A/N: Knowing the first and only fanfic I have ever shared here was posted two years ago has been agonizing, but I have been determined ever since to finally pick up that writing speed. This was supposed to be a Halloween fic, but who says you can only read horror one time of year? This is for all River fans who share my morbid fascination with her traumatic childhood and the psychological after-effects her younger self still battled.
In Darkness, She Rises
She was standing in the middle of a dark room littered with bodies. They were humanoid in shape but twisted and distorted in a way that made them nearly unrecognizable. Lying utterly motionless.
Dead?
Probably.
Most definitely.
Her own breathing sounded loud and heavy in her ears. She became aware of something wet and sticky covering her hands. Feeling dazed, she brought them up before her eyes.
They were bright red.
Instinctively she knew the blood soaking her hands did not match that which coursed through her veins. Throat tightening, she suddenly found herself gasping for air. A voice echoed around her, as though it came from the other end of a tunnel. A terrible, all too familiar voice that nightmares were made of.
"You never really escaped us, Melody Pond."
River Song awoke in a cold sweat, on the floor of her apartment at Luna University. She untangled herself from the blankets that had fallen off the bed with her and stood, making a beeline for her desk. River rummaged through it frantically, the dream already fading. Pulling out a blank piece of paper, she paused with a pen hovering directly over it.
But the dream had gone. Slipped through her fingers like all the others.
River sank into her chair, dropping her head into her hands. She’d been enrolled at Luna for less than three months and had barely gotten a wink of peaceful sleep since. While it was true that she didn’t require the full eight hours of an average human, even someone with her mixed biology couldn’t survive on nothing. She had begun to feel the effects of these restless nights more and more the past couple of weeks.
If only she could remember the nightmares that caused them.
I know this is probably impossible in the canon universe, but it’s been inside my head for almost two months, plus I did not make a tumblr account to stick to canonical content.
I’ll publish an Italian version right after this; some words may be slightly different but it is the same story.
If you like it, please consider reblogging, but likes and comments are fine too.
Enjoy!
“What’s that?”
The Doctor’s attention shifted from the TARDIS component he was tinkering with to the spot the girl was pointing at from the seat.
“Oh… that,” he said, frowning and glancing one last time at the problem that he knew was there, but simply couldn’t find. After a bit of mumbling that Rose couldn’t hear, he got up from under the grate that served as the TARDIS’ floor; he raised his head to look at the peculiar helmet that was hanging a few meters over their heads and slid his hands in his pockets.
“It’s the Chameleon Arch. It’s a device that rewrites a person’s DNA: if a TimeLord uses it, their genes get modified until they become human,” he started gesturing a bit, imitating the movement of interlocking the Arch and the watch, “and their memories get stored in some kind of fob watch that you put there... in the front.”
“Luckily I never had to use it—it probably hurts a lot, too—but if there were a menace that required for me to not be a TimeLord anymore and/or to not remember anything about my life, I’d use thi—I’m sorry, is there something wrong?”
His speech had become more and more hesitant once he had noticed that Rose was staring at him as if he had told her that the TARDIS was going to grow a mustache.
“Rose?” He heard his voice tremble slightly, his body now turned completely towards her.
She blinked a couple of times and shook her head, apparently awake from the trance she had appeared to be in until a few seconds before.
“No… no, everything’s—I’m OK, it’s just that… a machine that can turn you human, I didn’t think it was possible, that’s all.”
He stepped close to her and the corner of his mouth lifted to form a small smile.
“Well, there are a lot of things that many people don’t think could be possible, and yet, here you are, in one and talking to one.”
She hit his arm playfully.
“Oh, don’t be so smug.”
“Sorry, can’t help myself.”
They laughed and soon dropped the subject, but some of her actions, such as glancing at the Arch or trying to initiate conversations that never took place, didn’t go unnoticed to her companion.
A couple of travels later, he just couldn’t keep himself from asking; little did he know, neither could she.
“Rose, I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been acting a bit… weird lately, did something happen? Did I do somethi-“
“Could it work the other way around?”
He blinked a couple of times and simply stared at her, astonished.
