"I know I'm immortal, but it would be nice if you could ask"
That's what he was thinking, lying on his front in the mud, a huge hole having just been dug into his back via a blunt sword belonging to a - whatever. He couldn't pronounce the name.
That thing, with its orange scales and nightmare-inducing teeth had obviously gone, once it had driven the sword into his back, leaving itself vulnerable. Vulnerable enough for someone else to run it and drag it away.
Just stun.
Never kill.
Although - it had killed him. Not that it mattered, as he awoke three minutes later with a cough and a gasp, but still.
He had lost nothing except dignity and a good coat.
And - well - at least the next four nights of peaceful sleep.
It wasn't from fear.
It was, surprisingly, from the pain. It stayed until long after he had died, despite the injury being gone - he supposed that was the price to pay if you're immortal.
He kind of wished he wasn't. So people would stop expecting him to die for them, to get rid of the pain, and maybe, maybe, die permanently.
To end the nights of agony and calloused fingers gripping tear-soaked pillows.
Twitching and sobbing, silently so no one can hear.
He lifted himself to his knees, clenching his teeth to contain a scream. Waves of hot, stinging agony swam down his spine, leaving a deep ache that lasted until the next movement.
Immortality doesn't mean no pain. As he had already figured out countless times before, it means the opposite.
There were the psychological effects too, like the dread every time he felt himself falling, his mind slipping, fading away with a silent cry.
Shaking and going cold each time he encountered something that had previously killed him. Water, small spaces, countless species with all different types of weapons.
And now, as he staggered to his feet, half of his body stinging and the rest feeling numb, the Doctor turned around.
He was standing a few paces away in his long brown coat, hair sticking up, panting slightly.
His old, sad eyes found those of of his friend.
"Jack?" He asked. "Are you alright?"
There it was. Jack, still breathing like he had run the length of the Boshane Peninsula, gave a weak smile.
"I think so. Sorry."
The Doctor, worry plain in his face, began to walk towards him.
"Don't apologise."
He held out his arms and wrapped them around Jack's shoulders, oblivious of the blood, or just ignoring it.
There they stood, in the mud and rain, both soaking wet and scared, both having seen things they would unsuccessfully try to forget.
Both of them broken, but there for each other.
A shoulder to cry on and comforting arms until the end of time.
