Title: Crowd control
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Ianto
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 942 words
Content notes: Spoilers for Big Finish audioplay “Outbreak”
Author notes: Written for Challenge 487 - Crowd
Summary: Ianto realises that the fate of the entire city now rests on his shoulders, and to make matters worse, everybody wants him dead.


No sooner than Ianto had ascended the stairs from Mermaid Quay up onto the Plass and into Bute Street he knew he was in for trouble.

What had started as a mildly chaotic morning with a few fruit loopy bus passengers in a pub, was quickly becoming an escalating disaster. Whatever this virus thing was, it was spreading fast. Just for once Ianto quietly wished it was the kind that left people laid up in their beds, unable to move. Instead it was the kind that turned people into lunatics, flooding the streets to unleash the departure of the faculties on everyone else, speedily spreading their infection.

He heard people talking about some kind of emergency hospital being set up at the castle, but that was a long walk up Lloyd George Avenue from here and with people and cars everywhere, clogging up the streets and jack-knifed over the roads, there was no way of driving there, and he most definitely wasn’t getting in any vehicle with someone else behind the wheel. He’d already seen how that had turned out. He'd have to leg it and take his chances with the ever growing crowd of psychopaths. He knew there were only two ways this could go. Either he'd be heading to the one place where there might be people who knew what this was and how to cure it, or he was stepping into the very jaws of hell itself, having to come up with a solution on his own, assuming he lived long enough to manage it. A castle full of murderous Cardiff residents could make that problematic. ‘Should’ve grabbed a gun before I left,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘Stupid, stupid…’

There were people simply everywhere. It was more people than he'd ever seen in one place, including the last home international that Gwen had dragged him along to, the streets packed with red, white and green flags, scarves and other paraphernalia. Now it was like every last one of Cardiff's million residents was out in force, creating carnage. And he’d thought fifty thousand drunken, sore at losing, Welsh rugby fans had been bad.

‘Nothing you can't handle,’ he muttered to himself. ‘It's not like you don't have Gwen and Jack backing you up.’ Not. He had no idea where Gwen was and wished, not for the first time, that he had his phone with him as well as a gun. It was on his desk back at the hub, forgotten in the madness of trying to assess Jack's physical condition before getting caught up in a murderous game of cat and mouse, where Ianto was the mouse and Jack was the cat that hadn’t been fed for three weeks. ‘’No thanks to sodding Norton Folgate,’ he added, making a mental list of things he'd inflict upon the man if he ever managed to drag him back from 1953. That was the kind of killing game Ianto could get on board with.

Amidst the chaos Ianto bumbled into an old lady, apologising profusely for his absent-mindedness, too distracted by the Maslow’s hierarchy of needs list he was making for himself, which included sleep, a holiday someplace sunny and remote, and two bags of marshmallows he didn’t have to share – not necessarily in that order.

‘You should really stay inside if you can,’ he told her. These streets were not the type that were kind to elderly ladies. They were scarcely kind to Torchwood agents used to this kind of thing.

She looked up at him over her hunched frame, eyes bright and with a menacing glow to them that immediately made him think “Oh God, you too.” ‘You seem like a lovely young man. I’d love to kill you and eat you.’

Okay so not just murderous at people they loved. That was different. Worse, that made them all the more dangerous. He'd been worried that the only one who might want to harm him was Jack. Somehow it was more comforting thinking there was only one person in the city who wanted him dead.

‘I wouldn't bother,’ he deftly replied. ‘All skin and bones, me. Nothing you'd want to sink your teeth into,’ he added, knowing Jack would have heartily disagreed with the statement if he'd been here. Also, he didn't fancy the kind of inglorious death that came about by being eaten alive by a little old lady.

She cocked her head and then her face went a bit blank. ‘Oh, okay then,’ she said, tottering off into the melee once more.

Ianto puffed out his cheeks, forcing out a relieved breath. Things really were going downhill quickly now. The whole city was going mad. So would he, he reminded himself. He was fairly certain he was infected too. Jack had been all over him; they'd even traded saliva during one impassioned kissing moment, right before Ianto had managed to slip Jack's gun from his holster and shoot him in the thigh. He felt a tiny wave of satisfaction roll through him at the memory. Yes, definitely infected. You might only kill the ones you loved but that apparently didn't stop you wanting to inflict violence and cannibalism on others.

He swallowed. He wasn't there. Not yet. If he could hold back a murderous tide of harm towards Jack, he could shove the rest to the back of his mind as well. If Torchwood didn't fix this then everything would be lost. It was up to him now. ‘Well, hi-ho hi-ho, it’s off to the castle we go,’ he told himself aloud. ‘Only one highly infectious homicidal crowd of locals standing between you and it. Piece of cake.’