The rhythmic tapping of rain against the Hub's ceiling was the only sound breaking the silence as Ianto Jones carefully arranged a fresh tray of coffee. His movements were precise and methodical—a ritual that brought order to the chaos that was Torchwood Three. The others had noticed he'd been making more coffee than usual these past few days. No one mentioned it, but they knew why.
It had been three months since they'd lost Tosh and Owen. Three months since the wounds had started to heal, but never quite close.
"You're going to float away if you drink any more of that," Gwen Cooper remarked, sliding into the chair beside the small table where Ianto was working.
"Better than drowning in paperwork," he replied with that quiet smile that never quite reached his eyes anymore. "Jack's been gone four days now. The Rift predictions are holding steady, but—"
"But you're worried," Gwen finished for him. "So am I."
The captain's sudden departure to investigate "unusual activity" near the Scottish border had left them short-handed—more so than they already were. Jack had promised to be in touch daily, but communications had stopped yesterday.
Gwen's phone buzzed, breaking the tension. She glanced down. "It's Andy. Three more cases reported in Splott."
"Same symptoms?" Ianto asked, already knowing the answer.
"People screaming themselves into catatonic states. Apparently, the latest victim was found clutching her pillow so hard they had to pry her fingers loose one by one."
Ianto nodded grimly. "That makes seven cases in three days."
"Whatever it is, it's escalating," Gwen said, rising from her chair. "And getting closer to the city centre with each attack."
The hcentrel corridor was too bright, too sterile. Gwen flashed her Torchwood credentials at the nurse who tried to stop them, while Ianto hung back, observing. This was their routine now—Gwen took point on interviews while Ianto gathered the subtler details others might miss.
The latest victim, Cara Williams, lay in the hospital bed, eyes wide open but seeing nothing. Her hands were bandaged where her nails had cut into her palms.
"The doctor says there's no physical reason for her condition," the nurse explained. "Her brain activity is off the charts, but she's completely unresponsive."
"Did she say anything before she became catatonic?" Gwen asked.
The nurse hesitated. "Just one thing, over and over. 'He knows what I did.'"
Ianto stepped forward, scanning the room methodically. "Any unusual objects brought in with her? Strange residues on her clothing? Unexplained marks?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary," the nurse replied. "Though—" she paused, "—there was a strange smell in her flat when the paramedics arrived. Like burning metal, they said."
Gwen and Ianto exchanged a glance. The same had been reported in two other scenes.
"We'll need access to her home," Ianto said quietly.
Cara Williams' flat was a modest one-bedroom in an old converted house. Everything was neat, orderly—until they reached the and bedroom. The sheets were torn from the bed, the pillows slashed open. Feathand ers litteredwere the floor.
"She put up quite a fight," Gwen observed, scanning the room with the modified energy detector Tosh had built before she died. It still hurt to use it, but they needed every advantage they could get.
"Against something she couldn't see," Ianto added, pointing to the claw marks on the walls that followed no logical pattern. "No sign of forced entry."
The detector in Gwen's hand beeped softly. "There's residual energy here, but it's fading fast."
Ianto moved to the bedside table, carefully opening the drawer. Inside was a small leather-bound journal. He flipped it open. "Gwen, look at this."
The pages were filled with increasingly frantic entries, dating back two weeks.
"'I saw him again tonight,'" Gwen read aloud. "'Standing at the foot of my bed. His face keeps changing, becoming people I know. People I've wronged. He doesn't speak, but somehow I hear him anyway. He says he's coming for me, for all of us. That our nightmares belong to him now.'"
Ianto turned the page. "There's more. 'I can't sleep. When I close my eyes, he's there. The Nightmare Man, feeding on my fear. On my guilt.'"
"The Nightmare Man," Gwen repeated, the words hanging heavy in the air. "Sounds like something Jack would know about."
"And Jack's not here," Ianto finished grimly.
Back at the Hub, Ianto dove into the archives while Gwen compiled data on the victims, searching for connections. Hours passed as they worked in focused silence, broken only by the occasional update shared across the room.
