Hey there :) this is my first fanfiction in english and Iām from germany, so please donāt be to angry if the spelling & grammar is wrong sometimes.
This story was inspired by Imagine Dragons - dream. A wonderful song, it gave me so many feels!
Please enjoy ^^
Sadly, I donāt own Torchwood or any of its amazing characters. Sorry ^^
A shot cut through the night.
A loud noise breaking the silence.
But there is no noise when the bullet hits its target.
It breaks a rip and hits the heart of the man, who wishes that he never had one.
The impact tears jack from his feet, he falls in soft snow. If it wouldnāt be so dark, it could make a beautiful picture. Red cuts white.
Maybe he can see it?
Itās happened so many times, but the pain is always there. He waits. Waits for the darkness to hit him, the short moment of numbness that relieves the pain for a second, thatāll give him a moment of peace.
Before he will have toĀ breatheĀ again, toĀ liveĀ again, toĀ sufferĀ again.
And the pain, that old pain that no bullet can cause will come back.
āWhat if I refuse to wake up this time?ā
āThatās not gonna happen and you know that, Jack.ā
He looks up, opens his eyes, but can only see snow, falling from the sky, laying beneath him, covering him. But ā¦ a few meters away, he can see a silhouette in all this chaos of snowflakes. Alone, dark, watching from far away.
He can feel a lump in his throat when he watches him, recognizes him. When he whispers his name.
The snow turns transparent and suddenly, heās standing on his feet, stumbling forward.
āIanto?ā He asks, breathless, fearful.
āYouāll wake up every time, Jack. You will not just be killed by a third-class-gangster, you remember? Youāre a fixed point in time. You have a destiny. You will wake up.ā
Jack is looking at Ianto, but heās still watching things Jack cannot see, far far away. He looks the same. Like he looked when they first met, the day they hunted weevils. 456. First day. Last day. The words come out like a waterfall, they waited for so long, too long, he canāt stop himself from saying them.
āIām sorry, Iām so sorry! Itās all my fault, you should be alive, I shouldnāt have- I never-ā A cold finger ends his babbling. Heās looking into Iantos eyes.
āIt is not your fault. To come with you was my choice, do you really think I would have listened to you, if you told me not to go with you? Do you really think I would have stayed with Gwen and Rhys at the old warehouse?ā He lays a hand on Jacks cheek. āIt was my choice.ā Careful he wipes the tears away, the tears, Jack hadnāt noticed were falling. āSo it wasnāt your fault. If today or tomorrow, this year or next ā it would happen anyway. I wouldāve died anyway. You didnāt pull the trigger, you wouldāve never killed me! It is not your fault.ā
āNo protest. Everybody loses people. People we love and we care about, Jack. But we have to get over it! You have to get over it and you, you of all people have to stay alive and not just alive, you must live!ā
āBut I donāt know how. Youāre not there anymore.ā He hears Ianto chuckle quietly.
āOf course Iām still there. Iāll be with you all the time. Iāll wait here for you. Forever. As long as it takes. As often as it takes. Iām there for you forever. Iāll wait for you forever.ā
āI know. I love you too.
āBut what if I donāt want to wake up? What if Iām tired and canāt do it anymore? What if I canāt lose you again?ā Iantoās just shaking his head.
āThatās not possible. This is a dream. Youāre dreaming, Jack.ā
āI donāt want to go!ā He cries, screams.
āThatās the point, Jack.ā Ianto says calmly and takes his hand. āYou canāt let go. You have to decide everything on your own. But this time, you canāt. You donāt have the right to.ā Suddenly, he realizes that theyāre standing next to his body in the cold snow.
āTo loose youā¦ā Again, he is interrupted by Ianto. He is smiling sadly.
āI lost you too.ā He says quietly. āAnd Iāll give you something.ā He wraps his arms around Jack, kissing him.
Jack can see the little clouds of his breath in the cold air when he wakes up, his lips burning, his body shaking, but not from the low temperatures. Slowly he sits up.
Red blood on white snow.
He can see the sunrise. How long has he been he dead? It seems like seconds ago, when it was dark night. His hand, laying in the snow, slowly catches something. Something small, something silver and metallic and cold.
It is a slow ticking stopwatch.
Weāll meet again when your time is up.
izzy806
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