Hello Knife

Title: Hello Knife

Author: SiwgrGalon

Wordcount: 4.923

Pairing: Jack Harkness / Ianto Jones

Rating: M

Spoilers: Season One, Season 2 until after "Meat", Doctor Who Season 2 ("Army of Ghosts" 2x12 / "Doomsday" 2x13)

Disclaimer: Torchwood and the Characters belong entirely to the BBC and Russell T. Davies and in no point to me. I do not intend to make money with this. No copyright infringement intended.
The lyrics used in this story belong to the Donots – no copyright infringement intended, too. Same goes for making money with this... only the Donots are allowed to make any money out of the song. I'm not, so I don't.

Warnings: Self-harm, Language, Child Abuse (so therefore violence) –might work as a trigger, so if you're affected by this, please don't read.

A/N: So, finally. There was this plot bunny biting me… of course, as always, during the NaNoWriMo. (Needless to mention that, although I don't have that many courses at university anymore, I did not write as much as I should have. Gnaargh.) It's my first longer fanfic in years, and the first one I wrote in English, which is not my first language. So if there's anything off with my grammar or the use of a certain word, don't hesitate. Constructive criticism is highly appreciated… I did not use that much English in around two years, so I fear I might lost a bit.
I believe, although it might be fluffy in the beginning, I believe it's rather dark, since the topics are. But then again, I like (now, this is going to sound shitty.) the idea of Ianto hurting himself. As seen in Children of Earth, I believe he really was abused as a child, and that's nothing easy to deal with.
In General, might be a bit AU-ish… forgive me (:
The title and lyrics are from a song by the German band "Donots" – it's also called "Hello Knife", and the extracts are from this. But now, after this (unnecessarily?) long author's note, I hope you enjoy reading. (:

The room smelled of sex, mingled with faint traces of sweat and the overwhelming presence of pheromones. Jack's incredibly strong 51st century pheromones, mixing up with Ianto's far weaker ones. The ex Time Agent was sure he was the only one able to smell the young man's pheromones, and he relished in this fact. Ianto was his, entirely and completely. He had never been good at sharing, but when it came to the Welshman in his arms, it got even harder.
The pair lay on the bed, a mess of entangled limbs. Ianto's head rested in the crook of Jack's neck, his arms wrapped possessively around his partner's middle, holding on. He enjoyed the feeling of their bodies, still partially covered by a thin layer of sweat, touching nearly full-length. He had missed human contact, intimate human contact he corrected himself, during the time Jack had been gone. The first time they had slept with each other after his return, the night before they sent Tommy back to 1915, he felt like he would burn. Only then did he realize how much he really craved human contact, and finally being able to really feel Jack again had reduced him to a quivering mess in no time at all.

"Penny for them?" Jack's deep voice cut the silence which had settled when their breathing stopped being panting and a bit labored. It had been comfortable, and it still was. Jack had one arm around Ianto's shoulders, as if he was afraid the young man would let go if he did. His hand gently stroked his young Welshman's cheek and neck, while his other hand rested in the small of Ianto's back, the fingers drawing lazy circles. Small circles, evolving into little "8"-movements, evolving into seemingly pointless lines, until slowly wandering higher. The lithe body, half on top of Jack, squirmed as he slowly dragged his fingers along the fair skin of Ianto's back. They followed the white scar, going nearly all the way from his left hip up to his left shoulder blade. Father's belt had drawn blood, back then. The first and the last time he had beaten him in a way that left marks which could not be disguised as the young man being clumsy and tripping over his own feet. He still remembered every detail, as if it had been yesterday and not around ten years prior.

Father was angry. Really angry. Ianto was sure about that. And he was drunk, which made it even worse. His "punishments" were bad when he was sober, but even worse when he was drunk. It was as if he knew no bounds, as if he forgot that too much force might break bones. When he was drunk, Ianto always feared that he or his sister would not see the sun coming up again. He dreaded the days when his Dad headed out to the pub again. It was a bad kept secret what he did to them, but nobody on the estate reacted. Some of them feared him all the same.

Just in this moment, he heard the deep voice of his father, his accent thicker than usual due to the alcohol, booming through the house.
"Rhiannon! Are you too stupid to do anything around here? Your mother would be embarrassed."
A smack. The sound of skin hitting soft skin, with far more force than needed. A sharp intake of breath. Rhiannon never cried. She always took it like a fighter.
"And where's your brother? He's worse than you. Nothing in that small brain, except books. He's never going to make it out of here, as much as he might try."
It hurt. Deeply. He did not want to end like his father. But this seemed to be exactly the plan he had for his youngest. The same, sad life. Work in a department store. Nothing big, barely earning enough money to live. Sometimes, nearing the end of the month, it became hard. Ianto had stopped counting how often their neighbours invited Ianto and Rhiannon over for dinner, because their father had spent too much money on beer in the Pub.

