Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The deserted building they were walking through echoed eerily with their footsteps. The night seemed somehow darker than normal, as if no light could penetrate the tomb-like interior. The windows were up high, and opaque from years of accumulated grime.

Ianto suppressed a shudder, gripping his gun tighter and keeping close behind Jack. Rift alerts in the middle of the night were his least favorite, especially this type. The unknown was especially dangerous. A few Weevils they could handle and still get back to the Hub for a quickie and a few more winks before morning.

How could their footsteps be getting louder? Some urge compelled him to count them. One, two... three.

“Jack!” he hissed urgently. “We're not alone.”

Ianto felt more than saw Jack pull his Webley. The torch beam had all it could do to pierce the abject blackness, he would have to rely on sense memory to keep track of his Captain. It was a good thing they worked so well together, moving in tandem without conscious effort. He tried not to imagine what might be lying in wait somewhere ahead.

As they moved further into the building, a noise began to insert itself into his consciousness. Barely discernible at first, it gradually got louder until it coalesced into a pounding beat.

“What the hell is that?!” Jack demanded.

Ianto cocked his head, listening carefully. It was absurd, but still slightly terrifying. It was Enter Sandman.

“Metallica,” Ianto answered, head bobbing to the beat. “Cheerful,” he pronounced, meaning the opposite. “Take my hand, we're off to never-never land,” he quoted.

“Not funny,” Jack pronounced. “When I find out where it's coming from, I'm going to shoot it.”

Jack never was much of a heavy metal fan. Ianto wasn't crazy about Metallica either, but he had to admit this was one of their best. If you were listening at your flat, during the day, safe from monsters that live under the bed at night.

Was it a message? A warning?

Sleep with one eye open, gripping your pillow tight...

He remembered first hearing Enter Sandman as a young child and being terrified to go to bed that night, convinced monsters were hiding in his closet. He'd ended up creeping into Rhiannon's room and convincing her to let him sleep there on the floor...

As if responding to Jack's critique, the song cut off. Then another one replaced it, even louder. And perversely more alarming.

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream, make him the cutest that I've ever seen...

“Better then?” Ianto asked, smirking.

“Yes, actually.”

Ianto almost jumped in surprise when Jack's hand grabbed his. He barely had time to shove his gun into a pocket before he was being danced around the dark space, his partner singing along with the music.

And then he knew.

“Oh, it's a dream!” He couldn't help laughing out loud at the incongruousness of it. “Thank god,” he said, letting himself be twirled. “I'd never live down the embarrassment otherwise.” Maybe he could turn this nightmare into a pleasant if fanciful romp through the outlandish.

“Quite realistic for a dream,” Jack said skeptically, expertly guiding their steps while the singers sang about come hither gleams.

“Not even close,” Ianto scoffed, reversing their positions and dipping Jack for emphasis to his words.

“Well, maybe not...”

Just as suddenly as the music had begun, it cut off, and a loud growl reverberated around the room. Ianto almost dropped Jack, but managed to get them both righted without mishap.

“Um...”

“A dream, you say?” Jack muttered.

“I certainly hope so.”

“But whose? It came from this direction,” Jack started tracking the sound through the warehouse.

Ianto retrieved his gun, knowing Jack had done the same. No sense taking chances. In the world they inhabited, nightmares were real more often than not.

They turned a corner and Ianto nearly ran into Jack when he stopped short. Heart in his throat, he directed the beam of the torch ahead of them, to find the small room they'd entered was filled with piles and piles of sand. It might have been the beach. If there was sun, or water, or happy children making castles.

“Sandman. Got it,” Ianto said wryly. “I'm beginning to see a pattern.”

“How does that fit into your pattern?” Jack wondered, pointing with the beam of his light.

In the middle of the sand was a series of large footprints. Clearly not human, and too big to be any of the harmless animals they might see roaming around Cardiff at night. Some sort of creature, with huge claws.

“I think we can assume that's what's growling,” he said, glancing around nervously.

“I don't know, but I don't want to run into it. You know, I'm intimately familiar with my dreams and I've never had one like this before,” Jack added.

Ianto had to agree. He was also intimately familiar with Jack's nightmares, as well as his own. The monsters they fought in night visions tended to be old foes. All too real demons.

Another growl sounded, louder and closer. They crept cautiously along the wall, trying not to stumble over the shifting sand. The sound was coming from up ahead, around another corner of the maze-like building.

Jack took the lead, gun in one hand and torch in the other, pointing them both at the room in front of them. It looked to be empty.

There was no warning. One second Ianto was heaving a sigh of relief, the other recoiling from a searing pain in his arm. Yelling and pulling back, he aimed his light at the wall beside him just in time to see some sort of grotesque clawed hand retreating back into the brickwork.

“What the hell was that?!” Ianto demanded in a shaky voice, holding his arm. The blood was starting to seep through his jacket.

“Not a dream,” Jack stated. He felt around the wall, but it was solid, unyielding. No hidden seams or latches to be found. When he was done, he turned to Ianto. “Are you okay?”

“Tiptop,” he managed sarcastically.

“Let me see that,” Jack ordered. As he started taking off Ianto's jacket to get at the wound, the ground suddenly disappeared beneath them.

Trap door, was Ianto's last thought before everything went dark.

END OF PART ONE