Fic: The Oncoming Storm (Slash, AU, Janto 30/40 Act 3/4)
Author: d8rkmessngr
Pairing: Jack/OMC, Jack/?, Jack/Ianto eventually, het and slash
Rating: NC-17 (betaed)
Summary: He left Jack on the game station. Abandoned. But then…he came back…different. An AU look on what happens if things happened differently. Doctor Who 'verse with Torchwood later on. Be sure to read the warnings.
Warnings: Please read each chapter's individual warnings. Some parts down the road may briefly mention non-con, abuse, and/or violence. Dark in the beginning. Please note there are some dark thoughts as my boys are broken…for now. Each chapter will be labeled for your convenience.
Author's Notes: Please note this is an AU that will cross over DW to TW season one. I'm probably spoiling my own story, but it will eventually be Janto. There's a bit of a journey first. I hope you enjoy. I'm working on this and intend to post regularly every other day. And again, I always believe in happy endings. So without further ado…
Disclaimer: RTD and BBC owns them. I'm just borrowing them for a while.
Warning For This Chapter: Very dark, suicide/ self harm themes. Graphic. Mentions past non-con/dubious consent. This is the 'dark' part of my name, folks..I pared it down, but it still reads dark. Be warned.
Notes For This Chapter: Note there are parallels to TW's "Out of Time"
Prologue + Ch , Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13, Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17, Ch 18. Ch 19, Ch 20, Ch 21, Ch 22, Ch 23, Ch 24, Ch 25, Ch 26, Ch 27, Ch 28, Ch 29, Ch 30 Act 1/4, Ch 30 Act 2/4
Master Fic List: here
Chapter 30 "Out of Time 2.0"
Act III
The bastard.
Ianto's hands shook as he held the mug over the spout. If the coffee scalded him, he didn't notice. Coffee. He needed to get coffee into Jack, keep him alert while his natural accelerated healing rid Jack of his drug-induced delirium.
Ianto was shaking despite the fact that he had changed himself and Jack into drier clothes. He would have shored himself up with a bit of scotch, but he discovered the bottle was gone as well as the leftover bottle of wine Gwen had bought over once.
The walls by the armory were scrubbed clean. Ianto had worked furiously over the spots until the scour pad broke apart. He dug out the bullets and threw them so hard they rang like gunshots into the refuse can.
There was nothing he could do about Owen's area. Ianto cleaned up as much as he could, throwing away the broken glass, but all the prescriptions the medic kept there were gone, some of his scalpels too bloody and dulled from hitting bone to ever be used again.
Ianto could barely stay steady to clean up each bloody spot, each patch of crimson stained vomit. He couldn't stop himself from imagining Jack standing over each spot, pressing the gun to his head, the scalpel to his throat while Ianto sat with his family, eating brandied ham, and arguing with his brother about the qualities of the Aston Martin.
By the time he was done cleaning up what Jack had wrought, Ianto sat on the couch, gasping, vision blurring, his head hanging between his legs before he could trust himself to stand again.
The mug trembled too much under the spout dispenser. He set it down and braced himself against the counter with his arms out straight. His head dropped to his chest.
Ianto breathed harshly through his nose. He remembered how Jack's body had jerked in his embrace, his delirium trapping him in a nightmare-Ianto was afraid to call it a memory-Ianto couldn't get him out of. Each cry, each confused call to the Doctor while the Doctor-
Heedless of the hot liquid, Ianto slammed a hand against the ceramic and it flew in a fury of steam and coffee.
"Oh God, Jack," Ianto gasped out, standing there, holding his burning hand. Something equally hot pricked the corner of his eyes. "The bastard…that son of a bitch…"
Ianto folded over the counter, his fists supporting his head as he raged incoherently. The coffee maker fizzed and hissed by his ear, but his garbled, choked sounds of rage, grief, and echoed agony for Jack rendered him deaf to everything else.
Ianto had suspected, had wondered about the Doctor and Jack. Even if he had avoided the videos passed around like rumors in London, he could still hear the filthy speculations. It was a relationship he had to admit that he would never understand; that Jack was willing to-No, that couldn't be of his own free will.
"Jack," Ianto sobbed angrily. He sank down to his knees, his legs no longer supporting him, his fists dragging down to pound at the bottom cabinets.
Dishes rattled inside under his assault. Ianto didn't feel the bruising in his knuckles as he thought of every time he saw the Doctor with Jack, every look Jack gave the damn jar, every nightmare that shook them both awake whenever Ianto spent the night.
