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stateofmybed-blog · 6 years

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Armageddon Anthem (Part 1) {TWD Fanfiction}

Notes: Originally on Quotev :) Word Count: 2.3k Warnings: attempted rape, language, violence (anything else that happened in the season 4 finale)

10:43 PM. You were keeping a close watch on the clock, as it was the only thing in your teacher’s office that was worth looking at.

“When are we gonna leave?” you tried not sounding too worried, but dramatically failed by the shaking of your voice.

“We need to stay here until I know it’s safe,” he muttered, flicking open the blinds with his fingers for mere seconds before letting out a nervous sigh.

“Mr. Wallen, please,” you were practically begging, but you didn’t care. “My family’s at home. I don’t know if they’re safe.”

“Be quiet,” he hissed, footsteps marching in the hallway right in front of the door.

He grabbed your wrist and pulled you to the other side of his desk, forcing you to crouch down as he did the same. You immediately understood why when the door opened and you heard what sounded like the wheezing of a gas mask, a few moments of silence, and then the shutting of the door.

You could see that Mr. Wallen was visibly relieved, moving the hand he had clasped on your mouth as a preventative measure.

“How do you know they weren’t trying to help?” Your voice was barely hovering above a whisper as you tried to steady your nervous heart.

“Rule number #1 for anything that happens? Don’t trust anyone you don’t know. They might get you killed.”

You were stunned into silence by what he said, eyes as wide as plates as you stared at him.

///

You let out a soft sigh as you awoke to the sound of birds chirping, wondering how they were surviving while humans all around you were dying. It was crazy; the idea of wildlife thriving as people’s stomachs ate themselves away out of starvation. Some things never changed, you supposed.

3 years. 1095 days since the outbreak had started. 3 years of living life without your stepmother, your father, or your stepsiblings. 3 years of scrounging for food, boiling water by the side of a river, and stabbing walkers whenever they got too close.

You hadn’t been alone for that long, thankfully. You had met many people, but they were either dead or on the verge of death. Somehow, you had managed to scrape yourself out of the situation, although you had questioned yourself if it was actually worth it. Escaping meant returning to the habits of a survivalist, which wasn’t something you enjoyed, to say the least. The deafening silence that constantly surrounded you certainly didn’t help, so days on end, your lips would form no words and you didn’t have the heart to change that.

Swinging your legs over the side of your bed, you let out a groan and straightened your stiff back, making it pop in protest multiple times. You slept like a dead man, as your mother used to say; once you got into a position, you didn’t move and your breathing slowed so much it looked like you weren’t at all. It was a blessing when you were sleeping on a forest floor or somewhere you could draw unwanted attention, but sometimes, it got in your way of having a good night’s rest.

The constant anxiety over what you had decided was best to do could easily be a factor as well.

Ever since the dead outnumbered the living, you thought it was best to leave open wounds untouched. You never mended broken relationships with fellow group members, or lessened hatred for someone once the fire was fueled, but you knew it was time to thread the needle and head back out to Terminus.

The day was quiet, as usual. Anything alive around you chose to not show it’s face, and no walkers were near your line of vision as you went to the river and refilled your gallon container as usual. You already had three large water bottles in a large backpack filled with non-perishable food items for a day you might need to run, which thankfully never came. The stove in the cabin still somehow worked, and since it was obviously a vacation home, it was still stocked with kitchen items, including a large pot you always boiled water in. Quite frankly, your life could hardly get better.

It became repetitive; check the snares or find something else for lunch, see if any more berries had grown on the small bushel about 20 yards away, cook whatever you found as your water is finishing boiling, eat lunch, check the string of alarms around the house to make sure there isn’t a breach, and find other things to occupy yourself until you felt tired enough to sleep. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but you were living, and that’s all you wanted.

Just as you put a book with no visible title back on the shelf, you fell back into your bed with a sigh, your two holsters and sash of weapons still on your body as you closed your eyes. You let your eyes flutter shut for awhile, enjoying the sound of absolutely nothing. Silence was a curse throughout the day, but at night, it was the greatest gift a person could be granted. No shouting, no growling, no gunshots… just warmth and peace.

That is, until you heard the roaring of a truck engine.

You knew it wasn’t close, which came as a great relief. It meant you could easily sneak up on any attackers if need be. Your nerves were on high alert as you slung your quiver of arrows on your back, grabbed your bow right beside it, jogged to the door and slipped on your departing backpack before closing the door and sprinting into the direction of the sound.

Thankful you were wearing your jeans, boots, and jacket as the cold night air pricked needles into the tender flesh of your face, you swiftly jumped over fallen tree trunks and rocks, it was times like these your years of experience were useful in dire times.

You slowed down once you reached the edge of a familiar road, and sure enough, there was a small group of men aiming their guns at a woman with a sword, a kneeling man in a winter coat, and a man with a crossbow. You saw a young boy, someone only years younger than you, you supposed, being held into the ground as someone 3 times his size held him there, heart breaking at the sight. You knew it was best to stay hidden, however, as they had to prove they were worth your bullets and possible injury.

“Look, we can settle this,” A white haired, middle age man started. “We're reasonable men. First, we're gonna beat Daryl to death. Then we'll have the girl. Then the boy. Then I'm gonna shoot you and then we'll be square.”

“Stop your squirming,” you heard the creep mutter to the boy, sending a chill down your spine. Only a few more moments. Something was going to happen, and it wouldn’t be the kneeling man’s death. You could feel it.

Sure enough, he reared his head back and headbutted who you supposed to be the opposing force’s leader, gun going off right by his ear but coming nowhere close to hitting him.

You watched him stand up and punch the other guy straight in the face, before taking a blow himself and falling to the ground.

“Oh, it is going to be so much worse now,” He sneered as he kicked the man you were rooting for, anger bubbling in your stomach when you heard the man hovering over the child begin to unbuckle his belt.

“Come on,” you whispered to yourself, clutching your pistol in your hand as you raised it. “Don’t let me be wrong..”

“What the hell are you gonna do now, sport?” The leader smirked as he forced the guy to stand, faces close.

A smirk of your own crossed your face when the man sunk his teeth into the leader’s neck, not needing another weapon as he spat out a chunk of flesh and let him bleed out to the ground.

The woman turned a stranger’s hand around and shot him with the gun still in his hand, taking it from his lifeless grip and taking out another three of the men.

Once you saw the boy’s capture stand up and try to pull a knife on him, you knew that moment was your perfect chance, leaping over the bushes and stealthily sprinting up behind him.

“I-I’ll kill him!” He rasped out as he focused on the only person he saw aiming a gun at him, oblivious to the fact that you were standing right behind him.

“You sure about that?” your voice dripped gratification as you pulled the hammer down with your thumb, the ‘click’ of it locking in place sounding more satisfying than ever before. “You heard the woman; Let. The boy. Go.”

He immediately released his grip and you watched him run to the woman, gripping her tight into a hug.

