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Torchwood is exciting, the way that it had once been in New York when he'd been hunted by Company and by a serial killer posing as a friend in horribly lame band t-shirts. Mohinder's move from Company heel and Noah Bennet's lapdog back to the UK (the only place he'd felt safe to bring Molly where she would be able to understand the language and still be away from the mess in America) to Torchwood agent had happened as they usually did.

Jack courted him. Mohinder refused until refusing became impossible. And that's why he finds himself here, standing in the so called Red Zone, around a theme park with the less than illustrious name of "Figmentation Imagination Exploration World!" scrolled across the metal sign in large, person sized letters over the box office queuing area.

He glances over at the lanky Scotsman he is almost always paired with and the pair of chain cutters he's currently failing with at the gate. A sigh and Mohinder adjusts the earpiece he's wearing. "Captain, still having a bit of trouble with the front gate. We should be inside in about an hour at this rate." He's only half teasing though he can hear Owen's voice saying something irately in the background.

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Peter frowned, not sure what either of them were talking about. Was he going slightly mad or something? Must of been. He didn't see the mascot, he just saw Jack, but he still didn't see the gun that he was holding. Or the fact that he was very much on the verge of squeezing the trigger. He didn't even notice he had it, it didn't register. "Jack, something very fucked up is going on with Mohinder. Look at his report!"

The words that were written spoke of his madness. Whatever it was, it must of come back with Mohinder. Not Peter, he was totally sane. Yep, no crazy carnival fun time for him.

Well, not until the lights started to flicker in his house and he could hear that music again. Spinning around, Peter finally realised he had his gun. It felt -- right. In his hands. He had to destroy that music.

"It never stops. It's faulty. I have to make it stop."

It did his head in at the theme park and now it was back. Back and getting louder!

Oh, so this is really great. Not only has Mohinder, crying pathetically, turned the knife on himself, but Peter's got a gun to his own head now? Bullets do more damage and Jack decides immediately to tackle Peter before he deals with whatever Mohinder is muttering about in Hindi.

"I saw the report, that's why I came. Mohinder never took out his contacts. Now I need you to put the gun down, Peter." One last chance. If Peter doesn't, it's to the floor with him. Straight to the floor.

Jack isn't going to go easy on either of them.

He just hopes Ianto gets here soon before someone that isn't immortal dies.

Peter stared for a while, his hand trembling between wanting to resist and wanting to pull the trigger. But logic always beat fear. And if Jack was telling him to stop then he had to stop. That was the right move because he wouldn't say it otherwise, would he?

"I'm taking a lot on faith here, Jack," With grim determination, he let his hand uncurl and the gun fell to the ground. When it finally out of his hand, the music stopped and Peter took a deep breath just as Ianto came rushing through the door and over to Mohinder.

Looking up, he felt a level of clarity come back to him as he stared at Jack, trying to understand what was happening to them. Something was deeply wrong here.

"I think we need to go back to the hub. It's still here. It doesn't stop."

Jack is grim as he bends to pick up the gun. Mohinder's nicked himself, he's bleeding, but Ianto reports that it's all superficial from a shaking hand. Mohinder's still shaking, even after Ianto coaxes the knife from his hand, and leans forward to press his face against the Welshman's chest. Ianto's not sure what to do with the sobbing Indian, other than pat his back, but he does just that and looks with concern up at Jack.

The captain can't help but agree with Peter. "It's not here, Peter," he says grimly. "It's with you both. No matter where you go-- But we're getting Sam. We're going to put you both in separate holding cells. And I want full reports. Verbally. I need to know everything you saw in there, Peter."

The ride back to the hub is mostly filled with Mohinder's constant sobbing. Ianto stays in the back of the SUV with him while Jack coaxes Peter to begin.

Peter sat in the front, feet on the dash board and his head tilted back. He knew he was meant to retell the grand tale but he didn't really feel like it. It was hard to know where to start. He started from the point where the contact had fallen apart, explaining the hall of mirrors, the music and the mascot. Oh and how it pulled it's own head off.

"I think whoever had been in there either died or merged with the suit. It was such a powerful smell of rot and then the weight. It was horrible. And the noise they made."

Peter groaned slightly at the memory and pulled a face at Jack. He clearly didn't enjoy that memory.

"I never liked theme parks, you know? When I was a kid, my dad lost me in one and I had to be walked to the customer service booth by the creepiest clown ever," Peter complained, knowing he never should of agreed to this mission. "The candy floss is always over priced as well. I'm sorry but it isn't worth £2, you know?"

"It's too hard to make it at home," Jack remarks, ignoring Ianto's groan at the way he indulges Peter in his tangents. "So if you think about it, yeah they can get away with it costing so much." Playing on Peter's stability is about all Jack can do right now.

