Archive of Our Own

"I’ve had enough of these little Torchwood team road trips," Owen said, leaning back into his seat. He’d started complaining as soon Ianto pulled out of the car park and hadn’t stopped since.

"Tough luck," Jack said from the passenger seat. He glanced over his shoulder, the flickering lights in the windows making him look pale and fey, and flicked Owen between the eyes. He'd woken Ianto up with a kiss and a promise of a nice, easy weekend. Jack was a filthy liar, and Ianto hated him. "Think of it as an adventure."

"Yeah, because the last time we went into the country went so well." Owen crossed his arms over his chest, kicked at Ianto’s seat, and went- mercifully, finally- silent.

"I’ve got another report," Tosh said. She tapped at the screen of her PDA, frowning. "Three women from Barry left for the weekend and never returned. James Fredricks phoned the police this morning. Said his wife always rang if she was going to be late."

"They’re from Barry, " Owen said. "Probably shot themselves to get away from it all."

"Owen!" Tosh hit him with the hand holding the PDA.

"Christ, woman, it was a joke." Owen rubbed at his arm, scowling out the window. Ianto considered taping Owen’s mouth shut, if only for a little while. Deep, pulsing pain radiated out from Ianto’s temples and into the back of his skull. The still-healing knife wound at the crest of his shoulder pounded in time to it. He was starting to look like a patchwork doll under his clothes.

"Well, it wasn’t very funny." Tosh went back to her PDA, lips pressed tight together and fingers restless. "I sent the data to Gwen. She’ll track their phones and check CCTV, just in case it’s unrelated to the other disappearances."

"Good work, Tosh." Jack rested one heavy hand on Ianto’s knee and squeezed. Ianto didn’t complain when he left it there.

He’d been driving for what felt like forever. Rain splashed down onto the windshield, blurring everything not immediately in front of them. The roads, nothing but thin backwater things, were elevated and slick. Ianto resolutely did not look toward the cliff drop at Jack’s side.

He hated the countryside and everything it stood for.

A crack of lightning blinded him for a heart-stopping moment and he slammed on the brakes when a flash of cruiser lights appeared in front of the SUV. Owen shouted at him and Jack’s fingers went too tight around his leg. He hadn’t seen the cruiser. He hadn’t seen anything at all.

An officer walked toward them, unbothered by the rain, his fluorescent jacket glowing in the headlights. Ianto rolled the window down and Jack leaned over him, using his thigh as a balancing post. Ianto sighed.

"Road up ahead is closed," the officer said. He spat globule of phlegm splatted against the road.

"Torchwood." Jack pointed up at the roof of the SUV. The officer raised an eyebrow. Water poured off his cap, matting his dark beard. Something looked familiar about him, but Ianto couldn’t quite place it. He’d met more PCs in the last few years than he’d thought even existed. "Headed to Powys."

"Don’t matter," he said. "Less you think that name’s gonna magically get you over the sinkhole. Go back, take the first road on the right. It’ll get you round."

"Thank you, officer," Jack said. The smile went strained, but Jack didn’t drop it until the PC was back at his cruiser. "Tosh, check on that, will you?"

"Already on it," Tosh replied, voice soft with distraction. "There’s a few reports, but I’m having trouble pulling anything up. Something’s interfering with the signal."

"Send it to Gwen and have her report back if it looks like something we need to investigate." Jack sank back into his seat and slapped Ianto’s thigh. It stung, Jack always stronger than he remembered, and Ianto elbowed him over the console. "You heard the man. First road on the right."

"Next time," Owen said as Ianto carefully turned the SUV around, "bring Gwen and leave me at home. Thanks."

"Get yourself a husband and we’ll talk," Jack replied cheerfully. "Until then, suck it up. Or would you like to go back to making the coffee?"

"Don’t punish me by punishing him," Ianto said. He’d spent days dealing with Owen’s messes. His supposed sabbatical from butler duty had left him with more work than ever. "I don’t remember seeing this road the first time, Jack."

Ianto turned onto it, the brights skipping over the endless trees that surrounded it. Uneasiness curled up in his stomach. He’d been distracted, true, but Ianto’s memory was his best asset. Even in times of duress- which was fairly permanent these days- he remembered everything. Jack watched him, the corner of his mouth crooked down, and shrugged.

"Powys may have to wait," he said. "There’s definitely something up."

"I’ve lost all signal," Tosh announced from the backseat. She handed her PDA up to Jack. When Ianto glanced over, all he saw was black. "It’s frozen. It never freezes!."

"Do you think-" Jack was cut off as the SUV lurched forward, tires sliding on the sodden road. Ianto turned the wheel sharply, pumping the brakes and hoping that they went treeside instead of cliffside. Something snapped on the passenger side, accompanied by Owen’s voice in a shrill shout and the breaking of the window, and then the SUV jerked to a stop. Ianto’s head bounced off the door hard enough to click his teeth together.

"Everyone alright?" Jack asked, head whipping around fast enough to make Ianto’s stomach turn. He touched his temple, glad his fingers came back dry when he pulled them away. Another blow to the head. Nothing new there, then.

"Nice driving, Jones," Owen snapped. The sleeve of his jacket parted to reveal a sharp shard of glass impaled in his forearm. When he tried to reach for it, Tosh gently pushed his hand aside.

"Your fingers-" She started, before closing her mouth. She wrapped the sleeve of her shirt around her hand and gently pulled the glass free. It would never not be strange seeing a wound without blood attached.

"Ianto, what happened?" Jack was already undoing his seatbelt.

"I don’t- We hit something." Ianto slipped his belt and opened his door. Dizziness came up on him fast and he had to take a moment’s rest against the SUV to catch his breath. The rain chilled him instantly, sinking down into his clothes and making the wool heavy. Lightning struck again, thunder chasing after it seconds later. The storm was getting closer.

When he managed to drag himself to the back of the SUV, he found Jack crouched down in the middle of the road, frowning down at a long row of spikes. They didn’t look police issue, but Ianto couldn’t get the PC out of his head. Suspicion wasn’t a strong enough word.

"Do you think the officer set us up?" Ianto asked, squatting down next to him. He had to brace himself against Jack’s shoulder as another wave of dizziness passed.

"Maybe." Jack brushed Ianto’s hair back from his face, thumb smoothing over his injured temple. "You okay? You hit hard."

"The day a head wound puts me down is the day the world finally ends." Ianto let himself lean into the touch for a moment before shaking it off. Work to do. Colds to catch. He hunched into himself and took a deep breath. "Right. So. Why would he do that?"

"Torchwood’s never had a great reputation with the cops," Owen said. He peered down at the spikes, his coat held high over his head like an umbrella. "Usually they don’t try to kill us, but it is a day ending in Y." The edges of his wound parted to show the fat layer beneath it. Ianto’s stomach churned.

"Looks like we’re continuing on foot." Jack pushed himself up and held a hand out to Ianto, pulling him to his feet.

"Where to?" Tosh asked. Her hair, plastered down against her jaw and neck, looked like an oil slick. "There isn’t a town for miles. Reception on everything is still down."

"Someone wanted to stop us from getting down there, or force us to go down there." Jack stuffed his hands into the pockets of his greatcoat and marched forward. "Either way, we should take a look."

Ianto fell into step beside him, trying not to squirm in his increasingly heavy, itchy clothes. Owen grumbled, clicked the safety off his gun, and fell in line with Tosh. It was a familiar formation, lacking with Gwen’s absence. Ianto wished for her briefly, if only for her uncanny ability to cut through tensions.