Another smack and Ianto snapped out of his misery.
"Will you clean this up now? Do the laundry afterwards. And why is there no fucking dinner when I'm coming home?"
Ianto knew he had his hand raised again. He would hit her again. And again. There was no mercy, not when he was this drunk. It was as if he forgot they were children. His children. How often he dreamt of having a normal family. None of these dreams contained a father.

Ianto listened to Rhiannon trying to explain herself. It had not been her fault. How should she do all this, when she kept pushing Ianto away? He tried to help, he always tried to help. His sister tried to protect him, he knew as much, but he did not need protection. This was exactly the reason why he had, unconsciously, opened the door to his room. He stepped downstairs; there they were. Rhiannon, fourteen years old, her eyes glassy from unshed tears and her cheek red from the contact with his father's hand. And their father. He was huge, menacing, and really, really drunk. He even swayed on his feet; it all looked like a bad day at work. Ianto dreaded these days the most. His father would be in an even fouler mood than usual. This was bad.

He did not know what drove him, but as he saw his father gaining momentum to deliver another punch, he slipped between his sister and her aggressor. The contact between Ianto's cheek and his father's hand hurt. Badly. More than Ianto expected it to hurt.
"Leave her, she has done nothing wrong", pressed out between the teeth of a ten-year old boy, sounded astonishingly firm. Ianto tried not to flinch when his father gave him a shove, but he could not help it. Missing height and strength did that to you.
"What do you care? You're as useless as her, little bastard. Even worse. Thinking you'll make something out of yourself? Well, grow up, boy, you're not gonna make it. You'll be the same as everyone, so shut it and fucking do what you're told to. And never, if you care for your poor life, never question me again. I am your father, and you do as I say, or you have to be punished. Don't wanna have you turn in one of these fucking poofs, being all happy and dancing around like a bloody fairy."

It hurt. Nearly worse than all the beatings before. His father had always known how to hurt people, in both ways, but he was too thick to realize that words might sting more than physical pain.
"Oh, hit a nerve, did I? Don't want to know what's going on in that thick brain of yours, but boy, believe me, I'm the master here."
Ianto refused to let the hurt show. He refused to even say a word, fearing that his voice might quiver a bit. He knew, stepping in had been courageous, but at the same time incredibly stupid. Father would center his anger on him, on him alone. It would be hard punishment, but at least he had bought his sister time. At least he hoped he had. There was no certainty when it came to his father's moods, especially not when he was drunk. Ianto silently prayed that he would leave her alone.

"Go to your room." Suddenly, his father was far too sober for Ianto's liking. Being drunk meant that his father was in a foul mood, often biting and snapping, but his aim was off. Being beaten still hurt, it all still hurt, but his physical aim was definitely off. In this state, he mostly missed the soft spots. His son had not expected him to turn sober within minutes. He must have been really furious.
"I said go. To. Your. Room. NOW."
Ianto faltered under his father's glare, and he slowly, carefully backed away. Never turning his back. He did not trust the man; he might seem sober now, but he could still be drunk. Turning his back could cost Ianto too much; letting your guard down was never good in these situations. His father's glare was icy, hard as steel and his youngest knew that whatever was to come would be major.
"Faster, Ianto. This is between Rhiannon and me. Go to your fucking room, and don't you dare trying to escape. Just ask your sister, she'll tell you what happens. Won't you?"
Rhiannon flinched and backed away a step. She nodded hastily and shot Ianto a pleading look. Don't make it worse, Ianto. Just do what you're told to do… it will be worse if you try to play games with him. The siblings did not need words to communicate. Ianto knew exactly what Rhiannon wanted him to do. So he turned his back and ran.

As he gently pushed the door shut behind him, Ianto release a breath he did not realize he was holding. There was nothing to be heard from the kitchen, except his father ordering Rhiannon around. So he really had bought her time. Good.
He closed his eyes; mentally preparing himself for whatever it was his… begetter would punish him with. Probably his bare hands, maybe his belt. Ianto feared the baseball bat, but his father just used it as a threat. Hopefully…Ianto thought, as pictures of forerunevenings like this one played in his head. It had never been harmless, but the bastard knew how to hit and, more important, where not to hit. No one ever saw the marks. No one would help them. Neither Ianto nor Rhiannon dared to tell anyone. The stakes were too high. If he ever found out, their father would beat them senseless. Sometimes Ianto wondered if he would actually kill one of them, sometime along the way they were going.

