The way we see it the world around is our world.
The world.
What we see is reality.
Well, at least we think that what we see is reality.
Though it doesn't necessarily mean that what we don't see isn't reality.
In fact reality is nothing more than a thin fabric lining the entire universe; so there are no limits to reality.
But an end of it.
A woven end, where the creator actually ran out of yarn. So reality simply stops somewhere; and of course it can be overstretched, just in the same way you can overstretch a knitted pullover.
And there is a wall of reality, a barrier. Literally and not metaphorically.
And apparently it's got a TARDIS-shaped hole in it…
The Doctor squinted against the broad light above him.
"What we see is reality" he mumbled quietly because he couldn't think.
What he thought wasn't real. He thought he'd been in his beloved ship, floating aimlessly through space.
But he wasn't.
Because he only thought that he was far away. He just thought it.
He even thought he'd once possessed a home; but who was he to know?
The Doctor shifted a bit on the hay. Whenever he'd close his eyes it would be gone.
The noises. The thoughts. The memories. Everything.
All just gone.
He didn't exist as far as his arms could reach but as long as he could see. As long as he saw himself, an arm or whatever it was called, he'd know that he was there. No, he didn't know. He saw it.
Reality has to be seen.
The Doctor existed because he saw himself.
And he was definitely going mad.
He was in a wooden enclosure, a stable of some sort, he normal would have thought.
But he didn't.
His head was aching at the mere thought of being of existence. His thoughts… his…
It all made no sense.
There were parts of his mind claiming that he wasn't human.
Or whatever a human was.
He couldn't recall what a human being looked like, so it was rather hard for him to tell the difference.
And there were other bits of his memory trying to convince him that he'd had a sex; that he'd belonged to a race with two sexes; and that he belonged to the part that wouldn't conceive.
The Doctor's gaze drifted downwards. But he was carrying… something.
Whatever it was he'd been carrying it for…
The Doctor clutched at his temples and moaned softly.
The headache worsened. And it grossed him out that he was convinced that he could see something inside of his bulged stomach moving.
His hands touched the strained skin which spread across his abdomen.
It moved.
It tossed.
It started.
The Doctor believed that he'd never felt contractions before. But he knew what they were instantly as they caused his body to twitch rhythmically.
He thought he'd never gone into labour; and he believed he wouldn't.
Well, what did he know?
The Doctor crawled around on the hay uneasily.
He couldn't.
He couldn't think, he still couldn't think, as if all thoughts were swapped away or simply never existed.
What was happening to him?
For the first time he could remember...
...or probably for the first time in his entire life he raised his voice...
"Please...help me...! Can't anybody help me?"
His frightened voice echoed through the emptiness that was apparently surrounding him.
But there was no answer. No reply.
Just the humming noise from the buzzing light.
And the Doctor thought he could hear... no he believed he could hear words in it... or a voice...
"Please" whimpered the Doctor as he was still crawling. He lifted his head and stared into the burning light.
"Help me!"
The constant humming somehow soothed him. He didn't know how or why. And he knew that he wouldn't find out.
In fact he didn't even know. He just saw it. And he saw that nothing was changing but for the worse.
He couldn't think.
He placed both hands on his temples, gently pressing against them.
He'd been lost in thoughts before.
But now his thoughts were lost.
Whipped out of existence... they had ever existed.
And thinking about not being able to think at all was driving him crazy... unless he'd already lost his mind. In that case he shouldn't wonder.
But who was he to know?
The Doctor collapsed against a wall.
The light was talking to him; or at least he thought he'd heard a voice.
But there was someone watching.
Someone was here...
He could feel them... He was convinced that he could hear them.
"Please I... I need help..."
The Doctor got cut off by fear filled groans and hisses.
"Please...I'm..."
The Doctor screamed. The thing that formed the bulge in his abdomen moved.
And it had to come out.
The Doctor lay on the hay, curled up into a ball, whimpering, whining and screaming.
A throbbing movement inside of his swollen abdomen caused him to twitch uncontrollably. With a yelp of pain he sat up in an instant and tumbled backwards against he felt his back hitting the wooden wall.
If he wasn't going to free himself from that thing... the thing would sure try to free itself from him.
The contractions increased and deteriorated from second to second.
They became stronger.
The Doctor screamed in agony as he needed to push and push as he felt his flesh ripping and as a sound of tearing silk echoed all over the stable.
His face was covered in tears and sweat; his forehead was burning as he tossed the hair out of his face and gave it one last push.
The pain had stripped his mind off the walls of reality.
It stung. It hurt.
It hurt so much that the Doctor couldn't even take thinking about it anymore as he gasped for air.
The sticky bundle in front of him twitched and tossed around on the hay.
The Doctor panted and turned his head aside, facing the dirt-spotted wooden wall.
He didn't want to see it.
Whatever it was he needn't see it.
He managed to get on all fours and crawled over the stinking moist floor.
He crouched into the furthest corner and whipped his face clotted.
