Clara's tears drip from her chin and puddle on the claws encasing her left wrist. Her eyes are bloodshot from staring at the Weeping Angel, a caveat she picked up quickly once she felt her wrist snap out of place.
She tries to recall what bone she must've broken. Her Coal Hill kids were studying the bones in the human body for Double Biology, and the little song they used to memorize each bone danced in her head. Thinking about the Doctor and his whereabouts only solidified how helpless she really was in the Dreamlord's scheme, so she dumps it out of her mind and thinks of ulnas and radiuses and how hers must be crushed to bits.
Each time her eyes droop, she feels the grip tighten and she whimpers in pain a little louder. She tries scratching the stone with the Doctor's ring in hopes that it is bejeweled by some strong extraterrestrial crystal, but it only leaves tiny marks across the Angel's knuckle.
She digs in her coat pocket with her free hand, and feels the chalk. After fighting the urge to draw a mustache on the statue, she pulls her arm over to her other pocket and sighs with relief. Vain, control-freak Clara. She pulls out a compact mirror she keeps on her person, in case of emergencies. Not usually the emergencies involving deadly creatures, but when the situation arises...
She settles the compact mirror across the angel's arm that drapes over its eyes. At least she has clearance to close her eyes for a moment and survey the surrounding area, but actually escaping with both arms intact was another problem entirely.
The Doctor wakes up in a jolt, gasping for air. Dust wraps around him as he stirs from his resting position. A supply closet. Of all the choices the Dreamlord could make with his memories, 21st Century Coal Hill School would not be one of the Doctor's guesses. His head rests neatly on a row of paper towels sitting on a shelf, his boots pushing up against his time machine. He takes in another gulp of air as if he had been holding his breath all day, and pulls his hands toward the wood of the TARDIS. He rubs them against the grain, the rough touch of painted wood tickle his fingers.
"Feels real enough," he mutters as he assesses the Caretaker's closet he familiarized himself with not too long ago.
He quickly presses his fingers to his ears and face, noticing his afflictions the Dreamlord gleefully delivered had disappeared. He scrambles toward the Time Machine, pressing his ear hard against its side. He hears soft humming, the noise settling into his mind.
"No screaming, then."
Did the Dreamlord take his preemptive strike at a primary school? All clues lead toward Coal Hill being an actual environment. The Doctor couldn't really imagine the Dreamlord dealing out torment in a school yard, anyway.
A school bell rings as the Doctor picks himself up to pat the dust off his jacket. If he had fallen asleep in Clara's domain, there was a good chance a sleeping Miss Oswald would be somewhere close by.
"Right then. Time to go find the Teach."
Clara stretches her neck to see the gravestones behind the statue, secretly hoping the Dreamlord was there to offer a taunt and another clue to get out of the predicament. Anything.
She starts to wobble as she tries to maneuver her body to get a better look at a slick, black gravestone that grabs her attention. "Amelia," she says curiously as the name triggers something in her mind.
The mirror begins to slide down the angel's elbow as Clara pushes herself closer to the tombstone.
The Doctor stalks the halls of Coal Hill, the various students shuffling around him, used to his presence as sometimes Caretaker and sometimes wanderer of halls. The Doctor spins towards Clara's classroom, only to find it locked with its lights out. The only classroom without its lights emanating into the vast hallway.
He gives an exaggerated sigh and twists his heel towards Danny's Maths class.
Dipping his head in, he sees the teacher wearily drop his briefcase with a clang onto the wooden desk and fold into the chair behind it. His eyes look sunken and his face cast in shadows, lines more prominent on his bone structure.
"Where's Clara?" The Doctor asks, as if the question escaped his mouth without permission. He skips the sarcastic remarks and forced pleasantries he usually speaks on behalf of Clara. Something's not right.
The soldier looks up at the Doctor, his lips thinning into a frown. "You," he replies, almost in a growl. He pushes himself from the chair and walks towards the Doorway. "Tell me."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Danny goes for the right hook, the Doctor quickly stepping back before his punch could connect.
"What's going on?" The Doctor uses his palms to push the teacher out of his proximity.
"Oh right, you're a time traveler." His voice doesn't stop being angry.
"She doesn't just fade out of time then? Do you still have the luxury of seeing her? Of traveling with her and watching her smile?"
"Please, Danny, what is it?"
Danny dips his chin to his chest and gathers the strength to say it, as if he's admitting it to himself. "She's dead."
Clara thinks about screaming once she feels the glass shards of her broken mirror dance off of her boots, but time does not allow it as the weeping angel quickly snaps a grasp around her neck.
Author's Note: Sooo sorry for the delay, life is hectic! Here's a couple short chapters to tide you over. Don't worry, there's more fun to be had with the Dreamlord yet!