AN: This is a CRACK story. I had the pleasure of meeting Neil Gaiman just the other night, and at the event he discussed many things, including Doctor Who and Sandman. And so while sitting there listening to this amazing storyteller, this tale came to me, weirdly enough. So I've massaged it a bit and here we go.

Chapter One: Destiny

Robes twisted in sweaty fingers. His hearts thumped in his small chest, and his mouth felt so dry. But he dare not speak up. Already his elders were leading them solemnly into the giant room, with its marble walls and the large seal of Rassilion on the floor. Above it stood the hoop, a shimmering circle, whose depths flashed and stirred even without him staring at it.

"Go on," whispered the woman at his side, her hand gentle on his shoulder as she prodded him forward. "It must be done."

He swallowed hard, licking his dry lips. "I'm scared."

"I know," she said quietly, her fingers tightening through his robes. "I was too."

He didn't know if that was encouraging or not.

They stood, waiting, expectant as he tried to make his feet move. He tripped slightly over the clumsy robes, shuffling across the shiny floor, moving to where the seal lay embedded. Someone was saying something grand and important about the Time Vortex and great responsibility and understanding the secrets of the universe, but he couldn't understand them. He simply stood, knobby knees knocking as he tried to remember to pull air into his lungs and out again.

"Look into the schism, young one, and see what your destiny will be."

He didn't want to. Every fiber in his being told him not to, that it was dangerous, that there was no turning back. But he did, eyes turning up and staring into the glassy, swirling depths, his tiny, child's hands clenching as he felt the blood roaring in his ears.

Everything that is…everything that was…everything that could be….

The universe spread before him, shimmering and twisting, as time itself wound and unwound, slithering, serpentine through creation. He saw births, lives, deaths, the formation of whole universes and their destructions. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to laugh. Every fiber of his being, the smallest atoms of every cell burned, his mind ached, as somewhere, something deep within him howled with the beauty and fury of life itself.

He stood, transfixed.

And then someone beside him spoke. "It is beautiful, isn't it?"

The voice was as dry as paper, deep, but bland, but sounded very important. He turned from the awesome sight before him to glance up at the stranger. If he had been in the room before, he couldn't tell. Frankly, he hadn't been paying much attention. And he could recognize the man's face. This could be in part because he covered it up, buried somewhere beneath the deep folds of the brown robe he wore.

"Have I passed the test," he asked, his childish voice rough and broken even in his own ears.

"Passed?" The man seemed to regard him curiously. "You were always meant to."

"Oh," he replied simply. He glanced down, noticing the book in the man's hands, large and weighty, covered in leather, and chained with gold to his wrists. "Is that the Book of Time?"

"Yes," he replied. "Or Fate as some might call it. Destiny."

"Is it mine?"

"Some of it," he said, but didn't elaborate.

He frowned at it, curious. "Then am I a Time Lord?"

"Can one ever be a lord of time?"

It was far too strange a question for him to answer. "I can at least control what I do with it, right?"

"Somewhat, yes." He shifted, opening the book, holding it up, but far too high to read. "You have such an amazing story, little one. Far more amazing than any of your race before."

He supposed that was a promising thing. "You can read my life in there?"

"Yes," he replied, closing the book. "You have a very long story to tell and I will enjoy the reading of it very much."

For whatever reason that seemed to please him greatly and he smiled. "Can I see it?"

The cowl turned to regard him for long, heavy moments.

"It is not for mortals to understand their own destinies, young one."

He could understand this. As a Gallifreyan and a Time Lord-in-training, he understood this better than anyone. "But I'm not exactly mortal, not like everything else, am I?"

The cowl simply remained tilted at him. Perhaps he was staring it was hard to tell. But then, the man's shoulder's shook, and the small part of his mouth that he could see seemed to soften into something of a smile.

"No, you aren't, Lord of Time. You are something else quite different, even compared to the rest of your race." His voice was heavy and carried with it the same glittering edge that time itself did in the Untempered Schism. "Just for that I shall give you a present."

"Really?" He had to admit a present sounded promising.

The man nodded, the smile still playing on the open part of his face. He clutched the book to his chest with his left arm, while his right raised towards the Untempered Schism. Out of its depths, golden lines traced and unfurled, curling through the air around him, through the marble hall, dancing across the great seal, swirling around their feet.

"What is it," he breathed, reaching out a finger to touch a tendril that spun in front of his face.

"Time," the man said simply. "Your time. It is my gift to you."

He blinked, frowning up at the strange man. "What do I do with it?"

"Many things. What do you want to do with it?"

"I don't know," he replied, considering. It was like water running through his fingers. He couldn't tell if he wanted to grasp onto the golden threads and hold on for dear life or splash into it and dance.

"I wouldn't want to do anything bad with it," he said quickly, knowing that much was true. "I want to understand it, to learn from it, to gain as much knowledge as I can."

"And then what," asked the man beside him.

The boy was honest as he considered. "I don't know. Perhaps something good with it…something fantastic."

"I think you will," the man replied. "I think you are destined to."

He smiled as he regarded the shimmering trail around him. He was destined to do something fantastic.

"You are an amazing creature," the man beside him murmured, and he heard the rustling of chains as he felt cool, dry fingers tousle his hair. "And you are dear to us, my siblings and I. We all know you. How could we not?"

Know him? Who was he? Just a boy from Gallifrey. He hadn't even chosen his proper, Time Lord name yet. "But I'm just…no one, sir."

"No one." The man's thin smile returned then. "You are far from no one, young one. You are the champion of time itself. You are the Doctor."

He blinked. The name felt right. It felt good. And he liked it. "Doctor. Because I will teach?"

"I cannot say," the man replied solemnly. "But I can say you can teach the universe a great deal about itself."

It sounded awe-inspiring. It sounded frightening. It sounded exciting.

He couldn't wait!

"Sir," he whispered, a grin crawling across his face as he looked at the Schism and the golden trail wending around him. "How to I start? Where do I go?"

The man leaned over and grabbed one of his hands. It felt so small in his. "You see this path before you?"

"Yes," he replied, his eyes following the complex swirl of gold around him.

The man leaned over further, lips cold against the tip of his ear. "Run!"

And that is just what the Doctor did.