“On your knees, now,” you demanded, to which he obliged without protesting or any words.

“Thank you,” you heard the stranger whisper despite all the commotion as he was still in the woman’s arms, head resting in her elbow as he hand curled up and rested on the top his hat.

You lost forgot how to speak the moment you heard him say those two simple words, not remembering the last time you heard them. You were sure other people may demand something besides words, like weapons or food or fuel, but that was all you could ever want. Maybe you were lucky that you still had portions of humanity still intact.

You nodded and shared a few moments stare with him, before averting your gaze to the incomer at your feet. Your beloved 8” Dan Wesson revolver was pressed right to the back of his head, although you had no intentions of shooting. The sicko needed a good scare, and you needed the assurance that he wouldn’t do anything stupid.

The woman once again raised her gun, but had it aimed right at the man’s head just as yourself.

“He’s mine,” Someone you recognized as the group’s partner growled as he stood up, lowering the gun with his palm. In fact, he didn’t even notice you until he began taking a few steps forward, staring straight into your eyes with a questioning look despite his rage.

“You’re the kid’s father, right?” You asked, returning the elongated look.

After a few moments of silence, he nodded, giving you a look that you knew meant you weren’t going to be the one killing this man.

You let out a bitter chuckle and ran your tongue across your top teeth with your mouth closed, leaning over and fully removing the man’s belt and tightly wrapping it around his neck instead, ignoring his sputtering sounds as you dragged him forward by the leather’s surplus, kicking him when you weren’t satisfied by his lack of movement.

“He’s all yours,” you raised your hands to prove you weren’t going to do anything, taking a few steps backwards.

The boy’s father repeatedly ran a machete through his stomach, holding his tied neck as the last ounces of life drained from his face, blood trailing down his chin. Finally, he collapsed to the ground, dead, and maybe the joy you felt should have scared you. Maybe.

“Who are you?” A stranger with a crossbow who you swear you heard being called Daryl growled, not backing down as it was aimed straight at your chest.

“Put it down. She saved Carl,” the blood was still on the outsider’s face as he looked at you. “You aren’t one of the greatest leaders out there. And if you were, why would you be here?”

So that was the kid’s name.

“Because my men are dead,” you stated quietly, replacing your pistol into it’s holster. “People tried taking what was ours-bad, bad people… and I wasn’t about to just give up what we worked so hard for. We went down how we wanted to: fighting. I certainly hope you weren’t looking for the infernals, because we’re gone.”

“And we’re supposed to believe that bullshit?” Daryl challenged, weapon steady in his arms.

“Don’t believe me, Johnny Cash,” you rolled your eyes, “frankly, I don’t give a shit what you think.”

“How old are you?” Carl pulled away from the woman previously holding him, eyes glued to you. He held something none of the adults surrounding him did; innocence. It was admirable.

“16,” you answered, trying to sound kind. “Maybe 17.”

“How many walkers have you killed?”

“Rick, you’re not actually considering this!” The woman objected.

“Countless,” you spoke, hands on your hips.

“How many people?” He ignored her protests.

“Somewhere around 15.”

“Why?”

“You’d be surprised the lengths I go to in order to protect the things I love, Mr. Grimes,” is all you said.

“How do you know my name?” He stiffened, becoming more demanding.

“You ran that prison about a mile or two out, right?” You questioned. “The one that got burned down to the ground by that bastard in an eyepatch?”

“How do you know about that?” The woman’s eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

“Kind of a long story, I’ll tell you tomorrow. It’s fucking freezing out here,” you spun on your heel and began treading back into the woods, not surprised by the footsteps fumbling behind you.

“Answer the question, bitch!” Daryl shouted, but you simply continued walking.

“You can snap at me all you want tomorrow, sunshine, but right now, I’m cold.”

You heard constant murmuring as you continued to lead the group through the forest, all voices ceasing the moment they laid eyes on the house.

“And this,” you turned around, arms spread, “Is when things get interesting.”

Notes: Quotev has A LOT more of this story up, just so you know. if you decide to head over there, leave me a comment saying you’re from tumblr!

If you prefer to stick to tumblr, leave me an ask saying you want more or if you want to be tagged :)

#the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #reader insert #twd reader insert #twd x reader #the walking dead reader insert #carl grimes #female OC (ish)#my writing

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stateofmybed-blog · 7 years

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Fairytale Man - Friends & Strangers (Part 1)

Summary: You became a foreign exchange student to see the world. Instead, you saw the universe. With the help of a man in a blue box, of course.

Pairing: Teenager!Companion!Reader x Tenth Doctor (Platonic)

Notes: I'm starting to see why Doctor Who was made to be a TV show and not a series of novels... 5,000 words into one episode-like part, and I just hit the climax (speaking of which, sorry about the cliffhanger)!

Also: I was thinking about putting 'next time's at the end of each chapter, like the show does... how does that sound?

Anyways, I hope you enjoy :) Let me know your thoughts in a comment!

Disclaimer: There will be no romantic relationship between The Doctor and the reader, as the reader is only a teenager in this fic. I want this story to be centered around the main theme between companions and The Doctor: two great friends exploring the universe.

Ch 1

----

“So this is a…” you pressed a hand against what appeared to be the console in what The Doctor called the-

“TARDIS,” The Doctor finished your thought.

“Which is a spaceship,” you continued.

“And a time machine.”

He had told you what sounded like a planned poem: that he’s something called a Time Lord, that he travels the universe (yet for some reason, keeps coming back to earth), and doesn’t spend a whole lot of time on his own. You wanted to ask why that is, but completely forgot as you tried to stomach practically everything else you had just heard.

“And you expect me to believe this?” You raised your eyebrows. “Just… believe that witchcraft box is a spaceship?”

The idea was childish, in a maturely decided way. The Doctor did say he was ‘a fairytale man’, but you never thought it would be to such an extreme degree. Everything that came out of his mouth now sounded like it was straight from a fantasy. You almost considered the idea that you were being conned.

“Not witchcraft,” The Doctor disagreed, “I haven’t quite mastered those methods. Yet.”

“What would an alien be doing in the middle of England?” You asked. “Don’t you and your… people have better things to do?”

“Like what?” The Doctor inquired while flicking a random control beside your hand. If something happened because of the action, you didn’t notice it.

“I don’t know. I’m not an alien.”

“You were a lot more fun when you didn’t ask so many questions,” He noted while playing with a few different controls.

“When you didn’t know me as well,” You mumbled under your breath. You stepped away from the console and instead placed yourself on the bench seat.

“What’s that?” The Doctor looked back at you with his lips pursed, though not out of worry. More so out of curiosity.

