Chapter Text
When the Dreamer woke up convinced he was in a blender that was the first hint that something may be wrong.
The second was the headache, "A hang over?" I sigh, not remembering what happened the day before. Usually I don't get blackout drunk but being young makes me a lightweight. Not remembering why I'm hungover is new, but I'm always one for new experiences. Keeping my eyes closed to stave off the headache, I decide to get up. Rolling over is even harder than I thought it would be, but I manage it fast and pop up to my feet in an instant(as I usually do).
Getting up gives me new information that puts the "I'm only hungover" theory into the garbage. It's like I tried killing a Dalek by using my body as an improvised battering ram, that is, I feel like shit. Opening my eyes only ups my fantastic diagnoses from, had too much fun last night, all the way up to Holy shit.
My Tardis is crashing, which doesn't make any sense. The last thing I remember was parking on Gallifrey for refueling. I shouldn't even be off the planet, how am I crashing! I head for the TARDIS console but all at once there's an immense feeling of wrongness. Then, crippling pain as my telepathic bonds I had with my family and close friends is ripped away.
My body seizes up and I fall like a bolder, trying to calculate reasons this could have happened. The pain in my head from the broken bonds is too much. Willing myself not to black out, I keep my breathing deep and even, as I try to fight the hurt that pervades my thoughts. it's too much, there's no one left, why can't I sense a single Time Lord!? I scream in my mind.
I focus on the feeling of time flowing around me trying to soothe my wounded mind with the sounds of a ticking clock. In the academy all Time Lords-to-be were taught techniques to fix the mental barriers in our mind. This particular technique is used for building new mental walls. But, feeling the gaping hole in my mind where the telepathic presence of every Time Lord alive used to be. It was obvious I would need to start over.
Generally TimeLords are touch telepaths. They can delve into sentient minds with skin-to-skin contact. Bonding with other Time Lords strengthens the connection touch telepathy gives. This bond will allow Time Lords friends and family to convey feelings and words to each other. My current regeneration is completely deaf so I bonded with those I needed to talk to. This isn't unusual or a big deal, but my mind couldn't handle that many long established bonds breaking.
Shutting down is usually what a Time Lords mind would do to protect itself, and heal any damage it sustained. But I was crashing and couldn't afford to pass out until I was out of danger. Being deaf I have a lot of practice with my telepathic abilities making the work go much faster than it should. It takes only one minute and fifty eight seconds to repair my mind. And I spring to my feet, intent on landing my TARDIS on the nearest planet and taking a nap.
Immediately toppling over like a newborn baby, I revise my plans. Realizing that rushing my mind barriers was not my best idea, I decided crawling is all the rage these days.
Taking a second to compose myself I half crawl half drag myself towards the console unit of the Tardis. Determined to activate the emergency landing protocols every Gallifreyan Warship has. The grating of the console room floor is rough on my hands and knees. But Time Lords are made of stern stuff and my skin doesn’t scrape.
After graduating from Tardis flight school 113 years ago. I imagined navigating bravely through enemy fire. calculating the exact path needed to get through the chaos. Not crawling my way through the console room while emergency lights and alarms went off.
But if I couldn’t learn to roll with the punches dealt. I would never have made it this long in the war, so it's time to pull on my big boy pants and find a way to fix this mess.
First things first, fire and smoke aren’t particularly things that I love having in my TARDIS. Finally dragging myself to the crystal-like console unit and rotating it. I search for the side with the small, bright orange button. Finding it a second later and pushing it down rewards me with the sound of the air-vents revving up. and with a low keen all the black smoke that was filling the console room filtered out.
With that task completed and a renewed ability to see my surroundings sans smoke. I take a quick second to re-examine my Tardis.
One of the three main pillars surrounding the console room is in pieces. And almost everything in the room that isn't bolted down seems to have been through a hurricane. Making me wonder how much of my sore body is from bouncing off walls while unconscious.
A sudden shaking and jerking motion the Tardis makes knocks me from my inspection. And, waving away thoughts of Tardis amusement rides, I remember the flight stabiliser. Reaching towards the largest lever on the first panel, I hold it up. Waiting until the room stops threatening to throw me into the air. With that finished I look at my navigation screen with disbelief.
I'm nowhere near Gallifrey, in fact I'm nowhere near anywhere I'm outside the universe. And while going outside the universe is not impossible. It hadn't happened since the High counsel recalled all the Time Lords to Gallifrey for the war.
My Tardis is smart and is heading towards the only thing to land on in this dark and desolate mini universe. It looks to be a type of fixed asteroid. Staring at the asteroid I contemplate my next move. with a little luck it'll be a safe place I can use to fix up my Tardis after she lands. Nodding as if I've thought something truly profound and not pointed out my only option. I start pressing more buttons, attempting to get the Tardis to slow down.
