applesaucedream | The Tree [closed]

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The Tree [closed]

[cw: violent transformation-style body horror in the last paragraph]

This again.

Johnny dreams, as vividly as ever, of a house. In the dream, it's his house, he's lived in it all his life, but for some reason he can't remember where any of the rooms are. He's stuck ascending a staircase, passing by more and more doors that lead into empty, identical spaces. Two windows each. Hard wood floors. Nothing on the white walls. Everything is deadly, ghostly silent.

He climbs. Now there are no doors, only doorways, empty gaps in the wall. He can't avoid looking at those gaping, mocking rooms. Each one the same. Its windows laughing at him. He's making no progress, not really. Anyway there's no way to mark it. He can't see the bottom. He can't see the top.

Something's different. This room is distinct. It's the same as all the others except it has something growing up in the middle of its floor, impossibly, wrongly: a lamp post, such that one would see on an old Victorian road. Johnny presses onward, shaken.

The next room is worse. There's no wood floor: instead there's water. Perfectly still, a reflecting pool, stopping at the edge of the threshold without a barrier to contain it.

These deviations continue as Johnny climbs the stairs, faster and faster, heart pounding, losing himself slowly to the crawling darkness. If he looks behind him, he knows he'll see it, the beast, the ~~minotaur~~, whatever it is. He can practically feel it breathing down his neck, and oh god, he's so terrified, his lungs are on fire, his legs aren't working right, but he has to keep moving.

He staggers and trips suddenly, that sickening lurch in his gut, jerking his body but not enough to wake him. He strikes his head on the step above, curls over, feeling the pain acutely, spreading through him.

His fingers come away bloody, but there's something else wrong, something that shouldn't be there. He touches the cut again. Something's protruding from it, spreading out from the wound. Oh god, oh fuck, what is that? He can feel it growing, extending, tangling into his hair, and it feels like rough wood, like a tree. It's a tree, growing from the open wound, he's been broken open and now he's exposed, now it's free and it is going to overtake him. He seizes up with panic, tearing at the roots as they coil around his face, his neck, down to his shoulders and the rest of him. He can't break the branches, they're too, too strong, and he knows it would hurt just as much, like cracking his own bones. He screams, raw and afraid, as the tree engulfs him.

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He presses against her when she draws him in, wrapping his arms around her, still trembling. He feels ashamed, clinging to her like this - she's so much greater than him, so much more... there isn't an adjective, really, she's just more - but at the same time he desperately needs the contact.

"My dreams aren't safe," he whispers. He finally meets her eyes again. "Please don't leave me."

Usually people tend to find at least a little comfort in being told when they're dreaming, but the TARDIS does have to agree with Johnny's objection, since Zagreus attacked him here. The thought fuels her protectiveness, which she doesn't refrain from sharing with him like a warm heavy blanket.

"I won't leave you," she promises, holding his gaze. "Your dreams are safe now." Not that the scenery and atmosphere seem safe at all yet, still oppressive and stark and labyrinthine. So she brushes away the nasty image gently, instead growing green grass and warm sunshine and a soft breeze, and a million splashes of color solidifying into butterflies. The shame creeping into his emotional tapestry worries her and she doesn't understand it, doesn't see what he has to be ashamed of, but she simply counters it by weaving her affection into the new scene, a sweet scent on the wind.

Johnny feels her protective warmth and the change in atmosphere like a release, like something's been holding him very tightly and only now lets him go, or like gulping in air after drowning. He exhales slowly and finally allows his body to relax into her arms. Even the constant press of shame feels distant now, his remnant resolving into only a little shyness.

He's so happy to be here again that he almost can't speak for a moment. Now, strangely, he wishes never to wake up, or at the very least to stay here for as long as he can.

"Thank you," he murmurs finally.

She's glad to see him relax slowly, to palpably feel his fear turn into joy under her influence. "I'm happy to help," she replies, smiling at his gratitude. And it's incredibly true; still being able to help someone despite her limitations in this universe lifts her spirits like little else.

She continues to stroke his hair pensively, considering what he said about his dreams not being safe and the new attachment to her she can sense in him. "Would you like me to visit you here more often?" If the telepathic current wasn't too difficult to navigate without her full attention, she'd be perfectly willing to lend her calming influence to his mind every night he dreams here.

He nods, trying not to move too vigorously, not wanting to uspet either the butterflies, which have begun to land on them both, or her hand, which feels desperately comforting.

"I'd like that," he says, then hesitates. "How often?" He doesn't know why, exactly, but the idea of her being present in his head on a constant basis is a little unnerving, even when it's her, even when she can do this for him. "I don't want to, uh. Impose? Is that... the right word?" He looks at her, then away, out to the landscape and the multitudes of colorful insects. He loves it here, more than he's ever loved a place - loving places is a foreign thing to him. But he fears the possibility of wearing it - or her - out. "I mean I don't want to... cause you any trouble."