“If there were a way to make it work the other way around, we would solve our problem, right?” She sounded anxious, and, by the looks of it, she was very tense.
The Doctor gently grabbed her shoulders.
“Slow down. Are you talking about the Chameleon Arch? What problem are you referring to?”
“You said it yourself: you don’t die. I can live the rest of my life with you, but you can’t spend the rest of yours with me,” she hesitated, then put her hand on his. “If I were a Time Lord—or Time Lady, I guess—the problem would not arise. We could travel together for how long we wish, see everything and every time we wanted, if we managed to invert the process and avoid the memory loss-“
He shushed her. His heartbeats had experienced a significant acceleration throughout their conversation and, in a small corner of his mind, a glimmer of hope had started forming, and his only wish was to suffocate it.
“I can’t. I don’t know how and, even if I did, I couldn’t do something like that to you.”
She shook her head lightly.
“What does that mean?”
“Immortality isn’t a gift: it’s a curse. You’d regret it right away, or maybe after a few years.
He could distinctly see the tears that had been forming in her eyes and that she was trying to hold back, a disappointed look on her face; he was also doing his best to keep his tone sweet and calm instead of shaky. Her grip on his hand became firmer.
“Not if we stay together.”
He was about to interrupt her, but she didn’t let him.
“You can’t possibly think that after everything we’ve been through, this isn’t what I want. You can’t—“ her voice broke, and her hand came to rest on her side once more. He stared at her, his eyes expressing sorrow, behind which, they both knew, laid so much more.
Her hands were warm once they reached his face, but not as warm as her lips. They didn’t move for an instant, the space between them now closed. Their lips started dancing against each other, a sad and desperate dance of two lovers who feared that, once the music stopped, they would never see each other again. His arms slid from her shoulders to behind her back, and he held her even closer.
Once their eyes opened and they looked at one another, neither of them loosened their grip; he rested his face in the crook of her neck and sighed. She hugged him back and sobbed, and he watched her shirt get damp with his own tears. He slowly caressed her back, enjoying the smoothness of the fabric covering her skin and, in a moment born thanks to many factors—such as desperation, love and the little voice in his head that had started solving equations since the moment of her suggestion—he did what he had been desperately trying not to do. He let that glimmer be and allowed it to light his way.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
He was biting his nails.
He had done all that he could. He had taken the Chameleon Arch down, opened every panel he could open, reversed every mechanism he could reverse and calculated more than a human mind could calculate in an entire life. Rose was sitting, eating chips and looking at him turning the watch in his hands.
That was the key, and if there’s a key than there has to be a lock: what he had been trying to do—he didn’t know how long for—had been looking for every possible way to pick it. He took a breath.
“It should work. It should.”
“Really?” Asked Rose, swallowing another chip, trying to swallow down her anxiety with it.
“Yes. In theory. That’s the problem: in theory, it is now programmed to turn a human into a TimeLord, but,” he showed her the watch, “ it lacks a core. It lacks the container for the memories; in theory, that means that your memories will remain intact, but in practice it might not work at all. It might break, or worse, you could get hurt. But I don’t know what else to do.”
She put the bag on the console and got closer without saying anything.
He kept biting at his nails and staring at the fob watch; he raised his eyes and they stared at each other for a while.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes,” her answer was straight.
“Really sure?”
“Yes.”
“100%?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to do it now, because we can alw-“ she shut him up.
They split a few seconds later and she stared at him, without saying anything. He traced his lips with his fingers and sighed, then whispered:
“Alright.”
He stepped near the console and pressed a couple of buttons, lowering the helmet; he slid the fob watch in his pocket. Rose got closer and looked at him, waiting for instructions, watching him clutching the Chameleon Arch.
“It’ll hurt.”
“I know.”
He let the device go and held her close, kissing her forhead.
“Rose Tyler…” here goes nothing.
“I love you.”
She tightened her grip. “I love you too.”
He choked a sob, moved away and took the helmet again; his hands were shaking as he put it on her head. It had been a long time since he had last felt his hearts beating that hard. Everything could have gone wrong. She could have died. The possibility of a life by her side and her firm look were the only things that gave him the strength to pull that lever.