Heavy Steps on the stairs broke him out of his reverie. He was coming, and Ianto was far from ready. Then again, were you ever ready to receive physical pain from your father? A person supposed to love and be loved by you? Probably not. It was nothing Ianto was ever ready for. It was nothing he would ever get used to. How should he? Ianto might hate his father for doing this to his sister and him, but he was still their father.
The door nearly burst open. As noisy as he opened it, his father closed it behind him. One of the reasons Ianto was rather quiet. Being noisy reminded him too much of his father.
"Get up."
The boy hadn't even realized that, sometime during his musings, he had sat down on his bed. But he nearly jumped when his father fixed him with these cold, gray eyes, his voice steely. Resistance would be futile. Sitting down had been a stupid decision all the same, he knew it.

"Undress."
Hesitation. What was he going to do…? Ianto did not want to think about the possibilities. He slowly pulled his jumper over his head and started to unbutton his shirt. He still wore is school uniform.
"Faster. Don't try to play games with me. Don't think there's anything in this which could have a benefit for you. I'm not going to shove my cock up your little arse, stupid brat."
Inwardly, Ianto released another breath. At least no sexual abuse. He was always afraid that it would happen someday, but the way his father had just spoken seconds ago erased all these fears. He would never do this. Maybe he was scared of becoming gay. Who knew? It saved Ianto's arse, quite literally, and he was glad.
Ianto did not know how he got rid of his clothes so fast without tearing them in half. As he was about to remove his pants, his father stopped him, his voice slightly raised.
"What did I just tell you? Nothing of this. I don't want you this way. There are many things, and persons, I would do before that, believe me. And now, on your knees, bastard. Face the wall."

Ianto could not hold back the scream that escaped his lips as his father's belt hit home with full force. Normally, the boy was controlled when it came to pain, he held everything back, but the sheer brutality surprised him.
Screaming just made his father angrier. He felt like exploding, and for a brief moment he considered gagging the child, just to make him keep quiet. "Shut. The. Fuck. Up." Each word underlined by a new hit. Soon the boy's back wore an angry shade of red, but the man's anger knew no bounds. He kept hitting him, enjoying each smack of leather on pale, bare skin. It was a relief, such an immense relief. He was responsible for his wife's death, so Ianto could take the punishment. Sometimes his father regretted having him; he even regretted Rhiannon, but somehow she was… different. She did not remind him of his dead wife, like Ianto did. She did not have the same, sad blue eyes, although she looked remarkably alike. He could not stand those eyes anymore. His son did not deserve to wear them. With each thought, each reminder of his dead wife, he hit his son even harder. Ianto winced, but he kept quiet. Took the pain like a soldier. Like his sister always did, although she received a lot less than him.

Ianto was not stupid. He knew what his father saw in him, and he was sorry, so sorry, but how to change it? There was no way, they both knew it, but still. He knew why his father detested him so much. But knowing did not mean understanding why he hated him. Ianto had done nothing wrong, at least not consciously. He was not responsible. He often pictured himself, standing up and telling his father everything he always wanted to tell him. Ianto knew he would shout and scream and cry, he would not be able to help it, but he also was aware of the fact that it would change nothing.
The young boy could not help a whimper as one of the strokes left a sharp pain, completely different from the usual sting. There was a warmth spreading out, just a bit, but it was nice. Then, after a moment, it hurt. Another whimper escaped his lips, but as the last blows rained down on him, he kept quiet.

Ianto did not dare to move. He still knelt there, facing the wall; the boy had not realized that, somewhere along receiving the blows, he had begun to hug himself. His arms wrapped around him, eyes tightly shut, he knelt there. By the sounds of it his father was fastening his belt again. It did not mean anything. Especially not that he was done with him. Ianto had learned that with a drunk father you never knew.
He had been right. Mere seconds later, a large hand grabbed the back of his head. "Did you learn your lesson?"
Apparently it had taken Ianto too long to nod, because his aggressor yanked his head back and his fist connected with Ianto's jaw.
"I asked if you learned your lesson."
This time, the boy nodded in time.
"What did you learn?"
"Not to interfere, father."
Ianto hated sounding as weak as he did, but being submissive always helped. It had helped him so many times. For his old man, being submissive create the impression that he had successfully educated his son. Education and beating him up were the same for him. He never noticed that he just broke Ianto's will and, at the same time, Ianto himself. His son might be stubborn, just as his mother had been, but he was not unbreakable.