“I told you to do what I’m here for; show me a story,” you told him while propping your arm across the seat. Why you were still there confused you, and how you talked to him so easily was shocking. Normally when talking to someone you had just met, you were a stuttering, forced-smiley and all around messy person. After only moments, you were passed the overly kind version of yourself and straight into the blunt, confused, and somewhat sassy person you were. You wondered if the reason why was because you felt you had to make up for something. Though, at the same time, you had no idea what you’d be compensating for.

His impish grin returned full-fledge as he pulled down a final lever.

The first thing you noticed was the wheezing sound that seemed to fill the room from the center. The next part was the jolt you felt just as much in your bones as you did your chest. You felt as though you were in an airplane picking up from the ground, only it was more of an amplified feeling. The pang of anxiety in your stomach mixed with the feeling of altitude reminded you greatly of your flight from the USA to Great Britain.

Next thing you knew, the TARDIS began to shake, and that did nothing to calm you.

“Don’t worry, it’s perfectly normal!” The Doctor attempted to assure you, despite saying it as he was kneeled in front of the console after being knocked down. You simply gripped the sides of your chair and closed your eyes, attempting to slow your racing heart and even quicker mind.

Then, you heard a ‘click’ come from The Doctor’s direction, and everything stilled as quickly as it began.

“There we are, then,” he simply said, which prompted you to open your eyes. The Doctor was simply standing there, unmoving, until he snapped to action and grabbed his coat from one of the strange, veined support beams. He then looked at you expectantly, and finally, you snapped out of your anxious trance and stood up.

Without hesitation, The Doctor zoomed from down the console area to the door. The ends of his coat trailed behind him with a flutter, and after some clumsy jogging, you met him at the newly askew TARDIS door.

The sight before you was somehow under-and-overwhelming. Rather than a busy street in a London district, you looked out to see a few people walking by on a cobblestone path. Dazed, you reached for the wall beside the TARDIS. It felt just as it was: brick. Yet the gritty and uneven texture only confused you more; how could the monochrome dressed people walking by, the supremely short buildings, and the men manning carriages all be so… real?

“What is this?” You breathed out, fully stepping out of the TARDIS and into the alleyway he parked it in. “What did you do?”

“I took you to the 1600s,” The Doctor answered simply. “Well, 1602 if you want to get specific.” You tried to reply, but the words didn’t quite come out. Every thought, every question, every bit of amazement, they all twisted your tongue into knots, each one pulled tighter than the last. In fact, you didn’t make a sound. Not until a breeze tugged at your jacket and startled your skin, which caused you to shiver.

“And you took me to a winter month,” you returned, finally noticing the thin blanket of snow covering the ground. Surely it would grow thicker in due time; this was still England, after all. Or… was it? “Apparently England doesn’t change much.”

“Lots of things don’t change,” The Doctor told you. Had you been wrong, you supposed he would have corrected you. At least you could get something right.

“The crown wearer will,” you noted, “soon, at least.” You looked back to see him with raised eyebrows. “You said 1602, right? The queen won’t last much longer.”

“Why would you say such a thing?” A woman from behind you gasped, which made you whip around in surprise. She was wearing a handsewn and pale red dress, paired with a white apron and a matching bonnet.

“I-I didn’t mean-” you began to stutter, only to be cut off.

“Queen’s Day is arriving, miss!” the stranger continued. “She may be growing older, but her majesty still deserves respect!”

“Pardon my friend,” The Doctor interjected, setting a hand on your shoulder and pushing you backward only enough for him to slip by. “Not from around here, meant no disrespect. So, what’s that about Queen’s Day?”

“It is arriving, sir,” She repeated, a look of shock on her face. “Only days away. The whole city is preparing: has been for weeks!”

“Yes, of course,” The Doctor played along by nodding. The woman looked as baffled by his actions as you felt. “Well, prepare away!” He urged and patted her shoulder, than brushed past her. You forced a smile towards the stranger and followed The Doctor.

“I’m right though, aren’t I?” You said, now in a lower tone. You glanced around to make sure no ears were preying. “Elizabeth’s era doesn’t see much of the 17th century.”

“You know more than you think you do,” The Doctor said, once again not directly answering you.

“And Queen’s Day is late November, so the climate is right,” you observed, tilting your chin to the sky. It was filled with clouds; you thought it may start snowing soon. “Does any part of this period carry on to modern English culture?” “Your guess is as good as mine,” The Doctor told you, rubbing the back of his neck.

“So there’s… no reason you took me here,” you asked, borderline taunted. Maybe you’d finally be able to get a real response.

“None at all,” He replied, looking at you briefly. A smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. “Not for the songs, for the Old English tongues... definitely not for the literature of theatre.”

“Oh my god, is Shakespeare still alive?!” You whispered with excitement.

“Still has over a decade left in him,” The Doctor assured, “though he may not be happy to see me.”

Your jaw slacked open, and you forced it shut. “Who else have you met then? The Queen herself?” You rebounded with a joke.

“Yes,” He answered easily, which made your smile fall in surprise. “Well, not yet. Time traveler,” he gestured to his face, “everything happens out of order.”

“Okay, so if Shakespeare and the Queen are out of the picture, what else is there to see?”

“For the next hundreds of years, Queen’s Day will be an attraction that brings thousands. If you want to know a place, learn it through it’s crowds.”

“That sounds like the exact opposite of something I’d do back at home.”

“How much did you say you know about England?”

You laughed to yourself. “Fine, i see your point. But what exactly do people do to celebrate Queen’s Day? How do you celebrate an accession?”

“Have you ever been to a modern-day Renaissance festival?” The Doctor inquired. He turned and leaned his head in curiosity,

“Once. My mom’s pretty into that sort of thing, though,” you answered with the shrug of your shoulders. “Why?”

“They’re the perfect modern-day representation of what a traditional Queen’s day is like.”

You felt yourself growing more excited. “Seriously?”

“Not quite,” He admitted, “but good enough, I suppose.”

You chuckled. The Doctor frowned.

“What?” He questioned.

“You don’t seem like the kind of person who’d settle for ‘good enough’.”

“I’m not,” he conceded, “but I may have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“Oh, really?” You scoffed with a smile. He turned towards a set of doors and fumbled with the doorknob as you stood behind him. “Like what?”

The Doctor looked over at you and smiled. “Drinking.” He threw open the set of doors he stood in front of and took a step inside the yellow-toned room. Candle-light; how charming.

“Great trick,” you called after The Doctor as he immersed himself into the crowd. You sighed and felt your back pocket that contained the American ID which confirmed your status as a minor.

After scanning the crowd, and seeing no wild hair or long coat, you made a beeline for the empty bar seat deep within the building. You managed to scrape by several people without hardly touching them.

“I’ll have a coke, please,” you asked the bartender with their back turned as you took a seat. The working man, who couldn’t have been many years older than you, turned around with a frown written on his features.

“What would you like, Miss?” He inquired as he dried a sparkling glass.

“Just a glass of water would be nice, thank you,” You corrected yourself after momentary panic. You’d really have to watch your words from now on -- not that you’ve had much trouble with that in the past.

