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The glass ceiling exploded into a thousand pieces as the Doctor's body crashed to the floor between Rassilon and the Master, his pistol falling out of his hand and clanking to the ground.
"Guhh!" He groaned with sudden sharp pain. The side of his face, his forearms, and his torso had taken the brunt of the fall.
He gasped for breath. He struggled to focus on the crisis at hand: he needed to do something.
The other two Time Lords looked down at him with bemused surprise.
"Nngh." With a weak grunt, the Doctor reached for his pistol and tried to lift it off the ground to aim at Rassilon, but his strength failed him. Dropping the pistol, he finally let out a series of laboured breaths, each one sending a new wave of pain through his lungs and his ribs.
He bared his teeth. There was glass in his hair, in the collar of his shirt, underneath his body, and on the tile floor around him. He became aware of a stinging pain on his cheeks, nose, and forehead from where the ceiling had cut him when he had gone through it.
He had to get up.
"My Lord Doctor..."
*
"I am NOT going in there!" The Vinvocci woman, Addams, yelled as she steered the ship away from the building that the Doctor had just jumped to.
"I am not leaving that man on his own! Not today!" Wilfred yelled back. "Land it!"
She wavered, but with a look of annoyed resignation, Addams turned back.
*
"L-listen to me..." The Doctor pushed himself painstakingly off the floor to a sitting position, his hearts racing with dread. He begged: "...You can't."
He knew he had nothing to bargain with. He knew he was going to lose.
He was going to die. But he had no other choice.
*
"The approach of what?" The Master asked the Doctor impatiently.
"Something is returning..." The Doctor set his jaw, speaking angrily now from his sitting position on the floor, head hung low. "Don't you ever listen?! That was the prophecy, not some 'one', some 'thing'!"
"What is it?" The Master looked nervous.
"They're not just bringing back the species. It's Gallifrey. Right here, right now!"
*
The Great Time War was descending. Again.
Rassilon and the Master threatened each other. Rassilon raised his weapon, eager to rid the universe of this diseased Time Lord.
The Doctor appeared between them, pistol clicking at the ready.
"Choose your enemy well. We are many. The Master is but one." Rassilon spat.
*
"Ohh.." the Master sighed. "The link is inside my head. Kill me, the link gets broken, they go back."
The Doctor stood his ground, pistol aimed at the Master.
"You never would, you coward." The Master taunted. "Go on then. Do it!"
*
"The final acts of your life..." Rassilon growled. "Is murder."
The woman at Rassilon's side uncovered her face from behind her hands. The Doctor stared, in awe, and knew at once what to do.
"Get out of the way."
*
"The link is broken! Back into the time war, Rassilon, back into Hell!" The Doctor shouted.
"You die with me, Doctor!" Rassilon growled.
"I know." The Doctor swallowed, resigned.
"Get out of the way." The Master appeared out of nowhere from behind him. The Doctor swivelled around and stared, then did as he was told.
"You did this to me!" The Master yelled angrily, lightning shooting from his palms and into Rassilon's chest. "All of my life! You! Made! Me!"
~
The room was eerily quiet.
The Doctor's ears were still ringing with the explosion that had just occurred when the portal was destroyed, trapping the Master and all of the other Time Lords inside.
The Doctor found himself on his back, arms and legs splayed haphazardly. He blinked his eyes open, disoriented.
He gasped out a breath and rolled onto his side, his body stiff and buzzing, and considered the destruction around him: thousands of shards of glass, large and tiny, littered the floor around him along with much other debris.
The Doctor stared ahead, his jaw dropping in a silent gasp.
"I'm alive." He couldn't believe it.
He tried to push himself up onto his arms, shaking with the effort. "I...I'm still alive."
Overcome with relief, he couldn't stop the grateful sobs that escaped his chest. He could have almost laughed. His body shuddered with each breath. How was he so lucky?
His face fell.
His forearms shook with the effort of holding him up. With panting breaths, he tried to steady himself. He swallowed hard.
