bug_writings (bug_writings) wrote in gen_challenge, @ 2008-05-12 23:04:00 |
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Current mood: | accomplished |
May 12th Prompt
Prompt: Crossover: Torchwood/Supernatural - Sam, Ianto (and whoever else you like) - Far from home
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I'm just playing with them.
Summary: Ianto finds himself in a bit of a bind.
Author's Notes: Mild spoilers for Season 1 or Torchwood, none for Supernatural. Set after Jack gets back and before Dean's deal. Enjoy.
“Hey. Hey, wake up.”
The accent was all wrong, Ianto decided as the words started to make their way through the haze of unconsciousness. It was too soft, and too something, and not Jack's. Of course it wasn’t Gwen’s or Tosh’s or Owen’s either, but that wasn’t surprising. They’d been investigating that Weevil upsurge, while he and Jack had scrambled to investigate the… the… what was it again?
He couldn’t for the life of him remember.
Something about black eyes on normal looking humans.
“Hey. C’mon man, wake up for me.”
Right. Yes. Waking up. He could do that, although technically it was ‘coming too’, since he’d been unconscious and not asleep, but it wasn’t really the time to argue semantics. He could do that once he knew where he was and what the hell was going on.
Opening his eyes didn’t make things any clearer. He couldn’t see a bloody thing. Blindfold then. It wasn’t the first time, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Not in his line of work, or with his boss. At least it didn’t smell of meat and blood this time, although he could still feel bruises. And ropes.
Bugger.
“Wake up.”
The voice was more insistent, and it appeared to get huskier as its owner got more worked up. Time to reply, before the mystery voice started shouting and/or brought reinforcements. One he could probably handle, any more than that could be a difficulty.
“I’m awake,” his voice was slightly slurred and he winced. Probably concussion. Owen would give him hell for it when he got back, or got rescued, whichever came first. He hoped he managed to get out of whatever this was on his own, he’d never live it down otherwise.
Just the bloody tea boy.
Hah.
“Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but are you the one responsible for this,” he shifted slightly, and pulled at the bonds holding him to the chair that he could feel now that he was paying attention. “Or are you in as much of a bind as I am.” Ianto kept his voice down as well, figuring that if the unknown speaker was doing so it was probably for the best.
“If you mean am I tied to a chair with a bruise the size of Wisconsin developing, then yeah, I’m in the same situation as you.”
So, that made two of them tied to chairs, probably with concussion and possibly blindfolded… “Blindfold?” He had to know just how bad it was. Then he could work out a plan for getting them out of there. Not a chance he’d leave somebody behind, even if he didn’t know them. Too many bad memories attached to leaving people behind.
“Yeah. I’m guessing you too?”
“Oh yes. Can’t see a bloody thing.” The mysterious American didn’t seem to be panicking, in fact he seemed bored with it, like he’d been in the same position more than once before as well. A good thing, probably, since it meant he didn’t have to deal with a civilian. “So, any idea of where we are?”
“Last I knew I was in Montana somewhere, chasing after a particularly nasty… erm… insurance case.”
Ianto couldn’t help but chuckle, even if it did make his head ring uncomfortably. That had to be the weakest excuse he’d heard since Owen had tried to pass himself off as a bra salesman to get laid. It was a shame that the ‘client’ his drunk mind had latched onto was a rather large bodybuilder who hadn’t taken kindly to the insinuation that he needed under-wired support for his muscles.
“That has to be the most pitiful excuse I’ve ever heard, and believe me I’ve heard and used some pretty awful ones in my time.” He sighed and shook his head. They were both tied up, probably by whatever Jack and he had been chasing, and they’d have to work together to get out of this mess. “I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours?”
A sigh, and then. “My brother and I were chasing a demon. It’s what we do. Only problem is, it got to us first, and now this.”
The anxious silence afterwards told Ianto all he needed to know of how mystery man’s little revelation was normally met. He probably got the same reaction that Torchwood did, before they retconned it away, blind hysteria or disbelief. Both, if they were really lucky. “My boss and I were chasing something with black eyes, in Cardiff. We didn’t know what it was, but we deal with all sorts of aliens so we figured it was probably under our jurisdiction.”
“Sounds like you’re a long way from home.”
There was a smile there, he could almost see it, and he grinned back, ignoring the slight pull of the split lip and bruising. It wasn’t anything new. “Well one of us is, that’s for sure. Your brother coming for you?”
“Your boss?”
“Yeah,” and that answered his question. Either way, someone was coming for them both. It was a comforting thought. Especially when in the distance, there came the sound of a door clanging open. He tensed, and began checking his bonds in earnest, hoping to find a way out of the ropes before it happened. He didn’t know what it was, but in these sorts of situations it was never good.
Last time it had been the sight of a butcher’s block and hanging meat.
“Ianto!”
“Sam!”
Two shouting voices, coming closer, and he could have wept for joy. Jack to the rescue. Again. It was really getting to be a habit of his, one that he wouldn’t have any other way. “My boss” he stated, reassuring, Sam was it, that at least one of the voices was friendly, the relief in his voice plain to hear.
“My brother.”
Given the relief echoed in Sam’s voice, it seemed that it didn’t really matter where they were. Home had come to find them.