They followed the road for a while, heads ducked against the rain, huddled too close together. Tosh kept stepping on the backs of Ianto’s shoes, babbling out an apology right before she managed to do it again. If it were Owen, he’d have been shoving already, picking a useless fight. Instead, he grit his teeth, told her it was fine, really, each time and tried to up his pace.

"What do we have here?" Jack stopped in front of a dirt path that cut from the road, barely grunting when Owen ran into his back. Weeds as high as Ianto’s shoulders grew on either side of it, bowed in the wind, but not a one grew from the path itself. Goosebumps rose up on Ianto's skin. Of course they’d found trouble. They always did.

"Lovely, Holmes, are we going?" At some point, Owen had given his jacket to Tosh. Ianto forgot, sometimes, that he didn’t catch cold. That he didn’t feel cold. Ianto caught him reaching for coffee sometimes, saw the look on his face when he remembered that he couldn’t have it.

They followed the path in a single file line. Jack’s shoulders were relaxed, his pace leisurely, but Ianto could see the flex of his hand around his gun. If anything rushed them, he was the first line of defense. Ianto’s boots slid in the mud, some of it leaking in past the soles. He could only imagine the state of Tosh’s heels. She didn’t complain once.

The path wound down, carving through the weeds. Halfway through, Jack paused to look at a set of tyretracks. They were old, quickly dissolving in the rain, but definitely leading down the path. Ianto shielded his eyes and looked farther down the road. He could just barely make out the roof of a building hidden between the trees.

"There’s something up there," he said, raising his voice over the wind and thunder. The four of them hurried forward, sliding and swearing. The uneasiness Ianto had felt in the car picked up again. Something bad was up there, and they were headed straight towards it.

Sometimes, he missed running away from danger instead of into it.

Three large blobs of darkness sat at the end of the path. Ianto took the torch Jack handed him and aimed it forward. He heard the click of two safeties coming off and reached for his own gun. It was a heavy, comforting weight in his hand. He kept to Jack’s left, right wrist over the left, and took a deep breath. Right. Ready to go.

The largest building, the one closest to them, appeared to have once been livestock housing. It bent into an L, the weathered old stones and boards gray. The smell of rotting produce hit them in a wash. Tosh retched, her free hand coming up to cover her mouth.

Everything was silent, save for the wind whipping through the clearing. Jack edged around the livestock building, back to the stone, and pushed open the door. The smell exploded out toward them, encouraged by the wind. When he stepped inside, Ianto shone the torch through the door. The light flashed over piles of harvest, grain and veg swamped with flies. They buzzed angrily, rising up in a swarm. Jack stumbled backwards and slammed the door shut before they could reach him.

"Bodies?" Owen asked. Jack shook his head.

"Not that I saw. I’d still recommend keeping that door shut, though." He shook himself off and started back down the path again, toward the other buildings. Tosh, who looked pale, hurried after him.

"I really, really do hate road trips," Owen grumbled. Ianto shrugged. The cold was starting to make his teeth chatter.

The second building was a garage. Listing to one side, it was built from the same ancient stone and wood the gate stood open, rusted on its hinges, revealing nothing more exciting than an extensive tool collection. Ianto stepped inside, if only for a break from the rain, and shone the torch over a few of the open toolboxes. No blood, which was always nice to see. Something was going on, that was for sure, but at least there wasn’t any blood yet. Yet.

"One to go, kids," Jack said. Ianto steeled himself and went back into the rain. Thunder boomed across the clearing. A small, childish part of him hated storms. Nothing good ever came of them. Ever.

The last building was split in half. The right side looked like the garage and livestock building, decrepit and abandoned. The windows were boarded over, the door missing its handle but refusing to budge when Owen tried it. Attached on the right hand side, the main house looked almost pristine. Brand new.

Its white stone gleamed in the rain, the cheerfully painted blue door partially open under a matching blue awning. A flowerbed sat in one window, the few pink flowers drooping in the rain. Thick curtains hung from each window, blocking the view inside. Ianto tightened his hand around his gun.

"I don’t like the look of this, Jack," Tosh whispered. She was a warm spot at Ianto’s right. As cold, as frightened, as she might be, her hand was steady.

"Me either," Jack murmured. "Come on. In from the rain. If it’s nothing, we’ve got somewhere to wait while the storm passes. If it’s something- well. That’s what we do best, right?" Jack opened the small gate that blocked the garden off from the path, wincing as it creaked, and led the way in.

There was a checkout desk in the front room, crowded with papers and a single rotary phone. Lights shone from everywhere, lamps and overheads all up at maximum brightness. Ianto squinted against the sudden brightness, the pain in his head sharp. He wanted paracetamol and a good kip. Not exactly a new start to the day, but anything would be better. He clicked the torch off and slipped it into one of the greatcoat’s pockets. Jack flashed him a smile and stepped farther into the room.

"Hello?" Jack called. Nothing answered him. He edged around the desk, picking up the registry book. "It appears we’re experiencing the hospitality of the Glanwye Bed and Breakfast. Ianto, make nicer reservations next time."

"I’ll get right on that, sir," Ianto said, distracted by the paintings hanging on the stone walls. They were rudimentary, nothing more than landscapes, but they unnerved him. The furniture was all carved wood, rustic and well taken care of. If he didn’t know there was a building full of rotting produce only a few feet away, it might have been a nice place.

"Guys," Owen called from the next room. "Take a look at this."

He stood in front of a long dining room table, examining an empty glass pitcher. The table was set for four, white plates and carefully wrapped silverware at one end of the table. Each place setting held three glasses of varying sizes, each already filled with water. The fireplace at the other end of the room was lit, giving off waves of heat. Ianto and Tosh gravitated to it, presenting their backs to be warmed.

The room was cavernous, filled with knick knacks and portraits of stiff, severe figures. An electric chandelier hung from the ceiling above the table, swaying gently. Ianto lifted a jade ball from the mantle, peering inside one of the many holes to see the smaller carved balls inside.

"Set for four," Jack said, tracing the lip of one glass with a finger. It hummed, condensation glittering on the glass. "Convenient."

"Creepy," Tosh corrected. She pulled Owen’s coat tighter around her, like it would be any help.

"That, too," Jack agreed. "Where are-" Lightning flashed, and then there was darkness. Ianto felt Tosh flinch and he reached out to her immediately. She gave his hand a quick squeeze.

"Ever get the feeling we live in a horror movie?" Owen asked. He glowered up at the chandelier, lip raised in contempt.

"Constantly," Ianto drawled. The last film he’d been to see with Jack, they’d been kicked out for laughing too loudly. Jump scares and corn syrup blood really had nothing on what they’d lived through.

"Tosh, Owen, keep an eye out for management," Jack directed, pulling the torch back out. He aimed it Ianto’s face, blinding him for a moment. "Ianto, with me."

"The first to shag are always the first to die," Owen called out, even as he wandered back towards the front room. Ianto flipped two fingers at him and reluctantly left his post at the fire. He’d just started to feel like he wasn’t going to turn into a brick of ice.

They crossed through the foyer, passing a massive spiral staircase and more hand carved furniture. Their footsteps echoed through the hall, heavy. Ianto’s fingers felt heavy, weighted down around the grip of his gun.

"If I were a fuse box, where would I be?" Jack asked idly. He peered around a corner and kept walking straight. The inside of the building seemed to be larger than the outside, every room huge and furnished just enough to keep them from looking empty.

"I’d assume the cellar," Ianto said. "Which I imagine is in the locked off part of the house."

"Curious, isn’t it?" Jack disappeared around a corner. Ianto glanced behind him, at the far away door to the dining room. Something dark flickered at the corner of his eye, disappearing up the stairs. Ianto raised his gun and took a cautious step forward.

