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Ianto always preferred to drive, especially when meeting someone new. Jack wasn’t sure about him behind the wheel - he was such a fastidious driver that it was almost performative, putting the indicator on in the middle of a deserted chalk road and not taking his eyes off the road for anything. Tosh wasn’t much better, with her tendency to list road laws whenever Jack criticised her. Owen was the most fun, or he had been, before the whole living corpse situation. He’d be the one to do 180s and drive over black ice and miss red lights. He wasn’t allowed to drive now, and he’d mumbled once that it wasn’t a bad thing.
‘Owen let me play music,’ Jack muttered.
‘That’s nice of him,’
Jack frowned. ‘What’s with the tone?’
Ianto shrugged. ‘Nothing,’
The car rumbled over rougher terrain. Ianto winced and muttered something about tyre structure. He parked the car, got out, and shut the door.
‘Oh, for fucks sake,’ he muttered.
Jack climbed out of the car, pulling up the collar of his coat to deflect against the bitter wind. ‘Do you ever relax?’
Ianto sighed. ‘This is where your man said to meet. Lavernock point,’
Jack looked around. Endless rocks and scrubs of grey plants, tumbling down into a long stretch of mud and rocks that went on and on until it found the bleak, bright horizon.
‘It looks like a wasteland,’ Ianto grumped.
It looks like the Peninsula, Jack found himself thinking.
‘Where’s your man, then?’ Ianto asked. He was bundled into a huge puffer coat, squinting out of the hood. He pulled out a pair of gloves and stuffed them on over his pink fingers.
‘You can wait in the car, if you want,’ Jack said.
Ianto glared at him. ‘Absolutely not. Gotta make sure you’re not going to hook up with our buyer,’
Jack walked to the edge of the cliff. Moss and lichen stained the rocks - the rocks all looked different now.
‘Last time I was here, it was the 30s,’ he murmured. ‘Rough years, those. There were army men dotted along all of the cliffs, all these lonely sentinels watching the water,’
The wind got at him from behind, sending the body of his coat billowing out into the wind like a sail. The air was bleak and icy, numbing his cheeks. The tide was out - he could see rock pools glittering in the scatterings of white glare that leaked through the frothy grey clouds. An old instinct rose from the depths of his memory, hooked on a long line - the instinct to go down to the little pools with a net and find some odd creature for dinner. He and Gray would sit by the deep wells formed in the sand, gripping lines and cages, hauling up mutated crabs that took axe blades to split the shells, squids that tasted like lavender, clams with metallic shells and peppery meat, tiny yellow fish with too many eyes and shrivelled wings. The yellow fish were always strange - they writhed in the sand and headed for land, never back into the ocean, wings beating as they struggled toward the beach. Jack and Gray never understood that - why would they drag themselves away from safety? Why didn’t they understand they were going to die?
‘Jack?’ Ianto asked.
‘What?’
‘When is your man getting here, eh?’
Jack checked his watch. ‘Uh … soon,’
‘How soon is soon? And why here?’
‘God, you’re so impatient,’ Jack muttered. ‘Can’t you just appreciate the view?’
Ianto pulled his hood down. ‘Patience must come naturally to you,’
Jack frowned. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You’re immortal,’ Ianto said. ‘You can afford to just wait around for things to happen,’
‘Ianto …,’
There was a sound like sails in changing winds, a rush of air buffeted Jack.
‘Captain Harkness,’
Ianto blinked, looking at someone over Jack’s shoulder. A man stood there. Maybe a man. He had a pale, careworn face, deep circles under his eyes and an unshaven chin. Not really Jack’s type, or not enough for him to want to make a move, but certainly handsome. He looked like a reporter, or a tax accountant - a beige trench coat over a suit that definitely wasn’t keeping him warm. Jack met his gaze. His eyes were blue, regular human blue, but there was something beneath it, beneath the cells of the iris, dark water lying endless and lonely under the ice.