He'd read Mohinder's report up until the funhouse and Peter's glossing over makes him worried.

"So you saw the missing people there. And mascots. With dead people inside of them." It sounds like a malevolent manifestation. The work of one being who had managed to collect others to it.

Given the parameters, Jack would call it a child.

That's why it attracts parents and other children. But Mohinder and Peter just didn't fit the requirements exactly.

They're all going to have to go back.

"It's going to be okay. I want you to know that."

Peter just had to laugh at that. At everything. This whole thing was insane and he was pretty sure he was going to die. And he wasn't finding much comfort elsewhere. "I don't know that. I'm thinking the total opposite. Mostly because you just said 'it's going to be okay'. That's always the worst thing you can say."

It was true. Peter was very good at reading people, he was always learning what made them tick and what they'd say when and why. He was no expert and he never claimed to be but he was good with people. Perhaps it was because liked people. Maybe that's why Jack hired him?

Either way, he didn't know everything about Jack but he knew enough about him to know when he was sure they were in danger.

"If things were okay, you'd be making jokes and innuendos. We'd have the radio on, you'd suggest we actually go find some candy floss and maybe have some fun tonight. The fact that you've got that grim frowny look means we're either fucked entirely or things have to get much worse before they get better."

And Peter couldn't help but laugh at that. He didn't even know why, he just knew he had to.

"Oh jesus, we're so screwed."

"We are not screwed," Jack snaps. "But you're not going to like what I'm going to make you do." Mohinder and Peter had to go back. Tonight. In the dark. As soon as Tosh brought Molly to the hub and Sam was awake, they'd pack up the SUV and head back off to the park. "But I'm going to be with you this time." He does smile. Even if he doesn't know how well that's going to go over with Peter.

As Peter freaks out -- laughing aside, Jack knows precisely when Peter's starting to crack -- the Captain reaches over to put a hand on Peter's knee.

"Mohinder's going to need you, all right? You're stronger than he is."

Ianto does his best not to roll his eyes. Then again, Peter isn't a shaking mess at the moment. He can't say the same thing about the scientist.

They pull into the hub and head back down. Jack strides towards the medical pit and looks over the edge. "Owen? Is our star patient awake yet? I need some good news."

"I'm not good at that, Jack. Don't put that on me," Peter warned, knowing he wasn't really capable of taking care of anyone. Hell, have people met him? He was better at keeping a distance and destroying, not helping. Still, he let it go for now and followed the rest inside, happily flopping down on the sofa so he could just ignore this madness for a while.

Owen didn't seem happy. But did he ever really seem happy? He had been planning on watching the match tonight but nope, couldn't ever be that easy. Could it? This was exactly why he'd never get laid again.

"Already dosed him, he's waking up. Give him a chance, Jack, he's barely been awake."

And Owen wasn't pushing it, he never did. He just left his patients to take their time and wake themselves up.

"We don't have the luxury. I'll get him. You pack up the SUV. Ianto, you're on hub duty. I want you to man the contact monitors. We're not going to wait for Tosh to get back so Molly won't be able to come into contact with anything. If she starts acting strangely, take her some place public and keep an eye on her."

Everyone's getting kisses for luck at this juncture, which is sort of a big deal. Kisses for luck tend to come when Jack pretty much things they're boned. And not in a particularly fun way.

Mohinder has at least calmed down by the time they're ready to go, though he sits silently, head down, and Owen is forced to play doctor on his vitals the entire time. His heart rate and his breathing have slowed. It's...not a good sign.

Then again, neither is Sam Tyler yelling about Jack always needing him at the worst possible time. There may have been some shoving involved, though Sam's half carried to the SUV. His legs haven't gotten the chance to start working yet. "Trousers, Jack! I'm not going to be dragged about Cardiff in a dressing gown!"

"Oh but Sammy, we need cheering up. It's been a terrible week. I could use seeing you look like a berk," Peter pointed out with a playful smile as he caught up with them, holding a spare pair of trousers he'd nabbed from the lockers before coming here. Well, he kind of figured Sam would need them and Jack wasn't the type to think like that.

He tossed them to Sam and offered him a friendly smile before slipping into the front of the SUV. He totally called shotgun on every mission so Sammy got the back with Owen and Mohinder.

He didn't feel like sitting in the back, too much sickness and weirdness.

"Did Jack tell you that we're probably going to die tonight?" Peter asked in a very conversational manner, clearly not seeming all that bothered, even if he was. Peter had a habit of emotionally distancing himself when worried or scared.

"Every time you wake me up, we're probably going to die," Sam grunts and shimmies into his jeans. They don't fit. At all. Gene'd have a field day if he could see him in something so tight! "Fill me in?"

