A/N Well! My first Eleven!Whump fic! Sorta...not really. Always reading them, never writing them...yanno. I thought it would be interesting to write this with an earlier Doctor, but Ten and Eleven are currently the only ones I know well enough to write. I'm rubbish at writing Ten. If anyone can point me in the direction of some Classic Who episodes, it would be much appreciated :)

Apologies for some American dialect. I almost wrote 911 instead of 999. :D

Disclaimer: If I owned Doctor Who, then would I be on Fan Fiction? Thought not.


The Doctor was vaguely aware of something warm and sticky on his face. In his hair. On his hands.

Warm, sticky, wet...red. Red? Red...never a good sign. Rubbish, really, as colours go. Although... He patted his bow tie affectionately. Still. Not better than blue.

He reached out blindly, expecting to feel wood beneath his fingers, only grasping air.

Blue...blue...something significant about that color. Not just any blue, though. The bluest of blues...

The Doctor stumbled into a wall, just managing to steady himself. His head felt ready to explode. "Blimey...how'd I get here?" He mumbled to himself. He held his bloody hand in front of his eyes. No artron energy—he wouldn't be regenerating anytime soon.

A man with a firearm...demanding something. What was it? Money! Yes! The Doctor's head collided with something hard.

He shook his head, discovered it was bad idea, and grimaced. The memory had slipped away as quickly as it had come.

Where am I? What's this banging in my head?

Something wet on his mouth. He licked his lips.

Iron.

He leaned on the wall, practically hugging it. Desperately clinging to something, to any sliver of reality, as the world blurred out of focus. He pushed himself away from it.

No—can't—stay awake—

He found himself standing in front of the alleyway instead of inside of it, with no recollection of the period in between.

CAL...ugh. Not this again.

The Time Lord didn't get far down that line before someone noticed his distress. He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Do you need me to call 999?" Asked a gentle voice.

TARDIS! Where's the TARDIS?

"Nonono...I'm perfectly fine!" He slurred. "Please—I—no hospital." Unfortunately, his last two words were lost in a jumble.

His eyes rolled back into his head as he sank to the ground.


It wasn't a particularly interesting day at Royal Leadworth Hospital.

Not that Rory minded...at least he could appreciate the quiet, unlike some people. His thoughts briefly wandered to his ginger haired wife. Two more faces drifted through his mind as he tended to a patient, one being that of his daughter, and the other, his son-in-law. Despite himself, he inwardly grinned.

He knelt next to a girl of about fifteen or sixteen, gently examining her swollen ankle and briefly considered switching permanently to the emergency room. Her ankle was easily the worst injury he'd seen in his shift. Much less stressful than the coma ward.

"How'd you manage this?" He asked her, jotting something down on a clip board. She shrugged.

"Dunno. Can I leave now? Really, I'm fine!"

Rory sighed, but chuckled to himself at how stubborn she was. "The doctor will be here in a little. Don't cross your legs; It restricts blood flow to your ankle," he warned.

She raised a wary eyebrow. "What's so funny?" She demanded.

"You...remind me of someone I know. An old friend."

He swore he caught a small grin flicker across her features as he turned to leave.

With the shift that he'd been covering finally over, he wanted nothing more than to kiss Amy goodnight and collapse into bed. Rory crossed paths with some paramedics, and stepped aside to let them through. He noticed the man on the gurney. Did a double take. The tail of a long green coat hung over the sides of the stretcher. The man was a skinny bloke with a mop of dark brown hair.

Actually, he quite looked like—

"Bloody hell," Rory muttered. He shook his head and followed them. "Who is this man? What happened to him?" He demanded as he caught up to the stretcher.

"No ID—for the time being, he's Joe Bloggs. Do you know him?" Replied the tall, black paramedic. A lanyard with his picture and name dangled from his neck. Rory recognized the man and often said hello when they crossed paths.

Rory bit his lip. Who else would he be? "Has the doctor seen him yet?" He put special emphasis and volume on the word doctor. Under an oxygen mask, the man stirred slightly. Oh yeah. It's him.

"'Course he hasn't, mate. We've only just got here." Rory was left standing in the middle of the corridor.Bloody hell, Doctor. What have you gotten yourself into this time?

It was going to be a long night.

I've seen quite a bit of Eleven!whump...hell, I've read every one that I could get my hands on. I've never seen anything quite like this, so I thought why the hell not? Tell me whether or not I should continue. Although, I'll probably continue anyway. :)