It was only when his scalded hand began to throb that Ianto stopped. He raised his heavy head and sniffed loudly. He turned his injured hand in front of him. The back of his hand was red, like a bad sunburn but it wasn't blistered. He rose to his feet, knees aching. Ianto soaked a flannel in cool water and wrapped it around his right hand. The coffee no longer mattered. He needed to be with Jack.
Clutching his sore limb, Ianto strode for the office but something caught his eye. Stopping and taking a step back, Ianto could see a lone figure sitting on the floor of the morgue.
"Jack?" Ianto approached carefully, his voice soft. "What are you doing here?"
Jack never turned around, still facing the wall of drawers that stood from floor to ceiling.
Another step and Ianto tensed when he caught sight of the Webley in Jack's lap.
"Everyone's dead."
It didn't sink in for a moment that Jack had spoken. Eyes still on the Webley which Jack stroked idly, caressing it with the same care as Ianto's hip, Ianto murmured a distracted "What?" in return.
"Everyone." Jack sounded distant, far away, as if he was talking to himself. "I loo'ed. I'm the only one lef'." Jack shivered. "Everyone's 'ead." The last part was barely audible.
Ianto inhaled sharply and made his way around to sit down in front of Jack. He didn't dare reach for the gun. He stared at Jack, but the gaze wasn't matched.
"Where are you?" Ianto asked in a hushed voice when he realized Jack wasn't here. His eyes were dull and looked past Ianto's shoulder. Damn. Ianto wished he knew how long it would take; if this was normal-for Jack at least.
Jack looked around, feverish eyes not seeing the morgue. "Where is he?"
"Who?"
"He…he lef-ft me be'ind." Jack's breathing stuttered. Jack looked like he focused for a brief second. "Why?"
Ianto closed his eyes briefly. Jack sounded so lost. Ianto opened them again and carefully reached over. He settled his hands on Jack's knees. He shuddered on contact.
"Jack," Ianto tried. "Jack, look at me."
Jack blinked, staring past Ianto's ear. His hands twitched over the antique pistol. "Everyone's-"
"No," Ianto said firmly. He rubbed his hands up and down Jack's thighs. "Not everyone. Whatever you're seeing…" Ianto grabbed Jack's hands by the fingers, halting them over the gun. He tugged them to his chest, pressing Jack's right hand over his heart, the left hand interlaced with his.
"Not everyone's dead," Ianto repeated. "I'm here."
Jack gave a short laugh. "You're not 'ere. L-left." A strange look flitted across his face. "You're just…t-too 'uch alcohol and…and…" Jack frowned to himself.
"What did I take?" Jack muttered. He fidgeted as if searching. "I had the bottle. It was…" Jack frowned when he didn't see it.
Ianto remembered seeing the amber colored bottle rolling empty under Jack's desk. It didn't occur to him to check. Not that it would have mattered. He wasn't about to call Owen or take Jack to an A&E either.
"You're not really here," Jack insisted, his voice a little stronger now. He weakly pulled at his arm but Ianto held fast.
"Yes I am."
"No." Jack swayed where he sat. "You're 'ere now but you'll go away like e'eryone else. Then it'll be Suzie again, Estelle, G-grey…" Jack tried to get his hand back, growing agitated when he couldn't.
Ianto pressed Jack's hand harder over his heart. "Feel that?" Ianto whispered, his grip steadfast. "I'm not going away."
Jack's fingers twitched underneath Ianto's hand.
Encouraged, Ianto kept talking, his voice even and low, saying nothing in particular: a new coffee blend he wanted to try, Maygan's new fascination with rabbits, the tie he had bought Owen in jest, the frivolous lid he considered buying for his mug. His voice eroded to a rasp but he didn't stop talking about anything worth mentioning. He kept Jack's palm over his heart, squeezing the lax fingers he held in his other hand, silently willing Jack to somehow hear him.
Ianto didn't know how long they sat there, knees touching, his whispers filling the cold morgue walls but at some point, Jack blinked. Jack raised his head and looked at Ianto with something akin to wonder.
"You're real." Jack sounded awed. His hand intertwined with Ianto flexed.
Jack frowned. "I didn't 'hink you were real."
"I am," Ianto reassured him.
Jack suddenly smiled, looking like his old self. "B-buy you a drink?" Jack's head rolled lazily as he looked around him. "It was right 'ere. Dri'k…" Jack's head bobbed forward then jerked back. "We could go dancing later…," Jack said, laughing strangely.
"I think you had enough to drink," Ianto joked weakly, not relinquishing his hold over Jack's hand.
"Wasn't enough," Jack mumbled. His shoulders sagged. He deflated.