The Doctor raised his head and stared into the artificial light, helplessly searching for something that would take his mind off the pain and the squirming thing now lying helplessly in the stable.
"What now?" he asked almost voiceless with beckoning eyes; as if the light would provide any answer.
"What am I supposed to do with it?"
The Doctor's hands trailed down his naked and maltreated body as they reached inevitably for his injured groin.
He stared absent-minded at his bloodstained fingers and licked them without further consideration.
He didn't even taste his own amniotic fluid; in fact he didn't taste anything.
He was in too much pain to experience the world around him.
He watched the slimy bundle rocking and unfurling.
The Doctor had come to notice that it hadn't been one big creature that had broken through his genital region, but four small ones that were now helplessly squirming in the hay.
And they squeaked; they twirled hoarsely for their mother...
No, for anything that would protect them and take care of them.
The Doctor crawled over to them and pushed the hay aside.
He stopped panting and considered those shuddering creatures closer.
They were covered in sticky but short fur, the colour of soft butter caramels. At the end of each of their four legs was something resembling a paw, but a lot more solid. And probably sharper.
In some way they would have reminded the Doctor of a calf; if he'd still been able to remember what a calf actually looked like.
But nevertheless they had longer snouts.
Snouts you would have expected on a seahorse but not on a mammal.
The four creatures opened their big eyes at the Doctor and glared at him sheepishly.
Then one of them, one that possessed already enough sense of direction, gave a quiet squeal and approached him clumsily.
The Doctor watched as the other cubs followed its example.
Four sticky creatures snuggled against the Doctor's legs and rubbed their small and flexible bodies against his skin to keep warm.
And the Doctor reached down to stroke them tenderly.
The Doctor rested on the scattered hay as the four small creatures snuggled up closer. Whatever they were they belonged him to him now.
The Doctor's hand touched the dried fur cautiously.
'Baublee papal' was the name of the creatures; though he'd never seen them before the Doctor had known it instantly.
And he wouldn't question his scattered thoughts inside of his twisted mind.
Some of the small snouts worked their ways up to the Doctor's chest and he felt one of them closing around his nipples.
The Doctor raised his head from the hay as his hand reached for the little one currently sucking on his breast.
"I'm afraid it's of no use" the Doctor found himself mumbling before a warm feeling overwhelmed him.
The Doctor collapsed back onto the floor.
He knew that he wasn't meant to be feeding children, that his body couldn't produce milk to nurture his offspring. And it wouldn't be different with creatures of unknown origin.
But to his surprise there was another Baublee papal approaching him. And it crawled even nearer, getting on top of him and resting while it started sucking likewise.
Though the Doctor's chest hurt he wouldn't have said that he felt anything.
He was feeding the two little ones and tried to shut off his wrecked mind that kept reminding him that something was fundamentally wrong.
The Doctor's eyes snapped open as he sensed the darkness approaching him.
He hadn't closed his eyes; he couldn't remember ever shutting them or falling asleep.
It seemed as if he'd only now been able to open them further.
Or, to be more specific: open them truly.
The Doctor found himself to be strapped down on a strange and rather unpleasant looking entity.
He was unable to move his head but he thought he knew what it looked like.
As if he'd already seen it before... in a nightmare.
There was no sound surrounding him; just a faint and distant buzzing a deeply gutted growl.
And the cold and sudden pain shot trough him in the blink of an eye.
And it passed as it had arrived.
And the Doctor found himself mumbling, without giving it much thought:
"That must be what an artificial insemination feels like."
And the bounds became loose.
The Baublee papals seemed restless in the way they explored the small enclosure. They moved with increasing eagerness.
The Doctor felt weak as he leaned against the wooden wall. He watched the little ones absent-minded and sighed barely audible.
His stomach had become bulged and strained over the past... time.
The Doctor squinted against the light.
He didn't feel time passing.
He hadn't felt it; he hadn't felt how he'd returned to the enclosure, he hadn't seen anything as everything in front of him happened in the blink of an eye and was reality as long as he could see.
It felt as if time had stopped and wouldn't pass for him; as if nothing had moved and changed.
But the Baublee papals had changed; they had grown; as well as his abdomen.
He was beginning to feel the increasing pressure on his back again.
A snout poking his swollen abdomen brought him back into reality and he looked down at the Baublee papal.
It seemed to be fascinated by his increased stomach and it continued moving against it beckoningly.
The Doctor flinched and lost his grip on the wall as it poked his stomach with increasing force.
He hissed through gritted teeth and sank down onto the floor.
Soon the snout had found its way towards the Doctor's nipples.
"You're getting greedier every day" he mumbled quietly whilst he had seemed to have forgotten that there were no days, nor were there weeks or months.
There was just a now as time refused to pass.
And time froze and stayed unmoved.
The Doctor wouldn't feel it passing, or slipping.
But in one glance eternity could be found.
Whenever he would close his eyes he found nothing but silence and time rushing past him.