I woke up like I usually did; I was annoyed, someone was in my room, and the damned lights were too bright. Well. Usually I was already at least half-awake, or brooding in my own thoughts, curling up with my cat. But sometimes, I genuinely got woken up like that, and those were the times where I was pissed. So I curled back in bed, groah-ing at the damned asshole who dared enter my spider cave.
"Oooh! It smells in here! Like… Like dead rats! And- argh!" I felt a body collide with my bed, and I was less than amused… I was more than amused. Served that bastard right, tripping over any assortment of random items. Now, to others they might say my room was dirty, but it was just clothes and cardboard and plastic on the floor. So I just said it was messy. I was irritated, though. Still. Because that voice, was not one of my families. It was the Doctor's, David Tennant version. Unless he pretended to have a british accent in any other shows? Which meant that I was dreaming. It sucked, I just wanted to have that inky goodness that sleep should be, when I was this tired.
I felt a body plop itself on where my cat was. I smiled sleepily as I heard my cat defend herself. Soon, the body was pressed against mine, taut with pain as the person slowly removed my cats claws from his flesh one nail at a time.
"A little help would be nice, May." The voice asked, in pain. I sighed heavily, and sat up, glaring at the blurry figure of the Doctor. Of David Tennant.
"Oh, I'm sorry, who just woke me up with a bright light and loud noises? You? Good to know. Face the wrath of a woken kitty," I muttered, rubbing my eyes to rid them of the sleep dust. I saw the episode, I'm not risking it. I was shocked when my vision cleared. This was a dream, that shouldn't happen. I shouldn't have five fingers in a dream, too. I groaned, picking up a random paper. It was a fanfiction. Go figure. I toss it aside, looking for a book. Even my subconscious knew those words by heart. I've been trying to complete the story for years.
I toss a Harry Potter book at his face, grabbing another exact copy that my brother threw in my room a while back and never bothered retrieving.
"Page, er, seventy-two, first word," I snapped, and he didn't question it as he opened the book.
"Good. Why?" He replied, looking like a lost puppy. He even had the cat glaring at him, adding to the affect.
"Page one twenty three, last word."
"Over excited," He said, voice showing his exasperation, "Look, I'd love to read you bedtime stories - truly, I would! - but now is not the time. I need - where's your Vortex Manipulator? And your sonic?" He said, looking around in confusion.
"Lost 'em," I muttered, just going along with it. He was a time traveler, and this wasn't a dream. Obviously I retrieved a Vortex Manipulator and Sonic somewhere in between there.