headcanons pertaining to personal attitudes, personality, and sexuality, but 99% of all headcanons do derive from concrete evidence in the source material (see: eating issues, it's a running joke that John Rambo is too tough to eat because he never eats or drinks in the films. He is, however, offered food in the second movie but rejects it, notably he is in public and on assignment in enemy territory. As such, I've written in that he's developed severe anxiety about eating in public due to publicly seeking out nourishment, and the resulting events of FIRST BLOOD.)

Sample Network Entry:

[The small device he's given on his arrival is strange, but not completely alien. It's about the size of a radio, but far slimmer, and it has video. Little like one of those pocket TV's or something, and it doesn't have any knobs.

The whole thing is Star Trek as hell, in more ways than one--and John isn't sure what he feels about the fact that it gives him a weird sense of hope.

When he switches on the feed, the rest of the Barge is treated to the view of a man who has visibly been through hell. He's pretty rugged looking, and not just because his face is streaked in sweat, grime, tears, and a little dried blood seeping from a length of burlap tied around his head to staunch a wound. His eyes are a touch bloodshot, shadowed from a lack of sleep over the last twenty four to forty eight hours by his reckoning, and hollow in a way that's hard to describe.

This is a man who's seen the worst of...everything...and it shows.

He's laser focused on the camera, so tense he's nearly vibrating--yet his expression is just a little distant. When he speaks, his voice is quiet, soft, and impossibly deep. He exudes a quiet, gentle, almost meek aura yet is seething just beneath the surface with adrenaline and emotion.]

This is John Rambo, and, uh...I know why I'm here. The...Admiral?...he picked me up.

[He pauses, a huff of air that's only just audible the only indicator of a fairly bitter chuckle.]

Guess it beats the hell out of a federal prison. Least if the 'cell' is any indication.

[Which, if he admits it to himself, is...actually weirdly comforting. The mine entrance where he made camp during the whole fucking manhunt, minus the roast boar and a lot of the grime. The fire pit is some kind of enclosed thing so he can't burn down the joint, with a pretty comfortable looking twin bed and a few other amenities, a healthy amount of rubble blocking any exit but the door in front of him which stands where the open mouth of mine would have otherwise been--all dark, cool stone and hard floor with bits of comfort he doesn't really think are necessary.

They are...well, nice, though.]

I just--I don't know exactly how this all works. What's the SOP around here? Wanna avoid a run in with whatever passes for guards around here if I can help it. Uh...thanks in advance.

Sample RP: John visits the infirmary.

Special Notes: Please feel free to let me know if I've missed anything--I've been away for quite some time! :P

"...Colonel?"

Sam is reading a book on the rooftop cafe when he hears it: the familiar, soft cadence of John Rambo's voice filled with quiet amazement. He looks up and over to see the man standing there just a few short feet away, backlit by the setting sun and something in his chest goes tight and sharp...almost painful.

"Johnny?"

"Yeah."

He draws closer as Sam marks his place and pushes back his chair to stand up, and when he can see John's face...

"How will you live?"

"Day by day."

John melts into a smile and offers Sam his hand when he reaches him. Sam slaps it aside and opens his arms, reaching out to embrace him. John goes tight, tense and vibrating like he was that night in Washington, but after a moment he returns the brief, fraternal squeeze before drawing back again. For a second, he starts to relax before drawing away again...

This isn't the man Sam left behind in Thailand, by the Vietnam border. He's so much better...and in some ways, he's so much worse. That tension that's still there, that softness to his voice that never really went away after Danforth died.

He stops himself from speculating and leans back a little to really look at him for a moment.

"Stand back a second, son, lemme look at you..."

He looks so much healthier than he did before--he's put on weight and a lot of it is muscle. When he pats John's shoulder, it's solid--man's either been getting into powerlifting or he's doing a lot of manual labor these days. In the sun, no less, from the tan he's sporting and the way he's dressed in denims and shirtsleeves. His hair's grown out quite a bit, and there's a light in his eyes that had gone out the day he told Trautman what he wanted for his service and sacrifice.

The old pain, it's all still there--the way he holds himself in careful check, like he'll do something unforgivable if he lets himself relax, the sharp focus of his attention--but Sam would never know him as the same man who said that part of him died in Vietnam. Too many of those wounds are so much smaller than they were.

"John...my God, you look good." Sam breathes with a grin.

John's cheeks color as he ducks his head with a shrug. "I'm trying, sir."

