Warnings: No Spoilers, Eleventh-Era, Dark!fic
A/N: Written for who_contest's Prompt: Scream, comprised of my usual dark, overly thinky horror - some angst, but less angst and darkness than my usual fare. This was yet another fiction that did not quite turn out as I expected (much less planned for) - and one that completely got away from me word-count-wise. Mostly unbeta'd and written in one go, so please forgive any mistakes and/or blatant vagueness. As always, I apologize for any repetition, mispellings, sentence fails, grammatical oh-noes and general horridness. Unbeta'd fic is overly thinky and unbeta'd.

A/N2: For all those waiting for the next chapter of Unthinkable, I promise it is on the way. It has been a mess of a week and I didn't want that mess spilling over onto that fiction, making a mark that would be hard to erase. But it will be here soon – not three months from now *grins*. Until then, I hope you do enjoy this fiction.

Disclaimer(s): I do not own the scrumptious Doctor or his lovely companions. That honor goes to the BBC and (for now) the fantastic S. Moffat. The only thing that belongs to me is this fiction - and I am making no profit. Only playing about!

Don't listen to a word I say

The Screams all sound the same

Though the Truth may vary this

Ship will carry our

Bodies safe to shore…

'Little Talks' – Of Monsters and Men

It was a game of (live) Chess and he wasn't winning –

He wasn't winning…

O-o-O

"I just wish there was something we could do for him," Rory murmured, tucking the covers around the Time Lord a little more securely, though he knew they'd be kicked off again within moments. "Something more than just…sitting here."

"The TARDIS will take care of him," Amy said quietly, running a comforting palm across her husband's shoulders. "I know you want to do something, but the best thing we can do –"

"Is what we're told," Rory finished with a sigh. "Yeah, I know. Just…this is what I do."

"Not this time," Amy said with a small smile. "The best thing we can do now is let him rest and check on him in a little while, yeah?"

"Yeah," Rory said distantly, but he let her tug him out of the Doctor's bedroom with promises of tea.

He'd check on him later.

Just in case.

O-o-O

The Black Guardian of his sub-conscious battled the White Guardian of his unconscious and there was no one to be his Champion. There was no reprieve and the Game carried ever on, no resolution. He was going to be smashed between them and the Universe he loved so was going to swallow him whole and he'd fall forever through the vortex until he was caught by the endless rhythm of drums. They would knock four times and he would blow out across the Cosmos, a complicated space-time event. He had to warn them all – because that was what he did, wasn't it? The end was coming and only one man could save them all from himself.

But only if he could win the endless Game.

O-o-O

Amy managed to convince him to come to bed, but he couldn't sleep. Even the deep, restful hum of the TARDIS accompanying the soft breathing of his wife wasn't enough to drag him down into dreams. All he could think about was the Doctor, sick and alone in his bed, no one to watch over him or hold his hand. That really bothered him sometimes – how very alone the Doctor was. Even with River…he was alone. Rory had a feeling when the Doctor looked at River that somehow even she wasn't going to be there forever, no matter what River herself thought.

He knew how bad loneliness could be – especially when you were given a reprieve – when you had found someone to love. The loneliness was made worse because of that love, that connection. He could see that in the Doctor's face now and again and he'd give anything to not understand it.

But he had made his choice then (for 2,000 years), just as he was making his choice now. There may be nothing he could physically do, but he could sit beside him – he could maybe hold his hand. He could make sure he wasn't alone. Being ill was bad enough for most species, he was sure. But being ill and left on your own, no one to hear you if you called…well, that was worse, wasn't it?

He kissed Amy on the forehead and tucked a robe around himself (more from sheer habit than need), making his way out of their room as noiselessly as possible. The corridors were dim, the TARDIS' sleepy drone more of an afterthought than an actual sound this far away from the console room. He felt wide-awake and half asleep at the same time, the feeling familiar and more than a little comforting – a left-over from his intern days: cups of terrible tea and victims of drunk driving, GSWs and domestics at 3am all mixed with a feeling of being too awake while the rest of the world slept on. A wonderful, awful feeling that you shouldn't get too used to, as you might never touch down in the real world again.

