snowdarkred: (doctor who: amy: pirate hat)
[personal profile] snowdarkred

Title: the murder of minutes and the resurrection of seconds
Fandom: Torchwood
author: [ profile] snowdarkred
A/N: Can you tell I'm rereading House of Leaves? Warning for post CoEness. Anyway, I kind of wrote this for Rosa.


When Ianto dies the second time, he sees everything.

The edge of the universe burns brightly, impossibly bright, before dropping off into a stretch of nothingness so deep and real that it makes his bones ache. If he had the ability to draw air to his lungs, he would have sucked in a breath out of shock, but instead all he does is stare, mutely, unthinkingly, as the nothingness of the universe seethes and winds about itself, a giant snake so large that Ianto’s

poor human eyes
they cannot see past their own lives
(show you everything)

can not discern it, a truth so harsh that his mind shied away from it. The burn of the edge flames like fire, and Ianto could

the non-heat of it,
beating against his skin,
     beating against his hair,
his heart,
     his lungs,
          his being.

It tugged at him,
     pushed at him,
          pulled at him,
               urged him to run away,
                    run closer,
                              take the jump.

from the safety of reality into the raw chaos of unplanned endings and shattered story-lines.

THEADS UNRAVEL, and the edge reweaves them, and then they UNRAVEL, and then they burn, they burn so beautifully, so seductively, so terrifyingly. Ianto is drawn to them; he wants to gather the THREADS in his hands and tie them together, play cat’s cradle with galaxies that will never know why their worlds twisted out from under them like a cheap rug. Ianto’s hands itch, but he

doesn’t move,
     can’t move,
          can’t run away,
               can’t breathe,
                    can’t think,

and in the end, the edge comes to him, wraps him up in its loose THREADS and throws him into the black, into the snake, away from his life, away from everything, until the nothingness runs out and turns around and doubles back and flips and all that’s left is


Ianto is at the edge of the universe, staring, as the THREADS knit back together, weaving and winding, until the nothingness fades behind reality, hides behind sanity--

  When Ianto dies the second time, he sees everything.
When he wakes up, he remembers nothing but what it felt like to be alive
and whole
and broken
and pieced together
and loved
and hated
and wanted.


He lives.  

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October 2012

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