who_contest | Haunt Me ('Horror Stories' challenge)

Title: Haunt Me
Rating: PG13
Genre: Angst/Horror, Alternate Universe
Word Count: 2,622
Pairings or Characters: Eleventh Doctor; various other characters
Spoilers: Starting at Season Four, going clear through to The Day of the Doctor
Warnings: Character death, potentially disturbing concepts
Summary: Is this how I reward their loyalty? Their trust? Their love?

There are universes beyond the one you're aware of. Universes brought about by decisions. Simple ones, difficult ones. Seemingly irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.

These universes hold myriad possibilities. All the things that could have happened to you in the universe you know, good or bad.

I know. I can imagine those possibilities as if they really happened.

As if they're all happening right this minute...

Amy leans over the ledge of the building, crying as though her heart will break. As though it has already broken. Coming up beside her, I find that it has.

The paradox didn't work. The Angels wouldn't allow it. They can't have Rory.

But neither can Amy.

I stand beside her and stare down at the man who used to be my father-in-law. The man who used to be the love of Amy's life, broken obscenely on the pavement far below.

I reach out, trying to comfort. "Amy, I'm so sorry."

To my horror, she turns on me. In her eyes I see a hatred that would make any Dalek envious. "Is this why I waited for you," she asked me, vitriol in her voice. "Is this why I waited fourteen years for a man in a blue box? So that I could watch Rory die over and over?"

Trying again, I cup her face in my hands. "Amelia, listen to me--"

But she shoves me away. "Damn you, Raggedy Man," she hisses. She reaches for the ledge, clambers onto it.

"Amy, don't," I shout, dreading and desperate.

It's too late. She's gone. Little Amelia Pond. Vanished into a darkness that I can't save her from.

Time can be rewritten. Lives can be relived.

They can also end in the blink of an eye.

Hands roughly grab me as I lean over the ledge. Before I can react, a fist collides with my jaw.

I land in dew-damp grass, Stonehenge in the distance, flickering by torchlight.

Rory looms over me. "Why couldn't you save her," he demands.

I stare up at him, perplexed. "What are you talking ab--" Then I see, and I understand.

Behind him sprawls Amy, staring sightlessly up at the dark sky. Both hearts have just enough time to ache for her before I'm dragged to my feet and slammed against one of the sarsens. The stone is cold against my back. But its chill can't compare to that in Rory's eyes.

"You said you were going to reboot the universe," Rory tells me. "It didn't work!"

The grief in his voice keeps me from pointing out that the stars are blinking back to life. Clearly now is not the time for technicalities. The reboot worked, certainly. But not one hundred percent.

"Rory, I'm sorry. I didn't know this would happen," I try to explain.

He pulls out his sword, unwilling to listen. "You should never have come back," he yells. "Everything would have been fine if it weren't for you! Amy and I could have been married, could have started a family...and you had to fall out of the sky and ruin our lives! Everything I've ever wanted, you took away from me!"

The sword is coming dangerously close to my throat. The firelight gives it a threatening gleam. Frightened but resigned, I squeeze my eyes tightly shut.

There's a fundamental setback to having two hearts. Every day of my life, I face double the chance of heartbreak.

The more often you face heartbreak, the easier it is to be broken again. And again. And...

The cut doesn't come. Cautiously, I open one eye.

A pair of tombstones rises before me. I flinch before I realize that this isn't Manhattan. I'm in London instead.

Kneeling, I examine the stones, and flinch again. Not this...God, not this...please...

Donna Noble
25 December 2009

Wilfred Mott
1 January 2010

"She remembered you," a familiar voice tells me. Reluctantly I turn to face Sylvia Noble. She always had a bitter look to her, but this runs deeper than usual.

"What happened," I ask, wondering how I can even find the voice behind this lump in my throat.

"We found her unconscious in a back alley. She woke up soon after we took her inside." Sylvia's voice tightens as she fights to keep her grief in check. Always one to control her emotions, this one. "Her last hours were agony. You were right; her brain literally burned. The coroner couldn't understand, and Dad and I couldn't tell him."

I can't even bring myself to ask about Wilf. She doesn't give me time to, anyway.

