Ianto, for lack of a better word, is used to fighting monsters. Aliens, creatures that don't look like humans and don't think like humans. It's easier to separate the two in his head if he thinks like that, easier to kill them, easier to do a lot of things really if he doesn't let himself think about it. But these bandits, despite their cloaks and hoods, they're really just people. And that throws him off.

Watching John drive the blade of his knife into the neck of a man and move so casually on to the next -- the expression on his face -- that throws him too. He doesn't belong here. What was he thinking, volunteering for a mission like this. He watches as the injured bandit falls, fingers tight around his weapon, before shakily guarding himself against the next attack. His attention on the scene before him such that he doesn't notice the hand closing around his ankle. Startled, Ianto trips over with a muffled cry of shock.