And such thoughts were definitely born of being too awake at 3am.

He shook his head with a small grin pulling at the corners of his mouth and was almost disappointed at the sight of the oak door appearing at his left, those funny circle-squiggles of the Doctor's language scrawled across the top panels. He wondered at them for a moment before knocking at the front of the door, unsure if the Doctor could even hear him, but the knee-jerk tendency to politeness was a habit ingrained for a lifetime.

Rata-tat-tat-thunk…then listening for movement.

"Doctor?" He called, cracking the door slightly to peer into the darkness of the room. There was no response (and really, did he expect any?), so he pushed the door open a little wider and stuck his head on the other side, mildly uncomfortable as he always was when invading someone else's private space.

The first time he had seen this room was when he and Amy had moved him from the med-bay to his bed, the lack of clutter the most startling thing about it – the ordinariness of it rounding off the rest of his surprise. He hadn't quite known what he had expected, but a bare room with just a bed and a nightstand wasn't it.

Though the stars and moon patterns on the duvet were to be expected – and they were oddly comforting in the face of such a stark atmosphere.

"Doctor?" He called again, pausing to let his eyes adjust to the dimness of the room, his heart beating picking up slightly for some reason he couldn't fathom. Maybe it was the lack of movement from the bed, maybe it was the fact that once again, he was invading the Doctor's inner sanctum – without the man being aware of it.

Still – he was here now. Might as well make the best of it and save explanations for when the Time Lord was better. Because he was quite sure the Doctor had never intended them to see this place, well or not.

It just had that feel about it.

O-o-O

It was all slip-sliding-timey-wimey and nothing could stop it from sinking into the plughole at the end of the Universe of his mind. It was all shrieking through the open vortex and there was no stopping – not without the brakes of blue and red-red-red…it was his last move and his knights were gone and he was the Checkmate and though he called for Them (they burned and burned forever in No Time and No Space) – no one was coming and the Black Guardian laughed and laughed and laughed…

O-o-O

He looked around for a chair and was relieved when he found one almost where he was going to sit – which told him the TARDIS was awake at least. He nodded to himself and approached the sleeping Time Lord on soft feet, the urge to tuck him back in almost overwhelming for a moment; of course he had kicked off the covers again. He was still though, which was maybe a good thing – not that Rory would know, being unfamiliar with Time Lord physiology and illnesses.

"Can't cry about that now," he muttered to himself, settling in the chair with a sigh of relief. He hadn't realized he was tired until just now and he whispered a 'thank you' to the machine for thinking of his comfort, even with Her pilot as sick as he was.

"Knock four times," the Doctor croaked from under the tangle of bedclothes.

"I'm sorry, what?" Rory asked, startled back to full wakefulness.

"Help me," the Doctor breathed, forehead furrowing as if in pain. The sudden animation from the sick man had Rory's heart thumping high and hard again, the whole list of 'unknown' clicking through his head. He had assumed the Doctor's illness would run a course like it would for a human – but what if he was losing the battle? How would they know?

"Shhh," Rory soothed, giving into the urge and tucking the covers back around the Doctor's narrow shoulders. "It's okay…I'm here – Amy is safe, I'm safe, TARDIS is working fine. Go back to sleep, it'll be better tomorrow –"

The Doctor made a sharp noise, stopping him mid-ramble and then fell silent again, going back to his former eerie stillness. Rory could feel panic and adrenaline draining away before he had even properly identified it, chest feeling almost bruised as his heart fell back to normal rhythm, the sense of 'emergency' and 'over-drive' dropping back to just tired.

It was odd seeing the man so quiet and unmoving. There was always some form of animation to him – never mind that Rory had never even seen him so much as sleep before. It was unnerving, but almost comforting at the same time – perfectly in keeping with a man who was nothing but contradictions, it seemed.

