Shade woke, took a deep breath out of habit, and inhaled orange plastic.
Spluttering a little from the shock, since not having to breathe made to loss of oxygen more of a surprise than a life-ending incident, Shade rolled to the side in order to draw breath into his lungs. Like most vampires, he only breathed for the sense of smell, but in a place like this, it wasn't quite worth it. The stink of death and disinfectant of a school gym, hardwood floor pressing into his side, thick orange sheet still obscuring his vision. Shade sighed, but didn't move any more. Memories of the operation crushed his chest, turning Ianto sloppily, making him a Halfling, dying (again), losing his best fucking knife... If he was honest, he didn't know which of these he was the most pissed off about.
He heard her boots ringing eerily loud in the quiet hall before she pulled the sheet off his face. Gwen looked shellshocked, in mourning, and with a jolt Shade realised she didn't know Ianto wasn't actually dead. She would have known, of course, that he and Jack weren't quite as deceased as she'd been told, but if the soldiers told her they found Ianto's cold body, without a pulse or heartbeat, she'd simply assume he was gone. Shade smiled at her half-heartedly, and sat up, tossing the sheet impatiently onto another body.
"Thanks," he muttered grudgingly, not one to enjoy giving gratitude to others. But he felt that in such a situation, keeping polite was a way of keeping the whole thing stable, locked in normalcy for now at least.
"You're welcome," she murmured back, breath hitching with unshed tears as she slid a second sheet back to reveal Jack. Despite the severity of the situation, shade couldn't help cocking his head to one side and voicing the question burning on his tongue:
"...Does he use fake tan?"
Gwen make a sound, part choke, part laugh, and Shade grinned. He didn't want her to be too upset. After all, Ianto might be mostly dead, but mostly was a good thing. Mostly.
Shade watched her uncover Ianto with a pained expression. The deathly chalk white of his skin would be pretty much a permanent feature of him now, though he'd become slightly less Corpse Bride after some blood. The scuffs and scratches on his face would fade with a feeding too, and Shade tried to remember if he'd passed a blood bank on the way here. The Turning, no matter how partway, made you very hungry. Shade remembered: he ate a sheep after he woke up in a field, after a Death Eater attack, some anonymous vampire's blood thrumming in his veins. Almost dead, but not quite. After all, only Voldemort could kill him fully. And Voldemort didn't carry silver-tipped stakes: Greyback found it offensive. Or at least that's what Remus had said, grimfaced in Grimmauld Place, Shade's mind probing his in shock, finding relief and revulsion intertwined. He took the name Shade shortly after that.
He was shaken from his reverie by Jack's hand resting heavily on his shoulder. He hadn't even heard him move as he stared at Ianto. He jerked involuntarily at the hot pressure: human's emitted a shitload of heat when your own skin was the equivalent of granite in a snowstorm. But Jack, apparently unshaken by Shade's odd unconscious fidget, kept a firm grip on him, and Shade was glad despite himself. For all his faults, the Captain was essentially a good man doing what he could under exceptional circumstances. A man who'd do anything to save the man he loved, and that quality was something Shade could respect. After all, he'd done anything to save the man he loved.
"Did it work?" Jack said, his voice weirdly hoarse.
Shade nodded, swallowing. The brain activity was picking up. "He's just sleeping it off."
"Sleeping off what?" Gwen asked, turning from Ianto's still form.
"The Turning. It takes a lot of energy to die and then come back," Shade said softly. No matter that the corpses littered in neat rows around them couldn't hear their words, it felt disrespectful to say anything above a soft whisper.
Gwen's nearly inaudible gasp rang in Shade's ears. "Will he—"
Shade shook his head at the unasked question. "Not completely. He'll be a Halfling, a half-and-half, a halfer. Call it what you want. It's not an exact science, of course, but...he'll age about a year every century or two. Be about five times stronger, faster, better senses than your average human."
Jack opened his mouth to ask a question, but the conversation faded in their throats.
Ianto's eyes fluttered open.
Jack froze.
Gwen gasped.
Ianto lunged.
Shade moved.
The defence was awkward to say the least. He was behind Jack, who was just too fucking close to a newblood, Halfling or not, and Gwen was too close as well, and if Jack hadn't been there, no amount of boring O-type blood could have saved her. But Jack's golden blood, tantalising even to Shade, was irrestible to Ianto, not when he'd just Turned, not when he'd just come back. But Shade managed to slip between their bodies, getting his own face between Ianto's newly-formed fangs and the pulse point in Jack's throat, the miniscule beating visible to both pairs of vampire eyes. Ianto's fang nicked his face just below his eye, and as the blood of his sire dripped onto his tongue, Ianto faltered in confusion, and Shade took the opportunity to elbow Jack aside.
