[It's the Doctor's shock more than anything else that trips Sam up, so to speak, and he stares, trying in vain to ignore what logic (what logic? This is not logic) is telling him. He puts a hesitant hand out, just enough to press fingertips against the fabric of the Doctor's sleeve. His brow furrows again.]
You're real? You-
[He draws his hand back, looks from the Doctor in front of him to the one onscreen, his lips pressed together. His face can't quite seem to decide if it wants to be gleeful or disbelieving or irritated]
no subject
You're real? You-
[He draws his hand back, looks from the Doctor in front of him to the one onscreen, his lips pressed together. His face can't quite seem to decide if it wants to be gleeful or disbelieving or irritated]
You're actually- I'm not dreaming.