"It broke Dad's heart when Donna died. He couldn't get over it. You should have seen him wasting away; he couldn't even look at that telescope of his without breaking down. He just...lost the will to live." Her eyes bore into mine, hard as adamant. "Do you have any idea how hard it is for a man to lose his grandchild?"

Blimey. She's cut me to the quick with that one, sparked my inner rage. What the hell does she even know about me?

Sylvia, do you have any idea how it feels to go through life believing that you've lost an entire planet? I hope to Hell you never do.

But she doesn't need to hear something like that right now. Everything she's loved is gone, too. Trying to explain myself won't lessen her pain.

And it's my fault. It always is. No need to parcel out blame; just put it squarely on these shoulders of mine. I'm used to it by now.

The Oncoming Storm leaves a hell of a wake.

God. I'm getting too old for this.

Many planets have myths about a trickster god: A being whose sole purpose is to sow chaos wherever he wanders. It's a universally-known fact that every myth has a kernel of truth lurking beneath the surface.

I'm left wondering: Is that what I am? Do I irreversibly upend innocent lives, and then go swanning off, looking for new worlds to disrupt?

Is that the sort of man I've become?

I've lost the wager.

Clara arrived just in time for the fun, if you're twisted enough to call it that.

The Cyberplanner--Mr. Clever, he fancies himself--is just that twisted.

She arrived just in time to watch the Maitland children die.

Bright spark, that Artie. There was so much potential in that boy. And Angie. Bold, outspoken, very much her own person. They had such promising futures ahead of them.

Clara, I'm sorry. I tried so hard.

She wants to run to them, but the Cybermen are already in the room. Taking her arms in quite literal steel grips, they drag her away for conversion.

A voice calls out to them to wait. There's hope in Clara's eyes at the sound of my voice.

Mine no longer.

The body I used to own frees itself from the chair where we've been playing the ultimate chess game. It comes closer, and the hope on Clara's face turns to terror. She knows me well enough by now. The Doctor she knows and trusts would never grasp her chin, fingers biting painfully into her skin. The Doctor would never...ever...kiss her like that.

The Doctor is out. Have a nice day.

(Where am I during all this? Oh, I haven't gone too far. I'm still here, a prisoner in my own head. Mr. Clever has decided to keep me around a while, just to watch everything fall apart. He seems to think I'll find it...entertaining. Who knew Cybermen were capable of a sick sense of humor? One is; much good may it do him.)

There've been so many people through the years. Accidents. Stowaways. Friends. Loved ones.

Companions.

So many have come and gone. I've probably made more friends than the average person will ever have.

And then lost them, one way or another.

Is this how I reward their loyalty? Their trust?

Their love?

I'm in the TARDIS. But she's not responding to me. Damn it; that's the trouble with sentient machinery. The old girl always picks the most ridiculous times to throw a hissy-fit. I briefly consider breaking out the mallet. Then I remember: The last time I used the mallet, she got cross and hid it. Secretly, I think she waited until my back was turned and chucked it out. Can't say that I blame her; just because the TARDIS responds to a little percussive maintenance doesn't mean that she appreciates it.

Sparks fly from the console. When I try to handle the controls, they give me a mild shock. Well, I say mild; a human would probably be knocked unconscious for a few hours after a jolt like the one I just got.

I'm still sucking on my sore fingers when the TARDIS rocks abruptly, sending me to my knees. There's a horrible moaning noise as all the lights dim. That's when it hits me. This isn't stubbornness.

It's outright hostility. The TARDIS is angry at me for some reason. Rising, I stroke the time rotor, hoping to soothe her.

"Come on, Sexy," I mutter. "Don't do this to me..."

She does it to me. Deliberately disables herself, leaving me stranded Hell knows where.

Damn it! Why now, after all we've been through together?! She's the only home I've had for centuries, sometimes even the only friend. Why the hell would she suddenly abandon me like this?

Digging out my sonic, I try to scan the console. But it's not giving any readings--it doesn't even have a signal.

"Not you, too," I grumble, shoving it back into my pocket.

Well, I might as well find out where the TARDIS has brought me this time. Maybe she'll be feeling more cooperative if I give her some time alone.

Just as I reach the door, I hear the footsteps. Even before I turn, I know who it is. I'd know those footsteps anywhere.

Melody Pond. River Song. My psychopath. My wife.

