Chapter Text
1. Dream Lord
It was twelve hours after the Dream Lord had presented himself, and eleven since he had been banished, back to a certain Time Lord's hearts.
The Doctor stood in his bedroom, a little used thing, the size of a large broom closet and just as decorated. The one object of interest in the dusty area was a window on the far wall, technically a physical impossibility, but the TARDIS never let technical difficulties get in the way.
The window, in addition to being physically impossible, was also impossible in other ways, as evidenced by the fact that the Doctor was currently gazing through it morosely at bronze spires and fields of tall, red grass. Something (he would never call it a tear) fell from his chin and landed on the faded blue carpet.
The thing (definitely not a tear) was not for Gallifrey, or for all he had lost, no, it was for Amy and Rory. Because once again, he had failed in protecting them, and even if it usually wasn't his fault, this time it was. Every bit of it.
The Dream Lord was just that, a dream, but also a reality. Every bit of anger, self-loathing and hatred in the Doctor's hearts had been made manifest, and out of everything that the Doctor had exposed Amy and Rory to, the Dream Lord had been by far the most dangerous. Because he wasn't dead, just incorporeal.
And Rory had died. The Doctor could see far into the future, and he knew this would not be the only time Rory would die, his star would fade often enough, then flare up again. But one day, it would be dead for good. No matter that Rory was currently alive, and doing who knew what with Amy, the Doctor held the knowledge that he would be responsible for most of Rory's deaths.
In the end, it didn't matter who said what to the Doctor, what well meaning words of forgiveness were whispered into his ears, the Doctor could never forgive himself. And he could never scrub his soul clean of its dark, dark stains.