"Actually" I muse, with a sudden awareness of my TARDIS's speed, "land is a strong word".
“More like controlled hurtling towards an inevitable and violent impact” I think ruefully.
The realization comes with a sudden tight feeling of fear in my chest. I Drag myself towards the tiny (and only) chair in the console room. Strap myself down with the seatbelt and pray it's magnetic clamps keep it held to the floor.
Dubbed “Captains Chair'' by my loving family, it's got a long and storied history in the house of Drungbarn. Being the only feature in any of the ships my father has flown to survive him crashing it. I hoped that legacy would keep me safe too.
Fantastic Spacing-Fantastic Spacing-Fantastic Spacing-Fantastic Spacing-Fantastic Spacing-Fantastic Spacing
Waking up in pain isn’t usually one of my habits, with the war going on I should have gotten used to it by now. But Dalek weapons are so deadly that the best way to not die is to never get hit at all. As a result I don't have much experience shrugging off pain.
The good news is being a Time Lord I can block that pain from affecting me, While still somewhat feeling it. Which is what I do, after a few minutes of groaning and shuffling on the ground. Blocking pain with a strong mental wall makes working while injured much easier.
After regaining my bearings I finally decided to take stock of myself. Opening my eyes at first is confusing because I still can't see anything. But after another second my vision focuses and I can start to make out my surroundings. The Captain's chair I’m strapped in is on its side, but hasn’t moved far from where it was before. Suggesting that it most likely fell over after my impeccable landing. Which is good because I doubt my body would have been able to take getting punted into any more walls. There's still a frightening amount of pain that I can feel all over my body, although it's dulled down quite a bit.
My stature has always been small throughout my life, even after regenerating once. Standing at five-four my skinny self could be mistaken for a young teenager. This is due to the fact that, according to the law, I was one. Until the Lord President of Gallifrey made the draft age much younger in the later stages of the war. And at 138 years old I'm the youngest in Gallifreyan history to be in charge of a war Tardis.
Reaching into my thigh length blue coat's inner pocket I pull out my multi tool, a gift from my head of house. And, Careful not to touch my (Rassilon willing) unbroken ribs, cut myself out of my seat. Slouching to the floor carefully I ponder how I always get into trouble right when I try to take a break. Getting to my feet is more of a challenge since my sense of touch is numbed as a side effect of dulling my pain response. But using my knee and the console of my tardis as leverage I force myself to stand.
All The lights in the room are off, except those that have batteries independent of the Tardis's power. I’m thankful for them even if they're too small and meant as decoration, without them I wouldn't be able to see. I pull my Focus back on the console, I need a better idea of how much work I have to do to fix my Tardis. Trying to run a diagnostic fills me with dread and my slender fingers grip the console harshly.
"This sucks" I whisper, truly scared for the first time in years since the war started.
The Tardis is dead, there's no power anywhere and without it I can't do anything. The console is useless, It's as if the soul of the Tardis is gone. Pressing a few more buttons does nothing so, with a sigh and a crease in my brow I turn around intent on going to the med-bay.
Feeling my head for a bump comes with the almost expected sticky feeling of blood. Deciding that poking my wounds isn't my best idea right now I stop. The med-bay is three rooms down from the main console, past my often unused bedroom. The tinkering room is the second room in the hallway, and my personal workshop. It's where I fix tech the tech that I buy at random junk sales throughout the universe.
I don't want to spend time patching myself up when I have so many other things to worry about. But it's stupid to work with untreated wounds, and I want to take a look around outside. Finally reaching the med-bay I zero in on the cabinets in the corner, filled with an almost insane amount of nano-genes. Opening the cabinet activates the nano genes stored inside.
"And they called me crazy" I mumble, remembering the arguments I had with the crew over the nano genes independent battery I installed. Instead of keeping them connected to the TARDIS power bank as standards dictated.
While patching me up the nano-genes suddenly exude a light that brings to mind my last regeneration. The rapid healing I get only reinforces this feeling and forces me to check my reflection in the mirror.
With curly brown hair and blue eyes I look much younger than I should. I have high cheekbones and a slender nose, the gentle features only adding to my kiddish looks. And while my hair generally looks like a wild mop, with it's corkscrew brown curls. After the crash it looks even more out of control than it usually does. Still the familiar reflection eases my discomfort and puts the thought of dying out of my mind again. Once the nano-genes finish their work I recall them back to their station and close the cabinet.
Deciding to get a move on, and thoroughly reminded why I dislike the med-bay I bolt out of the room. I'm almost to the console room when I turn right back around. It's the height of stupidity to explore without any kind of supplies or protection. And I'm generally the smallest and physically weakest Time Lord there is. Stranded in an unknown asteroid in an undocumented space-time rift outside the universe. And topping it all off my Tardis is dead, I need to be careful.