Hey, at least you wouldn’t have to worry whether your currency was correct or not. Surely the Elizabethan Era didn’t charge for a glass of water.

“One glass of water, coming right up,” The bartender winked at you, which made your already hot cheeks flush.

“Oh come on, nothing more fun?” The customer beside you asked in a gruff and deep voice. The sudden sound almost startled you out of your seat.

“Uh, no sir,” you stuttered out as you took in his appearance. His dirty face was slumped over the counter before him, and his thick clothing was torn in several places. He smelled strongly of smoke, and, despite the many bottles just feet in front of you, alcohol.

“What, afraid to pay?” He taunted you in a way you supposed he meant to be charming. “I’ll add it to my tab,” he promised, and proceeded to slide his half-drunken glass of whiskey across the counter to you. “You can start with this.”

“It’s okay, sir,” you forced a smile through your nervousness regarding what he might do. With only one finger, you began to push the glass back towards him. “I’m alright. Have a few on me.”

Out of nowhere, the stranger grabbed your wrist that was closest to him. He finally looked up from his gaze to nowhere, but instead of looking like an average mean drunk, his face began to contort. The corners of his mouth pulled up to the edges of his eyes, which were nothing more that pitless black holes in his face. His body was leaning close to yours, but you were too horrified to scream. All you could do was helplessly move away from his invasion of your personal space.

Then, like you had done something to earn the charity, the bartender launched himself over the counter and tackled the man to the floor. You swiped the glass off the table out of instinct, which thankfully, nobody noticed. The crowd was drawn to man, and were shouting things like ‘it’s happening again!’.

“Y/N!” you finally heard the Doctor, and saw him standing in front of the mass of people trying to keep the offender pinned to the floor. He looked frazzled, and somewhat concerned.

“I’m fine!” you shouted with a shaky voice, and when you were sure he didn’t hear you, you gave a simple thumbs up. “Just… do your thing,” you muttered to yourself as you bowed your head and set your hands firmly on your neck.

A certain amount of time past, though you had no idea how long; all you knew was that the chatter heard when you first entered the bar was long silent. You supposed it had something to do with all the shouting that had gone on for steady minutes.

A gentle palm was set over your tense knuckles, and finally, you snapped up from your folded position with a gasp. The person pulled their hands back quickly, and even raised their arms in a form of surrender.

“It’s just me,” the owner said, and you sighed in relief when you realized it was only the bartender from before.

“Sorry,” you breathed out, and turned back around to face forward in your seat.

“No need to apologize,” he assured you, and hesitantly, took a seat beside you.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” you said after a few moments of silence. “You could have gotten hurt.”

“Of course I had to,” he protested, though wasn’t looking for an argument.

“Why?” you asked, turning your head to look at him.

He stared at you for a second, then finally said, “my boss would have killed me had I not.” When you began to chuckle, his face split into a wide grin. “Is there anything I can get you?”

You twisted at your hips and turned your body both left and right to get a full view of the bar. Upon seeing that all seats besides yours and the one beside you were empty, you looked back at the bartender with a request. “A real drink.”

The corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk. “I was about to close up, so maybe I’ll join you.” He stood from his place and offered you his hand. “I’m Jack.”

You glanced from his hand back to his eyes and accepted his handshake. “I’m Y/N.”

You supposed that, even if alcohol consumption laws were just as strict in 1602 as they were in the 21st century, your homemade Kahlua would go unnoticed. Besides the absence of anyone to report you, there were no security cameras or automated lock systems to rat you out. No criminal record of yours was about to begin.

You learned that Jack was in fact only a few years older than you: 18 years of age, to be precise. He had grown up locally and took a job as a bartender after his father’s death, which was when his mother and younger sisters needed his help most. He believed he still had an entire life ahead of him to fulfill; he wanted to attend university one day, ‘when the time was right’.

You sunk deeper into your chair that occupied the side of different table you and Jack had moved to. He was also gracious enough to lend you the jacket he had worn to work when you began to shiver. Though the action wasn’t out of the chill of winter’s edge, you graciously accepted.

“So, what brings you to England?” Jack inquired, once again trying to turn the subject to you. You stared at him with raised eyebrows, which made him laugh. “What?! You won’t tell me where your accent is from, nor your clothing, so… it’s the next best question.”

“I’m here because my family was run out of the country when I was an infant. They were framed for an act of treason; helped a scamming merchant bust out of jail. But, what could my father do? He was in love with the man’s daughter. So, the ran away to Switzerland together and lived in a cottage on a rich man’s farm. I’m back in town for Queen’s Day, but only for three days. My father wouldn’t allow me anymore time, as he’s already afraid my alias may be revealed.”

Jack’s eyes grew wider with each sentence that came out of your mouth. “Really?” Was all he could as by the end of your rambling.

“No,” you chuckled, “My native… friend took me with him.”

Relief, and with it, a smile, washed over Jack’s form. “You’re a fantastic liar.”

“I like to think so,” you agreed and took another sip of your drink. Your smile slowly faded as one recurring thought once again took over your conscious. “What was wrong with that man?”

Jack stiffened at your words, yet tried to play them off as nothing. “He was a drunk that hadn’t left his barstool in 3 days.”

“Jack, I’m in shock. I’m not stupid,” You deadpanned. “Men and women don’t shout and cry with anger over a drunken man with a temper.”

He sighed and rubbed at his temple. “This has been going on for a week or two, not the police would ever let you know. They’ve been trying to play it off, say that people are getting jittery now that Queen’s Day is arriving.”

“What do you think is happening?”

“I think there’s something in the air. I think people are losing their minds. I… think a lot of things before I think that.”

“Clearly the police are afraid,” you noted. “Whatever is going on, they think it must be bad enough to ruin Queen’s Day.”

“Whatever’s going on, it’ll ruin much more than a holiday,” Jack simultaneously agreed and disagreed with you.

A rattling noise sounded from behind both of you, at the front doors. You stood from your seat in surprise, only to set a hand on your forehead in relief.

“There you are!” The Doctor said upon entering, He stared at you with one of his wide smiles, the kind that made his mouth slack open. “Who’s this?” He asked, eyes averting to the boy that was previously sitting across from you.

“I’m Jack,” Jack said as he rose from his seat. He crossed his arms in suspicion. “Who are you?”

“He’s that friend I was telling about,” you assured, though understood. His abrupt entrance was suspicious, to say the least.

“Seriously?” Jack asked, unable to mask his disbelief.

“You mentioned me?” The Doctor asked.

“You… may have come up,” you admitted.

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged it off, though something about him gave away that it was still on his mind. “I have something to show you.”

“Okay,” you nodded, “I’ll be right there.”

He grinned again and disappeared outside. You set Jack’s jacket on the table in front of him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, same time as today. Alright?”

Jack’s cautious frown turned into a gentle and affirmative smile. You gave him one last grin before walking out the doors and jogging to catch up with the Doctor.