Ianto lowered his hand from covering Jack's on his chest. Cautiously, Ianto stretched his hand over and curled his fingers around the cool barrel of the Webley. Inch by inch, Ianto pulled it over to his lap. When he looked up again, Jack was gazing back at him, his mouth crinkled downward.
Jack's eyes were now indescribably sorrowful, weary, and ancient. There was a moment when it felt like the room darkened. Jack's gaze drifted to Ianto's lap. Ianto squeezed the gun closer and tucked it into the back of his jeans.
"I tried," Jack rasped, his words still unsteady. The disappointment was still clear in Jack's words. "John just s-slept, but I kept wa'ing up. The gun…" Jack nodded towards it but didn't try for it. His hand remained over Ianto's heart. "It didn't work. 'othing did."
"You're stronger than this," Ianto told him, but Jack wouldn't tear his eyes away from the gun now in his custody. "Jack, you're stronger than all of this. What you've been through…" Ianto's voice caught. He could still hear Jack's pained delirium.
Jack scoffed. "The 21st cen'ury is 'here everything c-changes," he quoted. "I'm suppose to get you ready for the storm." Jack waved his right hand in the air. "Your great, fearless leader."
"You are our leader," Ianto squeezed Jack's left hand. "You lead us in the 21st century."
Blue eyes suddenly bleached with anguish. "I lead you to death."
Ianto swallowed. "It's our choice."
A bitter laugh erupted from Jack. He pulled his hands away.
"Go home," Jack said, his voice dull and flat. "I'm fine now."
It was his mistake to believe Jack the first time. Ianto reached over and grabbed both his hands. He wanted to tell Jack he was home, that he didn't think Jack was fine, doubted he ever was. But Ianto suspected Jack wasn't ready to hear it. Instead, Ianto just sandwiched Jack's hands with his and sat there with Jack's hands on his lap.
Pale blue eyes, dull and almost colorless, lifted up to Ianto's face.
"I'm tired," Jack cracked. Something in his face gave and Jack averted his gaze.
Ianto looked around them; the dead compartmentalized into numbered lockers. He wondered how many Jack knew. And suddenly Ianto couldn't bear the thought of Jack here with all the dead.
"Come on," Ianto whispered as he rose to his feet, hauling Jack up. "Let's get out of here then."
Conclusion
Additional Notes: Many thanks to soullessminion for betaing this chapter. And trtmx for her magic trick that saved my sanity! LOL.
Pairing: Jack/OMC, Jack/?, Jack/Ianto eventually, het and slash
Rating: NC-17 (betaed)
Summary: He left Jack on the game station. Abandoned. But then…he came back…different. An AU look on what happens if things happened differently. Doctor Who 'verse with Torchwood later on. Be sure to read the warnings.
Warnings: Please read each chapter's individual warnings. Some parts down the road may briefly mention non-con, abuse, and/or violence. Dark in the beginning. Please note there are some dark thoughts as my boys are broken…for now. Each chapter will be labeled for your convenience.
Author's Notes: Please note this is an AU that will cross over DW to TW season one. I'm probably spoiling my own story, but it will eventually be Janto. There's a bit of a journey first. I hope you enjoy. I'm working on this and intend to post regularly every other day. And again, I always believe in happy endings. So without further ado…
Disclaimer: RTD and BBC owns them. I'm just borrowing them for a while.
Warning For This Chapter: Very dark, suicide/ self harm themes. Graphic. Mentions past non-con/dubious consent. This is the 'dark' part of my name, folks..I pared it down, but it still reads dark. Be warned.
Notes For This Chapter: Note there are parallels to TW's "Out of Time"
Prologue + Ch , Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13, Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17, Ch 18. Ch 19, Ch 20, Ch 21, Ch 22, Ch 23, Ch 24, Ch 25, Ch 26, Ch 27, Ch 28, Ch 29, Ch 30 Act 1/4, Ch 30 Act 2/4
Master Fic List: here
Chapter 30 "Out of Time 2.0"
Act III
The bastard.
Ianto's hands shook as he held the mug over the spout. If the coffee scalded him, he didn't notice. Coffee. He needed to get coffee into Jack, keep him alert while his natural accelerated healing rid Jack of his drug-induced delirium.
Ianto was shaking despite the fact that he had changed himself and Jack into drier clothes. He would have shored himself up with a bit of scotch, but he discovered the bottle was gone as well as the leftover bottle of wine Gwen had bought over once.
The walls by the armory were scrubbed clean. Ianto had worked furiously over the spots until the scour pad broke apart. He dug out the bullets and threw them so hard they rang like gunshots into the refuse can.
