milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Dean's changing the oil on the Impala. Sam should be in the motel room, working on gathering more background information for their next case.

He can't make himself sit still long enough to focus.

After the sixth circuit of the room, he throws his hands in the air and stalks through the door to Milliways instead.

At least there he can grab better coffee than the cheap vending machine crap, right?

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"To getting out," Sam tells him, quietly.

"Huh," says Ianto, also quietly.

"Whatever I can do to help, I'll do it. That's terrifying."

"Thanks, man," Sam tells him. "I appreciate it. If something comes up where it looks like you can, I'll let you know."

Ianto just nods and drinks his coffee.

"Demons," he mutters to his cup. "Unbelievable."

"Way too damn common, from where I'm sitting," Sam returns, sourly.

"But yeah. I hear you."

"Yeah, that's right. It's kind of your day-to-day world, isn't it?"

"Pretty much."

"Don't you ever want to do something else?"

"Thought about it, once. Didn't work out."

Sam shrugs.

"Besides, someone's got to do this, and we're good at it."

"You're not the only ones, are you?"

"I wouldn't say we've got anything as official as Torchwood going, but no, we're not the only hunters out there," Sam assures him.

"You get to know each other, after a while."

"An unofficial network, like?"

"Got it in one."

"Interestin'," muses Ianto. "Aside from the conspiracy theorists who have it all turned 'round anyway, I've always wondered if there were people out there just ... watching the skies."

"More than you might think," Sam tells him. "Where I'm from, anyway."

A beat.

"Although less with the skies and more with the shadows."

"No, I'd believe it.

"Be careful of the shadows, too."

He eyes Ianto.

"Any particular reason?"

"Sometimes they're not just shadows."

"True."

A beat.

"What are they when they're not shadows, in your world?"

"Vashta Nerada, is what they're called. They're like piranhas. When they swam in sufficient numbers they even have intelligence.

"What are they in yours?"

"Daevas," Sam tells him. "Zoroastrian demons. Sound kinda like yours - Dean calls them 'demonic pit bulls. They operate in groups."

Beat.

"Sharp claws, too."

"Wonderful, isn't it, how many things there are in the universe to kill you," says Ianto, King of Deadpan.

He snorts.

"That's one word for it."

Ianto smirks. "Or malu chachu, as they say where I come from."

"Welsh, right? What's it mean?"