Dray knew the sun wasn't going to rise today. It hadn't yesterday, or the day before. Darkness surrounded them, brought a chill that had no reason to fade now.

He shivered, pulling the blanket higher around his shoulders. Essy and Evan, the twins –his brother and sister- still slept. They were too young to really understand. He wasn't so lucky.

Two years ago, his parents had died. There was a plague, claiming them and so many others, before it retreated as if it had never been. He had been fifteen. No one tried to come for the kids, none of the neighbors had suggested he might be too young to handle two, two year olds.

He had never dreamed of leaving.

But he had dreamed of a miracle. He had wanted his parents back to the point his soul ached, till he was exhausted from the lack of sleep, searching his father's books. A spell, or something, had to exist in a library so large. He had heard of magic, believed in its power – at least if it would bring them back he would- but there was nothing.

They were only books, letters arranged into words, over and over. They lost their meaning, the longer he searched, until he decided they had none to begin with.

It made talking seem like more of a betrayal, and it had been what had made him think he could no longer believe in a miracle.

Yet, here he was- waiting for something to make the sun rise. Waiting for something to step out and make him believe that surviving wasn't just an accident. He wanted it to be a second chance, but maybe they didn't exist. Maybe the planet would wither, they would fade. They would become echoes, lost in the universe, as their parents had been.

Essy begin to cry- she had been having nightmares since the darkness came- and he quickly rose. The door was close, the handle cold, and he turned it. Dray looked back out into the inky air, and shook his head. No miracle was coming for them. Somehow, they were forgotten.

As he closed the door, he pulled his shoulders up straight. He was the only one they had now, and he was going to hold onto them, until his arms were nothing more than dust.

DW

The Doctor was sleeping, a book on his chest, his breathing slow and even. Donna let out a low chuckle, shaking her head when she had stumbled upon him when she went to retrieve a book. He made lots of claims about not needing much sleep- and it wasn't as if she didn't believe him- but she knew that he needed these naps to keep him functioning.

He hadn't told her so much, like why he avoided his room, his bed, like he did. But she could guess, could imagine why such a long life, could be nearly torn to shreds by the universe he seemed to crash into.

She covered him slowly with a blanket, fighting back the urge to brush his hair from his face. She stared down at him, lines eased, the haunted look ceasing for the moment.

And she wondered.

As she always did when she found herself at the sleeping Time Lord's side, if there were lucky people. If there were people who had never really hurt, and their worst days would always be better than the Doctor's best.

She wondered if they were the sort of people who could walk past injustice without it burning into the pit of their stomach, because they had never been in the impact zone.

She wondered, even though it was always followed sharply by guilt, if they were better people.

But she always pushed the thought away. Because if they were so lucky, then they couldn't compare. The Doctor picked up the universes messes, even when he found himself in them by mistake. And yes, sometimes he scared her to no end, and sometimes she knew he needed someone to be the voice of reason…but he still heard it when it was called. Usually.

He had been broken, and shattered. He had no family, but his friends, and no home but the ones he found that accepted him. He was the man who could be found somewhere between ice and an inferno when the mention of his home world was said aloud.

She didn't think he was a bad man, just a man. Someone trying to rebuild a world from only ashes and she didn't think anyone could say he wasn't doing a decent job.

Donna shook her head, and headed off to grab her book. She slid it off the shelf quietly, and glanced at the Doctor one more time. He was still sleeping soundly, and she would wait until he woke. She wouldn't ask about the dreams, unless he brought it up. But she would be ready to listen, or run. Whichever he needed most.

DW

He wasn't asleep as she pulled the blanket over him, but he pretended to be. She would linger by his side, if he was careful, a human sort of warmth washing over him in the air. She would stand there, and he would wonder what she was thinking, because he always did.

He just never asked.

He had been dreaming, of something far away. Of a place he couldn't return to, but it hadn't ached so much as it had in the past. Now he was back. He could hear the humming the TARDIS provided, and he could hear Donna shift beside him.

He was thankful she was here. That he didn't wake alone. He didn't mean this room; he meant this TARDIS, his world. So often, between companions, the silence screamed until his head ached.

He would find himself talking to an empty console room, as he had just before he found Donna again, and remember that he was nothing without friends. He was just a sad old man, who had lived much too long, and who had nothing to show for it in the end.

Maybe he still was, when Donna was around. Or maybe he was better. He didn't think he would ever be an accurate judge of the man he was, only the one that he wanted to be in the end. And he could tell, knew for a fact, that she brought him closer to that then he had been in a very long time.

Much too long, in fact.

So he would pretend to sleep, as she moved away. At once, the air seemed to cool, as if saddened because she wasn't in it. And he began to count. He counted down the seconds, until she slipped from the room. She would leave him to the sleep she thought he was in, and he would lay here until enough time had passed.

It was just another game really, he was good at those.

It had kept him alive all this time, and at least somewhat sane.

He let out a low one, whispering inside his own mind as if afraid she would catch onto the rules. But he was thrown, from the couch, and his arm took most of the force of the fall. The book was wedge underneath him, pushing against his ribs in a way that made it uncomfortable to breath.

When the TARDIS settled, and he was able to push himself up he let out a wince. He pulled his arm up, looking it over quickly before deciding that it wasn't broken. Donna was on the floor, climbing to her feet, and he rushed over to her side.

Her face was pale, more than normal, but she didn't seem to be in any pain.

"Are you okay?" he asked, running his eyes over her in a quick check.

"I'm fine," she said, smoothing out her clothes. She ran her eyes over him, and he tried not to draw attention to the wrist that was swelling beneath its sleeve.

"What the hell was that?" she finally asked.

"We've moved," he said. "More than that, I don't know. But I know how to find out. Come on."

He ran from the room, resisting the urge to take her hand. His wrist would heal, but right now, he didn't want to let onto the injury. Not when they had work to do.

The Doctor ran down the hall, into the console room, and looked over his readings. He wrinkled up his brow, unsure of why they were all so unsteady and tapped at them.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Numbers are erratic," he said. "Like we're jumping back and forth between two locations."

She looked around the room.

"Seems steady now," she said, softly.

He nodded, and tapped at the gages again, before turning on the screen to see the outside. It was pitch black. Dark but unmoving. There was a spot of light, seeming to come from a single house in the distance. He watched as the gages claimed they were moving, but the speck of light stayed in place.

"That settles it then?" she asked. "We can't really be moving."

He nodded, but didn't answer, focusing on the light.

"Why'd we land here at night?" Donna asked. "I don't see anything going on out there."

He glanced at her, and then flipped off the screen; turning away from the dials that he was afraid weren't malfunctioning at all.

"I don't think it's night, Donna," he said softly. "And maybe you better stay here."