“What is it you want me to see?” You asked, tugging your flannel shirt around your torso.

“The townspeople says that what happened to that man earlier has been going on for a while,” The Doctor began to explain.

“Yeah, I know. Jack said exactly the same thing,” you said.

“Did he tell you that their faces go back to normal? It’s like an instinct; a trigger.”

“No, he didn’t, because he cares about things that matter,” you muttered to yourself, then sighed. “Doctor, it’s getting late. Maybe we should head back.”

“Head back where, the 21st century?” When you nodded, he looked dumbfounded. “Y/N, this has only just begun!”

“What’s just begun, a manhunt?!” you asked, then pinched the skin between your eyebrows. “Listen, Doctor: I’m gonna find your box -”

“ - TARDIS.”

“ -...TARDIS, and I’m gonna turn in for the night. You do whatever you want,” you finished and began walking down the road opposite of where the Doctor was heading. You had a vague memory of where the silly thing was parked.

As you walked, very few people passed you. The few that did seemed preoccupied; they didn’t offer you a single look, let alone a smile. Luckily, you preferred it this way. Perhaps being ignored wasn’t supposed to please you.

You examined the road under your feet. You noticed the chips in the pavement, and felt the stray rocks underneath the soles of your worn shoes. You wondered if the road still existed in your time period, and if it did, you wondered if somehow, it would recognize your footsteps hundreds of years later. Of course, that wild idea included the improbable: that the road hasn’t been built over or abandoned. Still, it was an idea you’d keep in the back of your mind for a task on a boring day.

Your shoulder bumped into a passerby’s, and immediately out of guilt, you sunk to the ground to pick up what you heard they dropped.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologized as you stood up, though you were staring at the key you were now holding.

A strong hand snatched the key from your palm. You gasped at the suddenness of the stranger’s actions. The person - a man, you quickly realized - gave you a blank yet angry look from over his shoulder as he continued on his path. You shook your head and also continued onward.

Within minutes, you managed to find the alley the blue box was sitting in. You breathed with relief and swung the door open, thankful that the Doctor hadn’t locked the door. Of course, you were going to change that. After stepping in, the first thing you did was turn the metal lock until it clicked.

You walked up the metal ramp and began looking for somewhere to sleep. There was a staircase that extended from the console, though if you correctly recalled what the Doctor mentioned earlier, the hallways could go on forever. The last thing you wanted to do was get lost.

Running a hand over the back of your neck, you laid down on the console seats in defeat. It looked like they’d have to do for the night. It didn’t quite matter anyways, you reminded yourself. You’d be back in your normal bed by the next time the moon showed its face.

The first night away from what you knew was always the hardest. You ended up either pacing for hours on end, or failing many attempts at sleeping. You were too tired to pace, so you opted for the latter, which wasn’t any more pleasant.

Every time you made the simplest move, even barely opening your eyes, you were reminded of the unfamiliar atmosphere you found yourself in. It didn’t matter if you were staying at a 5-star hotel and sleeping in a king-size bed: if it was a room you didn’t know, it was bound to keep you up. Of course, this time around, you had neither such things. All you had was a pitiful bench seat under you and a thin shirt as your blanket.

You saw your little sister running around the deck of your aunt’s pool. She had moved into her new husband’s expensive house. Though they lived in a rural area, just as your family did, their wealth was still plainly obvious through their 4 story house and the inground swimming pool.

You and your sister loved that pool. It was the only reason you were both so eager to ‘spend time’ with your aunt. Of course, the woman didn’t mind. You were only 7 years old, and your sister 4. What else were kids supposed to do?

Your mother told you to watch your sister while she quickly went inside to help your aunt bring out a dish for lunch. She said that you had 5 minutes left to swim, and afterwards, you’d be coming up on the deck to eat.

You were testing how long you could stay underwater without breathing. So far, you had counted to 30 seconds. After coming up to the surface, you gasped for air only to dunk yourself under again.

You rose to the surface for an uncountable time. You felt the water drip down your small shoulders, and you saw a pink tint of sunlight through your closed eyes. You didn’t bother wiping the chlorine water away before going back under and steadily counting.

Once again, you sunk down underneath the water, but this time, your hands felt weak. So weak, in fact, that you could no longer hold the side of the pool. You felt yourself begin to sink farther underneath the thick and heavy water, helplessly flailing your arms for someone to grab you. You saw the sunlight splinter through ripples of the water, and as your lungs grew more tired from lack of air, you saw blurry faces looking over the pool.

Suddenly, you heard people yelling your name. The strange thing, however, was that their heads were turned when they spoke, and they weren’t yelling out of fear. They were scolding your name, and pleading to the child sitting at the bottom of the deep end. But… how could both be you?

The last thing you heard before fading into darkness was a grown body plunging into the pool.

You startled awake to a knocking door. You snapped into a sitting position with sweat slick on your chest and your lungs heaving for air. Once again, the knocking echoed through the spacious room. You acknowledged that you were still in the TARDIS, and that the knocking must be the Doctor. You pulled yourself up on shaking legs and walked down the ramp to the door.

Seconds after unlocking and opening the door, the Doctor barged past you. “Why did you lock the door?” he asked, though didn’t bother sparing a backwards glance to you.

“Because you didn’t,” You answered, and for the second time, flicked the lock shut.

“Ah,” he accepted your words, though didn’t really care. “So apparently, this… epidemic has been going on for weeks. The police have been keeping it hidden from the town; snatching the unconscious bodies and lying their way through questions.”

“Yeah, I know. Jack likes to talk,” you said, keeping a hand on the railing as you walked up towards the console. The Doctor was pulling up a metal ‘floorboard’ and digging around for something.

“So, any guesses on what it is?” He spoke, though was still preoccupied.

You frowned and crossed your arms. “What?”

“Any guess on what that creature was, or what it may do?” He repeated himself, but the question remained just as confused.

“No! And frankly, I don’t care! I asked for a story, Doctor, not a horror movie.”

“What?” He started, and you could see the growing smile on his face as he looked down. “You’re not up for a little adventure?” The Doctor tilted his chip upwards, and upon laying eyes on you, his face flattened. “What’s wrong?”

You dropped your arms. “Nothing. I’m fine. I’ll just… stay out of your way, and you’ll take me back when you’re done.”

“No, I mean why are you sweating,” The Doctor rose to his feet and set a hand on your face with no caution in his movement. He frowned, then dropped it. “What do you mean, ‘stay out of my way’? What are you gonna do, stay in the TARDIS the whole time?”

“Isn’t that what people do when they tag along with you?” You raised your eyebrows. “I mean, seriously, who wants to be around when things go haywire?”

“That’s half the fun!” The Doctor protested, and you couldn’t comprehend why he was so thrilled. “If nothing happened, traveling be like an interactive history book: completely pointless!”