There was nothing he could do about Owen's area. Ianto cleaned up as much as he could, throwing away the broken glass, but all the prescriptions the medic kept there were gone, some of his scalpels too bloody and dulled from hitting bone to ever be used again.
Ianto could barely stay steady to clean up each bloody spot, each patch of crimson stained vomit. He couldn't stop himself from imagining Jack standing over each spot, pressing the gun to his head, the scalpel to his throat while Ianto sat with his family, eating brandied ham, and arguing with his brother about the qualities of the Aston Martin.
By the time he was done cleaning up what Jack had wrought, Ianto sat on the couch, gasping, vision blurring, his head hanging between his legs before he could trust himself to stand again.
The mug trembled too much under the spout dispenser. He set it down and braced himself against the counter with his arms out straight. His head dropped to his chest.
Ianto breathed harshly through his nose. He remembered how Jack's body had jerked in his embrace, his delirium trapping him in a nightmare-Ianto was afraid to call it a memory-Ianto couldn't get him out of. Each cry, each confused call to the Doctor while the Doctor-
Heedless of the hot liquid, Ianto slammed a hand against the ceramic and it flew in a fury of steam and coffee.
"Oh God, Jack," Ianto gasped out, standing there, holding his burning hand. Something equally hot pricked the corner of his eyes. "The bastard…that son of a bitch…"
Ianto folded over the counter, his fists supporting his head as he raged incoherently. The coffee maker fizzed and hissed by his ear, but his garbled, choked sounds of rage, grief, and echoed agony for Jack rendered him deaf to everything else.
Ianto had suspected, had wondered about the Doctor and Jack. Even if he had avoided the videos passed around like rumors in London, he could still hear the filthy speculations. It was a relationship he had to admit that he would never understand; that Jack was willing to-No, that couldn't be of his own free will.
"Jack," Ianto sobbed angrily. He sank down to his knees, his legs no longer supporting him, his fists dragging down to pound at the bottom cabinets.
Dishes rattled inside under his assault. Ianto didn't feel the bruising in his knuckles as he thought of every time he saw the Doctor with Jack, every look Jack gave the damn jar, every nightmare that shook them both awake whenever Ianto spent the night.
It was only when his scalded hand began to throb that Ianto stopped. He raised his heavy head and sniffed loudly. He turned his injured hand in front of him. The back of his hand was red, like a bad sunburn but it wasn't blistered. He rose to his feet, knees aching. Ianto soaked a flannel in cool water and wrapped it around his right hand. The coffee no longer mattered. He needed to be with Jack.
Clutching his sore limb, Ianto strode for the office but something caught his eye. Stopping and taking a step back, Ianto could see a lone figure sitting on the floor of the morgue.
"Jack?" Ianto approached carefully, his voice soft. "What are you doing here?"
Jack never turned around, still facing the wall of drawers that stood from floor to ceiling.
Another step and Ianto tensed when he caught sight of the Webley in Jack's lap.
"Everyone's dead."
It didn't sink in for a moment that Jack had spoken. Eyes still on the Webley which Jack stroked idly, caressing it with the same care as Ianto's hip, Ianto murmured a distracted "What?" in return.
"Everyone." Jack sounded distant, far away, as if he was talking to himself. "I loo'ed. I'm the only one lef'." Jack shivered. "Everyone's 'ead." The last part was barely audible.
Ianto inhaled sharply and made his way around to sit down in front of Jack. He didn't dare reach for the gun. He stared at Jack, but the gaze wasn't matched.
"Where are you?" Ianto asked in a hushed voice when he realized Jack wasn't here. His eyes were dull and looked past Ianto's shoulder. Damn. Ianto wished he knew how long it would take; if this was normal-for Jack at least.
Jack looked around, feverish eyes not seeing the morgue. "Where is he?"
"Who?"
"He…he lef-ft me be'ind." Jack's breathing stuttered. Jack looked like he focused for a brief second. "Why?"
Ianto closed his eyes briefly. Jack sounded so lost. Ianto opened them again and carefully reached over. He settled his hands on Jack's knees. He shuddered on contact.
"Jack," Ianto tried. "Jack, look at me."
Jack blinked, staring past Ianto's ear. His hands twitched over the antique pistol. "Everyone's-"
"No," Ianto said firmly. He rubbed his hands up and down Jack's thighs. "Not everyone. Whatever you're seeing…" Ianto grabbed Jack's hands by the fingers, halting them over the gun. He tugged them to his chest, pressing Jack's right hand over his heart, the left hand interlaced with his.
"Not everyone's dead," Ianto repeated. "I'm here."
