The Doctors Meet Each Other- A book of Doctor-vs.-Doctor encounters

Part 15: All Together Now! (PART 1)

You guessed it. You thought that this was coming. You PMed it to me many times. You wanted something like this from the very start of this crazy collection. And now you're getting it. All the Doctors (minus War), from One to Twelve, all meeting each other and getting pretty hecking confuzzled. Let's go.

A man called the Doctor. The Oncoming Storm, the hero of all time and space, hundreds of years old. A memory that stretched from the dawn of the universe to time's burnout. A man to whom no one was unimportant.

A man called the Doctor. A man always alone, with friends that appear and fade like ice on a warm day. A man with no eternal company, save himself. A man whose own race screamed and burned because of his own doing. A man who lived with two hearts, and carried twice the pain.

A man called the Doctor. A being who travelled in a spaceship that could hold anything within its infinite size. A person whose story stretched on and on, a person whose name would always be a mystery known to few, or none.

A man called the Doctor was slamming his head into a wall.

"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" he was muttering to himself, glaring down at the cookbook resting in between his black-shoed feet. "Stupid Doctor-- stupid-- stupid-- stupid--"

"Come on, Doctor, it isn't really that badly burned..." consoled a certain young dark-haired girl sympathetically, rising from her seat on the console of the TARDIS and patting him on the back.

"No, of course it isn't that badly burned," he grumbled. "I only baked it for half an hour longer than I was supposed to."

"You can always make another," this young lady plowed on stubbornly, trying to make the Doctor a little happier. "And besides, there's got to be around thirty birthday cake recipes in that one book."

"Fine, fine, fine. I'll try again. But I'm warning you, Clara," he added, straightening his bow tie, "if this one messes up too, I'm baking the next one over the heart of the TARDIS."

"The last time you did that, you ended up setting half the TARDIS on fire," she commented. "It had to regenerate."

"Well, I'll do it again. At least it baked the d*mn cake. Now let's try this one, it's got some sort of fluffy top that reminds me of a soufflé."

"Doctor, that is a soufflé. You're in the wrong section."

As the two bickered, the TARDIS suddenly decided that it wanted to go somewhere and they were both flung to the floor. The TARDIS began to speed up, bit by bit, until they couldn't hear each other over the tearing, howling noise of the Time Vortex rushing by at millions of kilometers per hour.

All at once, it became silent. No noises, no rushing-through-time-and-space, no anything. The Doctor opened the door cautiously, then after a moment, flung the doors open, allowing a shower of snow to pour into the small blue box.

"Norway!" he exclaimed. "Why is it always Europe?"

"Doctor, this isn't Norway. This..." Clara hesitated.

"What, Clara? Does this not look like Norway to you? This is Norway. There is absolutely no other place on Earth that looks like this. I've been to Norway before, you have too, and this is definitely Norway."

"Doctor, we're in Canada," Clara stated bluntly, dodging back into the TARDIS to grab a coat.

"...What? We are not in Canada. How on earth would we have ended up in Canada? This looks nothing like Canada."

"Have you ever even been to Canada before?" Clara asked, sticking her head back out. The Doctor, as always, ignored the cold and gesticulated wildly with his hands at the featureless snow.