fic: if i should die before i wake
doctor!darren / companion!blaine
mentions of klaine and crisscolfer
2, 125 words
summary: it’s been a year since Blaine met the Doctor, and he’s still trying to wrap his head around it.
a/n: prompted too long ago by Kayfoo. hope you like it, darlin. thanks to Britt for beta-ing. title from the song, No Air.
--
The rain was damp on his frozen skin and he could barely move, barely breathe. He was alone, Kurt had left him and his parents wouldn’t be back for hours. His brother… well, Cooper was out of reach. As always. He swallowed thickly, trying not to cry. He couldn’t - not again. He felt so raw, so rough, like a worn old sweater, tossed into the recycling bin.
He just wanted it all to end.
The rain started to fall, harder now, and Blaine let his eyes drift shut, feeling the burn of the remnants of his salty tears behind his lids.
The gust of heavy wind that shot through the sky picked up now, howling so horrendously that Blaine whipped his eyes open, motioning to rise to his feet and hurry inside.
Until something across the grass caught his eye.
And he couldn’t breathe.
Blinking furiously in the hopes that his eyes were deceiving him, he drunk in the strange scene before him:
Across his front lawn stood a dark blue… phonebox? The door of which was opening to reveal a man, short and stocky, wrapped in a bundle of torn jeans, a thick sweater and flying scarf. He ran a hand through his scruffy curls and grinned as his eyes darted about, taking in the house in front of him. Suddenly, his eyes flicked to Blaine and his grin grew.
“’ello, there,” he boomed, his voice rich and excited in a way that made Blaine’s toes curl. He grinned up at him, messy and bright as he bounded across the space, hand outstretched. Startled, Blaine took a few steps back, his voice coming out in a rushed panic.
“You can’t-what-where?” he stammered and the man halted his path, his lips curling up in amusement.
“Chill, man,” the stranger said, holding his hands up. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
--
Watching him move was the strangest thing.
In a wonderful sense, of course: he moved with a type of detached grace, but aching familiarity and comfort. He stroked the console in a way that made Blaine stifle his giggles, but Darren didn’t seem to mind. He soaked up the rays of his laughter, catching on with an equally contagious grin, both too messy and too beautiful in one stretch.
He was indescribable.
Blaine thought that if Kurt were here (and he knows that he shouldn’t think like that and it hurt to think like that and Kurt isn’t even his to think about anymore) he’d call him something beautiful and grand; King of the Night, perhaps. He always had such a way with words and could wax poetical about the oddest of things (and Darren was really fucking odd). Blaine had always said that if Kurt hadn’t wanted to go into performing or fashion that he would have made a brilliant writer. He was witty and wonderful and just utterly perfect.
Fuck, Blaine missed him.
Some days Blaine felt dizzy when he thought about everything that had happened in the past year. He couldn’t remember it in clarity; just stilted, fragmented memories, blurred in parts, vivid in others. He remembered Kurt’s last words, the way they’d cut under his skin and made him feel like his whole world would collapse in on itself. He remembered the stars, when he’d seen them up close for the first time; the ones that made him feel so small and inconsequential.
It was a lot to wrap his head around, the adventures they’d had out here. So many weird and wonderful places they’d been, but Blaine thought his favourite ones were just the easy ones they’d had in Darren’s Tardis. Their conversations, the stories he told him. The stories he’d told him about him and the life he’d had. Their banter, their arguments.
He would never say it to his face, but as fucking infuriating as the doctor was, Blaine didn’t ever want to leave him.
(But Darren assured him there would be a day where he would have to. Blaine didn’t know what he was going to do then).
--
Some days when it was really fucking hard and Blaine thought he was going to lose himself completely, Darren would take them far, far away and land them on the precipice of some unknown planet. He would tell him he was taking a walk and he would be back in a few hours.
He’d lock the door after him.
In these hours Blaine would find himself on the floor, curled in a ball into himself, eyes squeezed shut, memories flying behind his closed lids until he was dizzy and could hardly breathe.
--
He could feel the too hot burn of his eyes drawing over him and he felt oddly like he was being judges. Blushing a little, Blaine turned to him with a little huff.
“What?” he snapped. To his surprised Darren was wearing an expression of hurt, his lips curled up into a slight pout, eyes wide.
“But why aren’t you wearing socks?” he asked mournfully. “Socks are cool…”
Spluttering a little incredulously, Blaine bit back his blush, lowering his gaze. “Kurt had… an ankle thing,” he admitted reluctantly.