I've never been able to figure out which of those concepts is more frightening to me. But now's a bad time to ponder the question. She has a gun in each hand. One for each of my hearts.

River isn't alone, either. Standing in the shadows, eye drive as firmly in place as that cruel grin I know all too well, is Madame Kovarian.

Damn it to Hell. I'm not even going to ask River how that woman got aboard my TARDIS.

"River, how the hell did that woman get aboard my TARDIS," I demand. So I changed my mind. I can do that now and then.

River answers with her own question. "Why didn't you protect me from her?"

Okay. Didn't see that coming. Probably should have. "What? You know I did everything to try to find you."

She shoots at the floor just in front of my feet. That's the second time she's shot my TARDIS. I've half a mind to throw her out, regardless of whatever lies beyond the doors. All that stops me is the memory of her parents.

Oh, and the guns. Word of advice: Don't argue with a woman who's holding guns, especially if you're all out of regenerations. As ideas go, it doesn't quite top the list of good ones.

"You barely lifted a finger to find me," River retorts, her face a portrait of unspeakable sorrow. "Why in God's name didn't you ask the TARDIS for help? I was conceived here; doesn't it make sense that she'd be able to trace me?"

She has a point. Vast as it is, the universe isn't large enough to hide such a unique genetic sequence, human DNA with Time Lord genes grafted on. Why didn't I ever think to try? "I...I'm sorry. It never entered my mind."

"No, it never did. You were too busy gallivanting through the universe, looking for the next adventure. I had to save myself from the torture and the brainwashing. I had to hunt for years to find my mum and dad, and then grow up alongside them. Because you, my love, weren't there."

I look away from River for a moment, and make the mistake of locking eyes with Kovarian. The cat that ate the canary didn't look half as satisfied. Now I know why she's here. She wants to make sure that her psychopath finishes the job.

Behind me, the TARDIS doors suddenly open. Curiosity gets the better of me. You know what they say about curiosity and cats? It doesn't always work wonders for a certain Time Lord, either.

Gallifrey is down there. Burning beneath repeated Dalek onslaughts. And I can't save her this time.

The TARDIS comes back to life. My relief is short-lived; she's only picking up a signal from home.

My people are screaming in pain and terror and anguish. But above all that is a cry of condemnation. Against me.

My name and deeds--or misdeeds--are being broadcast throughout the space-time continuum. My name. Not "Doctor". Not the promise I made myself centuries ago. My true name, the one I've been running from all along. They're sending it out to every corner of the universe.

This man watched us burn and did nothing to save us. Find this man and make him suffer as we suffer.

Fine. You win. I'm suffering. And you're not up here to see it. There's no one here but a tired old man, a psychopath, her engineer, and a sentient police box that suddenly hates me.

River comes up behind me, digging her guns into my back. I see. I'm being given a choice. Die with my TARDIS, or die with my planet.

Decisions, decisions...

"See you in Hell, sweetie," she whispers against my ear.

Okay, that's enough. That's more than enough.

Stop this. Just stop it right now! I don't know where the hell this is coming from, but it needs to stop!

For God's sake, just...just...STOP!

A hand shakes my shoulder. "Doctor? Are you alright?"

I snap out of it. How long have I been sitting on the floor of the cloister room with my head in my hands? I don't even know. Time works in strange ways when you're lost in your thoughts. One moment, I've parked the TARDIS outside the Maitland front door; the next, I'm trapped in a mental Hell.

I jump to my feet, trying to exude my usual high coolness levels. "Hello again, Clara Oswald," I cry brightly, clapping her on the shoulder. "I'm brilliant; how about you?"

She rubs her shoulder wryly. "Aside from the fact that I may need physical therapy after that greeting, I'm fine."

"You're sure? You're really, truly fine?"

Clara cocks her head in that birdlike, suspicious way of hers. "Really, truly fine, thanks."

"And Angie and Artie? They alright?"

I can never quite put anything over on my Impossible Girl. She's just a bit too clever for both of us. "They're great; their dad's taking them on holiday for a few weeks." She eyes me narrowly. "Are you sure you're okay? You seem...weirder than usual."

Weird? Thanks a lot!