He looked fragile (if such a word could be applied), any age he may have carried dropping away in his fractured sleep. He looked like a boy – and the nurse in him rose to the surface, that natural urge to comfort as the Doctor's brow furrowed again, frown marring his face. The youth slipped away (it was around the eyes mostly) and all of his years seemed to shine from beneath his skin as he began to move restlessly amongst the bedclothes – running maybe.

He always seemed to be running.

O-o-O

Across the open fields to his Father's Estate and –

He had turned away. Officially shunned before the whole of the Academy. The ceremony wasn't even half over and already he had proven to be a disappointment. Birds as black as crows from Earth burst from just over the hills and they screamed and screamed and he found himself screaming back. What was the point of this existence? All he did was disappoint and he could see the look in their eyes – what a burden he was, how odd he was compared to the other children. His mother didn't even look at him anymore and his father's eyes –

What was the point?

One of the crows had a face (Guardian) and he found himself stopping before it.

Let it do what it will. Nothing could be worse than the whispers…the looks of fear and loathing –

Nothing.

O-o-O

Rory jerked halfway awake, shifting uncomfortably in the chair, his back protesting the curled position of his spine, the stiffness of his legs and arms.

Someone had been screaming –

"I'm sorry," the Doctor rasped from the darkness. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry –"

"Doctor," Rory said quietly, unable to keep the ache from his voice. He was so useless just sitting here. Really, what was he accomplishing? Keeping him company? Not like the man knew – if he did, maybe he wouldn't sound so horribly lonely and afraid.

Rory swallowed back that lump of sympathy (2,000 years' worth), and resisted the urge to fidget as the Doctor lapsed into his own language – his soft mutterings sounding almost like pleas, his restlessness more pronounced, agitation increasing. Rory shifted in his chair again, fingers tightening around the armrests as he forced himself to sit still and just be there – every other skill at his disposal rendered void by his lack of knowledge. As soon as they got through this, he was going to fix that little oversight.

The Doctor started to twist and fight the covers, panic creasing his features before his eyes popped open, his gaze so very, very there and frightening in a way Rory hadn't conceived of before now. He looked like a man who was dying – that final clarity before the end and Rory couldn't even catch his breath against it.

"This isn't home," the Doctor whispered at him, steady-steady and too calm for Rory's liking. He blinked once (slowly), eyes starting to drift away before snapping back to Rory's shocked face. He started to speak again, but Rory couldn't understand what he said and the Doctor (even in his fevered state), must have realized that if the sad smile was anything to go by. Rory had exactly two seconds to grasp that something had gone wrong – that somehow the Doctor had gotten worse not better – before the Time Lord collapsed like his strings had been cut, going completely still in a way that made the former peace of earlier look restless by comparison.

"Shit!" Rory barked in shock – and immediately broke the one rule the Doctor had given them when he had first fallen ill two days before.

/No matter what, do not touch me – I have no defense against it and I can't control what happens after. I can't protect you…/

He hadn't been able to explain beyond that point – all they had gotten was ramblings about a chess game and the balance of the Universe…which, yeah, was no surprise. But Rory couldn't think beyond shock and sudden horror at what had just happened. He didn't hesitate, he didn't ask himself if what he was doing was wise – he just reacted.

"Doctor!" Rory hissed, halfway out of his chair before the Doctor's arm came to rest on the wildly patterned duvet. He remembered the warning only after one hand had landed on the Doctor's chest (between his hearts), the other swiping his fringe out of the way before landing on his (icy) forehead and –

O-o-O

A chill wind swept through his bones like crows wings – the scream of the Universe pressing against him from all sides and the sky burst into a colorful cascade of lights and color – a meteor shower in the middle of a stormy day.

The Oncoming Storm.