‘Ah, hello. Mr Winchester, right?’ Ianto said, brushing impatiently past Jack.
The newcomer twitched. ‘… yes,’
‘What was your first name? Caspian?’
‘Castiel,’
‘Great. I’m Ianto Jones, this is Captain Harkness, representing the Torchwood Institute,’ he stuck out a hand. ‘What is it you need from us?’
Castiel finally stopped staring at Jack and turned his gaze to Ianto’s hand. He shook it, awkwardly.
‘There’s a tree I need a branch from,’ he said. He had a raspy voice, like he was mimicking someone from the radio.
‘Right … ok,’ Ianto said. ‘Any tree in particular?’
Castiel pulled a post-it note from his pocket. ‘Um … a hazel tree. It should be around here,’
‘Oh, there’s Owain’s hazel?’ Ianto ventured. ‘It’s a bit further down the beach,’
‘Yes, that sounds like the one,’ Castiel said. ‘Apologies, my friend’s handwriting leaves something to be desired,’
‘Legend says Owain’s hazel grows over the body of a fallen warrior,’ Ianto said, striding ahead. ’Hazel trees aren’t supposed to grow near the sea - it’s basically a tourist trap, but there won’t be any people here today - way too cold,’
Castiel grunted. ‘The tree’s warded against most assailants. I believe that includes salt,’
They walked in silence for a while. The tree wasn’t difficult to spot - it lay in a small dip of rocks and grass, roots buried in the soil. The three of them stepped down toward it.
Ianto stopped and put an arm out to halt Castiel. ‘Alright. Jack, you go and get whatever Mr Winchester needs,’
Jack frowned. ‘Why me? You’re the plant nut of this partnership,’
Ianto’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I’m not the one trying to grow a TARDIS succulent in the glass room. And I’m also not the indestructible one,’
‘How do you know it’s going to be dangerous?’
‘Why would we be doing this if it wasn’t?’
Jack nodded. ‘Fair enough,’
He pulled a knife from his belt, and went to one of the smaller branches. ‘This one ok?’
Castiel frowned, and stepped past Ianto’s outstretched arm to look. ‘Seems good enough,’
Jack pushed the knife into the bark, hacked at it for a moment, then broke the branch free. Steam billowed out from the bark as if he’d taken the lid off a pan of water, flowed out and gushed over the space. And from it, came figures. Creatures with damp pale skin, almost amphibious, reaching with clawed hands, dragging themselves out of the tree. They were quicker and quieter than electricity - Jack’s eyes skipped over them, and it took a moment for his voice to reach him.
‘Shit!’
One grabbed his arm, tore the sleeve.
‘IANTO!’ He yelled. ‘GET BACK!’
The creature fastened its teeth over his jugular vein. He stuffed his knife into its body, and it dissolved into smoke. Cradling his throat, he stumbled back up. Two more creatures were trying to knock him down, digging claws and teeth into him. Pain needled at him, gripping at his body. He shuddered - every time, he thought he’d get used to the pain of mortal injuries, and every time he was wrong. He felt the usual giddy rush of endorphins as his brain went into shock, felt his body shut down, felt the rough rocks knock into him as he fell. Then he saw Castiel.
When Jack died, there was always a moment that he’d always forget. He’d look at someone, and he’d see them, truly. Everything they ever were or could be, from birth to death - he could see it. He could see Owen in flames, Tosh on a tiled floor, Ianto clutching him in a dark, sickened room. He always forgot when he came back, but he could see people.
He saw Castiel, now.
He was no longer a man. He was bones made out of blue-white light and cracked glass - glass that had been moulded in the hearts of stars, that had been cooled in the void of space, by a pair of great, puppeteering hands that left nothing but fingerprints and bad memories to him now. He saw uncountable wings singed dark by hellfire, but iridescent, slick with a rainbow human sheen. He saw a voice all at once like the susurrus of an endless sea, and radio static, and a howl of grief, and a tearful, truthful whisper. And eyes - so many eyes, half of them clouded over or burnt away from torture, blood vessels corroded and rotted with stolen life force. He saw feathery limbs, branching through the void like the roots of a tree, he saw splintered bones healed wrong from where the Devil had muscled his way inside.