In his peripheral, he quickly caught the immediate shift in Darren’s stance as he bounced on the balls of his feet brightly, eyes suddenly mischievous.
“Ankles, eh?” he teased. “Kinky…”
Now blushing furiously, Blaine dug his hands deep into his pockets. Kurt was NOT something he was going to talk about with this… this...
What even was this man?
--
That was the first night he had stayed with him. He remembered that more clearly than most of the others, remembers their first banters, the way he’d tried to keep up a wall between them, still scared and reluctant, and how Darren had immediately broken that down, charging into his life with his stupid brilliant smiles and messy eyes.
--
“What are you?”
“Well, Blaine Anderson,” the man grinned, “ I’m the Doctor.”
“You’re- you’re a doctor…?” Blaine spluttered. “My brother’s a doctor.” And he’s nothing like you…
“Yeah, well my brother’s in a band-“ Darren shot back, “ besides, I’m not a doctor. I’m the Doctor.”
“The Doctor… okay…” Blaine said feebly.
The Doctor shrugged. “I guess you could say I’m a doctor - I help people...”
“Doctor what?” Blaine interrupted suddenly.
The Doctor frowned, puzzled. “What?”
“No,” Blaine chuckled, “what’s your name? Doctor…? Doctor Steven or Doctor Michael or-”
“Oh!” The Doctor exclaimed, face lighting up. “Like… a name? I had a name once,” he sighed wistfully.
Blaine gave him a curious look.
“He called me Darren.”
“Darren,” Blaine tested, running his eyes over the crazy man before him. “Doctor Darren… I like it.”
“So do I,” Darren said quietly.
--
He always said that Kurt was something he never wanted to talk about with him.
To be perfectly honest, Kurt was something he didn’t want to talk about with anybody. Kurt was not something you talked about; not some conversation topic like the weather or what alien planet they were going to visit next. Kurt was bright and brilliant and something he was going to hug close, tight to his heart. He would never talk about Kurt because he knew what everyone would say.
You have to let him go.
(Blaine was 100 percent sure he didn’t know how to do that).
But he did.
--
The stars shooting magnificent waves across the shore, Darren skimmed a pebble across the meteor shower and Blaine marvelled at the stunning stutter of dust particles catching in the night breeze.
They looked like his eyes.
“You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?” Darren asked softly, without even having to look at him.
Blaine looked up, startled. “How did you know?”
Darren gave him a wry smile. “I know that look, Blaine…”
And just for a second he was lost, his mind flooded with old familiar flashes of the beauty he’d once owned; a warm body over him, strong, lithe thighs wrapping around his waist, a glitter of diamond eyes, silky hair pulled under his fingertips, a low voice purring in his ear-
“Darren,” Blaine said suddenly, pulling him out of his reverie.
“Yeah?” Darren answered, running a hand through his hair, trying to steady himself. It had been a long time…
“What about you? Have you ever been in love?”
Darren bit his lip. He really should’ve expected that…
“No,” he lied. It was the better option - the truth would only lead to more questions, which would lead to more truth and the truth was hard and painful and - he just didn’t’ want to talk (or even think about it again). “But I’ve had a lot of companions…” he gave Blaine a small smile. “Most of them are usually running from something… or somebody.”
--
And in all honesty, they were both running, both hiding things from each other. They didn’t talk about them, but they both knew.
It was easier this way.
Or at least, most of the time it was.
--
“What are you doing?” Blaine hissed.
Darren smiled smugly, looking awfully proud of him.
“I’m being your wingman!” he declared triumphantly .
“Great,” Blaine huffed. “I’ve lost my boyfriend, acquired a gay time travelling wingman instead, wow, it’s what I’ve always wanted, thank you so much.”
“Sarcasm,” Darren said wisely, laying a hand on his shoulder, “will not get you laid, my friend.”
“I don’t want to get freaking laid!” Blaine exclaimed angrily.
“You’re in denial, it’s okay, it’s been a while-”
Huffing exasperatedly, Blaine pushed his hand off, trying to storm away.
“Signs of not getting any,” Darren said sombrely, “irrational irritation, frustration-”
“Irrational…” Blaine muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “Darren,” he tried for a different approach, “I get you’re just trying to look out for me-”
“And your dick,” Darren added importantly.
Blaine narrowed his eyes. “And how old did you say you were?”
“Just a few several centuries,” Darren said conversationally.
Blaine rolled his eyes, folding his arms. “Listen, Darren,” he tried again, “I really appreciate you looking out for me- and my dick,” he added hastily as Darren moved to interrupt him, “but… I’m not ready.”