A boy-man-boy wept in the middle of a field of crows as two Beings played chess across a dark sky that bloomed with living fire –

A Scream that never ended…

'It is the judgment of this Council –' 'Help me – Papa – help me!' 'Theta, you just aren't living up to your potential, so your mother and I have decided –' 'Rue the day you were loomed –' 'Will be the Death of us all –' 'Are you happy now – turning your back on your people for those primitive creatures! You have learned nothing! Such a disappointment –'

The voices were solid, like the land under Rory's feet – but only more so as the setting shuddered between golden-red fields of soft timothy and blasted, blackened chunks of earth. The boy-man-boy screamed airlessly to the thunderous sky; the reddish light flickering with purple-black clouds that reminded Rory of bruises left by an angry god. The Universe imploded through the circling Vortex of No-Time and No-Space. Rory couldn't comprehend being afraid – there was too much happening at once.

And still the one Scream rose above it all, blotting out everything but the solid reality of the Others –

'Would that the Matrix had never seen fit to set your pattern –' 'You were my brother! What are you now, Theta, dear?' 'You are no longer a part of this House. You may keep your titles and your land, but the House falls to –' 'You destroyed it all! Where is Home now?! Doctor – where is Gallifrey?!' 'The Death of us all –'

Time collapsed and restarted in slip-slides of light and sound – the wind threading through it all, icy and stale tasting; the dust of a thousand dead galaxies. Rory found himself being swept along in the wake of the Storm, even as he never moved from those endless fields of timothy – a Dark Tower rising above it all. He gasped for breath in a place of Nowhere and Nothing, the boy-man-boy sobbing endlessly under a Game of Chess that couldn't be won – overseen by Beings that held love for nothing and no one but their Challenge, the one they push-pulled at alone in a field that no longer existed.

'The other students fear him, though he seems quite popular amongst his close friends –' 'Watch this one…the other children may be influenced by –' 'Such an odd child, wish my Koschei didn't love him so...' 'Day you were loomed –' 'Future uncertain –' 'The judgment of this High Council –' 'What of you, Doctors?' 'Rightful place in time and space...' 'Death of us all –' 'Take my hand –' 'Darkest hour –' 'Balance must be found –' 'Trust me –' 'They seem to trust him, Milord…' 'Undue influence and disruption to the other students –' 'I name you forever! You are the Destroyer of Worlds!'

"Doctor!" Rory screamed against the howling mishmash of dueling voices, unsure if he could be heard as his voice was whipped away by the silent winds of the Vortex – his shriek more felt than heard.

He screamed his name and the World cracked, fissures of blackness seeping through the timothy and rolling clouds…

Then – Nothing.

"You win," the man-boy-man rasped in the emptiness – the black all-encompassing and staggering; the absence of all light, sound and feeling disconcerting, making Rory long for the cacophony of Before. "You Win!"

The Scream Rory had almost forgotten about rose in pitch and Rory struggled to stay upright in this Place of Nothing and Nowhere. This was important (he knew it had to be important) he just didn't know what he was supposed to do. He wasn't even supposed to be here, where-ever Here was.

"Doctor!" He called to the man-boy, knowing instinctively that this apparition was indeed, the Time Lord he knew, but not as he knew him. He called the Doctor's name, but another sound rolled out of his throat, a language that sounded like singing (Gallifreyian), so hauntingly beautiful and he knew that was correct – that was how his Name was supposed to sound.

Who is here?

Sudden burst of light-sound – lightening crackling across the Sky of his mind. He knew that he should be going mad right about now. He knew he should be lost. He knew the dizzying whirl of memory and thought was just on the other side of this Nothingness, but somehow, even though he didn't have the strength to do so, the Doctor was protecting him. He must have known Rory was here, he must have sensed it –

/'More of a touch telepath.'/

But his strength seemed to be failing.

Shouldn't be here…

/ 'I won't be able to protect you –'/

"Doctor," Rory whispered into the boom of blackness. The ring of music wove through the Name and Rory felt more at ease within the cradle of the Doctor's mind. It felt like he was being held now, cupped carefully within the warm palm of a giant – the wind still chill, though he was sheltered from the worst of it.