Pinning Ianto was harder than if the young man had been human, but Shade had been a vampire longer, fought in skirmishes with other vampires, and at the end of the day, Ianto was a halfer. He didn't quite fit in either circle, vampire or human, and while he put up a good fight, Shade straddling his chest and gripping both wrists in one hand was too much for the newblood to fend off. But he hissed, Strixi words spilling from his lips. Most to do with hunger, and Shade replied in the same tongue, one stored in vampire blood and fangs, passed down from sire to childe.
"He smells so good!" snarled Ianto over Gwen's half-stifled sobs.
"He is not yours to drink." Shade replied in kind, the authoritative voice of his maker piercing the haze of bloodlust. Sensing he was getting somewhere, Shade pressed his advantage, dipping his head to the halfer's forehead, he pressed their minds together, hissing, "Remember!"
He felt the click in his brain as human memories swirled to the surface, pulling back before he could intrude on his privacy. The red receded from Ianto's irises, and Shade released him, confident there would be no more psychotic episodes before they could get him some blood. As a human, Ianto's self-control had been good. As a half-vampire, it had the potential to be phenomenal. Already, his humanity was kicking his new vampiric nature into submission.
"Jack? Gwen?" the English sounded groggy, less vicious than the Strixi, at least. Nobody knew where the language had originated, but it had been named in Roman times. 'Of the vampires', it meant. Latin, of course. It seemed nothing in Shade's life would stop using the same pretentious language, from wizard spells to the elusive vampire tongue, unlearnable by humans and goblins alike, for all their attempts to get their grubby hands on old vampire literature and old vampire money. But with Strixi passwords on millennia-old vaults, the goblins were frustrated, and the odd treacherous vampire would offer their services as translator, swiftly culled by one race before they could work out what to do with their wages. Vampires were dangerous pests under Ministry law, subject to torture and ritual executions by silver-tipped stake through the heart. Many wizards saw them as a whole other species entirely, inhumane and feral. Something to be wiped out, for the good of the rest of us.
"Don't breathe," Shade said, glancing down to lend him advice and a hand, pulling the man to his feet even as he stood himself.
Ianto nodded a little uncertainly, and stopped the passage of air into his lungs.
"You'll be able to do that for days on end, but not indefinitely, so don't forget to breathe once in a while," Shade lectured, before turning his gaze onto Gwen and Jack.
"So, Jacko, what next?"
Shade was shaking by rage by the time the news bulletin ended. He knew politicians were unworthy scum in the Wizarding world, but the Muggle kind had caused him very little trouble by comparison. The odd berating when missions went awry was the only contact he got.
Snapping open his phone with a restrained violence that could have snapped the thing clean in half, Shade stabbed 8, and waited for Jerry to pick up. The voice, when it came, was weary and expectant.
"Yes, Shade?"
"WHAT IN THE NAME OF FUCK JERRY? TELL MARIA I QUIT. IF MI5 ARE PART OF THIS I FUCKING QUIT, AND WHAT'S MORE, I'LL RIP HER FUCKING THROAT OUT!"
"Shade, it's not us."
Shade faltered, gripping the phone until the plastic casing cracked.
"What?"
"It's the military and the police. The Home Secretary isn't listening, Maria looks like she might send somebody to assassinate the 456 herself, and Sophie..."
Shit. Jerry's kid.
"Shit, Jerry, I'm sorry. Is she—" He couldn't bear to finish.
"She goes to a state school." An awful, hollow laugh.
"And?" Shade could feel an icy ball of dread clawing at his insides.
"If you're going to get rid of ten percent of the population, why not the worst ten percent?"
"Oh, no. No. There's no way-"
"But she's at home. I won't let them take her."
"Jerry, if they come, blow the bastards' heads off."
The laugh was a little more genuine this time. "Just keep focused. You're meant to help Torchwood."
"I know that. Look after Sophie, Jerry. I'll be back in London as soon as I can. There's no way they're touching these kids."
"Good luck."
"Luck is for failures." A pause, a smile that could be heard through the phone.
"Tell Lucy not to worry." Shade said, before hanging up, about to put the phone back in his pocket before the next call lit up his phone like a Christmas tree.
"Shade."
"Shay, they're taking the children." Lorcan's voice was disgusted and afraid.
"I know, I know. We'll stop them." Shade said, trying to be more reassuring than he felt.
"Lucas is sending out the kids now. London won't give up without a fight."