It's Mohinder, of all people, who speaks. His lips are pale and Owen is working on trying to get him some extra oxygen as Jack bounces them along the roads. Night is always the best time for a drive. He can fairly easily get the lights to change for him without causing accidents. Thankfully!

"You're all going to have so much fun," he says and Sam scowls, leaning over Owen to look at Mohinder. "We can play together forever."

"I think I'd like to back into bloody cyro now."

"Can I come with? I loved the 70's. I can't remember them well but I do remember matchbox cars and cheaper candy floss," Peter remarked, knowing he really didn't want to go where Jack was driving them. Maybe he didn't have to. He could find a way out. Run away before it could catch him and pull him in again.

If he kept moving, maybe it wouldn't follow him.

Owen pulled a face and notably pulled back so he was a tiny bit closer to Sam. He hadn't even gone into the haunted theme park, why was he even here? He didn't need to go back into that place. "Can the un-cursed team members stay in the car?"

After all, he and Sam still had a chance to live... right?

"No one is staying in the car," Jack says, gritting his teeth as he looks in the backseat. Can't they work like a team sometimes? He gets that it's difficult, emotions are involved. People have strange relationships here. Maybe he should have a no-sex in the workplace policy-- But then no one would have an outlet. It's not like they can just go and talk to people about their jobs.

Torchwood is thankless.

Torchwood is dangerous.

And all they have is each other.

"Gag Doctor Suresh. No. Sedate him." Jack fills Sam in the rest of the way as they drive. It's over an hour outside of the city. No one needs to listen to him. He seems to be a conduit, more than Peter. But Peter seems to be more physically possessed. Hopefully he won't grab the wheel.

Sam is not pleased. "Well... Shit. What do you want me to-- No. Hunt'll never go for it and you know it."

"Sorry, Sam. Owen's going to have to put you under again for fifteen minutes. You have that long to convince him."

"You are mad, Harkness. Utterly mad!"

"I'm not the one living in a coma with angels!" Jack snaps. It's unlike him.

Owen leaned over to sedate Mohinder while Jack told the tale, keeping his eyes on the vitals and leaning over to make sure both Sam and Peter were also doing fine. Peter seemed fine, but his heart rate was worrying calm for a man in his situation. And Sam? Well, he knew the man could take a sedation but he was still a little wonky vitals wise. He should really of been resting up.

And yet, Owen had to prepare him yet another sedative.

"Don't piss Sam off, he's still defrosting," Owen chipped in, not wanting to throw anything at a man who could potentially keel over.

That and he still didn't understand the angel thing so hearing about it was always weird. Always.

"It's strange, isn't it? This job was described to me as fighting aliens, no one ever mentioned demons and angels. If they had, I don't know what I'd of said," Peter said in mild interest. Then, entirely unexpectedly, he opened his car door wide and moved to undo his seat belt.

"Demons and angels tend to be aliens too, or interdimensional beings, the same thing," Jack tells Peter as Owen counts Sam down to sleep. He knows it's dangerous for Tyler's heart but they don't have a choice, now do they? Jack doesn't have any other resource to exploit at this point. He doesn't bother with Sam unless it's truly life or death.

Mostly because Hunt is so uncooperative. And no one likes being possessed by grumpy old men from the 70s. Especially Sam.

They're making a turn off of the highway when Peter opens the door and the speed causes the wind to blow some of their equipment out. "Peter! DO NOT!-- Damn it!" Jack puts on the breaks as he hits the shoulder. It's rough for everyone.

Peter didn't quite get what happened, he didn't even recall opening the door. All he knew was that they'd stopped, his chest time of hurt and he was staring at Jack like he was mental. "What? Why the hell did you do that?"

"Can we have the suicidal prick in the back, please?" Owen complained as he dropped back into his seat, checking his two sedated passengers were fine. That seriously hurt and they hardly needed him doing that again.

Peter just didn't get it. He blinked a few times then looked over his shoulder at where Sam was sitting. See, now, he remembered that part. The sedation. So what happened that he didn't see?

"Did I miss something?"

"You're being two gorgeous, sleeping men, Owen. How'd you like to trade seats?" Jack flashes back. "I envy you, I really do." Owen can scowl at the wink all he likes. Jack's happy to lighten the mood with inappropriate comments to their workmates at a time of great need.

To Peter, he's a little more gentle. He leans over the other and pulls the car door shut. And then he feels up his leg for the second pistol he knows Carlisle has strapped to his ankle. "You tried to jump out of the SUV. Do you have anything on you right now that you could use to kill yourself?"

This isn't a depression intervention, Peter.

He's genuinely worried.