"Life here has been kind to you."

John's head lifts, and a shadow crosses his features--but that's all it is. It's not the blackness of the war or the nights he spent talking about his home life, just a cloud passing briefly across the sun.

"Not really, sir...but I'd be worried if it was. But I--I think I'm happy. Or close to it."

Between what he's heard, and what he can see right in front of him, Sam can't help but feel his chest tighten again, a familiar feeling.

You're the only one I trust.

"John, about the chopper--"

John frowns, gaze sharpening, then he smiles again and shakes his head.

"Don't."

"But I--"

"I know. I knew all along--I told Murdock I was comin' for him, and I meant it. I know you wouldn't let me down."

Sam sighs, shaking his own head. "That's not true, John--I let you down in a lot of respects. I see that more clearly than I ever did, and...I'm not sure I can be forgiven for that."

"With all due respect, sir...if I can, you can." John replies, reaching up to touch a pendant around his neck--a bead made of glass, trapping a delicate flower in a transparent bubble of pale green.

"The Mothers forgive a lot."

Sam laughs a little at that, but it's more in awe of this new version of John that seems to have a hope Sam thought he lost.

"Well then," he drawls, gesturing to the table beside them, "why don't you sit down and tell me all about it?"

John grins, settles into a chair...and he starts talking.

OOC PREFERENCES:
•CONTACT METHOD: PM journal or madwomanwithabox on Discord
•THREAD-JACKING: PLEASE DO, IMMA STALK IT. XD But I have ADHD and rely on my email for notifs so if I miss something in the shuffle? Please poke me with a sharp stick if I haven't answered you and you want me to. I either didn't see it or I forgot, it's never a slight against you. <3
•FOURTH WALLING / CANON PUNCTURE: Please no active canon puncturing or fourth walling, but recognition is okay! Just please keep it away from my poor boy, he can't handle finding out he's fictional.
•BACKTAGGING: Check with me if it's more than a week out? Blanket answer is 'come at me, bros,' but I'm SO not kidding about the ADHD. XD If I don't have the spoons, I'll let you know, but again: it's never personal it's my fucked up brain and I will SO plot for something later if I can't do the thing this instant.
•AVOIDED TOPICS: For John? Not REALLY, but he'll stonewall a lot and be very reluctant to talk about his service, the whole Vietnam War in general. As for me? Parental death isn't off the table, but talk to me first. I'll reach out if something is triggery or off limits--I'm still learning where my boundaries are, and I'll update this for the things I figure out. I'm a firm believer in communication.
•PREFERRED GENDER PRONOUN: Muse? he/him; Mun? she/her/he/him

IC CHARACTERISTICS:
•CURRENT CANON POINT:

TLV: comes roughly a year into his prison sentence, between FIRST BLOOD and FIRST BLOOD PART II.

•PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: John Rambo is six feet tall, with dark brown hair often worn long and kept out of his eyes with the use of a headband. He has brown eyes, a tanned complexion, and a perpetual scowl resulting from minor facial paralysis around the jaw, lips, and tongue. A rigorous training regiment courtesy of his military background and active lifestyle have given him an incredibly muscular physique with significant functional strength. He has work-callused hands, and numerous scars, among them being:

- laceration scars on his back & chest from being tortured as a POW in Vietnam
- laceration scar on his arm from falling out of a tree in Hope, Washington

•DEMEANOR: John is very unobtrusive: introverted, soft spoken, kind, cordial, even shy. It is, however, a very small part of his nature that has consumed him due to incredible amounts of trauma, a lack of human contact, and mistreatment at the hands of others. If made to feel safe and not judged, he is largely unchanged but becomes a bit more extroverted. Though still soft spoken, he has a lot more to say, and reveals a sharp mind with an even sharper sense of humor that can trend towards the slightly ridiculous--wisecracks and pranks being at the core of his, to be blunt, love for trolling others, albeit always in the spirit of good clean fun.

When he doesn't feel safe, however, John retreats further into himself. If pushed towards aggression, he will avoid conflict by shutting down, saying almost nothing and gradually reducing compliance to stoic resistance to unwanted contact or behavior. During flashbacks he often goes nonverbal, and if further triggered will respond with a use of aggressive, but nonlethal force to get away from the perceived threat.