In the silence, he felt now that his jaw, where he had hit it on the ground, as well as his chest... his sides... his legs were... in agony. How did he manage to stand and fight for so long like this?
Adrenaline, he realized. His hands were shaking.
He tried to sit up straighter but faltered, his unsteady arms slipping from under his weight. He could not catch himself and crumpled to the ground, his chest hitting the tile floor.
Ow.
All of a sudden, his lip trembled and he was not able to stop it. Tears formed in his eyes. Oh, he felt so childish like this, but he had been so frightened. The reality of what had just happened - and what could have happened - finally hit him.
And now, he understood that he was hurt, really hurt. Could he stand? Was his body as broken as it felt? There was no one around to help him. He was alone.
Always alone.
"Doctor?" A voice came from down the hallway.
The Doctor looked over his shoulder, hesitant.
After a beat, someone entered the room. "Doc-doctor?" Wilfred faltered when he saw him lying still on the ground.
Wilfred was alive. The Doctor's hearts tightened at this new relief, which was just enough to send him over the edge. Hanging his head low, he sobbed into his arms, his whole body shaking with it.
"Oh, Doctor," Wilfred approached him cautiously. "Are you alright?"
The Doctor felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. It made him cry even harder. He curled his hands into fists. He was getting so soft.
"There, there," Wilfred muttered. He observed the state of the room. "They've gone now. It's alright."
Yes, they were gone because the Doctor had had to destroy them again. He was always forced to commit genocide against his own people, and yet somehow always willing to do it. He was so tired of being the cause of their deaths again and again.
The Doctor sniffed and looked up at his friend. The Doctor's teary eyes were marked with exhaustion and guilt. But Wilfred's were full of love and concern.
The Doctor tried again to sit up, his body screaming at him with sharp pains. He winced. Wilfred helped him up with a hand under the Doctor's elbow until he was stable and patted his jacket, swiping away some glass and grime.
"There we are," Wilfred said, a small smile on his lips.
"Thank you," the Doctor muttered, and forced a small smile of his own as he wiped away his tears. He looked down and kept his body as still as he could to combat the agony of his injuries. He breathed deep, ragged breaths as the pain began to build in his right side.
Wilfred noticed this.
"Doctor," he said. "If you're hurt, we can get you to a hospital. I can call an ambulance."
The Doctor smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "No, Wilfred. I can't go to a human hospital. They wouldn't know what to do with me."
"Then, what can I do to help?" Wilfred looked at him pleadingly.
"I should just get back," the Doctor winced again. "To the TARDIS."
"Alright," Wilfred nodded. He grasped the Doctor under his arm. "Up you go."
Together, they were able to get the Doctor to his feet, which instantly proved to be a mistake.
"Nnngh!" The Doctor clutched his side and swayed on his feet, bent double.
"Oh, no you don't," Wilfred grasped him around the middle to stabilize him.
The Doctor grasped blindly at Wilfred's shoulders, panting through gritted teeth. He let out a pained moan, and then another. The sharp pain consumed him. There was no way he could walk like this.
"Come on, let's get you home," Wilfred patted his arm, trying to hide his fear and worry at the state of this man.
By some miracle, with Wilfred holding fast beneath his elbow, the other hand wrapped around his waist, they were able to walk out of the building.
The Doctor couldn't help but let out small whimpers with every few steps as they walked the empty streets. All of the humans were home, keeping their families close after another global trauma.
They were all safe. The Doctor held on to that with pride.
"Just a bit further," Wilfred muttered as they turned to walk down another street, and found themselves in front of the TARDIS.
Wilfred peered up at the Doctor, deeply worried. The Doctor was pale and disoriented as he pushed the TARDIS door open more with habit than with real focus.
The Doctor stumbled inside, leaving Wilfred to follow cautiously.
"Doctor?" Wilfred hovered nervously. "How can I help?"
The pain in his side was growing, pulsating from his ribs into his lungs. He gasped for breath, finding it more difficult to breathe as the pain grew. That couldn't be good. He pushed the thought away. He just had to sit for a bit.. He just needed a rest.
