for quitehomoerotic: Welcome to the 27th century

[rude_not_ginger]

Follows this.

It was one thing, watching your companion be ripped apart.

One very terrible thing, mind you, but one thing. The Doctor stayed prone on the ground, the sound of Jack's death screams ringing in his ears as that thing, whatever it was, tore him into several unpleasant pieces. It reminded him of the Year That Wasn't, of Jack's screams while the Master tortured him and the Doctor's frail body keeping him from helping. That was torture, far more brutal than anything the Master's tools could produce.

Once the loud stomps of the creature faded away, the Doctor struggled to get to his feet and limped to the place where Jack had been.

It was another thing, having to find his body for it to regrow.

It took some time to find his upper torso, limp and lifeless. It didn't take too terribly long to drag said upper torso to a safe, empty cave not far from the forest's edge (after all, what Jack no longer had in height, he also lost in weight. It didn't take long for time to start snapping around him and his body to start to regrow.

That was something else all together. Muscle and bone formed out of nothing, and while Jack wasn't coherent, he was still alive, screaming and thrashing as he reformed. The Doctor pressed his fingertips to Jack's temple and tried to take away the pain, but when that failed, he pressed his mind into a quiet, comatose state.

While Jack repaired, the Doctor covered him with his coat and sat, waiting. For all that they'd fought, for all that the Doctor swore he'd never want Jack back on the TARDIS again, he did care about him. He wanted him happy, even if he wasn't certain he could handle having him so close. Jack was willing to die for the Doctor, and this was just another example of how he could.

But the Doctor wouldn't leave. Not this time.

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[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

Coming back to life always involves a remnant of the pain of the death. It can be the echo of a gunshot or the subtle burn of a stab wound. It could be the fizzle of an electric current or the crack of a broken bone.

But sometimes, sometimes on very rare occasions it could be so much worse.

Sometimes the body would bring itself back to life before the system was ready to take it. Sometimes the death would be so severe that it couldn't simply be fixed and let him wake with a deep breath.

Sometimes, like this time, he would wake in agony, screaming agony as he could feel his insides twisting and fixing as they mended and made him whole again.

It took some time, on the floor of the cave, for his mind to take hold of itself enough to be aware of anything past the searing pain. His legs felt like they were on fire as the universe created them out of nothingness, as muscle and sinew grew and covered themselves with burned skin that flaked away to reveal pink and new underneath. It was like being burned alive in reverse. He didn't scream as much as he might have, and he wasn't together enough to realise that that was the Doctor's doing. A calm that sat just beyond the horror of it all.

But he did come around, and before too long his arms were thrashing out. He was terrified that he was alone, terrified of the pain and what might happen next.