Rory…

A sigh in the darkness, fond and exasperated all at once – and so very, very tired.

Shouldn't be here…I'm sorry.

Rory felt a sudden urge to hug him tight, to reassure him even though there was nothing to hold, nothing to grasp here in the safe web suspended in No Time and No Space. He thought it, though: he thought of the safe hum of the TARDIS, Amy's sleepy-warm laugh, the excitement of seeing what lay beyond the doors, the comfort of warm covers at the end of the day. He thought of the familiarity of a warm cup of tea, the pride of a job well-done, the soft smile the Doctor would get when they were all Home again, spinning in the Vortex…the way things should be.

Home…

A sigh, more weary than ever – flagging even as he tried to hold Rory up, safe and warm within the special space he had created just for him. He was part of the reason the Doctor was tiring and though he was sorry (so very sorry) he wasn't at the same time. The Doctor (Theta) was no longer drowning within the Universe of his mind. Sometimes, it wasn't about the Universe. Sometimes it was about one being, one person – and sometimes that one person was the man who ran endlessly to save it all.

Tired.

"Don't let it win," Rory said softly, the endless Scream warbling just beyond the boundaries of the 'cradle', the sound bleak and yet, familiar for all that. The idea that the Scream was always there made him sad – it made him ache somewhere just below his single, lone heart in a way that was also new and familiar at once. "Whatever this is…don't let it Win."

Ahhh, Rory – it will always Win. But I'll not stop fighting…how's that?

The voice carried that warm chuckle that meant one had done something surprising and clever. Approval, fondness and longing all at once. He kinda loved that laugh – and he could almost see it, the way the Doctor's eyes would crinkle at the corners, the years falling away as the light shone from his eyes.

The howl faded at the sound of that chuckle, but Rory knew (sadly) that the Doctor was right. That would always be there. It was very much a part of him, who he was – it was what drove him and kept him from resting.

But it would also keep him fighting.

He was going to tell him that it would do, that he could live with that; as long as the Doctor kept trying, kept fighting, kept them human – he could live with the endless howl that threaded through the man's soul. He just hoped it would sustain him, that it would keep him moving and breathing and living. Because for a moment there, he thought the man would break. He was going to tell him, he was going to tell him how he understood – but there was a sigh of another type, a sound that meant home of a different sort and –

O-o-O

"Numpty!" Amy was saying, fear and upset making her voice high and tight with distress. Rory hated that tone, it reminded him of something that had always been there, but was never heard –

Oncoming Storm.

"Doctor?" He croaked, blinking awake in the dizzying solidness of reality. He blinked against the harsh spill of light from the corridor, the hum of the TARDIS drilling through his ears for just a moment…then everything steadied and he could feel the onset of a killer headache thumping away behind his eyes. It a hangover, without the benefits of actually being drunk. "Is he –"

"He's fine," Amy murmured, frown creasing her forehead and for a moment…

Rory shook his head, regretting it as soon as he did it. But that didn't matter, he had worked through worse – he'd died through worse. He just had to make sure the Doctor hadn't died. There was something important he had been doing, something that had to do with the Doctor. He had just collapsed –

"He's fine – Rory!" Amy said angrily, stopping him as he reached for the Time Lord, her hands solid and bruising against his arms. "Don't touch him! He can't…don't touch him! He told us to not –"

I can't protect you…

I'll not stop fighting – how's that?

"But…I was," Rory murmured, blinking in confusion. He was seated in the chair and the Doctor was covered by the duvet, once again silent and unmoving under the covers. But he had just been –

"That's how I found you," Amy muttered, exasperated and worried. "You were both so still and you were touching his forehead and were calling out but I couldn't understand you –"

Theta.