"All the victims had recently experienced some form of significant guilt," Gwen finally announced. "Cara Williams accidentally ran over her neighbour's dog and never confessed neighbour Price was cheating on his wife. Sarah Chen abandoned her elderly mother in a care home and rarely visited."
Ianto emerged from the archive room, dust clinging to his immaculate suit. "I found something in the records from 1973. An entity that feeds on nightmares, specifically those rooted in guilt and shame. The team back then encountered it, but the file was incomplete. There's a reference to something called the 'Morphic Resonator' but no explanation of what it is or how it works."
"Does it say how they stopped it?"
"That's just it—I don't think they did. The file says they 'contained the threat,' but not how. There's a reference number for an artefact in the secure vault."
artefacthone rang, interrupting them. Her face darkened as she listened. "Two more cases, both in Cathays. It's heading for the city centre, just as we thought."
"Wcentre to find that artefact," Ianto said, already artefact for the secure vault that had once been Owen's domain.
Night had fallen by the time they'd located the reference number in the vault's complex cataloging system. Gwen rubbed cataloguing fatigue settling into her bones.
"You should go home to Rhys," Ianto said quietly. "I can handle this."
Gwen shook her head. "And leave you alone with whatever this thing is? Not bloody likely."
"I've managed worse inventory days," he replied with a hint of his old dry humour.
"We'll both stay," Gwen humoured. "We'll take shifts. You first, I'll keep looking."
Reluctantly, Ianto agreed, settling onto the worn couch in the Hub's main area. Sleep claimed him almost immediately, his body surrendering to the exhaustion he'd been fighting for days.
In his dreams, he was back in the basement of Torchwood One, the day of the Cybermen invasioon n. But this time, he knew what was coming. He tried to warn everyone, to save them, but no one would listen. He ran through endless corridors, searching for Lisa, knowing what he would find but desperate to change it.
When he found her, she wasn't partially converted yet. She was standing there, whole and beautiful.
"You didn't save me, Ianto," she said, her voice eerily calm. "You could have, if you'd been faster. Smarter. Better."
"I tried," he whispered, the old guilt crushing his chest. "I did everything I could."
"Not everything," she replied, her face beginning to transform, metal pieces emerging from beneath her skin. "You saved yourself."
Ianto tried to back away but found himself frozen in place. The room around them shifted, becoming the Hub. Lisa—now fully converted—walked toward him, but her voice changed, becoming Tosh's.
"Why didn't you see it, Ianto? You notice everything. You could have saved us from Gray."
Owen's voice joined in. "Always making coffee while the rest of us did the real work. What good were you when it mattered?"
Their faces flickered before him—Lisa, Tosh, Owen—merging into one another, accusing. Behind them, a shadow formed, growing larger, feeding on his guilt.
"You'll lose them all," the shadow whispered, its voice like gravel being crushed. "Jack. Gwen. Everyone you care about. Because you're never quite good enough, are you, Ianto Jones?"
Ianto jolted awake with a gasp, his heart racing. The Hub was quiet, and the lights dimmed. He could see Gwen across the room, still digging through files, unaware of his distress.
He straightened his tie—a reflex, a way to compose himself—and stood up. But as he crossed to the small kitchen area for water, he noticed something that made his blood run cold.
The mug he'd left on the counter had frost forming on its surface.
"Gwen," he called, his voice forcibly calm. "I think we have company."
She looked up from her research, instantly alert. "You felt it too?"
"The cold? Yes. And I had... dreams."
Gwen's expression told him she understood perfectly. "I nodded off for a few minutes at the desk. I saw them, Ianto. All the people we couldn't save. But it was worse than that—Rhys was there, bleeding, asking why I chose Torchwood over him. Why I wasn't home when they came for him."
"It's testing us," Ianto said. "Probing our defences."
"Then we'd better find the artefact quickly," Gwen replied, turning back to the files with renewed urgency.
They worked through the night, taking turns searching and keeping watch. The temperature in the Hub fluctuated wildly, and both saw shadows moving at the edge of their vision. By dawn, they were both ragged, operating on adrenaline and fear.
"I've found it," Ianto finally announced, holding up a sheet of paper. "Section E42, shelf 7."