He saw it all, packed into a stolen body, all the presence and light and belief of him, pressed against the warmth of another man. An American, soldierly, gruff, tightly wrapped in the hand-me-downs of his father, with green eyes.
The creature, a thousand human, inhuman, known, unknownable shapes - Jack could see past it. He could see how he had started, and how he had ended. The beginning - the stars, a place full of light and power and love. And he saw another beginning, a nexus point where the creature had been permanently changed and warped like the metal of a car hood under a crowbar. A barn with walls covered in words in languages Jack couldn’t read, and jagged pieces of equipment looming on the walls, and a knife through the unbeating heart of his human body. And the end, a cellar devoid of light, death at the door, and darkness like oil travelling the walls, taking him before he could exhale, the darkness like wings around him. And he could see a splitting in time there, what was written and what would be defied, a branch timeline that led away from the dark place, back into the light and back toward the green-eyed man.
Jack died.
Jack drew in a shuddering breath.
Castiel jumped back. He blinked.
‘You’re … alright,’ he said.
Jack cleared his throat. His eyes were damp - he didn’t know why. He didn’t usually cry when he died, not since the first time. He had a dark chill in his mind - he knew he’d forgotten something.
Castiel was staring at him. The air smelled like ozone and burnt rubber, and ashes hovered around him.
‘You … you dealt with those tree ghosts?’ Jack muttered.
‘Yes,’ Castiel replied. He squinted at Jack. ‘What are you?’
Jack winked. ‘Ain’t that the million-dollar question. C’mon, Ianto doesn’t like to be kept waiting,’
Castiel didn’t move. ‘You’re an abomination. You shouldn’t exist,’
‘Wow. Look who’s talking,’
He didn’t know where that had come from.
‘Sorry,’
Castiel looked down at the branch in his hand. ‘Well, I got what I needed. Nice doing business with you,’
‘Wait,’ Jack said, grabbing his sleeve. ‘Come on, we’ll get you some food. Ianto likes to blow our budget on feeding clients,’
Castiel sighed. ‘Alright,’
Ianto took the car to buy take-out, reasoning that Jack’s bloodied shirt wouldn’t be well-received by any self-respecting fast food joint.
Jack found a low rise of rocks near the beach, low enough to sit on. He removed his shirt and laid it out on the rock, shivering in his vest as he hauled his coat back on. Castiel watched him pull a plastic bag out of his pocket and spread the mixture inside over the bloodstains.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I like this shirt, I’m trying to get ahead of the stains,’ Jack replied.
Castiel reached over and tapped the shirt. The blood vanished, as did the faint stain of ketchup on the collar, and the faded discolouration around the armpits.
‘Damn,’ Jack laughed, folding it away. ‘That must come in handy,’
‘It does,’ Castiel replied. He was scrutinising Jack. ‘Where are you from?’
‘Isn’t the accent clear?’
‘You’re not American,’
‘Neither are you, I’m guessing,’ Jack said. ‘You know the Boeshane Peninsula?’
‘No?’
Ok, so he’s not a time traveller.
‘Well … let’s just say I’m from the future,’
‘I see. Who are you affiliated with?’
‘Torchwood Institute,’ he said. ‘And Ianto, if you mean romantically,’
Castiel blinked.
‘Although that’s not strictly monogamous, if you were wondering,’ he added.
Castiel looked away. ‘You’re not mortal, are you?’
’No,’
‘But you’re … in love with a mortal?’
