"No - no!" Johnny's cry is frantic, frustrated; he throws a hand out, a useless, instinctual gesture, as though he actually stands a chance at protecting these poor creatures from harm. He feels to blame, and he feels an innate responsibility to them, an impulse he can't possibly understand - christ, it's just a bunch of bugs - but his guilt is short-lived as the whirlwind overtakes him. He draws inward, covering his face and mouth tightly, the panic of the cluster washing over him. He can't see through the waves of brightly colored wings, all of it blurring together like some sick watercolor painting. The sensation of their tiny, papery bodies all brushing against him at once is incongruously terrifying, and for a moment he is seized with an urge to fight them off, surge forward through the swarm and never look back.

But they don't mean him harm. He knows that. They're afraid, just as afraid as he is. They don't understand what's happening. And he wants to help but he can't, he's only made it worse.

And there's that sense again: he's experienced this exact situation before. No, not with butterflies, but with something, something that scared the shit out of him, but she didn't want to hurt him, just didn't know how to stop --

The bright blue of an enormous morpho flashes past him, startling him, an unforgettable blue, sharp and alien.

"Oh," he blurts, letting his hand drop. "Oh, my god."

It seems so obvious now, though he could never have imagined what it would be like, and it doesn't even seem possible given the nature of their initial meeting; but he can't avoid the conclusion, it settles heavy and unquestionable into his heart, and he understands now why this place feels the way it does. Because he's in her - the TARDIS.