He found himself holding a screaming Rose in less than a second; she was holding her head, was squirming in pain. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream with her. He wanted to raise that lever and convince her that what they had was enough, that the little time they had to spend together would have been enough, he wanted to hold her close and never let go.
His conviction kept wavering with every gut-wrenching scream that left her mouth, every tear that slid down her cheeks, and each heavy breath that managed to make its way among the cries.
Soon, he couldn’t take it anymore. He backed towards the console, but the hand that was reaching for the lever got instinctively up to cover his hear when Rose let out a scream louder than the others, so loud that his ears almost hurt; then she shut up, and remained silent. He turned around and gasped.
Rose’s eyes glowed with a golden light. That same light surrounded her, like it had done the day of his Regeneration, and was gathering in the spot where the fob watch was missing.
“Doctor…”
The light got blinding, and he saw nothing more.
Thump thump.
Thump thump.
Thump thump thump.
Thump thump thump thump.
Thump thump thump thump.
Thump thump thump thump.
The Doctor rubbed his eyes, and the first thing he saw was Rose crouching on the ground, without the Chameleon Arch, clutching her chest. He ran in front of her, took her face in his hands and started examining her as best as he could, trying to understand if she was okay and if something had actually changed.
“Rose? Can you hear me? Do you feel anything different? Does anything hurt? All that light, Rose, it was…” he kept talking, but she didn’t answer any of his questions. She was simply staring at nothing in particular with a look of awe, then after a while she took one of the Doctor’s hands and brought it on her chest.
He stopped.
“I see it again,” she began. “Everything. And I remember—though this time it doesn’t hurt. It’s…”
He felt tears starting to form, as well as a smile; he laughed with such joy and hugged her so hard they both fell on the floor. They kept laughing, holding and kissing each other in pure bliss, until he raised his hand to shush her.
“Wait, wait…”
He slowly brought his ear where his hand rested before, and listened.
Thump thump thump thump.
Thump thump thump thump.
Four beats. Two hearts. The rhythm that marked the two lover’s symphony, who were now dancing happily, aware that the song was far from its end, if there was ever going to be one.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
umm i couldnt help myself sorry...
(((basically they all try to help the Doctor and its ok and then it's not and i am too anxious about the doctor snapping and turning on her companions that i had to write some version of it myself first, aiming to get the rest of it up before tomorrows ep)))
Word Count: 1,306
Warnings: [MATURE] Implied Major Character Death, Violence. Somewhat graphic detail of blood and use of a hammer. Demon Dean has no remorse.
A/N: Story inspired by the song “In Hell, I’ll be in Good Company” by The Dead South and the gif found on google. Gif credit goes to the artist.
You could hear the sound of him walking down the hall, his boots thudding against the pavement with a deep sound that echoed off the wall. You could listen to the noise of metal dragging against the walls, hitting the occasional uneven notch or tiles that reminded you of what he was carrying. You pictured the hammer in the red emergency lights of the hallway, the way the blood looked black and thick against it. You could smell the blood all along the floor, and the walls, the mixing of iron and smell of being underground seemed to mix nicely, and yet it made you sick to your stomach.
You could still hear the sounds of Sam screaming in your ears, even though he had long since stopped. As Demon Dean came closer to where you hid, you could hear him start to whistle. The tune was jaunty, catchy, almost happy. You could practically put in the guitar with it, but that didn't make you feel any better. It only made you more nervous, your hair starting to stand on edge. He was looking for you in every nook and cranny; eventually, he would find you, but a small part of you wanted to hope that this was all just a bad dream. It wasn't supposed to go like this. You and Sam were supposed to save Dean from this nightmare. It was too late, though, and Dean liked what he was, and he wasn't willing to give it up so easily.
The whistling starts to get closer, the sound of his boots louder. You are quick to move your hands over your mouth, hoping to muffle your breathing. Maybe he wouldn't hear you. Perhaps he would walk away, and that would give you the chance to get away. You look at the crack under the closet door to see his boots stop, facing the door. You feel your heart pounding in your chest like it's going to just explode with anxiety! You scurry back, pushing your back against the closet wall, praying that anyone would come and save you.