Jack shifted. ‘I mean … I don’t know if I’d use the L word here, but …,’
‘Aren’t you worried about that?’ Castiel murmured. ‘He’s going to die someday,’
‘So are you,’
Castiel sighed, linking his fingers and resting his chin on them. ‘I’ve died before. It doesn’t really stick,’
‘Hmm,’
Castiel was watching the horizon - the tide seemed to be coming in. ‘I watched the first fish walk out of the sea. I wanted to put it back, at the time. Kill it, maybe. Anything to stop it reaching land. I wanted to stop it making a stupid mistake,’
‘What mistake?’
‘Humans,’
‘Ah,’
They sat in silence for a while. Jack pulled out a hip flask, passed it to Castiel. The waves were rushing in, slowly, a grinding, whirring wheeze of water over rocks. Rhythmic - too rhythmic.
He jumped to his feet. A little way off, something was materialising - a battered blue box with a door in the side and yellow windows at the top. There was a clunk, and the door creaked open.
‘No way,’ Jack said, grinning.
A tall man with a shock of spiky hair stepped out and looked around. He looked a little older than Jack had seen him last, but hadn’t changed his face again.
‘Jack!’ He called, waving. His trainers buried themselves in the wet sand, and he winced.
‘Doctor!’ Jack responded. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I got a call on the TARDIS,’ he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder as he headed towards them.
‘From who?’
‘From a …,’ he pulled out a wallet and checked the blank piece of paper inside. ‘Mr C. Winchester,’
‘That’s me,’ Castiel muttered. ‘Kind of,’
The Doctor scratched his head. ‘Right … I’m afraid I think I got the timing off. M’afraid that’s not unusual with me,’
‘I’ll say,’ Jack said.
‘You don’t answer the phone,’ Castiel muttered.
‘How did you get my number?’ The Doctor asked, looking him over.
‘Rowena Macleod. I asked if she knew any Britain-based men involved in supernatural happenings. She gave me a list,’
‘And I was second-best?’ Jack muttered.
’To your credit, it was a very short list,’ Castiel nodded to the TARDIS. ‘Is that an angel?’
The Doctor frowned. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘That box - it has a fallen angel at its heart,’
‘Um … no? No, mostly just star organs, void engines and bits of old junk down there,’ the Doctor said. ‘And a canary, who I should really check on,’
He gave Castiel a long, unbroken look. Castiel returned the stare.
Jack coughed. ‘Get a room,’
The Doctor glanced at him, then smiled. ‘Jack! How’s Ianto, how’s the team? Been a while since we got caught up,’
He sat beside him on the rock.
‘Ianto’ll be along soon, he’s just picking up some food, the rest of the team … is a bit on the rocks, I won’t lie to you,’
‘Oh no, that doesn’t sound good,’
‘No. Ianto and I sorted ourselves out, though,’
‘Ah, you’re together, then?’
‘Yep,’
The Doctor nodded. ‘Good, good,’
‘What about you?’
The Doctor didn’t answer. Castiel had wandered over to the TARDIS, and was circling it, critically looking at it.
‘Who is that guy?’ The Doctor asked him.
‘I don’t know,’ Jack murmured. He turned to the Doctor. ‘I did see him, though. When I died. I don’t know if you know what I mean, but … I saw him. All he ever was or will be. And I know I see people’s timelines around them whenever I die, it’s something brain chemicals do, but I always forget. But I remember him this time - why do I remember him?’
The Doctor pursed his lips. ‘Well … know you know what it’s like being inside my head,’
‘You see that stuff?’
‘Yes. All the time,’
‘You know how people are going to die?’
‘No, not usually. But premonitions are just remembering in the wrong direction,’ he said. ‘And Castiel over there … I think he’s like us,’
‘How so?’
‘Detached from the flow of time. Not part of his written story anymore. He’s a walking branch timeline. An anomaly. Thats probably why you remember him,’
‘Why?’
‘You’re not going to like the answer,’
‘Tell me,’
‘He’s in love with a mortal human,’
‘Thats it?’
‘Thats it,’
‘How do you know?’
‘I did some background research,’
‘Oh,’ Jack folded his arms. ‘Poor bastard,’
‘Yeah. Happens to the best of us, I s’pose,’
Jack grunted.
