The Doctor scoped the room, watching the others yawn and rub their eyes with exhaustion. He could hear them complaining about the mind-boggling confusion that was ailing them, as they failed to come up with any idea about where they'd been. The decision to have a break was almost unanimous, so Amy and Rory offered to let them all stay at their house for the night. Dean had his fingers crossed that Sam would be there, but from what he'd heard from his brother, he'd spent most of his time in Baker Street, so his hopes weren't too high.
Much to Amy and Rory's delight, Sam had proved to be quite a tidy person, or at least he hadn't spent enough time in their house to make much of a mess. The only thing they really had to clean up was the fridge. They'd arrived two weeks later than originally planned, therefore the fridge was filled with milk that smelt like vomit and looked like one of Sherlock's experiments, and bubbling containers of old leftover curry.
"Shut the bloody fridge!" John exclaimed, covering his nose with his coat.
"Sam's not been here for weeks," Sherlock noted, flinching at the sight of the dirty plates piled up by the sink.
"Wow," Dean clapped slowly. "Awesome deduction, Sherlock."
"He's on a hunting trip," he stated, this time sparking a more impressive reaction from Dean.
"And how would you know that?"
"Well, having met Sam, he doesn't seem the type to leave all of these dishes to rot if he was going to go be staying at Baker Street for a while- he was called away quickly. The rest of the house is clean, and we know he spends more time in 221B than here. The only things he does in this house is sleep and eat while he's nearby, whilst he lives in Baker Street. Look at the cupboards; full. What's missing? Salt. There's no salt. No silverware in the drawers either. Silver kills a lot of things, doesn't it Dean?"
"Okay, so he's on a hunting trip," Dean shrugged. "Rory, clean out the fridge."
"Why me?" Rory questioned.
"It's your house, isn't it?"
"Can't we just go to Baker Street?" Amy flung her head back. "We wouldn't have to clean u-"
"No," John shook his head. "The flat's too small. I don't mind helping to tidy up, honestly. You lot go order some food in or something."
...
Whilst the rest of the group argued and laughed in the living room, Rory and John stayed behind in the kitchen to try and put a reign on the mess. John tended to the mouldy fridge, whilst Rory took charge of the pile of dishes waiting to be steeped in soapy water, the simple task acting as a distraction from the thoughts running through his head. He was the only one who could remember the two Doctors, and Donna, and Jack, Arthur and Christine. Had the prison just been a fragment of his imagination? He wasn't sure. It definitely seemed like part of his mind, with it's complex winding corridors which branched off in every direction, and the locked up cells in which secrets were kept.
"Alright?" John asked in a conversational tone.
"Yeah," Rory replied drearily as he rinsed out a glass and placed it to the side. "Crazy day, eh?"
"Oh, I know. I mean, time passed but I have no recollection of going anywhere."
"Ha," he choked out nervously. "Yeah."
"No, but truthfully are you okay? Before we... I don't even know any more. A little while ago you got really upset about something- everything is fine now, yes?"
"I guess," he shrugged, staying quiet as the tears threatened to spill.
"What's bothering you?" John's voice was sincere, yet Rory still didn't want to answer. "I won't tell others if you don't want to me to."
"Can you just-" Rory swallowed down the thick ball of dread that sat behind his throat. "Leave it? Please, John."
"Rory-"
"Leave me alone!" he chucked the plate he was washing back into the sink and staggered out of the room, seeking refuge in the TARDIS parked out in their back garden.
...
"Where's Rory?" Amy's head shot up as John walked back through to living room alone.
"Want's to be alone," John noted, taking a seat beside Sherlock on the couch. "He's in the TARDIS I think."
"I'll go ta-" Amy stood up, only to be interrupted.
"I'd leave him for a little bit. It was my fault. He just needs a minute or two to calm down."
"If he's not back in five minutes I'll go and have a word with him, okay?" Dean gave Amy a pat on the shoulder as he watched The Doctor's expression drop at the mention of Rory's state of mind.
As Dean had predicted, Rory didn't return within five minutes. It seemed like an eternity before Dean finally lifted himself off his chair to go and speak to the man, partially because he could feel Amy's glare drilling into his skin, and partially because of the unnerving frown that rested upon The Doctor's face at the thought of Rory. The room seemed to have been silenced by the news that something had upset their friend, and John felt the need to swallow down the guilt that bubbled in his stomach.
...
Rory stood by the control panel of the TARDIS, staring down at the complex mix of buttons and levers, dumbfounded by the thought that anybody would be able to fly it without crashing. He hunched over as he observed, crumbling under the weight of the world resting upon his shoulders. The Doctor was burning away in the corner again; a fuel that never seemed to diminish. Rory barely reacted. He'd seen the same hallucination what seemed like a million times.
"Rory!" He could hear Dean grunting from the other side of the locked TARDIS door. "Open the damn door would you? I'm freezing my ass off out here..."
"I'm fine," Rory stepped towards the door, watching the shadow of Dean's fist knocking against the windows.
"Never heard a bigger lie in my life. Now let me in, you son of a bitch!"
"No," he brushed his fingers against the lock, feeling the tears well up in his eyes.
"Rory, stop being a bitch and let me in."
"I... I-" Rory stared down at the lock, his fingers shaking as the overwhelming feeling of dread rushed over him.
"First things first, are you okay?" Dean's voice mellowed slightly, lowering his clenched fist away from the window.
"Yeah."
"Are you lying?"
"Of course I'm lying."
"Come on, let me in."
"Please, just leave me alone-"
"If you don't let me in, I'll go and get Amy. You don't want to talk to her about this, do you?"
"It's... I can't tell her what I'm upset about, but I don't think I could help myself from letting it spill out of my mouth."
"Rory, let me in," Dean rested his hand on the door handle. "Get whatever it is off your chest and I won't tell any of the rest of them if you don't want me to."
The door unlatched, opening a little as Rory let Dean in. Dean looked at Rory, letting him regain his dignity as he wiped away his tears and calmed himself down a little. He gave him as long as he needed, taking a seat on the steps leading to the other rooms and looking away.
"Okay, what is it?" Dean faced Rory, looking at him sympathetically.
"I..." he stared at the floor, his entire body shivering. "The Doctor..."
"What about The Doctor, Rory?"
"He's... There's no easy way to say this, so I'm sorry... The Doctor is dying."
"Wait, what?" Dean's voice amplified a little. "What's wrong with him? Is he sick?"
"He...didn't say exactly what. When we were in Apulapucia, something or someone there infected him with something. He said he's got months, Dean but he's refusing to go and treat himself."
"Why?"
"The Gallifreyans want him dead?" Rory shrugged. "If he doesn't die, maybe the whole Gallifreyan party takeover will be messed up or something, making everything worse?"
"Gallifreyan Party?" Dean raised an eyebrow, looking confused.
"I remember where we were today. I've been unconscious for a while- whatever made everyone forget didn't affect me because I was asleep."
"Shit, you really are the man with the secrets, aren't you?"
"Don't tell the others, Dean."
"Why not?"
"Amy won't rest until he treats himself. Trust me, it'll hinder our chances of stopping whatever is going on."