"Good, good. Spread the world. Newcastle, Edinburgh, Cornwall, Belfast, I don't care, but ten percent of the population means someone from everywhere. Vampires versus military." He laughed, a vicious feral sound, and beside him, Jack shivered.
"Wouldn't be the first time."
"Love you, don't die, have fun!" Shade said, pressing 'end call' to the sound of her laughter. Guiltily, he turned to the original Torchwood team.
"I can't help you with technology, aliens, subterfuge: not any of it. I'm shit with computers, actually. The only reason I'm here is because I'm the best cannon fodder around. But," Shade rifled in his pockets, pulled a black wallet with a silver badge on it, and handed it to the team. "It looks like Torchwood's lost it's clearance. But they never stop us from getting places. Ever. We're too fucking useful. Good luck."
Jack took the ID from his fingers. "No picture," he commented.
"I don't photograph well," Shade said, a crooked grin splitting his features.
Jack laughed.
The surprises continued when Shade hugged him, Gwen and Ianto is quick succession. The grin widened at their shock.
"Good luck, alright? Gwen, try not to get any lethal injuries. If the whole Torchwood team miraculously become immortal, my boss will kill me."
To his mild surprise, she smiled at him. "I'll do my best."
"Ianto, eat soon. Raid a blood bank if you need to, eat a pigeon, and don't breathe around Jack until you do."
"Alright Shay."
"Jacko...Don't do anything stupid."
"O ye of little faith, Shay."
Just this once, Shade didn't mention that Jack did not have permission to use that name. With a smirk, he turned on his heel and headed for the nearest council estate. Nobody in Wales trusted the decidedly English government explicitly, and nobody was going to send their kids for a 'vaccination', not in rough areas like this. The government seemed to have conveniently forgotten that 'society's worst' would be the hardest to tear their kids from. They were distrustful, violent and poor. Their kids were all they had. Shouts come be heard from a few streets away, and Shade paused. Should he interfere, risk losing the only job that let him satiate his need for violence, possibly come to Dumbledore's attention, all for a group of kids he didn't know? Was it worth the idea that he could be sighted by a curious witch, somebody willing to give him over to the Ministry, for God-knows-what, for these kids who might never achieve anything in life anyway?
Of course it fucking was.
Snapping half a drainpipe from a nearby building like a twig, Shade swung the blunt, heavy weapon onto his shoulder, internally bemoaning the loss of his katanas, taken from him while he was presumed dead, and not returned, because what self-respecting military personnel would give lethal weapons back to Torchwood, their current greatest enemy? But perhaps it was better this way: he'd be hard-pressed not to 'accidentally' stab a kidnapper through the eyeball if he had his swords.
The fight was just starting when he arrived. The police, dressed in full riot gear, were shouting demands through a megaphone, while some kids were already being dragged kicking and screaming from their parents by ruthless black-gloved hands. Shade felt rage squeeze his throat, curl in his belly and tense his muscles. This was the first time he thought perhaps being a vampire was better than being a human. If he was human right now, he'd be apologising on behalf of his race. These people might have been told there was a vaccination, but they couldn't be stupid enough to believe it. They were taking these children, and the kids were sobbing for their parents, and the parents were hanging back because, shit, they couldn't afford to be arrested again, child services would be called, and they would lose their kids anyway, and God, oh God, Kieran was only five, and please, please don't let them find Maya, curled on her bed in the flat—
Shade resisted the urge to press his hands over his ears to block out the thoughts, amplified by shock and desperation. Instead, he channelled his anger into his arms, and when a little black girl screamed for her daddy, for her brother, for somebody, and the man hauling her over his shoulder strode straight past him without realising, he snapped. The pipe whistled through the air, slammed into the policeman's head with a sickening crack that was sadly only his bulletproof visor. He stumbled, fell, but Shade's arms were around the girl before she could hit the ground, and her sobs softened.
Silence.
Shade let the girl down, watching her run back to the crowd of parents and kids, her mother clutching her close and all of them staring at him. The police stared in shock. A man with a pipe, sending cracks across bulletproof glass? Impossible. Even the megaphone was quiet. The man on the ground moaned incoherently, clutching at his head, and from what Shade could tell of his thoughts, he was temporarily deaf. A cold, cruel smile curved across his face, and Shade swung the pipe nonchalantly back onto his shoulder.
"Hello bastards," he said clearly.
Then the megaphone blared back into life, and the police steeled themselves visibly. They'd faced worse than one madman with a metal pipe in his hands, no matter how strong. It was obviously an effect of adrenaline, giving him that strength. They rushed forwards as one, yelling legally-required, meaningless phrases of comfort, nearly trampling their fallen comrade in a rush to arrest him, but Shade sank low, taking out kneecaps and taking hits from riot shields and police-issued batons.