•ABILITIES

* SURVIVAL
Learned tracking & hunting from his mother's people among the Navajo, received survival training as a Green Beret: can classify dangerous and useful flora & fauna, hunt, & as commanding officer, Colonel Samuel Trautman is quoted as saying, can "eat things that would make a billy goat puke." He can field dress game, fashion weapons and trinkets out of anything he can get his hands on, and is well versed in the construction of traps, snares, and the art of camouflage.

* MARKSMANSHIP
Trained in firearms by the military, archery by the men of his mother's tribe. John is a highly skilled marksman, a perfect shot with a bow & arrow, and has exceptional range when taking his shots.

* LANGUAGES
Functionally fluent in Navajo, semi-fluent in German & Italian, all pre-draft. During the war, picked up Vietnamese, Thai, Khmer, & bits of other dialects. With an ear for languages, he can pick up words easily and follow conversations in unfamiliar tongues through context clues. However, when he applies himself, he can acquire relative fluency in many languages fairly quickly.

* MIND & BODY
Maintains peak physical condition gained through hard work and military training. Has exceptional endurance, speed, functional strength, and a high tolerance for pain. Also highly intelligent, John can multitask easily and pick up various nuanced skills with relative ease & speed. His memory is also incredibly sharp, allowing him to recall military maneuvers from during the war. Being both intelligent and deeply emotional, some of his physical prowess has a 'mind over matter' component--his commanding officer often states that he was taught to 'ignore' pain, which he appears to be capable of doing up to a point.

•MEDICAL INFORMATION: Vietnam veteran, previously tortured (trained to ignore pain/has high pain tolerance, check closely for injuries), prior exposure to dysentery (self inflicted as a POW), period-specific recognition of PTSD/shellshock, approach carefully or warn about the presence of sharp objects if in visible distress

•CABIN INFORMATION: Bit barn door-esque, with a Navajo tapestry hanging just behind it when opened. Beyond that, the cabin looks like the interior of a a traditional Navajo hogan meets a 1950's-'60's American home. Walls very much match the picture, logs and natural wood mixed with earth, plus the addition of a couple more "modern" windows, indoor plumbing amenities, an outdated television and a full turntable setup. Amid the comfortable clutter and native art there's also a lot of family photos and such, none of which feature John or anyone who looks like him. Everything has a very careworn, threadbare look and feel that's the perfectly comfortable, cozy balance of shabby and cozy.

•OFFENSIVE SUBJECTS: John is touchy about discussion of the war and the military, and about his scarring. Cruelty to children and animals is very triggering for him, and he's uncomfortable talking about cancer or alcoholism. He will also get very defensive about discussions of indigenous populations, and while he has Native American heritage feels uncomfortable laying any real claim to identifying as such given his upbringing and level of privilege.

IC PERMISSIONS:
•MENTAL: Check in with me first.
•MIMICRY: Sure!
•VIOLENCE: Talk to me--John's violent by nature and has PTSD but I am SO up to plan around things. We'll find a way to have fun hurting my boy.
•MAGIC: Yep! Just let me know what you're planning.
•DEBATE: Of course!

Hugging this character: Please do, but be gentle, he's super touch starved.
Kissing this character: Yes, but do check in: John's bisexual, but very repressed and doesn't even realize it's a thing. Coordination will be necessary but yes please God kiss him please be sweet with him
Flirting with this character: Yes, please! Just do it. A lot. It will be amazing. Again, bi, male/female (presenting), go for it.
Fighting with this character: PLEASE. But let's talk first--he's no slouch, and planning the ass-kicking of a muse is FUN.
Injuring this character: Minor, yes. Moderate, use common sense. Major, ask first.
Killing this character: Ask me first, but oh I am SO open to it.
Using telepathy/mind reading abilities on this character: Ask first. His mind is skeery in dere. XD

Warnings: John's canon focuses on the ramifications of having served in the Vietnam War. As such, a lot of content related to his threads will include discussions of PTSD, police brutality, and fairly graphic, violent imagery alongside action movie-typical talk and displays of violence. John's trauma from the events of FIRST BLOOD have also resulted in some very mild disordered eating habits--specifically, an intense phobia of eating or drinking in public (privately, his eating habits are perfectly normal). I warn aggressively in an excess of caution, and I never just write horrors for the lolz. PLEASE talk to me if something is triggering for you and I will censor/delete/warn as needed, if we don't ALL have fun then no one has fun.

Anything else: I'll add as I think of them...come play with me? :P

IAN:
Where are you right now?

JOHN:
Just got out of the shower. Why?

IAN:
Take off your clothes and get into bed.