They made their way to the location, finding a small containment box labelled with the correct reference. Inside was a bronze device no larger than a pocket watch, its surface covered in intricate circles and lines that seemed to shift when not directly observed.
"According to the partial records," Ianto explained as they examined it in the main area of the Hub, "this is the Morphic Resonator. It can amplify and project psychic energy."
"How does that help us against a creature that feeds on nightmares?" Gwen asked.
Before Ianto could answer, the lights flickered. The temperature in the Hub dropped suddenly, their breath fogging in the air.
"We're about to find out," Ianto whispered.
The Nightmare Man didn't fully materialize at first—just a darkening of the shadows, a heaviness in the air. Gwen and Ianto stood back to back, the Resonator clutched in Ianto's hand.
"It's toying with us," Gwen murmured.
"It's stronger now," Ianto replied. "It's been feeding."
A whisper curled through the Hub, too quiet to make out words but unmistakably menacing. The computer screens flickered to life, displaying images that changed too quickly to process consciously but left both of them uneasy.
"We need to separate," Ianto said suddenly. "If it takes us both at once, there's no one left to use the Resonator."
"Are you mad?" Gwen hissed. "We stand a better chance together."
"Trust me," Ianto urged, pressing the device into her hand. "I'll draw it away. You figure out how to use this thing."
Before she could protest further, he moved away, heading for the lower levels of the Hub. The darkness seemed to ripple, following him.
"Come on then," he muttered. "Let's see what you're really made of."
Gwen watched him go, conflict tearing at her. Every instinct screamed to follow, to back him up—but she knew he was right. One of them needed to solve the Resonator puzzle.
She retreated to the relative safety of Jack's office, spreading out the fragmented notes they'd gathered. The device hummed faintly in her hand, warm to the touch despite the chill in the air.
Then she heard the scream.
Ianto's voice, raw with terror, echoed up from below. Gwen froze, her heart pounding. Stay focused, she told herself. He knew the risk. This is what he wanted.
But when the screaming didn't stop, growing more desperate by the second, she couldn't bear it. Clutching the Resonator, she ran for the stairs.
Ianto knew he'd made a tactical error the moment he felt the coldness envelop him completely. The archives of the Hub, where they stored the more harmless artefacts, had seemed like a got artefacts to make a stand—limited access points, concrete walls, minimal technology to be affected.
What he hadn't counted on was how quickly the Nightmare Man would overtake him.
One moment he was scanning the room, the next he was no longer in the Hub at all. He was in a vast, dark space, and before him stood Jack—but not Jack as he knew him. This Jack was ancient, eyes heavy with thousands of years of memories, none of them including Ianto.
"Did you really think you mattered?" Jack asked his voice cold in a way the real Jack's never was. "A blip in time, Ianto Jones. Forgotten before my next heartbeat."
"You're not real," Ianto managed, though his voice shook.
The false Jack smiled cruelly. "But I will be. This is Jack's future, Ianto. After you're gone. After you're all gone."
The scene shifted, and now he was watching himself die, over and over, in different ways—in the line of duty, from old age, from illness—but always alone, always with Jack absent or moving on too quickly.
"Stop it," Ianto growled, fighting against the visions. "These aren't my real fears."
"Aren't they?" a new voice asked, and the darkness congealed into a roughly humanoid shape. "Every human fears being forgotten, replaced. Especially by those they love."
The Nightmare Man circled him, its form constantly shifting, borrowing features from people in Ianto's memories—Lisa's eyes, Owen's smirk, Tosh's hands.
"But your greater fear is that you'll fail them, isn't it? The ones still living. The ones who depend on you."
The scene changed again, and now Ianto was watching Gwen die, torn apart by something he couldn't see while he stood helpless.
That was when he screamed.
Gwen found Ianto on his knees in the centre of the artefact room, his body rigid, eyes open but seeing something far away. The air around him rippled like heat waves, and his skin was deathly pale.
"Ianto!" she called, rushing toward him. She reached for his shoulder, but as soon as she touched him, the world dissolved around her.
She was standing in her own flat, but it was wrong—the walls were scorched, the furniture broken. Evidence of a struggle was everywhere. Blood stained the carpet.
