Gwil's Guide to Growing Up Torchwood: Chapter 9

[amuly]

Title: Gwil's Guide to Growing Up Torchwood: Chapter 9
Pairing: Jack/Ianto, Gwil
Word Count: 1,000
Rating: PG
Summary: When a seven-year-old boy falls through the Rift, Ianto and Jack decide to adopt him. This is the story of his life at Torchwood.
Chapter Summary: Gwil has a nightmare and overhears a conversation he doesn't fully understand. Gwil POV.
Warnings: none
A/N: 1.] I found the word “cwtsh” when I was perusing an online Welsh dictionary, and was so shocked by it's severe lack of vowels that I decided I had to use it. It's also adorable ^.^ 2.] How Gwil sleeps on the bed is actually how I used to sleep with my parents when I had a nightmare. I have no idea if anyone else did this, but I thought it was cute.

Previous Chapters:
Prologue
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

 

 

Gwil started awake in his big, empty bed. The darkness around him moved, bringing life to the nightmare still buzzing through his mind. Mill owners and foremen and big boys danced in front of his eyes, reaching out and snatching at his pajamas in the darkness. The growls of machinery and angry men mixed in his mind, echoing through the barrier of wakefulness. With a whimper, Gwil hopped out of his bed and pushed open his door. He padded through the kitchen to his tad and dad's room, where light was spilling through the slightly ajar door.

He could hear low voices coming from the room, and he paused, listening in. Too many times in his old life he had gotten in trouble for showing up in the middle of a conversation he shouldn't have, or learned a life-saving piece of information from one of those conversations. Eavesdropping had become as vital a skill to him as nimble fingers and quick eyes. He sank down to the ground, wrapping his arms around his knees as he listened in.

“-don't like you having to come back on your own.” That was his tad, Gwil knew. He shifted so he could peer into the room through the crack. He could see his dad and tad propped up in their bed. His dad looked sick: pale and sweaty. He was lying with his back against Tad's chest, who was running a soothing hand through his hair.

Dad spoke next, voice barely a weak croak. It was nothing like how he normally sounded: the loud, happy voice that equal parts comforted and intimidated Gwil. “Well I don't need you putting yourself in harm's way just to be at my side when I come back.”

Both men's eyes were closed. Tad shifted, nuzzling his nose against Dad's hair. “Will you let me as long as I promise to only when it's safe?”

“Of course.”

There was a long pause, and Gwil almost uncurled himself from the floor to let himself in. But then Tad shifted, frowning before he spoke. “We're going to have to tell Gwil eventually.”

Gwil twitched at hearing his name. Dad moved, opening his eyes as he tried to turn around in Tad's grip. But Tad just held him tight, rubbing a hand up and down his arm until he settled. “Not yet. He wouldn't even understand it at his age.”

“You underestimate him.” Judging from his tone of voice, Gwil thought that Tad might be saying something nice about him, so he smiled in the half-light from his parents' bedroom.

“He won't notice that I'm not aging. Not yet.”

“But what happens if you die in front of him?” Dad made a disgruntled sound, but Tad continued. “It's Torchwood, Jack. It could happen. How am I supposed to keep him calm if you die? Or keep him from being terrified when you come back? What if he does something rash, because he doesn't know? As he gets older...”

“Please, Ianto?” Dad's voice sounded so weak; it made Gwil nervous. “Just...not yet. Just give me a few years of pretending to be normal?”

“Gwil is a Rift victim from eighteen forty-eight, his parents work in a giant underground base and the closest thing he has to a pet is a pteranodon. I think you might have failed at 'pretending to be normal' quite a few oddities back.”

Whatever Dad said next was too quiet for Gwil to catch, but it made Tad laugh. Gwil shifted forward, trying to hear more, when he overbalanced and fell into the door, pushing it open. He heard rustling from the direction of the bed. Before he could even right himself, strong arms were lifting him, and he found his tad holding him close as he peered down worriedly. “Gwil? What's the matter?”

Gwil glanced back at the door, where he could see the darkness from their rooms creeping in. He snuggled against Tad, burying his face in his nightshirt. “Bad dream. Cwtsh?”

He felt himself being carried across the room, then Tad shifting onto the bed. Dad was there, running a big hand through his hair. “Cwtsh?”

Above him, Tad replied: “Cuddle. He had a bad dream.”

There was some shifting and adjusting as the two men and one little boy tried to get comfortable on the bed. After a few moments of crawling around on the bed, Gwil found himself being lifted and placed onto the pillows. He peeked out above the piles of pillows to see his tad looking at him bemusedly, while his dad looked on with a grin. “He's small enough to just sleep up there without getting between us. And then I don't need to worry about rolling over and crushing him in my sleep.”

Tad snorted, but then leaned forward to give Gwil a kiss on the forehead before lying down onto the pillows. “Do you think you could fall asleep there, Gwil?”

Gwil crawled around once in a circle on the pillows, before settling down: wedging himself beneath one pillow and on top of another. He looked back up at Tad and nodded from his pillow-enveloped position.

“Go to sleep, champ.” Dad's voice, though still weak, was regaining some of its usual vibrance. A big hand covered Gwil's head, ruffling his hair before he settled in next to Tad. Gwil kept his eyes open for as long as he could, watching as Dad and Tad shifted until they were curled up around each other: Tad lying on his stomach, half on the bed and half on Dad's chest; Dad on his back, a single arm curled around tad and holding him close. Dad looked tired, but his eyes were still open when Gwil's started to fall closed. The last thing Gwil remembered before he fell asleep was Dad humming a lullaby that sounded of long ago and far away.


Want more? Continue on to Chapter 10.