"Hello," he called. "Is someone there?" Something heavy landed on his shoulder and he wheeled around, finger over the trigger. Jack stared back at him, eyebrows raised and hands held above his head. Ianto tucked the gun into the back of his trousers and tried to convince his heart to slow down.

"You see something?" Jack asked.

"I thought-" Ianto looked back over his shoulder, but the staircase was still empty. "I’m not sure." Jack stepped into his personal space, not quite smiling. "Is this really the time, Jack?" Ianto asked even as Jack backed him into the wall.

"Is it ever?" Jack’s hands circled his wrists, thumbs sweeping the tender insides, and Ianto felt his resolve melt. He was notoriously weak against Jack, and Jack had no qualms about pressing his advantage. Jack kissed his temple, a dry, sweet brush of lips. "How’s your head? Any nausea? Dizziness? Colored lights?"

"Your bedroom talk leaves much to be desired," Ianto said dryly. Jack grinned.

"Good thing we’re not in a bedroom." He pulled Ianto’s arms around his waist, leaning in until their chests were pressed together. Even through his sodden clothes, he radiated warmth.

"No signs of a concussion," Ianto hedged. When Jack pinched at his hip, he squirmed. It only brought Jack closer to him, one of his legs slipping between Ianto’s thighs. He was well pinned and Jack hadn’t even had to try. "All symptoms present, yes, but given the circumstances, I’d say they’re from other things."

"No sleep until Owen’s had a look at you," Jack said against Ianto’s throat. He nipped sharply at the space below Ianto’s ear. Ianto shivered, hoping it could be passed off as a chill.

"I do know what a concussion feels like," Ianto said, voice remarkably steady. One of Jack’s hands smoothed over his stomach, gentling him. Jack always did make him feel like a teenager, overeager to please and possessing little to no sense of self preservation.

"And I know you’d be stubborn enough to keep it to yourself." Jack rolled his hips once, just a tease, and stepped back. "No fuse box up here. Let's check on the kids and try to get into the cellar."

"I hate when you call them that," Ianto said, straightening his trousers and jacket. Jack grinned, pinched his cheek, and turned on his heel.

"No luck?" Tosh asked when they got back to the dining room. Owen was poking at one of the portraits, balanced on his knees in a window nook.

"We're thinking cellar," Jack answered. He joined Owen at the painting, steadying him with a hand on his back. Owen didn't move. He couldn't feel it. A crack of lightning and a swift boom of thunder shook the house. The storm showed no sign of passing.

"You're pretty," an unfamiliar voice said. Tosh let out a small sound and jumped, nearly toppling over on her heels. A tall, thin man in a badly fitting suit stood behind her, his gap-toothed mouth open. A bang sounded from behind them, and Ianto whirled around fast enough to make himself dizzy.

"Hello, there." A woman in a dark, shapeless dress stood at the head of the table, her hand still around the handle of a new pitcher of water. Her short, white hair curled around her face, barely hiding the wrinkles at her temples. She folded her hands in front of her and smiled.

"Good evening," Jack said, taking a step away from Owen. His fingers twitched toward his pocket, but he didn't reach for his gun.

"I'm Betty," the woman said, still smiling. "And this is our place. That's my son, Pete, and my Stuart is down fixing the fuse." As soon as she'd said it, the chandelier flickered to life. Ianto squinted against the sudden light, raising his arm to block it. "There we go. Everyone check in at the front?"

"No, ma'am," Jack said. "There was no one-"

"Go on, Pete," Betty said, waving a hand at the man. "Grab the book." Pete scampered off, hunched in to hide his height. "We don't get too many guests this time of year. Too much rain. Twenty pounds a night. Per person. Rain rates."

Pete returned with the book in his oversized hands. He held it out to Tosh, his eyes wide. She gave him a weak smile and took it from him, signing with the pen attached to the top. Quickly, she walked over to Owen and handed it off.

"Supper's almost ready," Betty said as Ianto scrawled his own name down. The book, besides their names, was empty. "But you have to get cleaned up first. Only animals eat in their own filth. There's a toilet down the hall and one upstairs."

"We're not staying," Owen said, kicking off from the bench of the nook. "Ran into some spikes in the road. Know anything about that?"

"What are you saying, young man?" Betty narrowed her eyes. "We don't leave the house. Everything we need is here. Now, dinner's almost ready. Better get cleaned up." She paused for a moment and then turned her smile to Tosh. "You look clean enough. Care to give me a hand in the kitchen?"

Tosh looked at them with wide eyes. Jack shrugged, tipping his chin up towards Betty. Tosh nodded, gave Betty a tight smile in return, and gently took the hand that was extended to her. Ianto watched her until they disappeared through the doors. He didn't want her to be far from them. Not with the comms out. Not with the creepy, ugly feeling of the place sinking into his skin.

Pete led them down the hall, shuffling his feet against the tiles. He pointed, one too long finger nearly jabbing into the washroom. Owen lifted his chin and stepped inside. The wound on his arm still hung open. All his supplies were in the SUV and Ianto doubted there was a tactful way to ask for a sewing kit to patch it up.

Ianto and Jack followed Pete up the spiral stairs, both of them tense. Something was wrong here. Ianto could feel it crawling around, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight. Owen's horror movie comment kept playing in the back of his mind. Give him a nice, easy slasher any day. He'd seen worse, up close and personal.

Pete left them once they crammed into the tiny washroom. Ianto shrugged out of his jacket and hung it over the back of the toilet. In the mirror, he looked like a soggy mess, his hair sticking up at off angles and his pale blue shirt ruffled. He'd mostly dried off, but his clothes still felt damp, making his skin itch.

"Are we really going to eat dinner with these people?" He asked as he rummaged through a cupboard for a towel. The one he pulled out was yellowed and smelled a bit musty, but it was dry. He made a vain attempt to dry his hair before handing it off to Jack.

"Something's definitely going on here," Jack said, face barely visible under the towel. When he pulled it away, his hair rivaled Ianto's for ridiculousness. Something small and fond settled under Ianto's skin. "If they know something about it, we'll find out. If not, who are we to say no to a cheap meal and a good night's sleep?"

"You don't believe in sleep," Ianto accused. Jack grinned at him and waggled his eyebrows. It was entirely unbecoming. It always was. And, yet, the familiar flutter of warmth Ianto always felt at the sight of it showed up right on time.

"You don't either." Jack kissed him, quick and easy, and tugged on his arm. "Come on. I want to keep eyes on Owen."

Owen was already seated at the table when they got back to the dining room, watching Pete warily. The man kept fiddling with his silverware like a child, squirming in his seat. Three more place settings had been put out, the water glasses sweating. Ianto bit the bullet and took the seat next to him. Better he do it than Tosh.

Betty appeared through the door, hands full of plates, and Tosh followed a moment later. She looked flustered but otherwise fine. Ianto knew she could take care of herself, had watched her put down aliens twice her size, but he still fretted over her like a younger sister. He couldn't help it. Something about her made him want to throw himself into the danger before it could reach her.

He'd done it before, and god help him, he'd do it again.

"Thanks, but no," Owen said as Betty put a plate down in front of him. "I don't do much eating these days."

"Nonsense," Betty said, pushing his hand toward the silverware. "Man's got to eat. You're skin and bone. Look dead to me." Owen laughed outright, shoving the plate away from himself. Jack took a bite of the steak in front of him. They all watched, giving it time, and when he nodded, Ianto and Tosh followed suit. Ianto hated using him as a taste-tester, but he'd stopped being trusting of strangers a long time ago.

Another man walked through the dining room doors, grim faced and silent. Grease coated his gray shirt, thick and dark. He sat at the head of the table, eyeing them all. Ianto looked down at his plate and tried to be invisible. Stuart, then. The whole family present and accounted for.

