Here's chapter Nine :) Thank you all for reading and reviewing so far everyone, it would seem I've somehow gathered quite a lot of followers!

Chapter Nine
A Stitch In Time Saves Nine

The Eleventh Doctor sat on a very flimsy makeshift stool and stared up at the night sky with his chin in his hands. This was a disaster. He used to enjoy meeting previous versions of himself, despite the particularly dangerous damage the whole situation could do to the continuity of the Time Vortex. His mind drifted back to the time his Sixth incarnation had rescued his Second from an aggressive bunch of Sontarans and a smile reached his lips, but he soon snapped out of it.

"No time for nostalgia. C'mon, think. What to do."

He racked his brains. The Valeyard was here in World War I - was he here purely by coincidence?

"No," he shook his head, speaking aloud to himself. "He must have forced us here. Somehow."

His sonic screwdriver in hand, Eleven glanced up at the sky and saw a star twinkling at him. He smiled sadly.

"What do you think, Amy? Rory?"
No reply met his ears, of course, but he imagined so anyway. He imagined Amy's trademark sass ("Figure it out, chin boy. I remember when you used to be clever!") and Rory's signature panic ("Oh, great. I love it when a future you tries to attack us, yeah. That's brilliant. Good-o!") and felt a little better. More confident. He thought back to some of his last words with Amy.

"I'm not running from things, Amy. I'm running to them, before they fade away from me forever."

Like it or not, he couldn't run anywhere this time. He pointed his screwdriver at his own face and scanned randomly.

"Surprised it doesn't say 'bumbling idiot,'" he said. Slapping himself hard on the cheek, he brought discipline back to his thoughts. "Think! C'mon! Daleks with Churchhill, rebooting the universe, faking your own death, dinosaurs on a spaceship - and you can't even figure this one out! What does he want?"

He needed to find his other incarnations. Lack of a companion was driving him insane, and he needed a sound board, someone to give him that extra kick of common sense when he needed it.

"He's here to get evidence. But why? What possible evidence could he get from us in the middle of World Wa -"

Eleven stopped mid-sentence, and his train of thought finally reached its destination.

"Evidence. For the prosecution. Oh Doctor, you are so thick! Mr Thick Thickety Thick from Thick Town!"

He stood up rapidly, making himself dizzy, but ran onwards shouting after Ten.

"Doctor! Doctor, where are you? I've figured out what The Valeyard wants with us!" He tore through the trenches, ignoring the curious glances from the soldiers - shouldn't they be asleep? - attempting to find either of his previous incarnations.

"Doctor!"

Eleven sprinted, letting his screwdriver light the way for him. "Where the hell are you, you're worse than that lot most of the time. Don't wander off, rule one, don't -"

He rounded a final corner and the sight that met his eyes was horrific. "Oh no no no!"

His Ninth incarnation was flat on the ground, unmoving, and on a precipice above him - there stood the beast.

The creature was truly a horrible sight to behold. If Eleven had to guess, he'd say that the origins of its inception came from the werewolves of the very - very - olden days, but it was worse than that. Its body was that of a man, chest heaving with desire to devour its prey, and its claws were larger than those of any beast he'd ever seen in his life. The head was still that of a wolf, but its teeth were enormous and ferocious, and the growl emitting from its jaws was louder than the motor of the TARDIS. The yellow teeth inside were soaked with blood - Eleven could still see the tangled remains of a human intestine wound around its molars. In any other situation, he'd call this new creature fascinating, but this was no time for glorifying a being that was about to destroy his past body and - by extension - himself.

The beast was lowering itself in to the trench, circling Nine and snapping its jaws. It hadn't noticed Eleven, but its filthy, doggish ears were pricking up. Raising an enormous claw, it made to strike Nine's neck, but Eleven intervened.

"Oi! Big foot!" Raising his sonic screwdriver, he made it emit an eery whining noise. "Pick on someone your own size!"

The beast moaned and put a huge, mangled claw over its own ears, turning to stare at Eleven. Standing on its hind legs, it slowly made a crooked and pained stride forwards in his direction.

Eleven was conflicted - if he took the beast away from Nine, he'd be putting the soldiers in danger, but if he let it stay with Nine, his past two incarnations (and himself) would be killed immediately and his life would be rewritten. Everything he'd done to save the universe would be undone.