IAN:
Please.

John blinks down at his phone, a little thrill zipping across his nerves--and a laugh bubbling up as he leans back against his bedroom door in a beat up pair of pajama pants he uses to stay decent commuting from the bathroom to his room. He has no idea what's going on, but he's...curious?

And he's seen Ianto take charge. The 'please' to try and soften it is pretty cute, too.

John considers his options for a moment, absently tapping the flat of his phone against his palm...then fiddles with it for a minute or two to try and remember the whole 'selfie' thing to take a picture of himself leaning back against the door, barechested in his low slung loose pants and sends it back.

JOHN:
Or I could just stay here. Up to you.

The little bubble that means someone is typing lingers for what seems like ages.

IAN:
That will do nicely, thank you.

IAN:
God, you are absolutely gorgeous to look at. I can see why Jack loves your chest, but I so love those beautiful shoulders.

IAN:
I've fantasized about riding you, getting my hands on them. Gripping so tight I leave marks.

John's breathing a little harder now, because he can picture it. Buried deep in his body, running his fingers over Ianto's chest. Such a rough, gorgeous contrast of thick dark hair to Jack's smooth muscle...

John has to pause to adjust himself--and can't resist squeezing a little, teasing his hardening cock just a little.

JOHN:
What are you doing?

IAN:
You've not learned about sexting yet?

JOHN:
What? Like phone sex, but like this? Seems like a pain in the ass to try and type while you're jerking off.

IAN:
Then don't type. Just touch yourself and read--you don't have to reply unless I ask you to.

IAN:
If that's all right?

John continues to trail his fingers over the line of his cock through thin cotton, staring at the screen with heat pooling low in his belly. He doesn't have anything else going on--he needs to pack for a trip to Torchwood Two for a few days (he's spoken to Archie on the phone before and he doesn't know what everyone's bitching about, he likes the guy) but he can always do that later.

He wants to see where this goes--and maybe try it with Jack later. And it's a nice, casual way to try this--see how it feels, letting Ianto be in charge a little. If it's good? Could be another scene to try...

John takes a breath, then slides his hand away from his cock to find one of the more sensitive scars on his chest, making his hips jerk reflexively as he lets his nails catch on the edge.

JOHN:
You're good, lover. I'm touching my chest.

JOHN:
Keep going.

JOHN:
Please.

He goes by Captain Jack Harkness, and I love him.

Jack's an unremarkable man in terms of looks, and I don't mean that as a slight. He's beautiful, too beautiful. Matinee idol good looks: dark hair, blue eyes, chiseled jaw complete with cleft chin. Body of a real soldier, not a machine like me. Average size, but pleasantly broad in the shoulders--muscular but soft, solid as a rock but no sharp edges. There's things I can do that he can't, but he didn't need to learn to ignore pain because he's old fashioned kinds of tough: he's built to take a punch and get back up again.

He's too perfect to be real. Remembering back, I know I saw him out of the corner of my eye earlier in the day--it was the coat. The coat made a bigger impression, because looking at men without worrying was still new to me. I saw him like anyone else, and...he was nothing special. Jack Harkness is a million dollars: very real, very desirable, incredible to see, but to any person on the street? He's too much to get your head around, he doesn't feel real. He's nothing you can understand, nothing you'll ever have access to.

Then he approached me. He approached me. Didn't ask to join me, he asked to sit with me. I was in a bad place, he saw it...and gradually, as we talked, I actually got a good look at him.

That's the first thing you need to remember about Jack, or you'll miss him. He wears masks, and they're all plastered with the same smile. They're each and every one of them factory made in all the worst parts of his mind where he thinks he has to wear them. He has one smile he doesn't show anyone else. Just you. When you see it, things will be okay.

That's what I mean when I say I got a good look at him. Not at his face, not really. Into his eyes, maybe: I got a look under the masks. I saw him.

Jack's a commander, that's why he's more human than machine. I mean it in the truest sense of the word, because a true commander was once a soldier and Jack is a fighting man to the core. He'll scrap, he'll bleed, he'll smile if you hit him and expect you to smile back when he returns fire. He'll readily serve on the front lines, but commanders always stay a step back. Still, he carries the weight of his men. Every life, every injury, every name, he keeps them and looks after them. He's lost, he's fought, he's bled, and when he sends a man into battle he does it with the full knowledge of what it means to them and what will be lost if their life ends in the fight.