If there were only three of them, Ianto thought, why had there been four places set?

"You're pretty," Pete said again, leaning over the table to offer Tosh a plate of rolls.

"Thank you," Tosh said nervously, taking one from the plate. She held it between her palms, shrinking back against the edge of her chair.

"Are you married?" Pete asked. He asked it with such childish glee, his wrinkled face pink with glee. He had to be forty at least, but his mind had stopped so young.

"No," Tosh whispered. She stared at the roll, her uncomfortableness another person in the room. Jack opened his mouth to cut the tension, but Pete lurched across the table, reaching for Tosh's hand.

"I want her, mum," he said. Stuart banged on the table as Tosh flinched away and Pete sat back in his chair.

"I know you do," Betty said, smoothing a hand over his hair. She smiled at Tosh. "He wants to get married so bad. He's a good boy. Doesn't see too many pretty girls out here. It's the curse of the country life."

"You're pretty," Pete said again, a broken record. "Will you marry me?"

"Stop it, you little creep," Owen snapped, holding his arm across Tosh's chest. "You say one more word to her-"

"Owen," Tosh hissed, pushing at his arm. Ianto tensed up, ready to pin Owen down if he had to, but Jack had already put a hand on Owen's other shoulder, holding him in his chair.

"You don't talk to the boy like that," Stuart said. His voice was that of a lifetime smoker, thick and heavy like gravel.

"You tell him to keep his hands off her-" Owen startled when Tosh pushed him away. She stood up quickly, smoothing her hands nervously over her skirt, and took a step away from the table.

"Just need a bit of fresh air," she said, flashing a tight smile before fleeing to the front room. Ianto set his silverware down and chased after her.

"Are you alright?" He asked when he caught up. Her arms were wrapped around her chest, her head bowed.

"I'm fine, Ianto," she said. "I'm just not used to-" She waved a hand at the dining room. "It's just a bit much." She laughed weakly. "I never thought Owen would jump to defend my honor."

"We all would," Ianto said without pause. "Not that you need it."

"No," Tosh agreed. She tucked her hair behind her ears and let out a soft huff. "I wasn't lying about the fresh air. I can't breathe in here." She opened the front door, stepping aside to let Ianto out first, and immediately let out a sharp gasp.

A shadow of a man stood in the front garden, a shotgun in his hands. He aimed and Tosh slammed the door shut. She put the bolt on and moved out of the way, pulling her gun out. Footsteps thundered forward, and then Jack and Owen and Betty were there. Betty pushed past them, looking out the curtain. When she turned back, her face was pale.

"What have you done?" Betty grabbed the edge of an iron gate that was hidden behind the floor length curtains and pulled it across the door and then repeated it on the other side. The gates smashed together with an earsplitting bang.

"What do you mean what have we done?" Owen shouted. He tried to get past her, tried to get his fingers into the split of the gate, but she slammed the lock down before he could get a grip.

"You brought him here," Betty hissed.

"Maybe you should tell us what's going on," Jack said, even as Betty pulled gates down in front of the windows. Torchlight shone through the panes of the front door, and then the man in the garden pounded on the door. Ianto couldn't see him, couldn't see anything but the shine of metal through the glass.

Stuart ran in from the dining room, helping to finish the lock down on the windows. Betty tossed him a ring of keys and then he was off again. Pete watched from the hall, shuffling anxiously from foot to foot.

"What's out there?" Jack asked, grabbing Betty's shoulders. She looked up at him with dark, accusing eyes.

"If he gets in, we'll all die," she spat.

The ceiling creaked. All of them looked up, frozen to the spot. Something was on the roof, and it was moving fast. Jack's fingers tightened around Betty's shoulders. He shook her, forcing her to look at him.

"Tell me what that thing is. Now," he snarled. Ianto raised his gun. Hopefully, a good bullet or five could take care of it.

"They call him the Tin Man," Betty said, pulling away from Jack. She folded her arms over her chest, watching him cooly. "They say he only goes after the guilty."

"Guilty of what?" Jack asked. Betty didn't look away.

"I'm only saying what people say," she said.

The sounds from the ceiling stopped. Ianto didn't lower his gun. After a moment, the sound of metal on stone replaced the creaking. Betty looked at the fireplace and the rest of them followed. A tin can, rusted at the edges, fell from the chimney into the fire.

Jack snatched the fire poker from the basket next to the hearth and fished it out. He covered his hand with the sleeve of his coat and turned it over. Thick, black letters stood out on the silver. Ianto's eyes flicked from the can to the doors. There were too many places of entry and not enough of them to cover everything.

"Welcome to my house," Jack said, turning the can as he read. "House rules. Rule number one: God came into my house and I killed him. Rule number two: I will kill anyone who comes into my house like I killed God."

Chills creeped up Ianto's spine. He had never been religious. Not as a boy, and definitely not as an adult. Not when he knew that the only thing after death was a black hole of nothingness. He'd believe Owen and Jack and Susie before he would believe anyone else. Good or bad, there was no difference. There was no Heaven or Hell. Just dark.

"Rule number three: give me one dead body before sunrise, and I'll let number two slide," Jack read. He clenched his jaw, teeth grinding together. Owen threw himself at the door, rattling the cage.

"You want a dead body?" He shouted. "You've got one right here!"

"You're not dead enough," Jack said. He yanked Owen back from the door, trapping him to his chest when Owen tried to pull away again. Ianto waited for Jack to say it- for Jack to offer himself like he always did- and dread built up in his stomach.

"Get off," Owen snarled, shoving at Jack's arms.

"The boy's lost it," Stuart said from the dining room. He held a shotgun between his hands, his yellowed teeth grit together. "Maybe we should send him."

"Try it, arsehole, you just try it-" Owen jerked against Jack's arms again, dragging him forward. Ianto took a step forward, ready to help restrain him. They needed to calm down, to do some recon and figure out what the thing was. If they kept their shit together, they could work it out, help the civilians, and get back to Cardiff.

"Ianto-"

Ianto turned at Tosh's voice and came face to face with the end of the shotgun barrel. He held up his hands immediately, His gun dangled from his fingertips. Stuart sneered at him, the gun splitting Ianto's vision in two.

"Guns down," Stuart snapped, his dark eyes never leaving Ianto's. They looked bottomless. Empty. Whatever they were looking for was right here, staring back at him, hiding inside of this body.

"Let's just talk," Jack said slowly. Stuart pumped the shotgun. Ianto's heart raced, thundering against his ribs. He didn't want to watch his death come. He didn't want to face it head on. He was fast, could probably disarm Stuart easily, but who was standing behind him? Would the blow get one of his own? He couldn't risk trying.

"Guns down," Stuart said again. The sound of all three guns lowering to the floor came quickly. Stuart jerked the gun at him and Pete scampered forward, peeling Ianto's glock from his hand gleefully. He held it like a toy, fingers dancing over the barrel and the grip.

"Betty," Tosh said softly, "Betty, tell him to stop. We're all in this together."

"Oh, lamb," Betty said, her voice sweet as honey. Sweat stuck Ianto's shirt to the small of his back, gathering under his arms and at his temples. They didn't know yet. The didn't see yet. "Stuart, best to wait. All of them came together. Kill one, you'd have to kill them all."

"Let's put them in the meat locker. It'll be slower, but it'll get the job done." Stuart grabbed Ianto by the shirt front and dragged him forward.

"No," Ianto shouted, struggling against his hold. Visions of another place in the countryside flashed in front of him. He could still remember the stink of human meat, could remember the feel of the baseball bat connecting with his ribs and head. "No!"