“How long has it been?” Darren asked, suddenly serious. “You’ve been here what, six months? I don’t know, I don’t keep track…”
“Nine,” Blaine said quietly. “It’s been nine months.”
Darren nodded, moving carefully. “So you’ve been broken up for nine months, then? Or longer.”
“Just nine,” Blaine whispered.
“Then don’t you think… it might be time for you to move on?”
Anger flaring up suddenly in his chest and sparking in his eyes, Blaine shot up abruptly.
“Isn’t it time for you to move on?” he snapped. “I can see it when you’re thinking of him, Darren, I can see you still love him - but he left, didn’t he? He left just like all the others.”
“You know nothing about him!” Darren shouted, hurt and anger rich in his eyes. Blaine trembled a little and realised that he should have known. Darren was passionate, passionate in his laughter, happiness, excitement - it must work the same way for anger and sadness too.
But he hadn’t known.
“Don’t you fucking dare talk about Chris! You don’t know a single thing about him - or us!”
“No,” Blaine whispered, “I don’t… You don’t tell me anything.”
--
It was the first (and last) real fight they’d had.
Throat tired and cheeks wet, Darren had been the first to retreat and he’d told Blaine he needed some space. Blaine waited for him at the Tardis, pacing the floors restlessly, unable to sit still.
He came eventually, all traces of tears gone, the shadows of his usual grin caressing his cheeks.
But since then, he hadn’t been quite the same.
--
“Do you think there’s more out there?”
Darren gave Blaine a wry grin. “What, the ends of the universe aren’t e-fucking-nough for you, Anderson? Shit, you’re the greediest companion I’ve had yet.”
Smiling softly to himself, Blaine turned away, casting his eyes over the planet earth, the most beautiful one he’d seen in all his life.
“It’s my favourite, too,” Darren said, as if he could read his thoughts. He stretched on the tips of his toes, peeking over the crevice of the moon. “You know, I took Chris up here once, to this exact same spot.”
A smile poked at Blaine’s lips. He never thought he’d hear that name again.
“Are you trying to seduce me, Doctor?” he purred playfully. Darren shoved him, his laugh bright and rich, swimming around their ears.
“I wouldn’t even have to try,” he said coyly. “I’ve already got you where I want you.”
Blaine slipped his arm around his shoulders, tipping his head against his.
“Until the end of time.”
--
fin.
mentions of klaine and crisscolfer
2, 125 words
summary: it’s been a year since Blaine met the Doctor, and he’s still trying to wrap his head around it.
a/n: prompted too long ago by Kayfoo. hope you like it, darlin. thanks to Britt for beta-ing. title from the song, No Air.
--
The rain was damp on his frozen skin and he could barely move, barely breathe. He was alone, Kurt had left him and his parents wouldn’t be back for hours. His brother… well, Cooper was out of reach. As always. He swallowed thickly, trying not to cry. He couldn’t - not again. He felt so raw, so rough, like a worn old sweater, tossed into the recycling bin.
He just wanted it all to end.
The rain started to fall, harder now, and Blaine let his eyes drift shut, feeling the burn of the remnants of his salty tears behind his lids.
The gust of heavy wind that shot through the sky picked up now, howling so horrendously that Blaine whipped his eyes open, motioning to rise to his feet and hurry inside.
Until something across the grass caught his eye.
And he couldn’t breathe.
Blinking furiously in the hopes that his eyes were deceiving him, he drunk in the strange scene before him:
Across his front lawn stood a dark blue… phonebox? The door of which was opening to reveal a man, short and stocky, wrapped in a bundle of torn jeans, a thick sweater and flying scarf. He ran a hand through his scruffy curls and grinned as his eyes darted about, taking in the house in front of him. Suddenly, his eyes flicked to Blaine and his grin grew.
“’ello, there,” he boomed, his voice rich and excited in a way that made Blaine’s toes curl. He grinned up at him, messy and bright as he bounded across the space, hand outstretched. Startled, Blaine took a few steps back, his voice coming out in a rushed panic.
“You can’t-what-where?” he stammered and the man halted his path, his lips curling up in amusement.
“Chill, man,” the stranger said, holding his hands up. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
--
Watching him move was the strangest thing.
In a wonderful sense, of course: he moved with a type of detached grace, but aching familiarity and comfort. He stroked the console in a way that made Blaine stifle his giggles, but Darren didn’t seem to mind. He soaked up the rays of his laughter, catching on with an equally contagious grin, both too messy and too beautiful in one stretch.
He was indescribable.
