Disclaimer: Torchwood and related media belong to the BBC. I'm still not the BBC, but once I take over the world, that will be the first change I make. So remember, kids: Vote Inusagi for "World Dictator." I'll bring back Torchwood!
*.*.*
The Weevil had come out of nowhere. He hadn't even realized it was nearby until Jack's soft fuck drew his attention away from the unconscious one he was dragging.
In horrible, sickening slow motion, Ianto saw the Weevil take a swipe at Jack, catching him by the throat.
He dropped the Weevil in his arms the same moment as Jack hit the ground. The attacking Weevil went for him again, but Ianto lunged. He punched it dead in its teeth and emptied the magazine of his gun into its skull as it reeled.
Jack…Jack would be mad. He didn't like to kill the Weevils.
Jack.
There was blood everywhere.
Frantic, Ianto shrugged out of his jacket and pressed it to the wound.
He cursed himself, knowing that it was like using bubble gum to repair a dam, but it was all he could think of, over and over.
Oh god, oh god, oh god. Stop the bleeding. Just make it stop. Oh god, there's so much blood, why isn't it stopping?
But then, Jack was still.
Jack was dead.
Oh, fuck.
He didn't know what to do. He couldn't bring himself to move at all.
Ianto sat there, in a muddy clearing in Bute Park, for what felt like an eternity. To his right were two Weevils—one dead, one slowly rousing, then struggling against the titanium cuffs it was bound with. He had Jack's too-cold hand in his own and knew that, even though he couldn't call 999, he had to call Owen. The sun was rising, bathing the scene—oh, fuck, so much blood. How was there this much blood?—in an eerie grey light. Joggers would start ambling through soon and he didn't think he had enough Retcon on him to deal with that.
Not that anyone in their right mind would accept a drink from a man who looked like he'd stepped out of a Krueger film.
He'd call in a moment.
In just a moment.
As soon as his fingers started working.
Oh, god. They were sticky. The blood will never wash off.
Ianto remembered his own words, just a few months ago. One day, I'll have the chance to save you ... and I'll watch you suffer and die.
He had. Without even meaning to, he'd watched Jack Harkness die. It hadn't felt anything like he'd hoped.
It felt horrible. There was no satisfaction, no feeling of victory, just a sickening, leaden feeling that he'd give anything—anything—for Jack to be alive.
And then, with a great heaving breath, he did. Ianto's jacket—still dripping, for Christ's sake—slid down into the mud. Jack's throat was completely unblemished, if still coated in blood.
Ianto stood, finally, and ambled towards the trees. He stumbled twice and did his best to ignore the pins-and-needles he felt with each step…then he vomited.
Jack—Jack, who was dead—pulled him back into an awkward hug.
"Jeeze, Ianto, you're freezing."
Jack—dead Jack. Zombie Jack. Jack the hallucination—was going to make small talk, which was just fucking typical. No 'So, just came back from the dead. D'you know where I can get some nice, fresh brains?' or anything. Just small talk.
"I've gone mad," Ianto said. "I have finally lost my fucking mind."
Jack laughed.
*.*.*
A/N: Hahaha. Yeah. So the prompt was "blood." This one was 90% just to make those couple of zombie comments. I'm easily amused.