The butt of the shotgun connected with his temple, pain blinding him. A trickle of blood slid from his eyebrow, stinging as it dripped into his eye. He struggled harder, even as his feet left the floor, shouting. No. No, he wouldn't do that again, he wouldn't be chopped into bits to be consumed later-

"Go on," Stuart said, shoving Ianto past the door into the locked building.

The cold overcame him quickly, the still damp parts of his clothes suddenly unbearable. Three massive pig carcasses hung from the ceiling, red and pink and open ribs like teeth. Ianto bounced off one, horrified as it swung. The smell of rotting meat- human meat, dead people being used- made him sick.

Flashes of the Brecons filled his vision. The baseball bat. Tosh tied and struggling beside him. The edge of a knife against his windpipe, ready to push down and bleed him. He shouted, trying to run free, but Owen slammed into him, going too fast for either of them to break the fall. The frozen steel ground burned, Ianto's damp palms sticking to it. A thin layer of skin ripped from them as Ianto pulled them up.

He could hear Jack trying to soothe them, could hear the uneven hitch of Tosh's breath, but he couldn't see them. Panic choked him. He was going to die here because he hadn't died in the Brecons. He'd escaped death too many times and it had come back for him.

"I should kill you now," Stuart said, holding the gun over Ianto's chest. "Pathetic, simpering coward." Ianto shielded his face with heavy arms. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe.

Then Jack was in front of him, hand around the barrel of the shotgun, forcing it up and away. The sound of it firing was deafening in the small space, bouncing off the walls. He slammed Stuart up against the wall, struggling against him for control of the gun.

"Owen, get the cleaver," Jack ground out. He threw his head forward, smashing it against Stuart's. Stuart barely flinched.

Ianto rolled to his knees, fighting back the urge to vomit, and made himself stand. His knees were weak, he was weak, but he needed to fight. He needed to get his fucking head back on and help. He shouted a wordless warning to Owen when he saw Betty's hand close around the handle of the cleaver.

Owen stumbled out of the way of her wild swing, knocking one of the pigs from its hook. It hit with a sickening thud. Ianto dodged the next swing, kicking out at her legs as she passed him. He'd barely gotten out of the way when Tosh swung one of the massive meat hooks down into the fleshy expanse of Betty's back.

Thick, oily smoke rose from the wound. Betty screamed.

"Tosh, get the guns," Jack shouted. "Owen, Ianto, get out of here!" He threw a punch, his fist connecting solidly with Stuart's jaw. He jerked the gun from Stuart's slack hands and shot him through the chest. Ianto didn't stay to watch.

Ianto ran, lungs aching, down through the main building, into the cellar. He could hear Owen keeping pace with him, too loud. They couldn't slow down. Not yet. Up wasn't an option. Not with Tin Man watching the place. Not without intel on how many others were in the house.

Pete. They'd forgotten about Pete.

They ran until they hit a dead end. The house was too big on the inside, full of too many rooms and halls. It was impossible. He knew it was impossible. Owen slammed his fist against the wall and swore.

"Owen. Look at this." Ianto's hand hovered in front of the back wall, tracing the thick, black shapes of foreign letters. The wall was covered in them, ink bleeding out onto the floor and into the wood.

"Alien," Owen said. "Could use one of Tosh's gadgets now. I can't tell what the fuck it says." Relief sank heavily into Ianto's chest. He knew Betty and Stuart weren't human, he had seen it for himself, but hearing Owen confirm it- He could handle aliens. "We need to get out."

"What about Jack and Tosh?" Ianto asked. He backed away from the wall, eyes scanning across the room for exits. Thick, heavy cloths hung over the other two walls. Dust had settled into the fabric, turning them grey. When Owen tugged at one, a cloud billowed out at him. Ianto waited for him to cough, to splutter, but he never did.

"They can handle themselves," Owen muttered. He pulled down the second cloth and let out a soft, triumphant sound. "There's a hall through here. Watch my back while I deal with this."

Ianto turned obediently towards the door they'd come through, plastering himself against the cool stone and creeping towards the end of the hall. He had no weapon, no comms. He felt weak. Powerless.

Something cracked in the hallway. Ianto snapped to attention, fists raised. He wished desperately for his gun. Or the taser. He could make magic happen with that taser. Slowly, Ianto rounded the corner. The dark, bleeding figure of Betty at the top of the stairs startled him.

"They're coming," Ianto hissed, ducking back into the room. Owen jerked at the padlock and chain, swearing as it refused to budge. They had to hide. Doubling back was out of the question and the door refused to budge and Owen wasn't moving.

Ianto ducked behind another tapestry, pressing himself tight to the wall. The metal of another door dug into his back, painful and sharp. He jerked when he heard his name called, barely a whisper through the window. When he turned to look, nothing but another long stretch of hall greeted him. He heard Betty stomping into the room and then-

His feet came up from under him as the door flew open and then he was flying backwards, nausea rising up in his stomach. The door slammed, the echo too loud in the narrow hall, and then he was on the ground, elbows absorbing the impact.

He closed his eyes and took a slow breath. Calm. Rational. It was the only way he'd get through. Calm. Rational.

Ianto pushed himself up, ignoring the blood on his hands and elbows, and looked around. Something wasn't right with the internal structure of the house. Even if they were underground, the size of the tunnels were too vast. Alien technology? His own fear messing with his mind? It wouldn't be the first time. He couldn't hope it would be the last.

Ianto jerked when he heard his name again. The voice was soft, feminine. Familiar. He shook himself and inched towards its direction. His hand itched for his gun, lost somewhere upstairs. He wondered if Tosh had found them, if she was alright. If Jack had found her yet.

"Ianto, love," the voice called, and Ianto went cold. Lisa. They were using Lisa against him again, his forever sin, and anger simmered under the fear. When would he be able to let her die? "Ianto, it's so cold."

Ianto turned from the sound of her voice, his chest too tight, and ran. He wouldn't look. He wouldn't make the same mistakes over and over again. The sweet, kind woman he'd loved was dead. He'd watched his teammates murder her, cleaned her blood from the floor, put her broken body into locked storage like a toy under Jack's angry gaze.

He'd mourned alone in their apartment, staring at her photos and trying to remember her voice as it was when he'd met her. He'd sent flowers to her parents and watched them stand over an empty grave, sobbing into each other, his stomach turning.

Torchwood had given her to him and it had taken her away just as easily.

Ianto clenched his shaking hands into useless fists and refused to listen to her voice, still calling to him over two years later. Rage sat at the base of his throat, ready to consume him. Rage at himself for not being clever enough to cure her, at Lisa for not being strong enough to fight, at Jack, Tosh, Owen, and Gwen for killing her.

He could kill them back. It would be almost easy. They trusted him with their food and their personal space and their equipment. He'd already shot Owen once. A bullet to the brain, a baseball bat to the skull. Violence for every slight he'd suffered, a blow for each time Owen had belittled him.

A gunshot rang out, muffled through the tunnels and Ianto jerked. Jack. Bile rose up in his throat as he sank down against the wall. The anger had vanished as quickly as it came, leaving him trembling and exhausted. If Owen would have been there- If Tosh-

Ianto vomited, his stomach heaving and his throat closing up. He would have done it and he could have walked free from the house of horrors and the guilt would have killed him, too. He wiped the back of his wrist over his mouth and tried to catch his breath. He needed to get back to the others before he went crazy. Before he lost control.

Soft blue light peeked out from a crack in the floor. Ianto squinted down at it, fingers slipping in between the cracks. Carefully, he extracted a small metal cube. It pulsed in his hand, blood-warm and glowing. It looked alien- it felt alien, too smooth and a little slimy to the touch- but he had no frame of reference without something to compare it to,
He tucked it into his pocket and made himself walk away. He'd find Jack, they'd get Tosh and Owen, and then they would figure out how to beat them. He was Torchwood, good or bad, and he had a job to do.

