AN: I suddenly realized I've been rejecting the Doctor Who fandom quite a bit, apart from trying fish custard, which, by the way, is delicious. So to make up for it, I made this.

You were standing in the doorway of the Doctor's bedroom. You had a feeling all his other companions had stood here too. Not doing anything. Watching him suffer.

He was writhing around in his bed, fighting with an invisible force that only existed in his mind, fighting...his nightmares. You know 'watching him suffer' made you sound cruel, but you couldn't really do anything if you tried. Nightmares were natural. Everyone had them. And he obviously would have them, knowing all he's been through. But you still wished you could help. It was horrible seeing him like this. It was like he was reliving every horror he'd ever been through.

He screamed, he trembled, he whimpered, he cried, he shouted, he begged for help, and screamed a little more, and you just...watched. You could've slept through it. You couldn't hear him in the room somehow identical to the one you had on earth. But you came and watched.

The first time it was because of curiousity. Now you couldn't stop yourself going. It pained you to see him scream like this, and cry like this, trying to escape the terrors he'd been through, over and over again, every single night. But you came and stood here and tried to make his day life more enjoyable for him, even when you didn't understand a word he was saying. And when something scarring happened, he pretended he didn't care, but it added more and more to his nightmares. You couldn't see through his disguise, he was good at hiding what he was feeling. But you saw afterwards. When he was vulnerable to everything. The world of his dreams and nightmares.

All his enemies, most dead and gone, had their revenge by tormenting this wonderful, kind, crazy man you loved in some strange way during the night. Everyone had their bullies and friends. His bully was himself. He kept things bottled up, but it was all eating him up inside, and you didn't know how to stop it.

He seemed so strong, when really, he was dying inside. Torturing himself with images of disasters and traumas long over, every single night, and acting like it never happened during the day. You couldn't say you hadn't done the same at one point. Except you had dreamt about horrors that never happened, to your friends and family.

Now your dream world had pictures of him suffering. And you could never sleep after you dreamt that, so you ended up in this spot again, watching him suffer. It was just like living in your nightmares, really. Of course, he didn't know that. He didn't know you watched. He didn't know it gave you nightmares. He didn't know every night was a living nightmare to you. He didn't know how much it hurt you to see him toss and turn. He was too busy fighting his nightmares.

He couldn't have thought what you had imagined because of nights like this. Of course he couldn't. You imagined terrible things that hurt you bad.

You saw him dying. Not regenerating, dying. Not coming back dying. You saw him lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, pale and unmoving. There neither of his two hearts beat. He didn't stand up. Didn't tell you bowties were cool. Didn't try to make you try fish custard. It hurt you. It really did. Those images haunted you through the day. You didn't tell him about it though. He'd just blame it on himself.

And you didn't want him blaming another thing on himself.

You wished he could escape. He couldn't. It was a battle against himself, and he always lost. And you couldn't run to him and tell him it'd all be OK. You just hoped maybe he could imagine you fighting alongside him. And maybe that was what made him not give up.

Because if he gave up, he wouldn't be coming back. He'd sleep forever. And that's why you came back. To check he wasn't giving up.

He never gave up.
And you stood in this exact spot.
Watching him fight.
As some symbol that you would fight alongside him like you always would.
But unfortunately for you.
And unfortunately for him.
He can't escape his nightmares