Some went back to their original jobs, yanking, and Shade roared, "ARE YOU JUST GOING TO STAND THERE?" before sending a particularly vicious blow cracking down onto the collarbone of a officer trying to separate a little boy from his teenaged, determined sister. Men shook themselves into life and began yelling and punching, while mothers fought like tigers, and some just tried to delay the approach of the policemen, even if they had nobody to protect. He heard her gasp through the noise, but thought nothing of it. Instead, he said very quietly. "Run, or fight, but don't let that boy go."
"My-my name's Emma," she said, seemingly in shock.
"Alright Emma," he said carefully. "Staying, or going?"
The stubborn set of her mouth decided it before her brain did, and small she might be, but Shade watched with a laugh as he dug a knee viciously between the legs of the next officer to lay hands on her little blonde brother. Shade handed her the pipe with a shrug, smiling a little at her serious nod and the blow she directed at a man headed for the little girl two feet away, and launched himself bodily at the legs of a man carrying a toddler in completely the wrong way, sending the two of them tumbling to the ground, a wail coming from the little boy's mouth. Frantically, using vampire speed he hadn't appreciated until now, he cupped a hand underneath the child's head, protecting the fragile skull from the unforgiving concrete. Scooping the little boy into his arms, he stamped a foot down on the throat of the policeman, watching impassively as he gagged and choked for breath, blow softened by the body armour, but painful and panicking all the same.
"He's two, you motherfucking bastard," he snarled, eyes flashing crimson for a fraction of a second, and all Shade could think was thank God he'd eaten when he had, or this would have been a bloodbath. He kicked the man in the helmet, sending shockwaves through bone and brain. The temptation to kill him had his hands shaking.
"Where's your mum and dad?" he said to the snivelling toddler cradled to his chest protectively, an action he hadn't even realised he'd initiated.
"I don't know," the little boy said, hiccupping.
Shit. Shade cursed. He knew for a fact that, despite the example he'd made of this officer, he couldn't leave this kid unattended. He cast around desperately, ducking under a blow from some deranged officer, the kick he snapped into his chest enough to deter him for now, but without the use of his arms, he'd soon be taken down. He stumbled backwards into a skinhead kid, maybe eighteen, holding a crowbar and battering into a riot shield. He turned with a curse on his lips until he saw Shade's face, identified him as 'that cold motherfucker' and stilled his tongue. Uncaring about the respect they offered right now, Shade turned the boy's face to him.
"You recognise this kid?"
"I-yeah. It's Chris' little brother, innit?"
"And who the fuck is Chris?"
The skinhead pointed to a wiry blonde kid, fending off a police officer just by locking arms and grappling. Shade grinned, slapped the other man on the shoulder, and slipped back into the fray, sliding effortlessly among flailing arms and feet, snapping fingers into throats and ribs if he could, but mainly trying to avoid Chris' little brother being smacked around the head with a baton. He shifted the toddler, who had fisted his shirt and turned his face into his shoulder, into one arm as he approached Chris, grabbing his opponent by the neck and tossing him as hard as he could, sending him sprawling. Chris gaped, and Shade took advantage of the silence to press his little brother into his hands.
It wasn't until he saw the second van arrive that he knew this was a lost cause.
"SCATTER!" he roared at the top of his lungs. He'd never been more grateful to be surrounded by so many people familiar with police raids. As black-uniformed men poured from the second van, no doubt called as back-up, the whole estate emptied, families fleeing to bolt holes, or just into the streets, running from the onslaught. Shade was about to flee himself, before he caught sight of one boy, looking perplexed and afraid as men converged on him, frozen, and seemingly without anybody to help him. Shade cursed nastily under his breath and jumped, landing on top of the boy, and wrapped strong arms around a skinny torso, hefting him onto his back, and running.
He only stopped when they were on the roof of the building four streets away.
"You're fast," the boy said in awe.
Shade ran a hand through his hair in annoyance, a habit left over from the good old human days. "And you're slow. Why didn't you run?"
"My dad..." the boy swallowed. "My dad's a policeman. He said never to run."
Shade shook his head, hand still buried in clean black locks. The one boy on that estate that wasn't told never to speak to police. Just his fucking luck.
"What's your name, kid?"
"Caradoc. You're Harry Potter!"
Shade froze, hand on top of his head, and hair pulled back to reveal his famous lightning-bolt scar, a red line still marring his white skin after all these years.
A/N: DUN DUN DUUUUUUUN Long chapter as an apology for the frankly awful Ianto-turning chapter. Sorry about that. Anybody want to guess Caradoc's last name?