Ianto made it to the end of the hall when a shout bounced off the walls. Tosh. He was running before the sound stopped, playing scenarios of bad to worse in his head. It could be another trick, another Lisa in the walls, but it could be real, could be Tosh fighting against one of the aliens. Could be nothing but his own mind working against him. It didn't matter. If there was any chance at all that Tosh was in danger, he had to find her.

Tosh yelled again, a wordless sound that was too loud in the confined spaces. Ianto stumbled to halt next to a wooden door, pressing himself flat against the wall. He could hear a man's low voice over Tosh's, the words too soft to make out. He scouted for a weapon- a pipe, a piece of wood, a rock, anything- but the hall was as empty there as it had been anywhere else.

Carefully, slowly, he peered through the glass window in the door. Tosh sat in a high backed chair, her sensible work clothes replaced by a thin, pale yellow dress. Twin pink circles of blush sat high on her cheeks, violent red lipstick smeared across her mouth. A thick band of rope wrapped around her waist and arms, holding her in place. Pete stroked her cheek clumsily, his fingers gigantic next to her.

"Get away from me," Tosh shouted, her voice cracking on the last syllable. Ianto pushed through the door and tackled him.

Pete's wide eyes stared up at him, black and endless, and Ianto punched him. His arm moved on its own, the anger and fear sitting inside of him exploding out. His knuckles ached, his skin splitting as they caught the sharp edges of Pete's teeth. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Tin Man wanted a dead body? He'd get one.

"Ianto-"

Ianto dug his knee into Pete's soft stomach, feeling the spaces underneath giving way. Pete's face had begun to go blue, black smoke leaking from his nose and mouth, curling up into a blinding fog. Ianto had killed before. They all had. Torchwood put blood on their hands and left them to deal with it, and if Tin Man wanted blood-

"Ianto," Tosh shouted. Her chair scraped across the floor, the sound piercing through the piercing through the ringing in his ears. His head snapped up and for a moment he couldn't see her. She was nothing but another obstacle, another thing keeping him trapped in this house, in this place, in this time, where he was a murderer, a monster. "Ianto, stop."

"Do it," Pete said, spitting black blood at him. He laughed when Ianto rolled off him, the sound wet and thick. He crawled to the bed in the corner of the room, steadying himself on the moldering sheets. "Kill me for touching her. She's real pretty. She made me do it. She wanted me to."

Ianto kicked him, his boot connecting with the soft underside of Pete's belly, and smashed his head against the floor when Pete went down. The sound was sickening. Pete didn't stand back up, but his chest still rose and fell slowly.

"Are you alright?" Ianto asked, kneeling next to Tosh's chair. He didn't look at her as he untied the rope, didn't look at her as he helped her stand. "Did he-"

"I'm fine," Tosh said softly. She brushed her fingers over the backs of Ianto's knuckles before taking his hand in hers. "I'm fine, Ianto." She gave him a small smile when he finally looked up at her. Ianto's stomach twisted. She'd just been through torture, and she was comforting him. Christ, but he was pathetic. "We need to get out of here."

A creak from the hall cut through the silence of the room. Ianto pushed Tosh behind him, swearing. He needed a break. Something. Anything. Just a little time to let his mind rest. Tosh squeezed his hand before letting go, raising her fists in front of her. She hadn't found the guns, not that they seemed to do much anyway.

"Give it back," Betty said, her voice echoing through the hall. The long, slow shuffle of her feet on concrete made the hair on Ianto's arms raise. "I know you have it, you filthy child, and I want it back."

"What's she talking about?" Tosh's breath was warm and real- finally, something real- on the shell of his ear. Ianto fumbled in his pocket, unwilling to take his eyes off the door, and handed Tosh the cube.

"Any idea what it is?" Ianto asked. He felt Tosh's hair against his shoulder as she shook her head. Betty's footsteps faded, her voice lingering behind. Carefully, Ianto crept toward the door, peeking out into the dark hall. There was no sign of Betty, but that meant nothing. "Coast's clear. Let's find Jack."

They walked quietly down the hall, listening carefully for any sign of Betty or Pete. Water dripped down the concrete and left giant, dark puddles on the floor. The water had gone tepid, foul green slicks of mold growing across the tops of the puddles. The farther they walked, the more the smell began to bother Ianto. His stomach, still upset from vomiting, ached. The only way to go was up, but finding up was proving difficult.

"It looks like a transmitter," Tosh said as they turned the corner. The device glowed in her hands, turning her skin a sickly shade of blue. The blush still on her cheeks had smeared, sweat dragging it down into uneven lines. Ianto tried to push the thoughts of Pete's hands on her, undressing her and dolling her up, tried not to think of how long Tosh had been unconscious while he'd done it.

"What's it transmitting?" Ianto asked. He glanced over his shoulder and Tosh flinched. She handed it back and rubbed at her mouth. The lipstick colored her chin red. It looked like she was bleeding.

"He knew things about me," she said softly. Ianto looked away, relieved when the shadows in front of him parted to reveal a door. "Things I never- Even Jack doesn't know some of those things, and…"

"And Jack knows everything," Ianto finished for her. Tosh laughed. It wasn't funny, but it was true. Ianto pushed open the door and tested the first step. The dark, mottled wood held as he put his weight down, but he still went slowly. The smell of rot filled the stairwell, overwhelming him. "They knew about Lisa, but." Ianto shrugged. "I think everyone knows about that now."

Tosh squeezed his shoulder. It wasn't comforting, but he wasn't looking for comfort. He'd made his mistake once, and it was going to haunt him forever.

As they climbed, sweat gathered at the small of Ianto's back and under his arms. The clunky, ugly sound of the upcoming boiler room made Ianto flinch. Rain, cold, heat. If he made it out alive, he was in for one hell of a cold. Tosh kept rubbing her cheek, smearing the makeup with her sweat. She looked half melted, her face a mess of pink and red and black. She walked too close to him, her fingers and hip brushing against his every few steps.

"I think I see a door," Tosh said, her voice thick from the dampness of the room. Ianto pushed his soaked hair back from his face and squinted. Just at the end of the hall, glinting faintly in the pulsing firelight, was their way out of the basement hell.

They got halfway to it when a booming voice called their names. Ianto ran forward, Tosh close at his heels. Sharp pain rocketed through his shoulder, followed seconds later by the warm, familiar wash of blood. The sound of the shotgun cocking for a second round came after.

Steam burst from the pipes, scalding him as he ran through it. Tosh let out a low noise, her hand shielding her face uselessly. Already, her bared arms and legs were turning a bright, ugly red. Ianto hit the door running, jamming his uninjured shoulder into it. The metal was warming quickly, the steam making it slick.

He looked through the small window, hoping the glass would hold out just a little longer, and met Owen's wide eyes. Owen stared at him, his thin lips sloping into a grimace. He wasn't moving. He wasn't doing anything but standing and staring. Tosh curled tight into herself, the melted picture of her face twisted. Ianto ripped off his jacket and wrapped it around her. It wouldn't do good in the long run,but he had to help her, needed to keep her safe again.

"Owen, open the fucking door." Ianto slammed his shoulder against the hot metal again, his stitches pulling and pain flaring up through his arm. The heat crawled down his throat, choking out his air. He could already feel his hands blistering, the metal scorching through his skin. "Owen!"

Jack's face appeared in the window, horrified, and then the door jerked open, Tosh and Ianto falling out into a heap on the floor. Ianto gulped in deep, painful bursts of air, panting. When he looked down at his hands, they were red and raw, chunks of skin missing, plasma oozing slowly out.