"Good. At least something you're good at."
One last time, his foot connected with his son's ribs (it would bruise. Ianto was sure. Just as the punch delivered to his jaw would bruise. Someone would notice.). Ianto let himself fall to his side and listened to his father's retreating steps. As the door fell shut behind him, Ianto let the tears run free. He hugged his knees to his chest in an attempt to make himself as small as possible, in case his father wanted another go, but nothing happened. Minutes felt like hours, but he did not come back. Ianto guessed he had fallen into a deep alcohol-induced sleep.
Slowly, as he relaxed, Ianto felt something trickle down his back. Albeit moving his left arm hurt, not just because of his tender ribs but because his left side had been beaten worse than his right. At least it felt as if. A little awkwardly Ianto finally reached the throbbing skin of his back; his fingertips connected with something warm, warmer than his skin and decidedly stickier than sweat. As he took a look at his finger, his breathing hitched. Blood. He was bleeding.
Ianto felt his stomach sink. As much as he twisted and turned, he was unable to catch at least a glimpse of his back. Whatever this bastard of a father did to him, now that he knew he was bleeding, it hurt. A slow burn, emanating in a straight line all the way from his hip up to his shoulder blade, spread through the boy's body.

A slight creak announced the door being opened again, followed by a sharp intake of breath. Rhiannon looked at her brother, lying on the floor, his knees nearly at his chest.
"Ianto… ."
"I'm bleeding, I know. The bastard beat me bloody."
Ianto sounded small, his voice nothing more than a soft whisper. He wished he was a more emotional person. He would be screaming and raging by now, but there would be no pressure building up in is stomach.
Soft footfalls on the carpet. In an instant, Rhiannon kneeled behind her brother, carefully examining the nasty gash on his back.
"He must be really angry…"
"No excuse for beating me."
"I know, but… it was never that bad."
She had always wanted to become a nurse, but Rhiannon never wanted to exercise on her baby brother. By this time, Ianto was completely defenseless. He shook slightly, mainly because of the emotional strain. It was tiring.
"He certainly never beat you that hard…"
"Don't say that. We both know, if it weren't for you, I would be the one suffering by now. You daft sod, why did you have to step in? He would not have hurt me, at least not this bad. A red cheek, maybe, but mainly yelling."

After a moment of silence, her younger brother spoke again. Rhiannon had to concentrate to understand him. His voice was small and full of fear.
"Are you angry now, too?"
Ianto meant it. In this state, he was prepared for nearly everything. He was surprised when he felt a small hand tenderly running down his back, following the line of his spine and settling on his hip, right over the waistband of his pants.
"No, I am not, you daft sod. I think you were a bit stupid, but I'm not angry. Never could be."
Ianto hesitated a moment. It felt good, hearing Rhiannon say that. She sounded so loving, so caring. Her words eased the knot in his stomach only a bit, but they still did.
"… how bad is it?"
Rhiannon smiled a bit. For once, Ianto sounded like the regular ten-year old. He was so… grown-up, so mature. Too mature for his age, she could not deny that, and it hurt. It hurt so bad, seeing him like this.
"It's a nasty gash… I don't think you'll need stitches, but I'll clean it. No way to dress something that big… you'll have to stay shirtless until the blood is dried." It came to her like Rhiannon was supposed to do this. Mending her younger brother, healing the wounds, both superficial and deep down in his soul, by surrogating as the mother they lost so early.

Slowly, the girl got up and went to the bathroom, fetching a wet cloth and a small bowl of clean water. Judging by the snoring coming out of their father's room, he was fast asleep and would be waking up either late at night or sleep through the whole night.
When she returned to the room, Ianto was in the same position as earlier. He had not moved, and it broke Rhiannon's heart to know that he was in pain.
As she gently cleaned the gash, she began to sing. It was an old Welsh lullaby, Suo Gân Ianto remembered, their mother used to sing to them. He still remembered it clearly, althought it had been so long ago.
Washing the wound stung, but Ianto discovered it had a certain… pleasure to it. It eased the pressure inside his mind and he felt himself relax against his sister's warm, gentle hands. Rhiannon thoroughly cleaned the wound, paying attention the every inch and gently drying it off afterwards. She was not sure if that was what you were supposed to do, but it could not be that bad, could it?
"Well, look at that. It looks half as nasty when all the blood is gone. But it might leave a mark… I'm so sorry, Ianto."
"It's… I…." For a second, Ianto did not know what to say.
"You would be a good nurse. And a good mum."
And with that, tears flowed freely.

