Wake Up; RP for savagestime
Somewhere an engine is humming. The Doctor could feel it through the soft padding he seemed to be on. As his thoughts swirled, trying to combine the few facts he knew, his eyes opened to see a blurry ceiling above.
A completely unfamiliar ceiling.
The sudden unfamiliarity spurred on more thoughts. He was in fresh clothes and he felt infinitely less dirty than he had before. The bed was new, too. But compared to what? His imprisonment. His imprisonment which had ended when he agreed to the Master’s terms. The deal flooded his mind, tearing away at memories of destroyed galaxies and screaming stars.
The Doctor bolted up in bed, blood rushing in his ears. He was mad. This was mad. He glanced down at his wrists and saw the skin still torn and tender from the shackles. Then he hadn’t been asleep long enough to heal.
He was barely thinking as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. His muscles protested instantly and he fell hard against the wall. A distant part of his mind registered it as a nice, comforting wooden wall and if he took in his surroundings better, it was a cozy sort of room at the least. At the moment, however, he needed to get out.
It took more effort than he wanted to admit to get to the door. It was surprisingly unlocked and so the Doctor left, stumbling out and slamming against the nearest wall. He silently cursed his muscles. It wasn’t their fault but he needed them. They couldn’t give up on him now.
The carpet he sat upon was plush and he pressed his palm into it, trying to gain balance. He had to find out what happened to Earth. He had to know how Martha was. He needed to find the TARDIS. He needed so much right then and he had no idea where to begin. Not that it mattered. He was too weak. Always a coward.
A surprised call of his name came from the end of the hallway and he groaned. He had to hurry. He tried to push himself up, using the wall as support, but he barely had the energy to lift his head now.
Hands grabbed him, hauling him up. The Doctor supposed it didn’t matter, really. He could hear someone talking to him and felt the bed again shortly after. He was being tended to again. Back to being trapped.
Except this was a special trap. One he’d willing and quite happily put himself in. All because he couldn’t handle that room anymore.
It was completely ridiculous. His worst idea ever. And that was saying something, considering how many bad ideas he had. It was funny, even. The Doctor laughed as the person hovered over him. He laughed even as he felt his body being forced into sleep.
It didn’t matter anyway. This was just some strange dream fueled by his need to get out of that room. When he woke up, he’d be shackled back in it, waiting for another broadcast from his Master.
At least he dreamed of soft beds.