Jack gave a short laugh. "You're not 'ere. L-left." A strange look flitted across his face. "You're just…t-too 'uch alcohol and…and…" Jack frowned to himself.
"What did I take?" Jack muttered. He fidgeted as if searching. "I had the bottle. It was…" Jack frowned when he didn't see it.
Ianto remembered seeing the amber colored bottle rolling empty under Jack's desk. It didn't occur to him to check. Not that it would have mattered. He wasn't about to call Owen or take Jack to an A&E either.
"You're not really here," Jack insisted, his voice a little stronger now. He weakly pulled at his arm but Ianto held fast.
"Yes I am."
"No." Jack swayed where he sat. "You're 'ere now but you'll go away like e'eryone else. Then it'll be Suzie again, Estelle, G-grey…" Jack tried to get his hand back, growing agitated when he couldn't.
Ianto pressed Jack's hand harder over his heart. "Feel that?" Ianto whispered, his grip steadfast. "I'm not going away."
Jack's fingers twitched underneath Ianto's hand.
Encouraged, Ianto kept talking, his voice even and low, saying nothing in particular: a new coffee blend he wanted to try, Maygan's new fascination with rabbits, the tie he had bought Owen in jest, the frivolous lid he considered buying for his mug. His voice eroded to a rasp but he didn't stop talking about anything worth mentioning. He kept Jack's palm over his heart, squeezing the lax fingers he held in his other hand, silently willing Jack to somehow hear him.
Ianto didn't know how long they sat there, knees touching, his whispers filling the cold morgue walls but at some point, Jack blinked. Jack raised his head and looked at Ianto with something akin to wonder.
"You're real." Jack sounded awed. His hand intertwined with Ianto flexed.
Jack frowned. "I didn't 'hink you were real."
"I am," Ianto reassured him.
Jack suddenly smiled, looking like his old self. "B-buy you a drink?" Jack's head rolled lazily as he looked around him. "It was right 'ere. Dri'k…" Jack's head bobbed forward then jerked back. "We could go dancing later…," Jack said, laughing strangely.
"I think you had enough to drink," Ianto joked weakly, not relinquishing his hold over Jack's hand.
"Wasn't enough," Jack mumbled. His shoulders sagged. He deflated.
Ianto lowered his hand from covering Jack's on his chest. Cautiously, Ianto stretched his hand over and curled his fingers around the cool barrel of the Webley. Inch by inch, Ianto pulled it over to his lap. When he looked up again, Jack was gazing back at him, his mouth crinkled downward.
Jack's eyes were now indescribably sorrowful, weary, and ancient. There was a moment when it felt like the room darkened. Jack's gaze drifted to Ianto's lap. Ianto squeezed the gun closer and tucked it into the back of his jeans.
"I tried," Jack rasped, his words still unsteady. The disappointment was still clear in Jack's words. "John just s-slept, but I kept wa'ing up. The gun…" Jack nodded towards it but didn't try for it. His hand remained over Ianto's heart. "It didn't work. 'othing did."
"You're stronger than this," Ianto told him, but Jack wouldn't tear his eyes away from the gun now in his custody. "Jack, you're stronger than all of this. What you've been through…" Ianto's voice caught. He could still hear Jack's pained delirium.
Jack scoffed. "The 21st cen'ury is 'here everything c-changes," he quoted. "I'm suppose to get you ready for the storm." Jack waved his right hand in the air. "Your great, fearless leader."
"You are our leader," Ianto squeezed Jack's left hand. "You lead us in the 21st century."
Blue eyes suddenly bleached with anguish. "I lead you to death."
Ianto swallowed. "It's our choice."
A bitter laugh erupted from Jack. He pulled his hands away.
"Go home," Jack said, his voice dull and flat. "I'm fine now."
It was his mistake to believe Jack the first time. Ianto reached over and grabbed both his hands. He wanted to tell Jack he was home, that he didn't think Jack was fine, doubted he ever was. But Ianto suspected Jack wasn't ready to hear it. Instead, Ianto just sandwiched Jack's hands with his and sat there with Jack's hands on his lap.
Pale blue eyes, dull and almost colorless, lifted up to Ianto's face.
"I'm tired," Jack cracked. Something in his face gave and Jack averted his gaze.
Ianto looked around them; the dead compartmentalized into numbered lockers. He wondered how many Jack knew. And suddenly Ianto couldn't bear the thought of Jack here with all the dead.
"Come on," Ianto whispered as he rose to his feet, hauling Jack up. "Let's get out of here then."
Conclusion
Additional Notes: Many thanks to soullessminion for betaing this chapter. And trtmx for her magic trick that saved my sanity! LOL.