‘Hey!’ Came a distant call.
‘Oh, that’s Ianto, isn’t it?’ The Doctor said, his grin snapping back into place.
Ianto approached, set down a bag of food. ‘Doctor! Lovely to finally meet you. Jack’s told me all about you,’
‘Ah, all good things, I hope?’
Ianto’s smile became a little fixed, and he cleared his throat. ‘Anyway! Food!’
‘Can I see inside there?’ Castiel called, pointing to the TARDIS. ‘I don’t see how there can be another person inside there,’
‘There isn’t another person inside there,’ the Doctor replied.
‘But it’s alive,’ Castiel persisted.
The Doctor smiled a little. ‘Alright. I’ll show you. You too, Ianto, if you like,’
‘Seriously?’ Ianto said, grinning.
The three of them headed toward the box.
The Doctor fitted the key into the lock and shoved the door open. ‘Ok, try and wipe your feet on the mat or the TARDIS’ll get grumpy,’
He pushed open the door and stepped inside. Jack followed, and grinned. It was exactly how he remembered. Green-tinted and gold, metal railings everywhere like a junkyard. The console still glowed the same crystalline green, heaped over with every manner of mechanism imaginable, from bottle openers to typewriters. Corridors and tunnels led off in every direction, and wires hung in loops from the ceiling - some of the sheeting was missing, revealing oily cables and innards. The console screen was covered in post-it notes, as it had before, and a few books lay on the pilot’s seat. The whole place hummed and rumbled like a ship at sea, engines whirring and console clicking. There was the distant sound of an orchestra echoing about the place, too, maybe from under their feet, maybe from a room far above.
Jack glanced at Ianto. His partner was clutching the bag of food, staring in astonishment at the room around him.
‘… it’s so dirty,’ Ianto said, grinning. ‘Makes me feel so much better about the Hub,’
The Doctor rolled his eyes. ‘What d’you reckon, Castiel?’
Castiel was still standing in the doorway, looking up at the ceiling. He seemed emotional.
‘You alright, man?’ Jack asked.
‘Yes … I’m just … very happy,’ he said. ‘This place … its an anomaly, isn’t it?’
‘Yup,’ the Doctor said, leaning on the console. Castiel looked him in the eye. ‘You’re like me,’
The Doctor’s smile faded. ‘In what way?’
Castiel didn’t answer, just examined the console. ‘It’s always comforting to know that there are things in this world I can never understand, that my father has no control over. I’m happy that I’m not alone,’
Ianto shook his head. ‘This place still needs a going over with a garden hose and some disinfectant,’
The TARDIS clicked and whirred in disapproval.
‘You want me to give you a lift home?’ The Doctor asked. ‘I’d wager its a long flight,’
Castiel smiled then, as if they’d shared a joke. ‘I’d like that,’
‘Where’s home, for you?’
‘Kansas,’
‘Right,’ the Doctor hammered in something to the console. A few lights flashed on, an alarm clock trilled. ‘Ah. Yes, responsibilities. Might need to make some pit stops along the way, I’m afraid. Jenny Flint needed a favour - something about her wife. Or wife to be, I don’t think they’ve gotten there yet. And I think Mae Jemison wanted to have a chat about a spacesuit, and Hypatia still has that biro I lent her, I really should pick that up before she figures out refined plastic a few centuries too early. Oh, and I have a bad feeling those Slitheen eggs I stashed in Jack Kerouac’s desk might have hatched. Oh, and I need to pick up Donna, I think her spa session ended five minutes ago. Won’t take long, I’m sure. We can take the long way ‘round,’
He started dancing around the console, using all four limbs to flick switches and turn dials. The whole room shook and tilted, lights whorled and flashed and danced as they took off. Ianto grabbed one of the railings, cursing. Jack joined the Doctor at the console, and Castiel stood in the middle of the room, smiling, as they hurtled into time and space.