He runs. He never really stops. Not as everyone around him stops. Not as his best friends place a foot on the ground and quit running. Not everyone he's ever loved falls.

He runs as the world's burn. Even as his world fades into nothing but memory, he never stops. He never looks back.

Because for the Doctor, to look back is a way of inviting the guilt into your life. And to run is to escape it.

He lies sometimes. He says he's not running away. He says he's just running to things. That's not true, is it? That will never be true. After 1,200 years one can't simply stay in place. Life becomes tedious. Guilt becomes overwhelming. People become envious. And it makes you want to fall.

No, he's not running to things. He lies. Rule one, right? The Doctor lies. River, you don't know how often he lies.

It's gotten to the point that he lies to himself now. He pretends he's a hero. As the races die and worlds collapse, he pretends to be the hero. He promises that he'll help. He'll save you. Just let him work his magic.

And they believe him. Because he's the Doctor. He can't do any wrong. What kind of Mighty Warrior makes mistakes? What kind of Oncoming Storm can't save a single planet.

As he fly's away and leaves them to die, they remember. They all remember at the last second. The simple answer that could have saved their lives.

The same man that couldn't save his own.

So he runs. Faster and faster each day. Never tiring.

For every planet it's the same story.

'A goblin, a trickster, a warrior. A nameless, terrible thing, soaked in the blood of a billion galaxies. The most feared being in all the cosmos. And nothing could stop him, or hold him, or reason with him. One day he would just drop out of the sky and tear down their world.' As the legends used to say. They always left out the ending. The part where they thanked him.

He stopped saving people centuries ago. For so long now he hasn't been saving. What had Davros called him? 'The Destroyer of Worlds?' He didn't know how true that was that day. The very thought of being branded with such a name was torture back then.

This one, the eleventh him, was born from that thought. He was born hating who he would become. And every second of every day he thinks that.

Nine was born of fire and died of love.

Ten was born of love and died of hate.

And Eleven was born of a fire that burned brighter than his former self ever could. The fire that would light the way to his own personal Hell.

Amy used to think he stuck around because she was important. And in a way she was. She was the one thing he hadn't destroyed. So he kept coming back. He found a way to make himself feel better. A quick spin in the TARDIS, spot someone he hasn't completely ruined yet. And it would put out the flames for a little while.

And then she was taken.

Because of him.

And so he runs.

He can never look back. The world behind is simply a gateway to madness. Never look back, never remember, and never think. He can sometimes pretend that it works.

All the other times he laughs at himself because he thinks he'll believe it.

Since I can't seem to be able to do anything more substantial than a couple of drabbles, I thought 'What the hell? Let's make drabbles!' So apparently, now I'm doing this.

Sorry if any of the stories have spelling issues or grammar problems. Most of them will be done on my I-pod at 3 A.M. when I seem to be most productive.

So, I hope you enjoyed.