“No,” you laughed, though felt no humor. “No, no, no, no. No!” you found it impossible to stomach the idea of experiencing what happened at the bar every day. Every time you tried, you felt yourself growing more panicked. “There’s no way that’s happening.”

“Y/N, I didn’t mean to upset-”

“Forget it,” you cut him off, waving your hands as a form of dismissal. “When this is fixed, just take me back to England, alright?”

Before the Doctor could respond, a shouting voice sounded from the street outside. Though originally it sounded muffled, the yells soon became clear; the person was shouting your name. You frowned in a mix of confusion and worry as you retraced your steps down the ramp, unlocked the door, and hesitantly stepped outside.

Jack, while standing on the road, came into your line of vision. He looked ready to call out again before you stopped him.

“What’s going on?” you asked, stepping forward.

“Y/N!” He exclaimed as he entered the alleyway. You saw his expression morph from relief to confusion. “What is that thing?” he said while pointing to the TARDIS.

“Nevermind that,” you assured, “what’s wrong? Why did you need me?”

“I think I know why this is happening,” he said, somewhat out of breath. “And I know who comes next.”

“Yeah?” You raised your eyebrows. “Who might that be?”

“You.”

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stateofmybed-blog · 7 years

Text

Fairytale Man (Doctor Who x Reader)

Summary: You became a foreign exchange student to see the world. Instead, you saw the universe. With the help of a man in a blue box, of course.

Pairing: Teenager!Companion!Reader x Tenth Doctor (Platonic)

Notes: This is my first ever Doctor Who fic! I'm excited to take the plunge, as I'm finally getting back into the show. Disclaimer: There will be no romantic relationship between The Doctor and the reader, as the reader is only a teenager in this fic. I want this story to be centered around the main theme between companions and The Doctor: two great friends exploring the universe.

The cold winter air invading Britain had everyone and everything feeling the same way: gloomy. Formerly plowed streets were beginning to be given a new thin blanket of snow, while the piles and buried grass hardly noticed nature’s far from warm gift. The clock was hardly striking 5, but the thick clouds overhead made it feel as though dusk was nearing.

Snowflakes clung to your coat and eyelashes as you walked down the sidewalk of a mostly forgotten road. Your black jacket and maroon bottoms stood out in the monochromic geography, and your hands remained cold despite their place in your pockets. The sidewalk ran alongside a park, a park that had grown to be neglected over the years. It was old to children, as some of their parents had memories of running in the open grass and bobbing up and down on the now rusty teeter-totter. And yet, they kept coming back. You were never sure why, as much of the city’s more intimate parts of history remained a mystery to you. An effect of being an exchange student, you supposed.

The school’s exchange program was still in a beta process, and you were one of the willing candidates right from the start. There was a small fee of $750 american dollars to gain access to the program, and while your parents thought it was a scam, it turned out to be blissfully true. You couldn’t quite remember the details - maybe the school wanting an easily accessible program while also gaining traction for previous structures? - though the price had always een clear to you. $750, and you had a dorm room the size of an apartment complex in a building you shared with other foreign teenagers your age.

Your parents had almost stopped you from attending. They first made the money excuse, as you were well aware that your family was a middle-class one. You quickly pointed out that after 5-6 months of saving the income you gained from your job at the small and local grocery store, to which they grew silent. Of course, that didn’t mean they consented, and you quickly realized this in the months to come.

By the time you had saved up enough money, you had lost track of how many fights you had gotten into with your parents. They made every excuse in the book, including your younger sibling and your future. You had given up on bartering in due time, but the fighting still ensued.

Ironically, the night you and your parents completely lost it was the night they agreed. It was an average night; your shift had finished and after the short walk home, you walked in to see your parents sitting in the living room. You made your way to the kitchen, because this wasn’t the first time they had left you no dinner, but a snide comment made about how many late hours you worked stopped you dead in your tracks.

You didn’t remember most of what was said, as all you could recall was the screaming. Things were said that no one meant, and at the same time, hidden things in both hearts and minds began to surface. Eventually, the three of you came to a compromise. It was surprisingly quiet, considering the circumstances. Still, with tear tracks on their faces and whispered words admitting emotional attachment weren’t enough to convince you to stay. While the program had driven a wedge between your relationship, you continued to be relentless as you fought for the chance to prove yourself. Perhaps that’s why you had yet to tell your parents that you hated life in England.

Back in America, you assumed every part of the way you lived would change. While the culture in England was incredible - almost too good for words - your personal (particularly, your social) life in the country had yet to grow desirable. You still spent every night in your room, wasting hours on the internet. On the good nights, you felt nothing. On the bad nights, you scrolled through your classmates’ social media accounts and felt a sharp pain in your heart and a shortness in your lungs. And, on the worst nights, you cried yourself to sleep, asking yourself and anyone who was listening why you couldn’t just be normal. It was easy to hide yourself in your studies, but it wasn’t enough to convince yourself you were okay.

That old coffee kiosk was still at the end of the road, like every other time you took this path back to the dorms. Mr. Jonathan, the owner, was decked out in his usual knitted red hat with a pattern of black on white stitched into the middle of the yarn made piece. His old grey coat reached the bottom of his heavy looking boots, and the familiar details brought some ease to your unsteady mind.

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it, sir?” You said once you reached the front of his mobile shop. You didn’t know much about Mr. Jonathan, besides his adult kids and him being a widower, but your heart no longer raced when you spoke to him. You always took that as a good sign.

“Beautiful?” he asked with a scoff. “Pretty, maybe, but colder than hell.”

You half smiled at his bitter reaction while digging in your pocket for stray change. You came back with three quid. “The only thing cold that needs changing is your attitude.”

“That’s a brave statement coming from someone ordering coffee,” he remarked, yet mirrored your amused smile.

You let out a laugh and dropped the coins onto the counter separating the two of you. He got right to work at filling a medium-sized disposable cup, which gave you a few spare seconds to look around and at your surroundings.

Kids zoomed past each other with cries of happiness, while others giggled and played on the structures. A curly-haired girl was on a set of swings, smiling widely at the boy who sat beside her. Parents filled the benches near the playground equipment, but on one stray seat near a tree that had shed its leaves sat a lonely looking man. His brown hair stood up in strands and rustled in the occasional wind in the same way his tan coat did, and he stared ahead blankly, like his eyes were fixed on something worthwhile. You tried to follow the trail of his gaze and found nothing.

“Your change, Miss,” Mr. Jonathan spoke up as he set a few coins on the counter beside your freshly poured coffee. You looked back at Mr. Jonathan, then to the stranger again. You then looked down at the coins and your drink, and after letting out a shaky breath, spoke.

“Can you make it a double?”

Mr. Jonathan raised his eyebrows, though he grabbed another cup from the piled stack. “A lot of studying tonight?” He asked, referring to your sudden additional order.

You shook your head. “No sir. It’s for someone who looks like they need it.”