Wrapping an arm over her shoulders, I lead her back to the console room. "Never better," I grin--though I don't think either of us are convinced. Time for a diversion. "Where do you want to go this time?"

Clara's puzzled, but game to play along. "How about Bermuda?"

Quickly, hoping to distract us both, I start throwing levers. "Bermuda it is! You'll love it. Beautiful magenta silkgrass, plenty of sun...well, if you don't go during the ten-year slush monsoons; those are a bit of a nuisance." I trail off, looking at that skeptical face of hers. "Oh...you meant a different Bermuda, didn't you..."

Maybe I'm wrong. I've been wrong before, so I wouldn't rule it out. Maybe, in all those other universes, my friends' lives and mine aren't playing out this way. They might be safe and sound. And happy.

Please, let them be happy.

But just because the terrible things haven't happened doesn't mean that the possibilities stop existing. They reverberate throughout Time, echoing in my mind as though they did.

They mock me...torment me...haunt me.

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but_can_i_be_trusted

Thanks for the encouragement; you know how much I struggled with it, so it's a relief that I'm finally satisfied. :) <3

flowsoffire.livejournal.com

Oh, this is such a haunting idea. First, I love what you did with the italic breaks between each part, each person whose cruel fate the Doctor had to face in those alternate realities. The opening part, the one about his two hearts, the trickster god, the one about his companions—they were all brilliant. In the confrontations themselves, the feelings evoked were so raw—I love how the Doctor had to face two blows each time (one for each heart ;)): the pain and grief of a person he cared about, in the name of another (well, as a common theme, Sylvia and River's cases being slight variations), and the accusation and hatred, the blame he would naturally put on himself magnified a thousand times by the rage of people he held dear, people who used to love him. Amy, Rory, Sylvia—they were all so desperate and vibrant. The grandfather part with Sylvia was a harsh blow as well, with his own rage flaring, but his knowing he couldn't use his own grief to justify himself, and she wouldn't care what he had been through—it would make no difference to her. (The nitpicker in me wondered how Sylvia recognized him, but it's an alternate reality and he's only traveling in his mind, he could appear as Ten to her…) The Clara part was also so terribly cruel, with her seeing the children die, with Mr. Clever's kiss—oh my :D It's funny in a way that Clara is the only one who does not blame him, but that is also because she knows Mr. Clever is in command, the part about her being able to tell the difference for certain was good. The Doctor is out. Have a nice day.—oh dear, that is cynical, and chilling :D And I also like the part in parenthesis about Mr. Clever keeping him alert in the back of his own mind to make him watch the show…

The TARDIS' hostility hurt so much too, and River's accusations, with Kovarian standing at her back. I got chills at the Time Lords crying his true name throughout the universe, the greatest, cruelest, truest accusation of all (well, as far as they're concerned…). It was chilling to see him caught between two deaths that way, on the TARDIS or on Gallifrey. Wowwww.

I mentioned I really like your Clara voice in the ending part, the quickness, sharpness of her, that birdlike thing she's got going indeed, the insight—the girl can't be fooled. And the Doctor being all silly and pretending everything is all right. I chuckled at the Bermuda part. And the ending is beautiful, quite haunting—even if those things never did happen, they could</> have, and in a way the sense of responsibility is still there… and the pain.

Only tidbit—you've got a past tense that slipped in into the present ones: "she asked me, vitriol in her voice". The rest is neat ^_^ Love!

Thanks! Boy, did I struggle with this one.

Yeah, I didn't think too much over the confrontation with Sylvia; probably should've given that section a little more time.

Aha, I missed that slip-up with the tenses; thanks for pointing that out.

Very glad you liked it; I was hoping the chills would come through, but I'm never sure. :D

They certainly did come through! :D

♥

pony-express.livejournal.com

I never liked Sylvia but it absolutely killed me that she lost her whole family in a week. Her daughter went first and you shouldn't have to burry your children. And then a week later she lost her father. I'm just. . . I'm never going to be over that.
And the rest was so sad too! )':

Sylvia's not my favorite, either, but it pained me to write this section. :( Especially given that Wilf IS one of my favorites.

She just seems so angry and IDK. . . Bless her so freaking much for what you've written though. Those days are usually for celebrating! D':
Wilf though! D':

Still it is a lovely piece. A fitting response to the prompt!