Gallifreyan Nature: Chapter 20

[nevermoreraven]

Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: Teen
DISCLAIMER: Other people have actually read this one before the internet.  Yes, I know.  It's weird.
Summary: This is a rewrite of the Human Nature/Family of Blood two-parter, because I really liked Latimer.  It's long.  I liked it pretty well at the time, as did the other readers, so let's see how well it held up.  ...so far, so good.  also I actually bothered to tab for once on this one.
It's not finished, but it's fairly close.
There's a sketch-y type scene in the middle that's unfinished.

 

It could have been another Halloween, Dan thought idly, watching out the window.  Part of him was beginning to detach from the current events, and he rather feared he was running out of time.  Still, it had been a really good run, he thought proudly.  He hoped he’d make it through the rest of this, at least, so that he wouldn’t leave Martha in the middle of things.  He’d done what he hadn’t meant to do, though, or he would.  He’d break her heart, and, selfishly, he wouldn’t even live with the pain as she would.

‘Concentrate on the task at hand, dolt,’ he reminded himself rather harshly, tying the pieces of bag into balls about the size of a fist.  He watched as Tim ran away, after telling Hutchinson something.  “Latimer, you filthy coward!” he heard the older boy yell after his friend. 

“Oh, yes, sir, every time!” Tim shouted over his shoulder, and the Doctor suppressed a smile of satisfaction.  They sounded so much alike sometimes.  Then again, that’s what made a friendship, wasn’t it?  He was sure that Latimer was up to something, never mind the fact that he had the watch and was keeping it safe.

It was his turn to shine.  He chucked the first, and misjudged the angle.  The ball of rucksack fell harmlessly among the soldiers, and he could guess Son-of-Mine was smirking, laughing at the hopeless, futile attempts of the humans to try to stop his army.  Dan smiled grimly and lobbed another handful of flammable cloth, this time following it precisely with the sonic and setting it on fire when it wasn’t likely to fly back into the house.  It fell amongst the scarecrows with an explosive effect, instantly felling at least twelve, who just sort of lay on the ground, burning up.  He let out a shout, punching the air in victory.  All right, so it wasn’t that many, but every little bit counted.  He didn’t let himself get distracted after that, peeking over the windowsill, picking targets, ducking back down to get another, throwing, and using the screwdriver.  He had it down to a rhythm pretty quickly.  He imagined the hate Son-of-Mine now felt for him, for he guessed that the Son of the Family would know exactly who was behind it.  And he also pictured the surprise of his own side, which warmed his hearts.  He guessed that, if they got out of this one, he’d be popular.  For once.  He didn’t dare try to catch sight of the expressions, though, not while he had a job to do.  For some reason, the thought came into his head of the Green Goblin in the Spider-Man series, throwing exploding pumpkins.  Or was he getting that mixed up with some other Earth entertainment?

He felt his hearts swell with pride as Martha ran outside to try to warn the Headmaster about Daughter-of-Mine, saw as she ran to grab his sleeve-only to have him vaporized in front of their eyes.  The retreat was now, and the boys began running.  It was more like a rout, he decided, but he wouldn’t make it nothing to one in favor of the Family of Blood.  He threw a few more firebombs, then was away, side now feeling like it was on fire.

He ran into Martha Jones, one of the last ones in the corridor, but didn’t reply to her greeting.  He was still gasping for breath.  Ordinarily, this wouldn’t have been more than a quiet stroll, to him especially, but the pain made it more difficult for his lungs.

The only response he really had for her was to reach out a hand to clasp her own, squeezing it gently to tell her that he was all right, a question, even, contained within that simple action.  She smiled at him and, annoyingly, had enough breath to keep talking.  He supposed that, after running around after him (or with him, he thought, quirking a smile) for so long, her lung capacity would have, at the very least, doubled.  “You were magnificent,” she told him, and then kept yammering on comfortingly in his ear.  Really, she’d hung around him for long enough that she was beginning to pick up on personality quirks.  Or maybe it was just that she’d lasted so long without being able to talk normally to anybody that she couldn’t resist now.  Dan wished he could help out with the conversation, but he was having trouble just keeping his legs moving.  Not only was his side growing ever more agonizing, but he was beginning to feel decidedly short on breath.  ‘No, not now…’ he worried, forcing himself on, but he could definitely tell-as a younger version of him had said, lost within the endless winding corridors of the TARDIS-this particular regeneration was failing.

Mr. Smith had acquired both courage and heroism from somewhere deep inside-so a bit of the Doctor had remained, somewhere.  He decided to run back, try to save any remaining boys that might be in the school, but Dan just took that moment to rest.  Worried, Martha checked his temperature.  He shook his head, amused.  “I’m fine…just, hurts.”  He didn’t think that now would be the time to mention he was dying.