A/N: Spoilers for Seasons 8 and 9 of Supernatural! Set right before The Day of the Doctor.
I wrote this after seeing fan art of Eleven watching the fall of the angels that took place in the Season 8 finale of Supernatural. It was beautifully done but, since I saw the picture on Facebook, I don't know who actually did that. If anyone knows of this fanart, please let me know. The landscape looked as though Paris was the city in the distance, so that's what I went with.
He stepped out of the TARDIS and into the cool (early morning) night with an air of reluctance. Briefly he wondered why he tortured himself like this, watching events that were fixed points in time. Much as he wanted to help…go back further to warn the well-intentioned angel whose battered faith had been misplaced once more, save the brothers whose relationship would be tested seemingly beyond the breaking point yet again, spare the young man who only wanted to be rid of his 'gift' and return to a normal life…he could not. He could only watch as events unfolded.
In a way, he supposed he was simply trying to pay respect to those who would be most affected by this occurrence. Part of him longed to get back in the TARDIS, travel to the States and at least offer some comfort to Castiel. He understood probably better than anyone what kind of guilt the angel would be feeling in just a few minutes time. Although, in a way, he felt even worse for Castiel. When he made use of The Moment, it was with the full knowledge of what he was doing. The decision had been made, the die cast, the Time War ended. Castiel, however, had believed himself to be allied with the right person and had not known that he was bringing about the demise of his own people.
Providing comfort to an angel was not something he could do, however. Not without questions he would not be able to answer. No, it was best to remain in his current location. Although it was morning, it was very early morning. The sun had not yet risen and the city lights of Paris, visible from where he stood, made a lovely picture against the dark landscape. The stars burned brightly overhead, but the Doctor stared resolutely at the distant city until he knew the time had come.
There. The first angel to fall was easy for him to see. The being burned brighter than any star in Earth's sky as it pierced one of the few clouds that dotted the atmosphere. If he was correct, and he usually was, the angel would land somewhere near Venice. It didn't take long for the angel's brethren to follow suit and soon the sky was filled with what seemed to be exceptionally bright falling stars.
The sight was, quite frankly, absolutely stunning. Had he not known that each 'falling star' was an angel in agony as their wings literally burned away and they plummeted into a life that would serve only to leave them in confusion and lead them into war with one another, the Doctor might have taken a moment to appreciate the aesthetics of the moment.
But he could almost feel their pain and the distant screaming he could hear escalated in volume as it blended with his own memories of Gallifrey and the Time War. No. This was many things, but the Doctor could not bring himself to call it beautiful in any way.
Just as he convinced himself that he had seen enough, one of the angels fell to the ground just a few meters from him. Unable to help himself, the Doctor rushed over. The angel had lost consciousness, possibly during her fall or perhaps when she hit the ground. Quickly, he made certain she was otherwise unharmed. Bruising and some cuts…that would probably be new for her. The urge to take her with him was strong, but the Doctor quickly squelched it. No good would come of such an arrangement. He was walking a thin line just by doing this.
Her eyes suddenly opened and the Doctor had to suppress a gasp. Her eyes. So much like the eyes of Amelia Pond. He schooled his features and then attempted to smile, all the while feeling like an idiot.
"What has happened?" she asked, clearly frightened.
"The angels have fallen," he could tell her no more than that.
Her face crumbled and he knew she had just realized her grace was gone. He had to leave. He had to leave now. Turning, he began to make his way back to the TARDIS. He was almost there before she called out, clearly having recovered her powers of speech.
"Wait! Who are you? I…can't you help me?"
The question made him stop and he slowly closed his eyes before turning back around to face her. She was so frightened, so confused. He wanted nothing more than to help her. But words he hadn't used in a very, very long time were all he could provide.
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
Feeling more solemn than he had in a long while, the Doctor continued on and when the door of the TARDIS closed behind him the sound carried with it a finality that made him swallow back a sob. A warmth began to surround his mind, a sign that the TARDIS knew her Doctor was in need of comfort. The presence helped a little. Just enough to remind him that he had others who cared about him as well. Others that would provide friendship right now when he needed it the most.
"London, then," he said out loud as he pushed away from the door and made his way to the console. "We'll send Clara a message at the school to meet us. Perhaps she'll bring my motorbike back."