Death is terrifying.
Mortality is terrifying.
Mortality and death have never touched the Doctor.
Not even when the slow path became his path.
Sure, everyone knows that everyone dies, but he's got time.
He's always been a bit of a daredevil.
Troublemakers die early, they say.
Eh, probably, he figured.
He never thought it would happen to him.
And then the world ends.
And he runs.
Because that's what he does, he runs.
Then his ankle falters.
They catch up.
How did three of them catch up so quickly?
Everybody knows that everybody dies. Nobody knows it better than the Doctor.
He's seen so many die.
So many ripped from the timeline; dead under his watch.
Just never him.
He's never been the one to be afraid.
If he gets hurt, he'll just regenerate.
Not this time.
The pain is excruciating and sharp and every ounce of knowledge and life and everything that's him and he knows and he's been all 900 years they're all pulled through every pore and every cell shriveled and burning and bloated and twisted and he's drained drained drained dry it hurts oh, fuck it hurts and it hurts and it's---
They're all right, aren't they?
There were only three Daleks in the house.
The rest of his companions got away.
Reinette got away.
He can live with that. Die with that.
Everybody knows that everybody dies.
It's the Doctor's turn.
Muse: The Doctor (Ten)(AU)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 233
Based on roleplay in relativespace