"Rhys?" she called, panic rising in her throat. "Rhys, where are you?"
"He's gone, Gwen Cooper," said a voice behind her. "They all are."
She turned to see a figure that wasn't quite there—a shadow with depth, wearing a face that kept changing. At times it looked like Rhys, then her father, then Jack, then victims she'd failed to save.
"This is your future," the figure continued. "Alone. Everyone you love taken from you because you chosis e Torchwood. Because you weren't there when it mattered."
"That's not true," Gwen replied, but her voice lacked conviction.
"Isn't it? How many nights has Rhys slept alone because you were chasing aliens? How many times have you lied to him? And for what? To save a world that never thanks you? That never even knows?"
The figure moved closer, and Gwen could feel a terrible cold emanating from it. "Your friends die, one by one. Tosh. Owen. Soon Ianto. Eventually, even Jack will leave this tiny, planet behind. And you'll have nothing."
Gwen felt tears on her cheeks but couldn't remember starting to cry. The cold was inside her now, freezing her from within.
"You can't save them," the Nightmare Man whispered. "You couldn't save Tosh. You couldn't save Owen. You're watching Ianto crumble under the weight of his grief. And Jack—"
"Stop it," Gwen managed, her fists clenched.
"Why? Because it hurts? Because it's true?" The figure laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "Your nightmares are delicious, Gwen Cooper. So rich with guilt and fear."
Through the fog of terror, Gwen became aware of the Resonator, still clutched in her hand. It was vibrating now, almost painfully hot against her skin.
The Nightmare Man noticed her attention shift. "That little toy won't save you. The team from '73 barely contained me, and they were five strong. You're just two, and both of you are already falling."
But something in its tone caught Gwen's attention. There was concern there—buried under the menace, but unmistakable.
"You're afraid of it," she realized aloud. "This 'toy' is the one thing that can hurt you."
The figure hissed, the sound like steam escaping a broken pipe. "I fear nothing. I AM fear."
But Gwen saw the way it backed away slightly, how its form became less distinct. And in that moment of clarity, she understood.
"You feed on nightmares," she said, her voice growing stronger. "On guilt and shame and terror. But you have those feelings too, don't you? Every being that thinks must fear something."
She held up the Resonator, which now glowed with an inner light, the circles on its surface spinning. "This doesn't stop you from feeding. It makes you the feast."
With a sudden, violent motion, the Nightmare Man lunged at her—but the Resonator flared brightly, creating a barrier of light between them. The creature howled, a sound that vibrated through Gwen's bones.
The false world around her shattered like glass, and she was back in the artefact room with Ianto. He was still on his knees, trapped in his own nightmare.
"Ianto!" she shouted, reaching for him with her free hand. "Ianto, it's not real!"
In his vision, Ianto was surrounded by the dead. Not just Lisa, Tosh, and Owen, but everyone he'd failed to save since joining Torchwood. They pressed in on him, their voices a cacophony of accusations.
But then, cutting through the noise, he heard Gwen calling his name.
"It's not real, Ianto!"
Her voice was like a lifeline. He focused on it, ignoring the phantoms around him.
"Fight it! Remember who you are!"
Who he was. Not just the mistakes he'd made, not just the people he'd lost. He was Ianto Jones. He made the coffee, kept the archives, and cleaned up after the team—not band because he was inferior, but because someone had to keep Torchwood running while the others focused on the immediate threats.
He'd saved them all more than once, in his quiet way. He'd fought alongside them. He belonged.
The realization gave him strength. The visions around him began to waver, losing their hold.
"Gwen," he gasped, reaching out blindly. "Gwen, I hear you."
Gwen grabbed Ianto's outstretched hand, pulling him toward her. The moment they connected, the Resonator pulsed with renewed energy.
"Together," she said, placing his hand on the device beside hers.
Around them, the Nightmare Man's form coalesced into something more solid than before—a twisted figure in a dark cloak, its face a swirling void. It struck at the barrier of light surrounding them, each impact sending shockwaves through the room.
"We know what you are now," Ianto said, his voice hoarse but steady. "And we're not afraid."
"Everyone is afraid of something," Gwen added. "Even you."
