Sometimes, The Doctor gets time to himself. Alone, on the TARDIS, with no screaming and no hellfire and no companions.
Those days scare the living hell out of him.
So he keeps on the move, shutting out the Dream Lord's cruelly accurate whispers into his mind with lots and lots of running, smiling, laughing, saving.
Tonight, all he has is the soft envelope of warm midnight sky bundling around the TARDIS as it floats around, aimless, among the stars and planets and nebulas.
Tonight, all he has are his thoughts.
Doctor, he thinks to himself, You're truly horrible. You are.
You aren't horrible in the way that some are, though. You're so much worse. You killed your own species, locked them away, your friends, family. Children.
Do you remember your son, Doctor? Little flailing arms and a gurgling laugh, do you remember that? Who was that?
He's gone now, I suppose, lost in the hellfire and ash that you left across Gallifrey; all that's left of Gallifrey, actually.
Did you watch the planet burn, like a sun, boiling as it broke the Time-Space Continuum and shattered your people?
Did you touch the ash as it floated up into space, Doctor? The ash that was once Time Lord or Dalek, was now neither or both?
Then you couldn't just leave the universe alone, could you.
Picking up innocent humans, showing them the beauty and horror and vast empty space somehow all filled with stars of space, enticing them, bringing them along, letting them help you kill species after species.
You've ruined them all. Rose, Martha, Donna, Jack, Mickey, Rory, Amy, River. All of them are destroyed by what you gave them and destroyed by what you took from them.
You are Hell trying to be human.
These thoughts echo inside his skull as the Doctor shifts. He may be all of those, he may be the worst God ever, but right now he has some Ponds to check up on.