The thing about Jack, though, is he believes his own hype. His looks, he knows he's attractive and he exploits it. He also thinks that's all he has to offer--he literally propositioned me during our first meeting. In a really sweet way, offered sex almost like therapy because he thought that was all he had. To be fair, though, I also kissed him at the same time--but I turned down the offer of sex. Not sure if that shocked him or not.

When we talked, I told him everything in that first conversation. And I mean everything that happened in Hope. Told him things I didn't even mention in my court martial because I knew they didn't matter. They mattered to him.

Jack listened, and he offered to keep on listening.

That's who he is. You might think a good looking man like that, too good to be real, might be hiding something horrible underneath. I started calling him 'Angel' as a pet name, as a joke because he can't die.

That's another thing, by the way: research quantum mechanics, maybe? Jack's a fixed point in time, he can't die.

Anyway, the pet name was a gag, but it's actually true. Jack is every bit an angel, my guardian angel, and that's why you have to find him. That's why you love him.

He's not perfect, not by any stretch of the imagination. He's not pure, he's not innocent. I don't put him up on a pedestal, he doesn't need one. He's broken and he's flawed and he's kind of a bastard sometimes--but he is a good man. The best I've ever known...and like all good, flawed men, he's strong. He can withstand anything.

You have to find him because you have to protect him. He's strong, he can withstand anything--and he will withstand anything. He'll go until he breaks, until he's ruined, until those sharp edges of his broken pieces are worn smooth and he stops being careful with them--stops using them as weapons against the dark and gives them away so he forgets he was fighting for something.

The most important thing you have to remember is Jack Harkness--because you have to save him. Everything you learn here, everything you do going forward, has to be about finding him, getting to him safely, and protecting him no matter what it costs you.

The most important thing you have to remember is that you love him, because once you're together again, you'll hopefully have found a way to stay with him--and he's going to end up hating you for it.

One minute, he's putting up a target outside--cobbling together a modified shooting range so he can teach Jack how to handle a bow...

...and the next, he's in the dark.

John still doesn't know how to do this, but it's happened enough at this point that he understands what can help. He doesn't recognize this nightmare, and it's clearly already in progress, just like his. Just like Vietnam...

God knows how long Jack's been here. God knows what's happening to him.

He concentrates on the war--and when he emerges from the shadows, he's in full black fatigues, bow and rifle in hand.

He keeps to the walls, staying out of sight. In the low light, John finds a door with a control panel and figures out how to get it to slide open.

"There are colonies out there. The human race would survive in some shape or form."

John freezes in the doorway, raising his rifle without stepping into the room before him.

"But you're the only Daleks in existence. The whole universe is in danger if I let you live!"

John doesn't know the voice, but the tone...the way it says that word. Dalek. He's only ever heard one person say that word in just that way...

"D'you see, Jack?"

...wait, what?

"That's the decision I've got to make for every living thing...die as a human or live as a Dalek. What would you do?"

"You sent Rose home. She's safe. Keep working."

John's heart starts trying to beat out of his chest. He very nearly steps into the room...

"But he will exterminate you!"

Now that's a voice John will never forget. Inhuman screaming, buzzing in his ears, seeing the fear it evoked in his soul reflected in the Doctor's eyes...

"Never doubted him. Never will."

John steps back, doors hissing shut in front of him. Jack's voice was just slightly distorted, a hum of digital noise to it--he wasn't in the room.

Neither was the Dalek...but what if it was in the room with Jack?

He had to find Jack. He had to find Jack now, because if he didn't...

...he couldn't let himself think about that. One of those things getting anywhere near Jack...

He'd die before he let that happen.

It's stupid...but John's lonely.

Everything's been fine, but Gray, Jack's brother...he's been out of sorts. Nothing bad--John knows he has a lot of the same kind of baggage Jack has, so that means a lot in the grand scheme of things--but the two of them have been working through some personal shit. Recovering lost memories, sharing their common history in different worlds...

They need time. The two of them, together, so John spends a couple days going through the stuff stored in the loft of the barn, and satisfied that his old camping equipment is still good, corners Jack and threatens him with bodily harm if he doesn't make use of it and take care of his brother.

...okay, so not bodily harm. More like promises Jack a future date with him, a nice dinner, and an evening by the fire with a book John found in the library showing some shibari suspensions he wants to try.