No sooner had this thought crossed his mind than the beast had regained its confidence and was on all fours, leaping towards him.

"Uhh…uhh….run!" Eleven shouted at himself. With his sonic screwdriver still whirring away to the loudest of its abilities, he ran as fast as he could down the trench, the bounding, racing footsteps of the beast right behind him. Was this it? Well, he wasn't going to go down so easily.

"C'mon big boy, this way!" he roared, leading the beast down a small lane. Perhaps if he could get it stuck he could find a way to trap it. He squeezed his way down the alley of dirt, breathing in as much as he could but still struggling to fit through the gap.

"COME ON!" he shouted at himself, as the beast rounded the corner and pounded towards Eleven. He closed his eyes, waiting for the fatal blow, still struggling to squeeze through the gap. He saw a button fly off his undershirt, and his bow tie was practically in his mouth, but still he tried to fit through - he could see the light of candles on the other side.

He felt the breath of the beast at his ear and squinted, his two hearts pounding faster than he'd ever felt them. It was right in front of him, snarling and growling, its yellow teeth moist and ready for his flesh. There was nothing he could do but wait. He wished that this creature would just get it over with.

But the claw never reached him. There was an almighty bang, the unmistakeable sound of gun fire. The beast howled and cried, the sound deafening to Eleven's ears, and he opened his eyes. It was retreating from him, and through the gaps in its arms he could see it bounding towards a group of soldiers - led by Ten.

"Focus on its body!" he was shouting, pointing his screwdriver at the beast's flesh. "It's weakest in the torso!" The soldiers followed his command, and the creature howled and screamed as the bullets mashed against its body.

"No, don't kill it!" Eleven shouted at them, but they couldn't hear him over the gun fire. The creature was becoming desperate, thrashing around the dirty alley in a desperate attempt to free itself - and it worked.

Before Eleven could even contemplate what had happened, the creature was on top of the soldiers, and in a split second it had thrashed its claws inside a man's stomach. His innards were flying through the air, and just as Eleven freed himself from the filthy, narrow passage, the beast was bounding across the trench, running as fast it could from the soldiers and their bullets.

Ten lowered his screwdriver and nodded at Eleven. Eleven glared at him, ready to either hit him or burst into tears.

"If you're expecting me to thank you," he said, rage bursting through his gritted teeth. "You'll be waiting for a very long time." Ten shrugged.

"Well, I'm sorry for saving your life then," he said calmly, nodding at the soldiers. "You can at least thank this lot. They saw you running from something and shouted for me."

"Well," said Eleven softly, his anger ebbing. "Thank you." The soldiers did not reply, instead staring at the boy on the ground, who was desperately clinging to his stomach attempting to stop the flow of blood.

"Oh, no…" said Ten, dropping to his knees and holding the boy's head in his hands. "Gregory, stay with me," he said, panic dripping in to his voice. "Gregory, can you hear me?"

Private Carson's eyes were growing dark, but before they lost their light completely, he turned to stare at The Doctor.

"Doctor…" he whispered, blood trickling from his lips. "Doctor, I think…I think I'm…"

He struggled to breathe for a moment, and Ten shushed him.

"Gregory, it's fine. Just relax. I promise you're going to be fine." He turned to the soldiers angrily. "Get a medic! Don't just stand there!" He looked to Eleven, tears beginning to form in his eyes. "Please. If he dies, it's my fault," he whispered. Eleven kneeled down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "There's nothing we can do. Just look at him."

Ten glanced down at Private Carson's mangled body - his legs were barely hanging on, and the innards of his stomach were strewn across the filthy floor. He bowed his head, tears now dripping from his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said softly to Private Carson. "I am so, so sorry."

Private Carson used his remaining effort to shake his head.

"Don't blame…yourself…" he muttered, coughing and spluttering. "It was nice to meet you, Doc…tor…" He took one last ragged breath and his eyes closed forever.

Eleven bowed his head and scanned Private Carson's body with his screwdriver.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled to Ten. "He's dead." Removing his hand from Ten's shoulders, he walked away slowly, but Ten did not move for a very long time.