“You mean it’s for that man who’s been sitting there for about-” he paused to check his watch, “-2 hours?”

“That long?” You asked as you pulled your arms closer to your body. He was right: the snow was pretty, but the wind was the monster it hid.

“I don’t think he’s moved a muscle,” Mr. Jonathan confirmed. “I have no idea when he got there, either. One second he wasn't there, and then… there he is. It’s like the man appeared out of thin air.” He picked up a disposable tray, and after setting the new drink in it, he placed yours in it as well. “Not sure he’ll want coffee, sweetheart.”

“I have a favorite teacher that I left behind in the US,” you explained, “and he told me that kindness travels greater distances than even the stars reach.”

“Is that all it takes to charm someone like you? A little poetry?” Mr. Jonathan teased, then grew more serious. “If he gives you any trouble, give me a shout, yeah?”

“Yes sir,” you nodded firmly, then smiled and picked up the tray. Your heart was thumping at the idea of offering a complete stranger - a weird stranger, at that - a coffee, so his words helped soothe you.

You walked through the open space of the gates around the park’s perimeter, and you hardly even noticed the people staring at you. You couldn't remember when you became the apple of the public eye, though over the years, it was something you had gotten used to. You stopped feeling the urge to question it, even to just yourself, a long time ago.

You were close to reaching the stranger, and now that you were closer, you could see red scrapes and a few cuts decorating the side of his face. This only increased the shaking in your already nervous hands, but you simply trudged forward through the snow.

He glanced up at you, just for a moment, and your feet stopped moving. You immediately froze, like a child being caught in the middle of disobeying. You felt a small breath brush over your parted lips, and couldn’t help but notice that the man’s expression had yet to change. His eyes, they softened quicker than snow stuck on clothing and skin melted, but his face still appeared colder than the flakes falling around both of you.

After a small burst of courage, you closed the small gap of space between you and the empty space on the bench. You pulled at your coat the moment you took a seat and let out a forced sigh that you hoped sounded content, or at least relaxed.

“I’m used to the snow,” you started and set the drink holder in the space between you and the stranger. “It’s the rain that was hard to get used to.” You picked up one of the two identical cups and offered it to him.

The man looked over to you, and then to the cup of coffee. Your extended hand was shaky and sweating, though not from the warm beverage you were holding. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of the stranger contemplating, he accepted the drink. His face split into a half smile, one corner pulling up more than the other. You felt yourself relax a little.

“Ahh, well, that’s England for you,” he took a sip of the coffee. “Makes the sunny days worth it, doesn’t it?”

“I haven’t seen too many of those,” you admitted. “I’ve only been here since September. But, to be fair, I don’t know much of anything about England. Besides the things everyone knows.”

“All it takes to know is the want to know,” he informed, and spoke with a ease that almost seemed impossible. “The city, the culture, the legends… they’re living and breathing, right around you.”

“I’m the only thing stopping me,” you said, and maybe you shouldn’t have said it like it was a fact. Funny thing was, you practically knew it as one. “That sounds about right.”

“Though I suppose that’s easy for me to say,” he began to counter his own statement, “I’m the one who’s always leaving. But I always come back, don’t I?”

“Sounds like you grew up here,” You replied, referring to his accent. “I’d find it hard to abandon my hometown, even though I’m not always there.”

“Many, many parts of me grew up here,” he agreed, and although you were confused, you somehow understood what he meant.

“You must be good at telling stories, then,” you smiled. Simply the way he spoke gave this off: that he’d always have something to say.

He smiled as well, in the same manner he did before, but something about the expression didn’t add up. Maybe it was the change in his eyes, or that it didn’t seem as genuine. Regardless, spotting the difference was easy. “It’s what I do for a living.”

“What is it that you do?” you asked, taking your first drink of coffee. The mix of cool air and time between made it the perfect temperature. “Novelist, historian, teacher..?”

“I guess you could say I’m all of the above.”

Normally, you would have dropped the conversation upon hearing this, or at the very least, frown. This time, however, you rather continued to stare at him, though you eyes did narrow slightly in confusion.

“Who are you?” You asked, then rephrased, “what’s your name?”

The stranger hesitated for a moment, then replied with, “The Doctor.”

“That’s a fairytale name, Doctor,” You remarked, though didn’t question his answer.

He grinned like he knew something no one else did. “I’m a fairytale man.”

You pondered for a moment, wondering exactly what he meant by ‘a fairytale man’. Were you right in guessing he was a writer? Or maybe he implied he lived in his head, building castles that could never exist. Regardless, you were certain of one thing: this Doctor man was only giving you enough to keep you curious.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, which to your surprise, made both you and him jump in surprise. You fished the device from your pocket and read the preview of a text message from your roommate: Imani. Without opening the message, you knew what she was asking of you.

“That’s my queue,” you said as you stood up, “my roommate wants me back for dinner. Says I spend too much time out and about.”

“I need to pay you back,” The Doctor protested, and you weren’t surprised when he dug around in his pockets, only to come back with nothing.

“You can tell me one of your stories sometime.” You offered a method of payment without even thinking before speaking. What were the odds of you ever seeing him again? And before that, what were the odds of him even ending up in this park again?

Somehow, the answered satisfied The Doctor, because he looked satisfied as he nodded a single time. You offered him one last smile, this time a one with a closed mouth, and you walked back around the playground and out the gate.

You walked for a few more steady blocks, nothing but the wind and falling snowflakes to keep you company. You were more than okay with this; walking past strangers was far from something you enjoyed.

You turned the corner beside the unused and currently withering courthouse, and the second you did, something felt off. Of course, to you, something felt wrong. So, you quickened your pace and crossed by the front steps to the abandoned courthouse in half the time it would usually take you. This didn’t stop you from noticing the big blue box with glowing text at the top sitting in the alley.

After retracing your steps and getting a better look, your heart began to thump loudly in your ears. Your throat tightened with anxiety, and your chest jolted at your sudden gasp for air.

If there was one thing you didn’t like, it was change.

“Hello?” you asked reluctantly. You couldn’t tell if you were grateful or even more nervous when no one answered.

‘Police Public Call Box’. That was the illuminated font near the top of the box. You could remember reading about the sort of thing before, though your head began to ache trying to recall from where. Maybe the idea was vaguely mentioned in a textbook before, or you briefly read about it in a news article. Unlikely, sure, but not impossible. The only thing impossible in this situation was that was was here, right before your very eyes.

“This isn’t supposed to be here…” you said, more to yourself than to anyone potentially in the box. It was jammed between two uninhabited buildings, and of neither were a museum. So what was the beat up and ancient looking thing doing there?

One of the two doors creaked open, and you jumped backwards the second your heart leaped into your throat. You were breathing like you were coming down from one of your rare panic attacks, chest heaving and limbs shaking.

You don’t know what possessed you to lean forward, only for a split second, and push the door fully open.

