Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or anything affiliated with it.
Author: I'm sorry for the OOCness of the Doctor. It's my first attempt at writing a Doctor Who story and I can't quite get into Ten's head! XD Enjoy!
He stands in the Tardis with outstretched arms, looking at the ceiling as he tries not to scream in agony. Bit by bit, he can feel himself changing and becoming someone else in the golden glow of his regeneration. He resents this as he does not want to go, but he knows that there is nothing he can do. Somewhere in the back of his mind he can feel his Tardis' pain. He has held back his regeneration for far too long. Now he is releasing it all and destroying his ship, setting it alight with the intensity of it. Yet, he cannot bring himself to care. What's left of his mind is solely focused on the pain. The shear agony is overpowering. He's on fire, burning.
Time seems to slow down as he regenerates. Yet he knows that it has not. Time is relative and he knows that. What may seem like forever for him may only be seconds to everyone else. Hours seem to go by, but he knows that the process of regeneration cannot possibly take longer than a few minutes. Hate bubbles up, raw and strong. He wants to hate Wilf. He really does. Yet he cannot. It is not Wilf's fault that he has only the one life whereas he has three more. He could not let the old man die. Not like that. He could not leave Donna without her grandfather. Not after what he had put her through, even if she did not remember any of it. The guilt would have been overwhelming.
No, his hate is directed at his future self, his eleventh incarnation. He despises him even though he has never met him. Why does he get to live while he dies? It's not fair! He could have done so much more with this life. How many people could he have saved? How many?
He knows he should not hate his future eleventh self. After all, it is not his fault that he is dying, but he cannot help it. There had been so much that he had wanted to do. Now, however, he will never get the chance.
He is dying for one unimportant human life. An insignificant old man. What would his previous selves think of him now? He is the first to not want to go. He is the first to think that one life isn't worth dying for. Yet, he had saved Wilf. Only now he is paying for it. He is changing. He is burning. He is dying.
Already, his thoughts are becoming incoherent and disjointed. No longer can he sense his surroundings. He cannot hear his Tardis or see anything beyond the golden glow of regeneration. The intensity of the pain increases and he finds himself wishing it was all over. He cannot stop the process like he had done before. He can only wish it finishes soon.
Despite the pain, he can feel himself slipping away like grains of sand through one's fingers. Foreign ideas and feelings are already cropping up. His thoughts are no longer just his own. Suddenly, he wonders if Eleven will ever stop and think about him. Maybe pause and remark about some inconsequential habit he used to have. He doubts it. He had rarely thought about his previous incarnations so why would Eleven? Why would the man even consider thinking about him? About a resentful and damaged version who hated being forced into his regeneration? A version who resents him?
The world is fading away and he screams. He screams as loud as he can as he feels the final stages of his regeneration beginning. He screams and screams and screams. It seems to take forever until his vision blackens. Until he can feel his consciousness fading along with everything that made him Doctor number ten. Until he knows nothing, except his own name.
...Is it finally over?