John's even gone so far as to pick out a horse to offer Gray, if he wants it. Once Jack agrees to the impromptu little camping trip, John takes Gray out to the stable and introduces him to the skittish but affectionate black mustang stallion. A stallion who John can't get close enough to groom without twenty minutes of cajoling, but who spends five minutes with Gray letting him eat carrot sticks from his hand, then another half hour just standing there with his nose tucked into Gray's shoulder, snuffling in quiet contentment.

Gray names the horse Mickey, and after some discussion the brothers Harkness head out to one of the far corners of the ranch. It's maybe three miles out, give or take, so not terribly far, and Jack has his pendant with him--and zero excuses. John's heard about things like the Beacons, the ranch is mostly flatland...he's not going to let them go anywhere or do anything that would make them even feel unsafe.

Jack still swears they're only going to be out there for three days, including travel time. John threatens to sleep on the couch and wear baggy shirts for a week if Jack shows back up early or with any sort of punctuality to indicate the brothers were rushing.

That was yesterday, and John is already lonely. It's pathetic...but at the same time, it's also kind of nice. It's been too long since he had someone in his life like Jack, someone he could miss because of something as stupid as a weekend vacation with his little brother.

So waking up alone in bed sucks, but it's a sweet disappointment. Eating breakfast alone feels hollow, but it's an emptiness that hums at the edges, waiting to be filled. Taking care of the horses that afternoon is weird without having to negotiate Estelle's endearingly prissy behavior or enjoy Jack's company while he keeps her in line, but there's an anticipation to having that all put to rights in a few days.

John is lonely by the end of the first day, and it’s stupid…but it’s also a good problem to have, being lonesome for someone who’s coming back.

The next day isn’t as lonely. It’s nicer, because he’s missing Jack less than he is looking forward to him coming home. The morning of the third day, John gets a message saying they’ll be back by early evening—and John only agrees not to punish Jack because they’re heading back early to visit a little creek they found about a mile and a half from the house. John knows it, remembers it fondly from his childhood…and starts considering a future camping trip for just him and Jack out that way. It could be a lot of fun…

It’s early afternoon when Jack seems to finally get lonely, too—or just horny, based on the messages John starts getting. He’s grinning the whole time he’s trying to put Jack off, but he does have to fix one of the paddock gates again and he needs to concentrate…and to keep his head together. His last panic attack was set off while doing that.

I’m leaving my pendant in the kitchen. Bring it to me when you get home and we can pool our feathers, get a couple phones, and have phone sex you psychotic old lech. Promise—love you, pet Estelle for me, see you tonight.

John drops his pendant on the kitchen counter with a smile and heads out to the barn to get his toolbox.

When he emerges from the barn, the toolbox is a rifle, there’s a torture-ravaged American soldier at his side, and the ranch is gone.

”Rambo!”

John’s heart shatters at the sound of that voice. Turning to look over his shoulder…

She’s the same as he remembers. Big, dark eyes wet and desperate, shoulders squared, fighting every impulse she had to follow him.

Co Bao—the one that got him out. The first one that believed in him…the one he killed by caring.

”…you not expendable.”

Just for a moment, John’s eyes shut and burn, the words ripping a hole through him. The hole that was there when he heard them the first time—the hole those words smoothed the edges of so Jack could fill that hole in the present with dozens of touches, kisses, more words—with a night spent rendering him completely senseless with how much he’s valued.

John nods, opening his eyes.

He can do this. Get through the nightmare. Get out—get back to Jack.

Get through what he knows is coming next.

Leading the POW to the rendezvous. Standing against soldiers that never stop coming, trying to remember it’s not real.

When the recoil of the rifle shakes him to the bone. When the panic rises as the chopper overhead starts to turn, and he catches the pilot’s eye.

“Don’t leave!!!”

Get through. Get out. Get back to Jack.

He tries to remember as the rifle finally slips from his fingers. As he gets hit—as he’s taken back into the camp.

Get through. Get out. Get back to Jack.

As he’s stripped and humiliated, as they start trying to break him again in a river of shit, as leeches leave behind new wounds, sap less his blood or strength and more his pride.

Get through. Get back to Jack.

Hour after hour.

Get through. Get to Jack.

…after hour…

Get to Jack. Get to Jack. Get to Jack.

As he’s hauled from the filth and beaten. Hosed down and brought to the Russians—mercifully, back into an arena he knows better, a circle of Hell he’s built for: torture.

Jack…Jack…Jack…

It’s all he can remember. It’s all he can focus on.

It’s the only thing he has left to hope for.