"I'm sorry," Rory said in a low voice. "I just – I came to check on him and he woke up and then…"

There was no way to explain it properly. Hell, he could barely remember it without his brain insisting on jig-sawing it, so he didn't even try. But he did resist when Amy tried to get him back to bed. He very rarely dug in his heels about anything, so Amy relented after half an hour of wheedling and outright threats.

"He needs someone here," Rory had insisted stubbornly. "No one should be alone when…he shouldn't be alone."

"Fine," Amy sighed, all the fight draining out of her at once. "At least let me get you some tea. We'll both watch him, yeah?"

That Rory could agree with, though the soft, almost sad understanding on her face made him recall something frightening under an inky black sky in a place that held No Time and No Space. Where a boy who would become a man Screamed endlessly in the threat of an Oncoming Storm.

But he couldn't explain that either, so he just nodded, eyes going to the motionless lump under the duvet of stars and moons. A child's covers tucked haphazardly around a man far older than he claimed to be. A man who had long outlived and outrun the fears and hatreds and loves that drove him – but one that continued to fight and laugh and breathe despite all that.

Rory relaxed in his chair, asleep before Amy had even come back with the tea: his dreams a spinning vortex and red fields that stretched forever – birds as black as midnight blotting out a stormy sky.

O-o-O

"- touch of Pervusian flu, that's all," the Doctor was saying softly, his voice oddly muffled and more tired than Rory had ever heard it. "Nothing to really worry about."

"Rory was plenty worried," Amy fussed, sounding rather tired herself. A chair creaked and settled as awareness slid over his senses like silk, his dreams falling away like the echoes of a Scream in the dark.

"I know," was the Doctor's response – a mere whisper of sound. "He shouldn't have been, though –"

"Yeah, he should have," Rory croaked, blinking awake. He was vaguely irritated that they were talking about him when he was right here and unable to defend himself. "You didn't see you."

"Rory," Amy said warmly, her smile weary but welcoming. She leaned out of her chair to give him a peck on the cheek, her smile saying she had both of her boys and she was as content at that moment as she could ever be. "Now that you are awake – you want that tea?"

Rory blinked again, realizing the lights were up in the small room and that both he and the Doctor were awake. His gaze slid from the leftovers on the tea tray to the Doctor himself – the man pale, but very much there. He was nodding his assent to Amy's question, eyes never leaving the Time Lord. The Doctor didn't look away, his gaze steady and clear, assessing Rory as much as he was being assessed. The Scream was right behind his eyes, but it seemed contained for now; a problem that was always there and always being dealt with...but that was the trick wasn't it?

Rory just didn't know how he'd never seen it before.

"A lot of practice," the Doctor said seriously, those dark eyes warm, old and so very, very kind. He looked like he wanted to apologize, but something in the curl of Rory's mouth must have stopped him – his own mouth quirking in a knowing smile that spoke of just how close he had actually come.

Rule Number One.

"What's a lot of practice?" Amy said, startling Rory almost out of his chair.

He kept his gaze on the Doctor, half curious to what he would say, even as he already knew the answer.

"Chess," the Doctor said with a half-grin that reminded Rory of crows in a field forever flying – then he blinked and it was just the Doctor being the Doctor. He didn't know if that was better or worse, but as the Time Lord drank his tea and chattered with Amy (still too pale for Rory's liking, but animated enough), he found that it would more than do.

The talk of the Universe and checks and balances weighed against one soul could come another day. The talk of hopes and dreams and disappointments would come when it needed to. For now, he would let himself be lulled by the familiar, sweet hum of Home under his feet, the comforting voices of his family. It might not always be there (home and family), it might one day become so much dust behind him (as it had for the Doctor) – but what was the point if you didn't let yourself live in the now?

The Doctor's eyes locked with his (once, just once) and he found he could see past the Scream – see the boy-man-boy that had survived underneath it all. It was a beautiful soul with a lot of damage, but in the end he would live to fight another day.

For now, Rory was happy to call that a win.