Jack slammed the door shut, throwing the lock. An iron mask peered down at them, the eye holes nothing more than pits of black, and then the face was gone. Tin Man was in with them and they were running out of time.

"What's wrong with you?" Jack shoved at Owen's shoulders, sending him sprawling back against the wall. Owen glared at him, cradling his head like he could feel the pain. Jack shoved him again. He was bleeding, coat torn at the waist and eyes wild. When Ianto stepped forward to pull him back, Jack turned on him, fist raised.

"Hey, stop." Ianto stumbled back a few steps, blistered hands raised in front of him. Jack clenched his fist, arms shaking, and dropped it. "Are you okay?"

"Not the words I'd use, but everyone's alive," Jack said. He took Ianto's hands in his own and ghosted his thumbs over his palms. It stung, a clear, sharp pain that shot through Ianto's arms, but Ianto held back his flinch. Jack could worry over him later. "Find anything?"

"Tosh thinks it's a transmitter," Ianto said, breaking Jack's hold on him to pull the device out. Jack tucked him in close, even as he turned the cube over in his fingers.

For just a moment, Ianto let himself lean in and close his eyes. Every part of him hurt, every part of him felt heavy and exhausted. Jack grounded him. Jack held him up, literally and figuratively, his rock through everything.

"How did they even get here?" Jack asked quietly. He stroked Ianto's hip mindlessly, eyebrows drawn in, mouth a tight line. "Makes a lot of sense, though."

"Want to fill us in?" Owen folded his arms over his chest, staring at the ground. Another bloodless cut stood open below his left ear. In time, Ianto's palms would heal. His wounded shoulders and scab-crusted scalp would go back to normal, marked only by faint scars. Owen would always have the reminders of this house, of every time his second life had been put into danger. Ianto looked away. He hated Torchwood more every day.

"They're called the Vlap," Jack said. He held out the cube, twisting it. The light flared brighter before dimming again. "They use a psychic field to tap into your memories and show you the worst ones. They drive you crazy and feed on the fear. It's what keeps them alive. I don't know how they got this far out without anyone noticing."

"The missing people?" Tosh asked. She had slid her arms into the sleeves of Ianto's jacket, shivering against the wall. Even injured, even frightened, she held herself tall and sure. Ianto wished, not for the first time, that he could be half as strong as her. Jack nodded.

"That's what I'm thinking," he said. "They pulled the same car trick, pulled the victims in, and deposited the bodies in with the livestock, wherever those are. Who would come out here? Who would even look?" Jack slipped the device into Ianto's pocket easily, his hands lingering too long on Ianto's side. Jack was as shaken as the rest of them. That of all things made Ianto worry.

"Why god?" Owen asked. He stood across the room from them, keeping himself distant. He wouldn't meet their eyes. Ianto wondered what they knew about him. "None of us are a particularly religious lot. Why say they killed god?"

"Highest form of authority," Jack said. "That little box is everything to them. It feeds them data about the planet, activates the psychic field, gives them their power. It's told them what the human race is afraid of."

The darkness. The emptiness of death that Jack escaped from time and time again. The rest of them weren't so lucky. It would catch up to them one day, and then there would be nothing at all. Ianto spent too much time thinking about it. He had to. Between Torchwood and Jack, he was surrounded by reminders every day.

"So, we destroy it and go, right?" Owen asked. Jack shook his head.

"I don't know," he said. "Everything I know is theory. I never dealt with them before."

"Then what use are you?" Owen threw his hands up, his disgusted noise bouncing off the walls. Jack went rigid against Ianto's side, his hand balling into a fist where it was pressed against Ianto's hip.

"That is the question, isn't it?" Betty's voice floated into the room, light and free and dangerous. Ianto turned slowly, breaking free of Jack's hold, and swallowed when he caught sight of the pistol in her hand. It was his. She cocked the hammer and grinned at them, her teeth blackened and leaking smoke.

They had been too busy watching for Tin Man. They had been too busy standing still to pay any attention to the other door. Owen should have seen. Owen was facing her way. Owen should have seen her.

"What use are you, Captain?" Betty asked, just before pulling the trigger.

Jack crumpled to the floor, his head cracking against the concrete. His eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling blankly. Ianto's knees felt weak, ready to drop to pick Jack up, to pull him close, to bring him back. Before he could move at all, the butt of his own pistol smacked into his temple, and the world went dark.

---

Ianto's head felt fuzzy. He blinked open his eyes, unable to focus them. Everything was a blur of color and darkness, indistinct. He could taste blood in his mouth, congealing across his tongue where he'd bitten it. Voices filtered through his ears, near but unbelievably distant. Something important was happening. He just needed to remember-

A hand caressed his cheek before slapping it. Ianto jerked, forcing his eyes open wider. He sat at the kitchen table, arms and legs tied down. His team was around him, staring blankly at the table, each restrained in the same way. Owen, who sat across from him, took deep breaths, more memory than anything else.

"This is my house," Tin Man said, circling the table. He was a large, imposing creature, dressed in a black jacket and trousers. The mask over his face sucked in the light, tarnished silver rusted all along the edges. At the corners of the room, Stuart, Betty, and Pete each held a gun. Pete's was trained square on Ianto. "God came into my house and I killed him. I will kill anyone who comes into my house like I killed God. Give me one dead body before sunrise, and I'll let number two slide."

"I'm already a dead body," Owen said, jerking against the rope. Tin Man rounded the table, petting Owen's sweat matted hair tenderly. Owen snarled at him, nearly toppling over as he tried to get away.

"You're taking and thinking and moving," Tin Man said. His breaths behind the mask were too loud, filling up the space in the room. Betty laughed, a high, girlish sound that made the hair at the back of Ianto's neck stand on end. They weren't human, he told himself. It was easier if they weren't human. "I don't think that counts as dead."

"What brought you out here?" Jack asked. He looked as calm as he ever did, and part of Ianto was angry about it. The rest of them were shaking like children, and Jack was entirely unfazed. It must be easy to be calm when there's no real threat, Ianto thought bitterly. Guilt curdled in his stomach and he looked away.

Jack loved them all. He would be devastated if any of them were harmed. Ianto knew that. He knew that. Someone had to take charge, and Jack was the only one who knew how to keep his head straight. Tin Man laughed.

"Your time is running out," he said. "Do you really want to spend it discussing travel?"

"If you came from the rift, you're a long way from Cardiff," Jack said. His jaw stiffened when Tin man came to stand behind Ianto. Ianto could feel Tin Man's clothes shift as he breathed, could smell the damp, earthy stench of him. He tried to calm his racing heart down, but he couldn't see, couldn't tell what Tin Man was doing. Pete still held the gun steady on him, grinning broadly.

"Don't play games with me, Captain," Tin Man said. He leaned forward, his chest resting on top of Ianto's head. He was heavy, dense, pressing down on the wound at the back of Ianto's skull. Stars danced in front of Ianto's eyes for a moment, making him gasp. "Give me what I want, and I'll give you your freedom and all the answers you want. If not, well. We'll kill all of them, and you'll be left alone. Again."

For a moment, just a split second of time, Jack looked away. Ianto had seen him sacrifice things- people- for the greater good. Could he kill one of them to save the others? Would he?

"All of you have more than enough reasons to kill," Tin man said. He stroked Ianto's throat with a freezing hand, cupping Ianto's adams apple between his thumb and index finger. "You wonder what would have happened if you would have died in the fires. Or what might have happened if you were the one put in the metal suit. You would have caused a lot less damage that way. She'd be alive, and you'd be the one they shot dead." He slammed a knife into the table in front of Ianto. It stuck handle up, rusted along the edge.