The creature hissed, backing away from them. "What could I possibly fear? I who have tasted the terror of a thousand souls?"
"Oblivion," Ianto answered simply. "Being forgotten. Becoming nothing."
Something like recognition flickered in the void where the creature's face should be.
"The team in '73 didn't destroy you," Gwen continued. "They contained you. Trapped you in your fears, reflected back at you."
"And we're going to do the same," Ianto finished.
Together, they turned the Resonator toward the Nightmare Man. The light from the device formed a tunnel that pulled at the creature, drawing its essence toward the artefact. The Nightmare Man fought, lashing out with tendrils of darkness that dissipated before they could reach Gwen and Ianto.
"What do nightmares fear?" Gwen asked, her voice remarkably calm despite the sweat beading on her forehead.
"Being powerless," Ianto answered. "Being trapped."
The creature's shape collapsed inward, reforming as something smaller, more defined—and unmistakably afraid.
"Being forgotten," Gwen added softly. "Left alone in the dark forever."
With a final, wailing scream that echoed through the Hub, the Nightmare Man collapsed into the Resonator. The device grew hot in their hands, the circles on its surface spinning rapidly before settling into a fixed pattern.
And then silence.
Gwen and Ianto sat side by side on the floor of the Hub, exhausted beyond words. The Resonator, now sealed in a containment box, sat between them.
"We should get some rest," Gwen finally said, though neither of them moved.
"I don't think I want to sleep for a very long time," Ianto admitted.
She nodded, understanding completely. "What did you see? In your nightmare?"
Ianto was quiet for a long moment. "Being forgotten," he finally said. "Being insignificant in the lives of the people who matter most to me."
"Jack," Gwen said softly, not a question.
Ianto nodded. "Among others." He glanced at her. "And you?"
"Being alone," she replied. "Losing everyone. Rhys, you, Jack. Having Torchwood be the only thing left in my life, and knowing it wasn't enough."
They sat in companionable silence, processing. Finally, Ianto stood, offering Gwen his hand.
"Come on," he said. "I'll make coffee, and then you should call Rhys."
"What about you?" she asked as he pulled her to her feet.
A small, genuine smile touched his lips. "I'll be here. Keeping things running until Jack gets back."
The next morning, Gwen sat at her desk finishing her report. All the victims were awake, confused but otherwise unharmed, with no memory of what had happened to them.
Ianto approached, placing a fresh cup of coffee beside her. "Small mercies," he said, glancing at her notes.
"Do you think it's really contained?" Gwen asked. "For good this time?"
Before Ianto could answer, the Hub's main door rolled open with its familiar alarm. Captain Jack Harkness strode in, his greatcoat swirling around him.
"Miss me?" he asked with his signature grin, though it faltered as he took in their exhausted appearances. "What happened here?"
Gwen and Ianto exchanged a look that contained volumes—relief, shared trauma, and the unspoken bond that had deepened between them in Jack's absence.
"We had a visitor," Ianto said simply.
"The Nightmare Man," Gwen elaborated. "It's contained now."
Jack's expression grew serious. "You encountered the Nightmare Man? And you're both still standing? That's... impressive."
"We had each other's backs," Gwen said. "And a little help from the archives."
"Tosh would have been proud of your tech work," Jack told Ianto, his voice softening. "And Owen would have appreciated your medical insights with the victims, Gwen."
The mention of their lost colleagues hung in the air, but for the first time in months, the pain was tempered with something else—a sense of continuity, of honouring their memory through action.
"So," Jack said, clapping his hands together, breaking the moment, "who's bringing me up to speed over coffee?"
"That would be my job," Ianto replied with a slight smile.
As Gwen began filling Jack in on the details, Ianto moved toward the coffee station. He paused, looking back at his remaining teammates. Tosh and Owen were gone, but their legacy lived on in how Torchwood continued to protect Cardiff. In how he and Gwen had stepped up.
He caught Gwen's eye across the room, sharing a look of understanding. They'd faced their darkest fears and survived. The nightmares would never truly disappear—not in their line of work—but they had proven they could face them. Together.
The nightmare was contained for now. And when the next threat came—as it inevitably would—they would be ready.
Because that was Torchwood.
