A/N: This is an Insane!Doctor AU. Please keep in mind it will not be happy in nature and that triggers may include rape, blood, or violence of any sort. Suicide and death are also reoccurring themes. Thank you and please R&R

Chapter One: Rebirth

The disease that spread through his body was not a disease at all. In fact it heightened his senses, not dulled them, not destroyed. Above all was the sense of power and determination. The greatness seeped even into his lightest parts, clouding that which was always so clearly good and altering the goodness to something so much better; Insanity. Yes, this was the very disease- insanity had been caught in the Doctor's system like the flu in any mortal living's. It spread quickly and soon he was so sick with it that even bloody murder became easy. Casting out those he cared for? Even more than the killing. Being alone seemed like the best way for him now, Amelia Pond may have told him never to be alone, but he was so much better when he was. He knew how to be frightening; he knew what was right for the world when he was alone. Whenever he was with her (the girl with the voluminous brown hair and caramel orbs)everything was cloudy again. A fog would roll in, to put it into words to be understood. It was with this that an even longer spiral down the rope of dementia was in store for the Doctor until he would finally reach the bottom of it. The bottom, to serve all purposes, would surely be shaped like a noose, because either he would end up killing himself in the process of ending her or else he would be able to put his hand around it and lower himself into a pit of flames.

Planning was the easy part of the whole bargain. The woman would be torn apart. That meant he'd be able to see her destruction and then the cloudiness would go away and he would return to that new sense of the universe that he was beginning to see even more clearly than anything he ever had. There was no way he could easily wean her off of himself, not like he wanted to. Lately she had been living with him in that TARDIS and just kicking her out seemed far too accomplishable, whereas keeping her for longer and ruining her along with himself seemed like the best bet instead. He could pull her into darkness with him and make her see the world in the blood tinted sunshine that he did. Death was everywhere. Decay was everywhere. Even things that weren't meant to die did. So why not teach her how to help that along?

The first day of his plan started at breakfast. She ate. He did not. She stared. He stared back.

"What's wrong?" She asked him. The Doctor had no time for stupid questions so he merely slipped a tongue over his chapped bottom lip and narrowed his eyes. She knew quite well what had happened the day before, that he had finally ended the lives of some human males. It was for good reason too. He had seen them rape a woman, good enough that they were dead. Though the way he had done it had only caused their blood to still stain his hands. There was no reason for him to clean it off; they wouldn't remember him after they read his name in the data banks, he had used tricks from the Silence to continue to erase himself from history. As soon as his fingerprints were found under the name of the Doctor (if it even showed up anymore) the police would forget every little thing about him, his name, and they would move on to another man who could be the murderer, maybe even a woman.

A few minutes later she came over to him. "Doctor, please, you've hardly spoken to me since the beginning of-, "she had begun to stretch her hand out toward him and he took her wrist full in his grasp. His eyes went to hers.

"Of what, Clara? Of my clarity? Stop being idiotic and go clean your dishes like you do every single morning. Go continue to act as though you don't want to figure out what has happened to me. I see you sitting there, staring at me every moment you think I'm not looking. I'm always looking, Clara, and now I can look even closer. I understand so much more than I ever have after a thousand years of living. One day you will understand." In attempt to manipulate her further he placed a kiss to her hand and then let go of her wrist. The sour, shocked face she was making was one that he marked down as needing punishment later as for now he just wanted to sit and tap his fingers against the table. After she was gone his fingers stopped immediately and the table was suddenly being flipped over. There were no contents on it, but it made a loud crashing sound. What caused him to flip it was hardly known, but there was a flash of red before he did. A pulsing of it still stood in his vision and it took him a moment to calm down. He decided to blame it on her. That hopefulness to fix him was still in her every move. What did she not understand by the fact he didn't need to be fixed? Apparently nothing. He could remember quite vividly the first time he had gone into this new state and he was still not sure it was right or wrong.

He had told her to run and she told him that she loved him.

Those words made him feel sick to his stomach now, disgusted with the human race. Love was pointless. He couldn't even tell her that he cared, because he didn't. What was the point of lying to her if he didn't care? The tears had run down her face so heavily, but she said she would stay. If she was staying, he had decided, she was staying as his. His Clara. That girl was going to be his forever, whether he succeeded in breaking her or she ended up killing herself. It was stone set that she couldn't run anymore. If she did he would find her, or he would find the Maitland family or he would find her father. Either way she had put her soul in his hands as soon as she made the decision to stay in his TARDIS and refused to leave.

Behind him he heard shuffling and he looked to see her there, attempting to leave. He had been standing over the now broken table, hunched shoulders, rugged breathing, staring at the thing as he thought about his plan to disrupt her. In her eyes, he could see the determination to run from being seen. It was like a deer. In fact, her eyes were very much doe-like, he was surprised to notice how very innocent she was just now instead of earlier in his process of becoming someone new. Then she was even taking off like a deer, his killing hadn't frightened her this much, but the flipping of the table had. Maybe her fear was more for herself than he was taking notice to. After all, she hadn't even run until now, until she knew he was truly angry with her. It was then that he took off after her. He could hear her sobs of fear and he could tell in the way she ran that she was trying to get away but was far too weak. Her knees wobbled, her feet touched the floor too heavily. Before he noticed it he was pressing her against one of the metal walls with a force great enough that one wrong move and her bones could fracture

"Scared of a broken table, Clara? How about some broken bones as well?" His hands then moved and gripped around her wrists. There was little method behind his attempts. In the best case scenario, it was simply blamed upon his insanity (not that he called it that, insane people did not call themselves that under any circumstance). He saw her lips quiver and a smile spread over his own face at that.

"You're going crazy. I've figured it out. That's what's wrong with you, Doctor," she said this so shakily that he believed if his hearing had not been acute then he wouldn't have understood a thing. As soon as she said it she was getting a fist to the face and he was dropping her.

"Perhaps you should learn to keep your comments to yourself from now on. I am not going crazy, people like you are the crazy ones. The place I've gone is the very opposite of madness. Mad men know nothing, and I was a mad man before. Now I am something entirely new and original. Go and clean your bloody nose before it drips all over my TARDIS."

Then she got up and walked deliberately. He could tell she was struggling not to fall, but she managed and she was gone down the hall toward her bedroom. All he did was roll his eyes in her direction and he then went on his own path to the console. Once there he began to flick absently at switches. "I'm not crazy, Old Girl, isn't that right?" He asked his machine this question in hopes it would give him feedback. For the first time in many years it didn't and he just shook his head and gave it a smile. "Suppose you and Clara are beginning to get along, then." He went to a lever which sent them where he wanted to go. The front of the Maitland's house seemed like the best option. After all, she had called him crazy. A couple of dead children she cared deeply about would teach her the price of being with him now, in this state that was suddenly more stable than ever. This murder would be completely logical.

As soon as they'd landed he went to her room and rapped on the door, two- three times. She opened it obediently. It was obvious she'd been crying.

"I've got a surprise for you." He stuck his hand out for her to take it; she did. "I think you'll like it."