Tin Man leaned in over Tosh's shoulder, pressing the plate of his mask into her neck. Tosh straightened up in her seat, mouth a tight line. One of Tin Man's hands straightened the torn, ragged sleeve of the dress. Ianto wanted to kill him. Wanted to rip his mask off and shove it down his throat.

"You wish they'd notice you," Tin Man said into Tosh's ear. "Pretty girl, smart girl. What do you have to do to make them look at you? To make him look at you? He's not worth your time. Make him regret it." A second knife in the table, the sound like gunfire as the wood split.

Tin Man tucked Tosh's hair behind her ear and moved to Owen. Owen glared up at him, teeth bared like a feral animal. He jerked away when Tin Man ruffled his hair. Thick, ugly laughter bubbled up from behind the mask.

"Dead man walking," Tin Man said. "Not dead enough. Never dead enough. They brought you back. And that pisses you off, doesn't it?" Owen's arms flexed under the rope, his bloodless knuckles forever white. A third knife, blade aimed at Owen's hand. It shone under the bulb, the light flashing over the steel over and over again, maddening. "And you."

Tin Man slapped Jack's cheek, the sound echoing off the walls. Betty giggled, high and childlike as Jack's head snapped to the side. Behind them, Pete and Stuart kept their guns aimed at Jack's head, eyes black. Jack said nothing.

"They don't even know you, do they?" Tin man wrapped Jack's fingers around the hilt of the last knife, curling his hand around Jack's. "You keep so many secrets to protect them. Or are you just protecting yourself? They've betrayed you over and over again, but you just keep bringing them back into your little fold. Maybe you should be the leader they think you are and make some order." The knife fell to the ground as soon as Tin Man stepped away. Jack didn't look at any of them. Tin Man laughed, drumming his fingers against his mask. "You have ten minutes to give me my dead body. Or all of you die."

Owen met Ianto's eyes. He looked murderous, vicious and dark. Ianto had seen him in the cage with the Weevil, had seen the wildness inside him. It was terrifying then. It was terrifying now, so close and trained on him. Owen rocked his chair forward, fingers outstretched for the knife.

"That's a boy," Tin Man cooed, leaning back against the counter. "You've got so much anger, don't you? Kill him. It'll make all that anger go away." Owen's fingers closed around the handle of the knife and he sliced the ropes holding him in quick, efficient movements. The insides of his wrists split open, bloodless wounds that would have killed him months ago.

"Owen, no," Tosh shouted, rocking her chair towards him. But Owen was up and lunging across the table at Ianto, yelling over her..

TIme slowed down. Ianto threw himself backwards, his chair toppling over and his head cracking against the tiles, trying to buy himself a few more minutes. Owen landed on top of him, all heavy weight and flailing limbs. Ianto struggled against the rope, feeling it slicing into his skin. Owen swung the blade down, his free hand pounding at Ianto's thigh.

The knife cracked against the tiles, splintering it with a crack. The device in Ianto's pocket toppled to the floor, bouncing away. Ianto headbutted Owen, dizzy with the force. Owen's arm came down again and the tip of the knife connected solidly with the device, splitting it in two.

Blinding light burst from the cube, exploding to fill the room. Screams bounced from the walls, inhuman wailing that made Ianto's ears ache. He couldn't see, couldn't hear anything but those awful sounds. Owen was still squirming on top of him, too heavy, stealing Ianto's breath.

He was going to die anyway.

"Stay with us, Jones," Owen said, too loud in Ianto's aching ears. "I swear to God, if you close your eyes I will find a way to keep you just like me."

"You bastard," Ianto gasped out. Owen rolled off of him, hand tangled up in Ianto's shirt, and air flooded Ianto's lungs. "You bloody bastard."

"Keep saying it, Jones." Owen's free hand fumbled blindly at the knots of the rope. The light faded slowly, but the colored spots flashing in front of Ianto's eyes stayed long after he was freed from the chair and standing.

Four black smudges lined the walls, thick and vaguely human shaped. They smelled like tar. They looked like tar, greasy and slick. Ianto stared at them, trying to keep his wobbly legs from collapsing. Owen freed Tosh and Jack, his hands shaking as he tugged at the ropes.

When he was loose, Jack jogged to Ianto, pulling him in tight. His fingers soothed over Ianto's hair, lingering on the places that made him hiss and wince. Nausea sat heavy in Ianto's stomach, the reek of tar aggravating it more the longer he smelled it.

"I've got you," Jack said, his lips brushing the wound on Ianto's temple. Everything hurt, radiating out from inside, consuming him. "Just stay awake for me, Ianto. Just stay awake. They say the day a head wound takes down Ianto Jones is the day the world ends, and I'd say we did pretty well today." Ianto fell into Jack and tried not to close his eyes.

---

"Bloody hell, what happened to you lot?" Gwen dragged each of them into a hug, ignoring the dirt and the blood and the filth. Her car, not nearly big enough for all of them, was parked sideways on the road. She still wore her pajamas, hair falling from her ponytail. Ianto fell into her arms, glad to see her familiar face. Gwen pecked him on the temple, helping to steady him when he pulled back.

"You can read the reports when they're written," Jack said, squeezing her tight to his chest. "It's still a bit tender right now."

Owen sat on a fallen tree a few meters away from them, his head in his hands, knee bouncing. Ianto used Jack's distraction to wobble over to him, wary. When he closed his eyes, he could still see the rage written over Owen's face. That hadn't been fake. That lived under his skin all the time, waiting for an excuse to break free.

"'lo," Ianto offered, struggling to sit next to him. Owen didn't look up, but he didn't tell him to fuck off either, which was progress enough. For a long moment they sat in silence, examining their battle wounds. Ianto's would fade with time. Owen would have to live with his forever. "Were you always aiming at the device?"

"I don't know," Owen said after a beat. The dead muscle in his jaw twitched, a modern miracle made mundane, and Ianto nodded. It was more than he expected.

"You should go back on the first run to take care of Tosh," he said. Gwen and Jack were helping her slide into the back seat, taking care not to disturb the ankle she'd twisted inside. Even from this far away, the rouge over her cheeks was bright and unsettling. Gwen rubbed at Tosh's cheeks with the hem of her shirt, laughing brightly at st something Jack said.

"Maybe. Yeah." Owen shoved himself up. He placed a hesitant hand on Ianto's shoulder before leaving him be. Ianto watched the car drive off, trying not to feel trapped, and was grateful when Jack sat next to him. He leaned against Jack's solid shoulder, loosening up when Jack pulled him closer.

"What did you see?" Ianto asked, eyes trained on the smoke in the distance. He breathed in the warm, familiar scent of Jack's skin under all the dust and filth. Fifty-first century pheromones. The smell of home. "What did they use to try to make you kill us?"

"You don't want to know," Jack said quietly. He stroked Ianto's hair carefully, the quick thud of his heart giving him away. "The Vlap- they can twist anything. You did good, Ianto. You did good." Ianto leaned into him, too tired to smile when Jack pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Are there more of them out there?" Ianto asked. Sirens blared in the distance, alerted by the smoke. Hopefully Gwen would be back to take them away before the police arrived. He couldn't come up with a plausible story. Not yet. Not with this many head wounds.

"Yes," Jack said simply. Ianto loved him for always being straightforward. He didn't coddle, didn't sugar coat. Just got to the point and made a plan. And there would be a plan, when they were back in the relative safety of the Hub. If Jack didn't have one started already, Ianto would get on it. It was his job.

Ianto closed his eyes, willing the dizziness away, and listened to the sirens. The plan could wait for just a few more minutes.