Title: When the Sun Goes Down
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: gen
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Table: 50_darkfics
Prompt: 6, Claws
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Tenth Doctor, unfortunately. Please do not sue.

***

The Doctor leaned against the bars of the cage, closing his eyes and wishing that he was anywhere but here. He had no idea what had become of the rest of the people in the house; he simply wished that he could make it to the Tardis and get away from here.

His body was healing at a fairly rapid rate, but he had no idea how the bite of the werewolf might affect him. He supposed that he was being kept here so that his captors could find out if he was immune -- or if they might have a new werewolf that far exceeded their expectations.

If he had been infected by that bite .... the Doctor squeezed his eyes tightly closed, not wanting to think about all of the possibilities. If he was, and if those men could somehow find a way to control him, then he could wreak more havoc than they dared to dream of.

Which was what they wanted, of course. He should have been more careful, should have never let himself fall into their hands. But it was too late for regrets now; he had to stop feeling sorry for himself and find a way out of this mess, if there was a way out to be had.

His head jerked up as a key scraped in the lock; his captors were apparently coming back. He hoped that they hadn't found yet another way to torment him; he hadn't had time to go through everything in his mind and starting any plan of escape.

When the door swung open, he tried not to stare; two of them who had captured him were balancing another man between them, dragging him into the room and heading towards the cage that was next to the one that the Doctor was imprisoned in, being none too gentle with him.

The Time Lord watched them through slitted eyes, hoping that they would think he was still unconscious and not bother to look his way. Fortunately, they didn't seem to be taking any sort of notice of him; they were too occupied with getting the other man behind bars.

When they had made sure that the way out of the cage was fastened down too tightly for anyone who didn't have superhuman strength to make their way out, they seemed satisfied -- until they turned their attention to another set of bars, the ones that separated the two cages.

They were inching the bars upwards on a pulley, leaving empty space for whoever was kept captive in the two cages to get to each other. The Doctor's blood ran cold when he realized what this meant for him; it was more than obvious what was supposed to happen.

When this man transformed into a wolf again, he would focus on the one victim available to him -- and there would be no way out. He already knew that he couldn't budge the bars on the cage; nothing would stand in the way of the werewolf mauling him even more badly than the last time.

The last thing he wanted was to be a victim of those teeth and claws again, he told himself, glancing down at the claw marks on his hip and wincing at the thought. Once had been bad enough; it wasn't an experience that he cared to repeat. Ever.

But how could he make sure that it didn't happen? The two men were leaving the room, the click of the door being locked and the bolt squeaking as it was shot home only seemed to make the situation even more hopeless. There was no way out. Not for him.

He moved a little closer to the open door of the cages to take a closer look at the man who had suffered the horrible fate of becoming a werewolf with each full moon. He couldn't help but like what he saw; he was sure that this man hadn't come to this state willingly.

He was young, and with his eyes closed in repose, he looked .... innocent. That wasn't the feeling he'd gotten from the creature who had attacked him, but he certainly couldn't expect innocence or goodwill from a creature that was spawned from the darkness, the Doctor thought wryly.

If he could get out of here, maybe he could take this man with him. Maybe there was some way, on some other planet far into the future, to cure the affliction that he suffered from. Or at least there might be some way to tame the beast within him, to ensure that he was no longer a danger to anyone.

That more than likely wasn't possible, the Doctor thought with a soft sigh. As much as he hated to admit it, there was probably nothing that he could do for this man -- and anyone else would probably run from the idea of having any sort of contact with him.

For one wild moment, he considered trying to free this man from his captivity and taking him away in the Tardis -- but that would be a suicide mission. He had already been marked by the werewolf; he didn't need to give the creature another chance to dispose of him.

He was certain that this man didn't intend to harm anyone -- or did he? He might look like an innocent victim at the moment, but there was always a chance that he had asked for this -- that he had wanted to become the creature that he was by the light of the full moon.

The Doctor shuddered at the thought; he couldn't imagine anyone actually desiring to be trapped in that kind of a half-life. But there were some people who were intoxicated by the thought of power, and they would see the werewolf as being one of the most powerful creatures in existence.

Slowly, he slid away from the raised bars, wincing as the claw marks on his hip protested the movement. They were healing rapidly, but he had no doubt that once the night descended again, the werewolf would transform once again -- and the next marks might be the end of him.

What if he began to mutate, along with the werewolf? The idea made him shudder again; he didn't want to think about that possibility. The last thing he wanted to be was some kind of half-blood creature of the darkness; he was already a half-breed among his own people.

Not that there were any of them left to deride his half-human origins, or to care what became of him, the Doctor thought, his lips quirking in a wry half-smile. How some of his fellow Time Lords would laugh if they could see the situation he was in now!

Shaking his head, the Doctor closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind and force himself to concentrate on the moment at hand. He had to think of a way out of here, before the moon came up again and he was faced with being mauled by the werewolf for a second time.

The problem was, he couldn't see any way out. And he couldn't count on his companion and others to come to his rescue. This was one situation he would have to get himself out of by using his wits -- and anything else that might conveniently come to hand.

It didn't look as though anything would present itself that could save him, however. All he'd have was his own bare hands, and those wouldn't be much of a defense against the wicked claws that had already torn into his flesh once. He didn't know if he could survive another round.

Taking a deep breath, he rolled his head against the wall that he was leaning against and looked towards the other man again. He showed no signs of waking; the Doctor didn't know if that was a good or bad thing. If he didn't awaken until he began to transform, there might be a better chance of escape.

But if he did, then there was the chance of talking to him, befriending him, and possibly helping him out of a situation that could very likely be unbearable for him. Though that didn't seem very probable, as it was just as likely that this man was exactly where he wanted to be.

A glance towards the window told the Time Lord that the sun was beginning to set; night would descend before too much longer, and when that happened, his time would have run out. He had to find a way out before the transformation began. If he didn't, he could very well die here.

How long would it take once the night descended before the werewolf would begin to take shape? He didn't know, but he couldn't afford to wait and see what would happen. There had to be a way out; there was no situation that couldn't be subverted with a little ingenuity.

Unfortunately, it was hard to cling to that belief in the face of what he knew would happen when the sun went down. The fear was starting to rise in him again, threatening to swamp the workings of his mind and take him over. He simply couldn't find any kind of a solution.

There was no use in trying to budge the steel bars; they were immovable, at least with his own meager strength. If he had the sonic screwdriver, he might be able to do something about freeing himself, but that was with his clothes and far out of reach.

He was naked and vulnerable -- and, if he was honest with himself, terrified of what was going to happen when the sun went down. He had already felt the bite of the werewolf's teeth and claws once; he wasn't eager for those razor-sharp implements to dig into his flesh again.

But there was nothing he could other than sit here and wait helplessly for just that to happen; he couldn't free himself from the trap that he'd fallen into. All he could do was hope that he might be rescued -- or that some heretofore unseen way out would suddenly present itself to him.

Resting his head against the wall, the Doctor turned his face towards the window, watching as the sun began to sink lower in the sky. He didn't want to look in the werewolf's direction, knowing all too well what he would see -- and feel -- before this night was over.

***