Jack wasn't on the bed, and neither was the tarp, or the blanket Ianto had left him with. Ianto's bed was perfectly clean. It was even made.
The floor was another matter, altogether.
The plastic was on the floor on the far side of the bed. It hadn't entirely contained the blood, though it had done a pretty good job of it. There was a definite blood trail between the bed and the bathroom. There was a single, perfect, bloody hand-print on the wall beside the door. Red and perfectly complete in contrast to the paint.
The bathroom door itself was just a little ajar, and the lights were out.
Jack had put gotten himself out of Ianto's bed, done a not-bad-for-a-dying-man job of making sure Ianto had somewhere clean and comfortable to sleep.
Then he'd staggered to the bathroom, curled up with the already ruined just by touching him blanket on the tiled and easier to clean floor, and died.