The Doctor stumbled up the ramp to the main console, his hand gripping the handrail for dear life. "Wilf, I think I'll be alrigh-"
Everything went black.
*
The Doctor blinked his eyes open and saw the ceiling of his TARDIS. He was lying on his back by the main console.
Squinting, he tried to remember why.
"Hello," Wilfred said with surprise. He was kneeling by the Doctor's side and looked relieved.
"Hi," the Doctor swallowed thickly around his dry mouth, eyes going wide with confusion.
"Still with us?" Wilfred raised his eyebrows.
"Yeah," the Doctor sighed. He tried to lift his head up.
"No, don't," Wilfred put his hand on the Doctor's shoulder gently and guided him to lie back. The Doctor looked at him curiously. "You're quite badly hurt, Doctor. We need to find you some help."
The Doctor looked down at himself, worry setting back in at the state of his body after his fall. His hands were scarred, his clothes were torn. He didn't know the full extent of his injuries but he became aware once again of the pulsing pain in his ribs and the soreness on his cheek.
"I'm not sure there is much we can do," the Doctor tried to keep his voice calm. Normally he would be more of an optimist but he found it hard to find that place within himself now. What if his bones were broken? He was not dying, so he wouldn't regenerate. He would have to heal the old-fashioned way.
"Nonsense," Wilfred frowned. "We can patch you up nicely, make you good as new. Now, you stay still. No use in hurting yourself any more. Tell me where you keep your medical kit."
"Uh," the Doctor wavered at Wilfred taking charge. Exhausted, he was grateful to relinquish control. "Down that way, take three left turns. The TARDIS will help you."
Wilfred couldn't hide his confusion, but he did exactly as he was told and returned shortly with a small white box.
"Now," Wilfred kneeled beside the Doctor once again, opened the box and started to sort out different items. "I want you to tell me where the pain is coming from, starting with the worst."
The Doctor's hearts clenched with pride as he realized he was seeing Wilfred the soldier.
"Here," the Doctor motioned with his hand carefully, fanning from his ribs on the right side of his body up to his chest. As Wilfred prepared, he undid his jacket, loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.
With his chest now exposed, they both winced at the dark purple and yellow pattern of bruising on the right side of the Doctor's torso.
"What about here?" Wilfred motioned to the same area on the left side. This area was pink with scratch marks, but otherwise unbruised.
"No, I don't think so."
"Alright. Three, two, one," Wilfred gently placed a thin ice pack on the right side, trying his best not to cause him any pain.
The Doctor winced at the cold and the contact.
"Sorry," Wilfred looked apologetic.
"It's alright."
"I'll need to bandage your ribs to prevent them from getting worse. You'll have to sit up, but you're in no state for that. Do you have any strange alien-technology-based analgesic spray so you would feel less pain?" He held up two small vials and a bottle.
The corners of the Doctor's mouth curled upwards at the phrasing that Wilfred used. He pointed at the bottle. "These tablets will do."
The Doctor took the tablets and, after a few moments, sat up with a wince, his hand holding the ice pack in place, but the pain had diminished significantly.
"Wow," Wilfred raised his eyebrows. "Now, that's fast acting."
The Doctor smirked. "Strange alien technology."
"Right." Wilfred continued his ministrations as the Doctor watched him with a soft smile and much gratitude.
Wilfred wrapped the Doctor's ribs with bandages, not too tight, but tight enough that they would stay in place and prevent any further damage. The Doctor raised his arms patiently with every layer, looking down politely every time he winced.
"There we are," Wilfred muttered, "Good as new."
The Doctor cautiously buttoned up his shirt, careful not to upset the bandages.
"Thank you." The Doctor said, straightening his back to test the soreness. It was manageable.
"Now, I want to look at his." Wilfred turned his attention to the Doctor's knee, the fabric torn where it was bent to expose the bloody skin underneath.