Blaine thought that if Kurt were here (and he knows that he shouldn’t think like that and it hurt to think like that and Kurt isn’t even his to think about anymore) he’d call him something beautiful and grand; King of the Night, perhaps. He always had such a way with words and could wax poetical about the oddest of things (and Darren was really fucking odd). Blaine had always said that if Kurt hadn’t wanted to go into performing or fashion that he would have made a brilliant writer. He was witty and wonderful and just utterly perfect.
Fuck, Blaine missed him.
Some days Blaine felt dizzy when he thought about everything that had happened in the past year. He couldn’t remember it in clarity; just stilted, fragmented memories, blurred in parts, vivid in others. He remembered Kurt’s last words, the way they’d cut under his skin and made him feel like his whole world would collapse in on itself. He remembered the stars, when he’d seen them up close for the first time; the ones that made him feel so small and inconsequential.
It was a lot to wrap his head around, the adventures they’d had out here. So many weird and wonderful places they’d been, but Blaine thought his favourite ones were just the easy ones they’d had in Darren’s Tardis. Their conversations, the stories he told him. The stories he’d told him about him and the life he’d had. Their banter, their arguments.
He would never say it to his face, but as fucking infuriating as the doctor was, Blaine didn’t ever want to leave him.
(But Darren assured him there would be a day where he would have to. Blaine didn’t know what he was going to do then).
--
Some days when it was really fucking hard and Blaine thought he was going to lose himself completely, Darren would take them far, far away and land them on the precipice of some unknown planet. He would tell him he was taking a walk and he would be back in a few hours.
He’d lock the door after him.
In these hours Blaine would find himself on the floor, curled in a ball into himself, eyes squeezed shut, memories flying behind his closed lids until he was dizzy and could hardly breathe.
--
He could feel the too hot burn of his eyes drawing over him and he felt oddly like he was being judges. Blushing a little, Blaine turned to him with a little huff.
“What?” he snapped. To his surprised Darren was wearing an expression of hurt, his lips curled up into a slight pout, eyes wide.
“But why aren’t you wearing socks?” he asked mournfully. “Socks are cool…”
Spluttering a little incredulously, Blaine bit back his blush, lowering his gaze. “Kurt had… an ankle thing,” he admitted reluctantly.
In his peripheral, he quickly caught the immediate shift in Darren’s stance as he bounced on the balls of his feet brightly, eyes suddenly mischievous.
“Ankles, eh?” he teased. “Kinky…”
Now blushing furiously, Blaine dug his hands deep into his pockets. Kurt was NOT something he was going to talk about with this… this...
What even was this man?
--
That was the first night he had stayed with him. He remembered that more clearly than most of the others, remembers their first banters, the way he’d tried to keep up a wall between them, still scared and reluctant, and how Darren had immediately broken that down, charging into his life with his stupid brilliant smiles and messy eyes.
--
“What are you?”
“Well, Blaine Anderson,” the man grinned, “ I’m the Doctor.”
“You’re- you’re a doctor…?” Blaine spluttered. “My brother’s a doctor.” And he’s nothing like you…
“Yeah, well my brother’s in a band-“ Darren shot back, “ besides, I’m not a doctor. I’m the Doctor.”
“The Doctor… okay…” Blaine said feebly.
The Doctor shrugged. “I guess you could say I’m a doctor - I help people...”
“Doctor what?” Blaine interrupted suddenly.
The Doctor frowned, puzzled. “What?”
“No,” Blaine chuckled, “what’s your name? Doctor…? Doctor Steven or Doctor Michael or-”
“Oh!” The Doctor exclaimed, face lighting up. “Like… a name? I had a name once,” he sighed wistfully.
Blaine gave him a curious look.
“He called me Darren.”
“Darren,” Blaine tested, running his eyes over the crazy man before him. “Doctor Darren… I like it.”
“So do I,” Darren said quietly.
--
He always said that Kurt was something he never wanted to talk about with him.
To be perfectly honest, Kurt was something he didn’t want to talk about with anybody. Kurt was not something you talked about; not some conversation topic like the weather or what alien planet they were going to visit next. Kurt was bright and brilliant and something he was going to hug close, tight to his heart. He would never talk about Kurt because he knew what everyone would say.
You have to let him go.
(Blaine was 100 percent sure he didn’t know how to do that).
But he did.
--
The stars shooting magnificent waves across the shore, Darren skimmed a pebble across the meteor shower and Blaine marvelled at the stunning stutter of dust particles catching in the night breeze.
They looked like his eyes.
“You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?” Darren asked softly, without even having to look at him.
Blaine looked up, startled. “How did you know?”