Edited 2014-05-18 05:02 (UTC)

"It isn't any trouble at all," she's quick to reassure him, wanting to soothe away the traces of trepidation she can feel in him. "I like it, too." All the more so in his case because she can't do anything for him in the waking world. A fresh breeze brushes over them to emphasize her words, the long grass rustling in a contented whisper.

"I can look for you in the telepathic current whenever my attention isn't required elsewhere. My pilot does sleep a few times a week." The Doctor used to go without sleep for weeks at a time, but being trapped here is getting to him just as much as to her, especially after their recent setback.

"Oh." He feels strangely sleepy. Weird to feel that while he's already asleep. He shifts back, extricating himself from her, a bit reluctantly, so he can face her. "Okay. Yeah, that'd be nice. When you can."

He finds himself unable to hold eye contact, and averts his eyes downward, picking thoughtfully at the grass. A monarch butterfly lands delicately on his hand and he holds still, smiling down at it. It seems real - everything about this seems real. He's still not sure he can really get his head around what she even is.

"Can I ask..." He hesitates, wondering if it's rude. This is not conversational territory he's familiar with. "Did someone... build you, or... like, where do you come from?" He shrugs haplessly. The butterfly flutters away from his hand and he lifts it to run his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry, this is all really strange to me."

When he pulls back she shifts a little as well, tugging her legs under her skirt neatly. The physical gesture doesn't much matter to her anyway, especially in a dream. She just wants him to be comfortable, watching him affectionately. "You don't need to apologize," she says, and his shy inquisitiveness briefly tints her smile with amusement. "Curiosity is commendable."

Though what he chose to ask is rather more saddening than he could have realized, and her smile fades as she continues. "I was grown and augmented by my pilot's race, many millennia ago. My planet of origin was called Gallifrey." And she really couldn't bear going through its destruction a second time.

Her shift in tone is so mild he almost doesn't notice, but her wording - was called - is difficult to ignore. He looks at her for a moment, trying to gauge. But there's nothing to say, and no way in hell is he going to ask.

"That's incredible," he says quietly, focusing instead on the grown and augmented part. "You're really amazing."

He almost never says something so straight forward. It makes him blush a little and he hides his face quickly, looking off into the distance. "Can I see more of you?" he asks. Strange question. Rude, maybe. Maybe not. Hard to know how to talk to a woman who's actually a ship.

Sensing his awe and admiration is a welcome distraction from her despondent thoughts, though she can't quite help thinking that she is far from amazing in her current state. Still, it's a comforting sentiment, and after a moment she manages a small smile again.

"Of course," she nods at his request, "Anything you like." It's time he saw her in a healthier state than last time, anyway. It seems obvious enough what to show him first, and the grass melts away into a glass floor, the console and time rotor rising next to them. The bright butterflies give way to splashes of green and bronze in the large, warmly lit console room, and the rustling of the wind in the grass is replaced by the ever-present hum of her engines and little whirrs and clicks from the console.

Johnny stands up as the environment changes and he's taken into what looks like some kind of fantastical engine room. He turns slowly, taking it in. "Cool," he says with a faint grin. "Is this like... the control center?"

He steps toward the structure in the middle of the space, gazing at it in wonderment, wanting to touch but not sure he's allowed. "All this is in that little box?"

She stands up with him, observing his amazement with a mild smile. When they first met, she was apprehensive about him knowing too much about her, but it hasn't been difficult to see that he is a good person deserving of her trust. "This is the console room, yes," she answers, again quite charmed by his curiosity. "You are looking at my time rotor."

And wanting to do more than look, she can tell, finding his respectful hesitation very pleasing and a little amusing. "You may touch whatever you like, this is only a dream." She's rather less amiable towards people haphazardly messing with her actual controls. Not that that will be a problem with him, given his strange condition. Which actually makes his second question a little surprising, and she tilts her head in confusion. "I thought you had encountered other dimensionally transcendental structures before?"

The reminder is unwelcome, and he hesitates, his shoulders slumping inward a bit. "Not personally," he admits. "There was a house like that, but I could never find it. I read about it. There was a family that lived there, and..." He shakes his head. She doesn't need to hear about the Navidsons. "I don't know how to explain. It was a book, but it wasn't just a book. It almost destroyed me. It got into my head and my nightmares and it fucked up my entire life."

He shivers at the memory and looks up at the gently glowing time rotor. "I used to obsess over measuring my rooms because I was afraid it was like some kind of disease, that it was going to spread. I was so afraid of that. Doors just showing up, that would lead into this cold, dark infinite void. I dream about that, too." He reaches out and lays his palm timidly on the console. It feels warm and solid, vibrating slightly. "But you're different. That wasn't natural, it was... it was like this monster, this force of architectural wrongness. You're meant to be like this."

He drops his hand and stuffs both into his pockets. "I think I know why I can't be around you," he says, unable to look at her, feeling unspeakably sad. "I think when I came through, the Rift took everything I read in that book and made it a disease. I'm infected. The things I can do, it's all like the house, like it's part of me now. It's in my skin and my blood and my bones. I can warp architecture, unless it's something like you. It's like some kind of polarization, or something. Like magnetic repulsion. You're overwhelming, and I can't get close."

