9
He had no choice.
Mycroft was obviously terrified and his lips were peeled back from his teeth as he looked up at Ford, his fingers white at the knuckle as he clutched their baby brother.
He had no choice.
Da had not died well, quickly or with any grace.
His screams had echoed as they ran and the howl of their mother spurred them on.
She had never made that noise before.
There were three of them, he could take three.
Right?
Da had taken down five of them before falling.
Ford exploded from the hidey hole and attacked the first one, the snap of the broken neck loud in the silent drizzle and the other two turned.
Their elongated faces were lit by another lightning strike and the teeth were so long … so sharp.
He looked on with pride as they advanced.
.
.
.
Ford woke with a start and frowned into the dark, then rolled his head to look at the clock.
12.20.
The witching hour.
He sighed as he looked over at Jack, gorgeous, even in repose.
Ianto slid out and padded to the bathroom where he relieved himself as he stared vacantly into space.
What had that been?
He was sure it was a dream but his memories were usually so controlled, a blip of some sort but …
He closed his eyes and swore softly as he finally caught on and he wondered if they would ever fade enough.
These bloody ties to his brothers.
As Alpha, he felt their pain, fear and anger.
The last two were not common, their kind being so good at repressing those pesky feels.
Pain, however … well that one was hard to swallow down.
To have felt fear so strong that he could smell it in the flat, proving that the brother responsible must have been dreaming of him.
The fear projected to his own desire to fight.
To protect.
Fear.
Of Them.