You watched the door creak open the rest of the way with your back pressed to the brick wall farthest from it. You couldn’t see anything inside because of this, but you were at least thankful that no one came out.

Each step you took was hesitant and quieter than a mouse scurrying across a kitchen floor in the dead of night. Your eyes were fixed on the newly ajar door, ready to detect any change of movement. You reached the the door in less than five paces, and not even your overly analytic head could have prepared you for what was inside.

A metal ramp with matching railings lead up to a strange, somewhat circular device in the middle of what appeared to be a massive room. The walls met at the top to create an unsteady dome, and you could see that there was depth beneath the metal floor that held the texture of a fire escape.

You slammed the door shut and practically ran out of the alley, pulling at the edges of your coat as you trudged through the snow and into the school’s dorm complex.

“You expect me to believe you spoke to a stranger on your own free will?” Imani asked.

The two of you were sitting in a local diner, one that served breakfast until noon. The clock was drawing closer to 11:00 AM, and while you would normally be eating lunch around then, a finished platter sat in front of you, waiting to be taken back to the kitchen. Imani was digging into her third plate of pancakes.

“He was just… sitting there,” you said, tapping at your mug of coffee in thought. “He looked so alone.”

“What’s his name?” Imani asked through a mouthful of her brunch, “you never told me.”

“He called himself The Doctor,” you replied, “Whatever that means.”

“Sounds creepy,” Imani thought aloud. “What kind of man has a title and no name?”

“What kind of exchange student goes out for lunch rather than finishing her homework?” You countered with a false grin. You were desperate the change the conversation.

“You stood me up at dinner. Again,” Imani pointed out, “this is the only way you talk to me. So, I do it.”

“If I get a free meal out of it, it’s a win,” you smirked, and raised your coffee cup to your lips. You took in the grounding scent and felt the warm steam tickle your nose. Finally, you took a sip, and felt the hot liquid rush down your throat and into your stomach. After setting down the mug, you did something you did every time you were in public: you scanned your surroundings.

In the left corner seat sat a student typing away at a laptop. Books were sprawled on the table before them, along with a large mug and a clean plate that sat close the edge. In the seat next to the student sat a charming elderly couple. The woman was making pleasant conversation to the listening man across from her, who seemed to be multitasking by also eating a meal.The table beside the couple seated a young mother and her baby that occupied the stroller she was rocking back and forth. Satisfied, you shifted your focus to what was happening on the other side of the cafe’s massive front window.

Cars whizzed by quickly compared to the people that filled the sidewalks. Crown Street - the one you were currently on - was practically made up of shops, and thus made it one of the busiest streets in Kensington. You didn’t mind this, as you lived a considerable distance away from the crowded road.

Anyone walking was always in a particular rush. You’d lost count of how many people had shouted into their phones or shoved past people due to their quick pace. Life doesn’t bend to you either, you thought. Maybe that should have made you feel a sense of relief. It didn’t.

Your eyes followed a man dressed in a suit who had a girl in his arms and a boy by his side. The girl was reaching off of him so she could reach the boy, who was jumping up to play with her. The man, who you supposed to be their father, was speaking into his cellphone. Perhaps he was bargaining with his boss for his tardiness, or with a babysitter who failed to show. Obviously, you would never know, and your propositions ceased when they passed by the right side of the window. You had been caught up in theorizing that you almost didn’t notice that The Doctor was leaning against the side of a building from across the road.

He was staring at you, and it made you wonder for how long he had been standing there. Normally, you noticed the sort of thing, so to be completely oblivious concerned you. Him being so close to you without you realizing along with him having somehow tracked you down only made your worry increase.

“That philosophy paper’s due date was bumped to Friday, by the way,” you lied as you ran a finger along your mug’s rim. “Ms. Hayn wanted me to pass the message along.”

“Are you serious?” Imani almost choked on her pancakes. Your expression didn’t change, which made her jump out of her chair. “I’m heading back,” She declared while tossing £7 onto the table. That was more than enough money, but you weren’t about to get in her way.

“I’ll meet you back there,” Imani decided, and like a bolt of lightning, she was out the door and up the road.

You matched the amount of money she laid down to cover both your expenses as well as a tip. You picked up your backpack, the smaller one that you used as a traveling bag, and found your way to the door.

Just as you had expected, The Doctor hadn’t moved. You were outside, only aware of the winter month because of the winter wind, and he had yet to move a muscle. You were starting to wonder if this was a reoccurring theme of his.

There was a break in traffic, and against your better judgement, you crossed the street. A car coming closer laid on their horn when you passed the line and walked closer to The Doctor, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. They weren’t about to reach you in time, and you weren’t about to get hit by a car. There wasn’t much else to worry about.

“What are you doing here?” You asked the moment you stepped onto the sidewalk. “Have you been following me?” You continued, and couldn’t help but notice that the cuts and scrapes on his face had disappeared without a trace.

“You opened the door,” he said instead, which made you frown in confusion. The Doctor shimmied aside, and once again, you laid eyes on a mysterious blue box.

“Do you always park it in alleys?” You asked, looking over the box. Nothing about it had changed from the previous night. “How do you move it, anyways? I don’t see a tow truck.”

“I normally don’t have to,” he said. “Park it in alleys, I mean. Hardly anyone looks twice. Well, you being the exception. The only one, actually. I don’t think anyone’s done that before.”

“You mean no other passerby has opened it?” You raised your eyebrows. “It’s a blue box taller than a man in the middle of London! How can people not be prodding at it?”

“They aren’t curious enough,” The Doctor explained. He spoke in a tone that made everything sound obvious, yet he didn’t seem to be condescending. It was a conflicting combination. “But you are,” he continued as he stood up straight, “and i don’t even know your name.”

“Y/N,” you told him. “My name is Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N,” The Doctor started, and he was smiling like there was something to be satisfied about, “I still have to pay you back.”

“You can tell me a story,” you reminded. “You’re good at those, aren’t you?”

“Anyone can tell stories,” He shrugged off your remark. “It’d be more fun if I showed you one. Don’t you think?”

“My friend’s waiting for me,” you nodded your head to the side Imani ran off in, “back at our dorms.” You wondered how far he would push it.

“The one that ran off? I could get back sooner than she can. And we could have some fun doing it. Good ol’ fashion, running for the hills fun.”

“That’s a big promise, Doctor,” you said. You couldn’t believe you were even considering taking off with him god knows where.

“It’s a promise I can keep.” He was back to leaning against the wall. “That’s what’s important, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” you replied, because maybe it was. Who were you to decide that? The Doctor didn’t reply, which made you glance down at your feet, and then back up to him. “Well, what are you waiting for? Show me a story.”

He grinned like a child in Christmas Day and practically jumped into the box. The door, however, stayed open from his actions, and you found yourself setting one hand on the closed one as you stepped into a place that made no sense.

If all else fails, you had a can of pepper spray in your backpack.

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