He exhales heavily. He never expected to say so much, especially not to her. He's still got his back to her, apprehensive about her reaction. "I wish it wasn't like that," he murmurs.

Edited 2014-05-27 05:39 (UTC)

The TARDIS senses the drop in his mood immediately, feeling concerned and a little contrite for being responsible for it, though she decides to do nothing but listen for the moment. It's unsettling to hear how similar the horror he's encountered is to how she functions, capricious doors and all. And more than that, she hates how much the rift unnaturally changes so many beings it transports, finds it disturbing and unpredictable. His new skill itself makes her apprehensive for just a moment, even though he couldn't and wouldn't use it against her. Too recently was she in agonizing structural disarray herself to not bristle at the notion of warped architecture.

But that matters little in the face of his sadness and trepidation. A soft sound rings down from the ceiling as she steps closer to rest a hand on his shoulder. "I am glad you understand me," she says, voice sad but unmistakably kind, "that you understand I am not like that other architectural force. And I appreciate that you didn't allow the pain I caused you to make you afraid of me. That seems very unusual and brave, to me."

He flinches ever so slightly at the touch, mostly because it surprises him, but he doesn't pull away. Instead he turns slowly, looking down at her. No one's ever called him brave. ~~He's probably blushing.~~ "Really?" he says. "I mean I... I could tell you didn't want to hurt me." He averts his eyes, looking instead at the floor. "I'm glad I can see you here, anyway."

The sentiment and his shyness are sweet enough to her to make her smile again. She doesn't tend to feel attached to humans very often or quickly, but it isn't difficult to earn her affection either, especially if she's treated with respect and kindness. Which he has done in especially adverse circumstances, so she finds herself caring rather a lot about him.

And it feels like he isn't really used to someone being kind to him, which is just such a shame. "I'm glad for that, too," she assures him and then stands up on her toes to place a kiss on his cheek. Her affection so expressed, she continues, "And you should know that I am not primarily an architectural force to begin with. My nature is wholly rooted in Time."

To illustrate, the solid ceiling above the console dissolves into an expansive view of open, deep space, dotted with stars near and far, a few planets and a bright violet nebula. At first, the image seems to stand still, but then time moves forward rapidly, planets circling their suns, suns circling each other and the nebula slowly dividing and solidifying into new celestial bodies. It's more a depiction of space than of Time, but she knows it's the closest humans can get to understanding it and the two planes are intractably linked anyway.

The kiss comes as something of a shock, and for a moment he just stands there stiffly, vividly embarrassed and briefly incapable of coherent thought. It was utterly chaste and entirely platonic; a simple expression of fondness. That's obvious. It's all the more inconvenient, therefore, that it serves as the final cog in his slow, awkward realization that he might have fallen in love with a space-and-time ship.

Love isn't really the right word, at least not in the strictest romantic sense. He respects and reveres her, is hopelessly fascinated by her, feels protected and safe with her. He feels a certain longing to be around her, which he recognizes as the same strange attraction that drew him to her when they first met in the park. It's all very complicated and he's not sure how to cope with it.

He's extremely relieved when she changes the subject.

"Holy shit," he murmurs when his brain starts working again. He stares at the image above him, dizzy with the sensation of looking into eternity. He doesn't really understand it, but that's okay. "It's beautiful."

Edited 2014-05-27 21:15 (UTC)

All the TARDIS notices of Johnny's emotional revelation is his embarrassment, confusion, and his affection for her. Feeling that deepen in the moments after her kiss and her display pleases her, so she drops her hand from his shoulder to entwine her fingers with his while he looks up at the endless ceiling.

"It is," she agrees quietly and then Time rewinds, the angle of the view shifting until Earth comes into sight as a huge blue marble. "I miss it." Because this isn't what she can see in this universe at all, she can see almost nothing and feel even less of it. She sighs, even though this was supposed to cheer him up.

He struggles not to look at her, though he can sense her shift in mood easily enough. For the first time he realizes that being trapped here must be the worst thing imaginable for her. It goes against her entire nature. He wonders quietly if Gabriel feels the same way.

He squeezes her hand gently. "I'm sorry," he says, though it's hopelessly inadequate.

It may be inadequate, but his heartfelt sympathy is still appreciated. "Thank you," she says with sincerity, squeezing his hand back. "I will endure." As she always does.

She gazes up at the vivid image for a moment longer before it solidifies back into the original domed ceiling, and she turns to look at Johnny. "I think you are ready to wake up," she points out kindly. The deeper reaches of his mind are getting a little restless, loosening his presence in the telepathic current. "I look forward to showing you more, next time."

"Oh," he says softly, looking at her finally. "Me too."

He does feel like he's stirring a little, his consciousness starting to seep away from here. He focuses on her as much as he can, trying to commit this moment to memory, feeling a pang of sadness that he won't get to see her again until he sleeps. "Thank you," he murmurs, then lets go of her hand, the world fading out around him, resolving gradually into the dim light of morning as he wakes up in his room.

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The Tree [closed]

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