Three months ago, Storybrook got a new resident: John Grandfather.

A peculiar name for a man who was once extraordinary, a man once dubbed "The Oncoming Storm", yet widely known as The Doctor.

He's made himself a home in the sleepy town, in Mr. Gold's shop. Mr. Gold has taken a kindness to the man, letting him stay in the big, blue box he'd brought with him in exchange for fixing clocks that came into the shop. John was great at fixing clocks, but the one thing they signified, time, frightened him. And with reason.

By day, John worked tirelessly on clocks. Fixing clocks, as well as making them, never bored him; he rather liked his job. Kept him occupied. He'd forgotten all about what he'd been doing prior to arriving in Storybrook; he'd asked Mr. Gold why a police box looked the way it did, why it was bigger on the inside, but Mr. Gold didn't have any answers for him. At least no answers that he wanted to give him, anyway...

At night, he had dreams. Dreams of his life before forgetting his entire existence. The Time War. The people he'd met and fell in love with. The monsters he'd fought against, the worlds and beings he'd saved...

He'd wake up in the middle of the night, in a cold sweat; those dreams gave him a fright. Aside from saving lives, how could he dream of killing off an entire race? What kind of monster would do or let such a thing happen? He'd drift off on to daydreams about that life, more due to the urge of traveling, seeing new worlds, meeting people, stepping 'outside of the box', so to speak. He would write about them during his spare time, the main character of his own fiction. He wanted so badly to tell others in town about his dreams and how real they felt, as if he'd lived them in a past life, but he kept to himself, his only replies to others a shy "hello". He'd remind himself, That's not what you want for yourself, people thinking you're crazy. No one would believe your fantasies to be remotely possible. Get your head out of the clouds.

Mr. Gold knocked on the door of the police box, soon opening it. "I have some more clocks for you to fix, and more material to make new ones," a sly grin creeping across his face. John's face lit up with delight as he jumped up and floated out of his makeshift office to grab his workload. He doesn't remember that the same man who took him in, showering him with hospitality and clocks, is the same man who took his memories, his life away from him. But if he'd remembered, he'd acknowledge that it was worth losing everything, especially if it meant saving the world and, more importantly, the lives of those close to his heart.

Until the moment comes for him to remember again, which will probably never happen, he'll continue to make clocks, fix clocks, have more dreams and fleeting fantasies about the life he once lived. In a big, blue, magical police box that's bigger on the inside.