It was later that night, after a lot of being hugged and cuddled by Rhiannon, that Ianto found himself somewhat restless. He felt like bursting, like something urging him to go on, to run, to do anything to get rid of the tension inside. Ianto could not clearly locate it… his body was tense, rigid even, but at the same time it felt as if his mind was in the same state.
He felt hollow, like a shell, like there was just his outer appearance, without Ianto inside. He stared at the ceiling of his room, pondering what to do. A deep sigh escaped the boy as he sat up. He cast a quick glance around his room, then decided to get up to get something to drink.
Quietly, Ianto made his way down into the kitchen. He found the way without switching the lights on; light still held the danger of his father waking up, and he did not want to be punished for interrupting his sleep. Ianto guessed that his hangover would be bad enough.

Finally in the kitchen, flicking the light on, all thoughts of drinking were gone. While Ianto's eyes adapted to the sudden brightness, his gaze found the knife. There it was, on the counter. Shining like something unearthly, sending a silent invitation. He took measured steps. Slowly, as if scared of the object he desired making a quick escape, Ianto approached it. The handle felt cool in his hand. So cool. Soothingly cool, as if something curing some kind of new fever. Most of all, it felt good. Really und utterly good. A solid weight in Ianto's hand, nearly too big for him to completely grab hit, so he held on tighter. What to do? It was as if it sung to him, as if he called him and told him what to do.
As cold metal connected with the soft, warm skin of a ten-year old boy's upper arm, Ianto felt completely at ease. For the first time after losing his mother, he felt alive.

If you want to live,
Not just survive
If you need a place
To run and hide
Hello Knife, Hello Knife
Hello Knife.

The young boy took a deep breath. He still smelled their dinner, the last traces of the different aromas lingering in the air. The floor tiles were cold beneath his bare feet, but the red warmth running down his pale arm was nearly boiling hot. He was alive. So alive.
And no one was allowed to know. Ianto would make sure of that. No one was to know of this; it was a secret he and the knife shared. Rinsing it under cold water, the first droplets of life hit the cold sink. It looked beautiful, marvelous even.
But there is no other wayIanto though, a bit bitter, as he started to clean the sink, followed by his arm. The cut was not deep, and it quickly stopped bleeding, but Ianto hoped it would leave a scar. To always remind him of this day.

Jack frowned as Ianto snuggled even closer. It was definitely not typical for the young Welshman to be this clingy. A bit clingy, yes, but in a good way. Jack enjoyed Ianto being possessive, but he also sensed that this was something different.
"Everything okay?"
"It's a bit late now to have second thoughts, don't you think, Sir?"
Ianto's voice was muffled, but it still dripped with the young man's usual sarcasm. At the same time he felt Ianto tense up a little. Just a little, merely recognizable, but his shoulders suddenly grew tense.
"Not what I meant, Ianto."
"I know… yes, it's all right."
He did not convince Jack, not that easily, but the older man decided to drop the topic. At least for the moment, he thought, since it was obvious that Ianto would just shut himself off. Instead of drilling deeper, he placed a gentle kiss on Ianto's temple and looked down at their bodies. There were still traces of their earlier romp on both of their stomachs, and they were slowly starting to dry.
"You know, we might end up sticking together? We should clean up."
Ianto hugged him even closer.
"Don't care."
Jack's frown deepened, but once again decided to drop the matter. His hands had stilled, but they started gently caressing Ianto again. The younger man sighed and nuzzled Jack's neck, once again relaxing into the embrace.
"You can be so damn stubborn…"
Jack chuckled, a low rumble in his chest, but he did not know that four months prior Ianto had heard these exact words. And they had taken him by surprise.
With the memories returning, there was the tension again.

Thanks for reading! I just decided to part it here. It's turned out much longer than I thought… I aimed for, like 2000 words, maybe 2500, and now it looks like it's gonna be at least 7000. Personally, I find it hard to read such long texts, especially online, so there's a cut here now.

I'll upload the second part this week. Hopefully, if university and work decide that it would be nice to give me enough time to calm down a bit and look for mistakes. Still doing all the beta-ing myself…
But now, in the meantime, who's for Toffee-Chocolate-Cupcakes?
(Guess I'm really hoping that someone likes this and actually waits for part two. xD I feel like I'm rubbish at this, but then again, I always feel like this, so… I just gave it a try. And I'm babbling again. Sorry.)