As tears start to stream down your face, the closet door is ripped open, and you are left looking up at Dean. His glossy black eyes looking back at you and he smiles, his hand gripping at the handle of the hammer. You see it covered in blood, his hands drenched in it. It drips off the metal and is black in the light, thick, and the smell is strong. You feel like you can almost see bits of Sam's hair and brain against it. Dean's scent mixed with the smell of blood hits your nose as he steps closer and you tense, looking up at him with pleading eyes. You want to speak, maybe to beg for your life, but you should have known better. You should have tried to talk Sam out of this. Now, look at everything. Sam was dead, and you were about to die.
Dean felt no remorse, in his mind, his actions were justified, and you asked for this the moment you tried to make him human again. Dean gets to your eye level, crouching in front of you, his arms resting on his knees as he dangles the weapon in front of him between his legs swinging it slightly. He looks at you and the tears that were starting to stain your face, he watches the way your eyes begin to bloodshot from it, the way your cheek and nose begin to turn red and puffy. Had this been the old Dean, he would have embraced you into his arms, making you feel safe and wanted, maybe even giving you a kiss to let you know he uniquely cared about you. But this wasn't that Dean anymore. His head tilts to the left a bit, and his brow furrows before he starts to click his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
Tisk. Tisk. Tisk. "Y/N, what were you thinking?"
You don't answer, the words won't come. You are paralyzed before Dean. This amuses him and yet, he's annoyed by it. When he asked you a question, he expects you to answer it. With a sudden jerk, he slams the hammer's head down against the floor. The sound of metal hitting concrete hits your ears sharply and suddenly, causing you to tense and jerk away from him, covering yourself before you start to sob a little more hysterically.
"I---I'm sor -- ry, Dean. I'm s-s-sorry." You plead with him as much as you can, but the words are broken up by your tears and sobbing.
His jaw clenches, and he watches you. All he wanted to do was be left alone, to live his new life as he pleased and how he wanted. He was done with being a hunter, this made him feel much stronger, more powerful, and he no longer feared what was going to happen to him every day. Dean blinks, the blackness fading from his eyes and you watch as you see that familiar bright green hues of his natural look. For a moment, you are almost fooled by the idea that maybe Dean would take pity on you as he reaches for your face, and his hand gently brushes against your cheek. At that moment, you just gaze at him, but the longer you looked, the more you realize that he isn't the same person he used to be behind those eyes.
The tears from your eyes don't stop, and the only thing you can think about was all the good times that you did have with Dean, the love you had for him, and why you wanted to save him in the first place. That man was gone now and before you stood a cold-blooded killer who felt nothing for you anymore. This was Dean, working through the aggression of an old life to move on with his new one. Before any more words could be exchanged, Dean's hand moves to grip at your throat. You quickly grab at his wrist in some desperate plead to break free, but you can't even get his fingers to budge let alone loosen a little bit. He squeezes so tightly that you feel the air start to cut off, your feet start to kick, and you watch as he shifts his weight balancing himself as his other hand brings the hammer above your head and he starts to swing down.
At first, things don't cut out, you don't die right away, you feel the warmth of your blood start to run down your face. You look at Dean with utter terror, your eyes going wide, and the grip on your throat was no longer a thought in your mind. Your body tenses before you start to convulse in his hand and he brings the hammer down again and again. The last memory you make is your blood splattering against his face and everything cutting out of your vision in a slow blur of black and red. Dean feels your body go lifeless under his hand and he lets go of your neck finally, watching your body slump to the side with your skull in a bloody broken mess. He pushes himself up from the kneeling position he was in and turns to walk away from you, leaving your body on the closet floor of a home he never intended on coming back to.
Dean walks away, his blood covered body bathed in the red lights of the hallways. He taps the hammer gently against the side of his leg in the same beat of the song he had been whistling before as his voice softly carried down the hallway in an off-key tone, "After I count down, three rounds, in Hell I'll be in good company."