Darren gave him a wry smile. “I know that look, Blaine…”
And just for a second he was lost, his mind flooded with old familiar flashes of the beauty he’d once owned; a warm body over him, strong, lithe thighs wrapping around his waist, a glitter of diamond eyes, silky hair pulled under his fingertips, a low voice purring in his ear-
“Darren,” Blaine said suddenly, pulling him out of his reverie.
“Yeah?” Darren answered, running a hand through his hair, trying to steady himself. It had been a long time…
“What about you? Have you ever been in love?”
Darren bit his lip. He really should’ve expected that…
“No,” he lied. It was the better option - the truth would only lead to more questions, which would lead to more truth and the truth was hard and painful and - he just didn’t’ want to talk (or even think about it again). “But I’ve had a lot of companions…” he gave Blaine a small smile. “Most of them are usually running from something… or somebody.”
--
And in all honesty, they were both running, both hiding things from each other. They didn’t talk about them, but they both knew.
It was easier this way.
Or at least, most of the time it was.
--
“What are you doing?” Blaine hissed.
Darren smiled smugly, looking awfully proud of him.
“I’m being your wingman!” he declared triumphantly .
“Great,” Blaine huffed. “I’ve lost my boyfriend, acquired a gay time travelling wingman instead, wow, it’s what I’ve always wanted, thank you so much.”
“Sarcasm,” Darren said wisely, laying a hand on his shoulder, “will not get you laid, my friend.”
“I don’t want to get freaking laid!” Blaine exclaimed angrily.
“You’re in denial, it’s okay, it’s been a while-”
Huffing exasperatedly, Blaine pushed his hand off, trying to storm away.
“Signs of not getting any,” Darren said sombrely, “irrational irritation, frustration-”
“Irrational…” Blaine muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “Darren,” he tried for a different approach, “I get you’re just trying to look out for me-”
“And your dick,” Darren added importantly.
Blaine narrowed his eyes. “And how old did you say you were?”
“Just a few several centuries,” Darren said conversationally.
Blaine rolled his eyes, folding his arms. “Listen, Darren,” he tried again, “I really appreciate you looking out for me- and my dick,” he added hastily as Darren moved to interrupt him, “but… I’m not ready.”
“How long has it been?” Darren asked, suddenly serious. “You’ve been here what, six months? I don’t know, I don’t keep track…”
“Nine,” Blaine said quietly. “It’s been nine months.”
Darren nodded, moving carefully. “So you’ve been broken up for nine months, then? Or longer.”
“Just nine,” Blaine whispered.
“Then don’t you think… it might be time for you to move on?”
Anger flaring up suddenly in his chest and sparking in his eyes, Blaine shot up abruptly.
“Isn’t it time for you to move on?” he snapped. “I can see it when you’re thinking of him, Darren, I can see you still love him - but he left, didn’t he? He left just like all the others.”
“You know nothing about him!” Darren shouted, hurt and anger rich in his eyes. Blaine trembled a little and realised that he should have known. Darren was passionate, passionate in his laughter, happiness, excitement - it must work the same way for anger and sadness too.
But he hadn’t known.
“Don’t you fucking dare talk about Chris! You don’t know a single thing about him - or us!”
“No,” Blaine whispered, “I don’t… You don’t tell me anything.”
--
It was the first (and last) real fight they’d had.
Throat tired and cheeks wet, Darren had been the first to retreat and he’d told Blaine he needed some space. Blaine waited for him at the Tardis, pacing the floors restlessly, unable to sit still.
He came eventually, all traces of tears gone, the shadows of his usual grin caressing his cheeks.
But since then, he hadn’t been quite the same.
--
“Do you think there’s more out there?”
Darren gave Blaine a wry grin. “What, the ends of the universe aren’t e-fucking-nough for you, Anderson? Shit, you’re the greediest companion I’ve had yet.”
Smiling softly to himself, Blaine turned away, casting his eyes over the planet earth, the most beautiful one he’d seen in all his life.
“It’s my favourite, too,” Darren said, as if he could read his thoughts. He stretched on the tips of his toes, peeking over the crevice of the moon. “You know, I took Chris up here once, to this exact same spot.”
A smile poked at Blaine’s lips. He never thought he’d hear that name again.
“Are you trying to seduce me, Doctor?” he purred playfully. Darren shoved him, his laugh bright and rich, swimming around their ears.
“I wouldn’t even have to try,” he said coyly. “I’ve already got you where I want you.”
Blaine slipped his arm around his shoulders, tipping his head against his.
“Until the end of time.”
--
fin.