Doctor Who?

But not as you'd think. (Also I should add that I was at the beach with friends at the time of this dream, and apparently I sleep-wrote a very sloppy synopsis in all-caps in my journal. And then went back to sleep.)

I am trying to get my dad to watch it for the first time. A new episode is airing, one with Martha Jones and the 10th Doctor, and I am hoping that if dad likes it he might invite Laila and I over and we can watch it together more often, thus spending quality time in something 2/3rds of us already enjoy...

Unfortunately, this episode is so far out of cannon that I almost start retching when I see the beginning credits.

Instead of the typical shot of the TARDIS whizzing its way through the TimeVortex, it begins with a close-up shot of Martha and the Doctor inside the Tardis, as explosions and fire ring around them, making out... It's crashing. And they are making out. On the console. So, the TARDIS is DYING, and all they care to do is mess up the coordinates while she tries to land, by sliming themselves all over the friggin' console! (This is supposed to be a family show!) She eventually does crash. The episode begins, and Martha and the Doctor immediately wander outside with no thought of sympathy for the poor sentient machine. "She'll  heal," the Doctor says dismissively. "Let's go explore this forest."

I don't know who wrote this, but it's starting out pretty terribly.When dad's not looking, I leap into the screen. Let's see if I can't make events a little more interesting-- and a lot less disgusting...

They traipse through the jungle hand in hand, thwacking away innocent brambles and vines when there is actually a path right next to them. I decide to make them notice it. I grab a hunk of grass and dirt and chuck it over their heads and onto the path. They follow the new plot change like good lemmings.
It leads to a strange, cage-like cave, with stalactites and stalagmites grown together like bars over the entrance. Strange runes and ancient-looking paintings of alien animals litter the floor and walls, though the ceiling, high above, is too rough for art. The figures all appear to be leading in one direction. The Doctor follows, curious. Martha stops to examine something interesting. (Classic separation before DOOM...)

Then something changes. For some reason, quite imperceptibly at first, the runes on the floor begin to look brighter as the Doctor steps over them. More vivid. More...alive. They peel themselves silently away from the floor, growing into three-dimensional beings of strange shapes and doubtful significance to the typical semi-rational sci-fi plot: dragon-riding sentries with surveillance camera heads, men with the lower halves of their bodies carved into canoes, strange eight-armed goddesses with cats in their hair... and then the buzzing.
It starts slowly and imperceptibly, but grows over time until the very air is vibrating with the gusts of wind from the wings of a thousand giant:

Killer Bees.

"Run!" shouts the Doctor, grabbing Martha's hand, and finally they do something sensible. They run for their lives as the sacred bee protectors of the cave-temple zoom after them, and I am forced to come out of my silent role in the tail.  I disguise myself as an Indian warrior priestess and leap out with my sword.

"I'll distract the bees, Doctor!" I shout as I run towards them. "You figure out how to give these vengeful drawings peace!"

The Doctor looks down. In his hands is a small pack of crayons. He looks up again, the familiar old sparkle in his eyes. "I've got an idea..." So while Martha wails in the background like a disgruntled horror movie actress (shame, I really admired her before), the Doctor scribbles furiously upon the ground creating pictures of light and harmony, to balance the forest. And once again, the world is saved with crayons.

So then we pat ourselves on the collective back and head off to the Tardis, except she is nowhere to be found. She is angry over the Doctor's complete lack of sympathy. (Turns out, he had a parasite in his brain.) We call the Tardis back and apologize, and then debate the thought of our recent actions, of killing a creature that develops out of a drawing: for, in such a world, would it not be abortion, rather than self-defense? They were as of yet not fully real, nor did they truly understand their instincts. In a world of crayon sketches, life begins the moment the drawing is conceived. We leave the planet quickly so we won't have to deal with a tribunal over our hasty actions.