Peter knew that Jack wouldn't be asking all of this if that wasn't true so he started to pull out anything he could hurt himself with. Car keys, a utility knife, his second pistol and a small blister pack of pills he could overdose on. "That's all I have, Jack. Unless I kill myself with the buttons on my jacket or choke myself on a lolly."

Funny thought at first. Then he remembered that was possible and swiftly handed over his last lolly with a sad expression on his face. Damn.

"I think I should sit in the back with the two coma patients," Peter conceded, looking into the back seat and swapping a grim look with Owen. They may not hang out like ... ever, but he thought he and Owen had an understand. Mostly over their mutual dislike of things. "Is Sammy going to stay Sammy or will something weird happen?"

Fair question if he had to go sit by him.

"No idea," Jack says. Gene Hunt is a truly amazing thing and can't stand Jack at all for being a 'poofter', despite the fact that Jack's pretty sure that he's shagging Sam when the DCI is asleep. Jack doesn't judge. Nineteen year old ghosts can be pretty awkward at the best of times. He'd been really lovely as a kid too--

But hey, hands off. Even if that would be a notch in his scorecard. Jack can't even begin to understand what Gene is, and that's what makes him so fun.

"That's sort of the fun of it."

Jack helps Owen move Mohinder, the Indian being willowy and significantly easier to move than Sam is, so that Owen can slide out of the car and Peter can take his place.

"Hey, remind me to ask Suresh what shampoo he uses. I'll get some for Ianto."

Peter slid in the back while Owen complained about Jack being an idiot, setting the unconscious man back in his place. "Sometimes, Harkness, I loath you. I really do. Unconscious people, carnival of horror and a suicidal copper trying to kill himself and us all."

Owen was just complaining for the hell of it, that's what he did. And he knew Jack knew that, it's why he always did it.

Peter took a seat in between Sam and Mohinder, safely away from both doors. He put his legs up against, kicking the back of both Jack and Owen's seat by accident. "Let's go then, I have things I'd like to do tonight. Not counting dying."

There's was a twitch beside him, slight movement coming from Sammy. He turned his head with a slight frowning, hoping Sam was actually awake this time and not -- well, the other one. They'd soon see.

"He's got a good five minutes, don't wake him up too early," Jack warns, ignoring the way his seat is kicked. He's keeping an eye on the tallest man in the backseat from the mirror as he pulls out onto the road again. They've some distance left to travel, a good twenty minutes or so, and he's really hoping that Sam will come up with some good news -- and some help. Jack doesn't want to risk putting him under again for some extra time.

Time that they just don't have.

Killing Sam Tyler would not be the highlight of his evening. Sam might be find with it, but then again, who knows what really happens when you die. Sam might not get to hang out playing coppers in the 70s if he does.

It's all very touch and go.

It was nearly ten minutes before Sam stirred again, his eyes opening slowly and falling on Peter first, then the backs of Owen and Jack's head. Only, of course, it wasn't Sam. It was someone borrowing his body. Not like he wanted to, but how else could he make contact with the rampant poofter brigade?

"Shit," he muttered, rubbing his eyes, making a low growling noise. "Christ almighty."

Peter pulled himself upright with a curious expression, feet dropping down as he waited to see just what would happen. If anyone didn't know Sam, they'd of been convinced he had a split personality thing going on.

"Sammy?"

"Piss off, you Scottish twat."

"Now what did I say?" Sam returns, the accent a bit different and the voice somehow lighter. "You're not to 'arass 'im. Rough night. An' it's just going to be worse if you make 'im 'ave another episode!" Split personalities indeed! Sam typically just stays quiet and let's Gene do what he wants, but the last time he fell asleep with Gene in his body, he woke up to some very odd, very twisted things he really doesn't want to repeat, thank you.

As Sam -- and Gene -- work Sam's body free of the paralytic and the sedative, Mohinder starts to stir as well. His head shifts onto Peter's shoulder and the Indian curls against him.

"I think I might be sick," he confesses. Just what Peter wanted to sit between, surely!

Forgive Peter, he's having a hell of a night. Hence why he pulls away from Mohinder and partially climbs himself forward so he's leaning in between the two front seats. "Now I want to kill myself and I'm very aware of why. Please tell me it's not long to go because I will find a way. I can't sit in the back of this loony bin much longer."

He didn't do well with dependent people, sick people or people who were in need of help. He did well with people he was attracted to, dead bodies and kids. That was it. That was his special skills. There was a reason he remained DI, he didn't like icky people germs or getting actually emotional.

Tended to make him sad. And when he got sad, bad things happen.

Fortunately for everyone, Gene was quiet for a while, more focused on clearing the body instead of arguing. He just wanted to do his job and go home.