The Doctor rolled up his pant leg to just above the knee. He held it there, leaning back on one arm.
Wilfred wiped away the blood and added an ointment to the cuts and bruises there. He finished by bandaging up the knee for good measure.
"Wilfred," the Doctor discerned his friend shyly, rolling his pant leg back down. "This really means a lot."
"Oh, hush," Wilfred smiled, "You'd do the same for us." He paused and observed the Doctor more intently. "You have already done so much more for us."
The Doctor looked down. Wilfred noticed his smile fade away.
"Now, one last thing." Wilfred raised a piece of cotton covered in antiseptic. "This may sting a bit."
Surprised out of his thoughts, the Doctor pulled away on instinct as Wilfred dabbed at his temple and cheek.
"Hold still," Wilfred muttered, placing his fingertips under the Doctor's chin.
Feeling a bit like a scolded child, the Doctor did as he was told, looking off to the side. It did sting. His brow furrowed slightly.
"Sorry." Wilfred smiled timidly. "Soon, you'll be all better."
They shared a silent moment as Wilfred treated the scratches and bruises on the Doctor's face. The Doctor sighed quietly. It was nice to be taken care of, despite his growing guilt at being cared for.
At feeling weak. At feeling needy.
He swallowed hard. He needed to travel alone for a bit. He should stop relying on other people - humans - to pick up the pieces for him.
"Are you going to tell me what you're busy worrying about in there?" Wilfred asked gently.
The Doctor looked up at him and opened his mouth to say something snarky or to deflect but he couldn't find the words. "I-"
Wilfred rested a hand on his shoulder. He waited, but the Doctor just looked away.
"It's alright."
The Doctor pursed his lips as his eyes began to water. Damnit, he was so soft.
"War is not easy," Wilfred said. "Not for those we lose, and not in our own hearts."
The Doctor gave him a sad smile.
"Did you..." Wilfred hesitated. "Did you kill them?"
The Doctor shook his head. "No. Not exactly."
The Doctor reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out Wilfred's pistol. He left it on the ground beside them.
"I had to-" the Doctor wavered. "Send them back. Into the time war. They're trapped in the past now."
"But for them, they're still at war," Wilfred added.
"Yes." the Doctor said.
"The same war they were in the middle of when they were pulled into our world by the Master?" Wilfred asked.
"Mhm."
"So, it's all back as it was before," Wilfred said. "No harm done, eh?"
The Doctor's eyes were sad.
"There was nothing else you could do," Wilfred said softly.
"There's always something else I could have done." The Doctor added. "Always."
"Then tell me, what could you have done?"
The Doctor looked up, pursed lips. "Anything."
Wilfred patted the Doctor's hand. "You can't save those who don't want to be saved." Those words hit the Doctor more meaningfully than perhaps Wilfred realized. "We do with our grief what we can, Doctor," Wilfred added. "That has to be enough."
"Yeah," the Doctor wiped at his eyes. "You're right."
"'Course I am," Wilfred smiled. He closed the medical kit. "There, all better."
"Thank you." The Doctor smiled back. He felt a heavy weight lift off his shoulders. "Can I-"
The Doctor and Wilfred were now sat side by side, their backs against the TARDIS console.
"What's that, Doctor?" Wilfred pushed a little.
"Can I tell you about what happened?" The Doctor asked. He could lean on Wilfred. He was allowed. He could ask for help from his friends.
"Yes, please," Wilfred said, eyebrows raised. "I'd be proud to hear it."
"Well," the Doctor began slowly, his body relaxing slightly. He sighed. "What happened was, the Master didn't know why the Time Lords had been destroyed in the first place, what they were planning to do to the universe, to life itself. And why I had to stop them."
Wilfred listened intently and never interrupted.
"But despite everything the Master had done," the Doctor clutched his hands together, elbows resting on his knees. "When Rassilon tried to take over your world and I destroyed the signal to send him back, he would have killed me. He almost did. But, the Master made one last sacrifice. For me. For you. For the universe."