"Oh, is that all? Wow. I thought it would hurt more, wait... oh, jellies," said the Doctor, gulping great gulps of air as his body pulsed with another sweaty contraction. "MY BROTHER IS COMING, WITH MANY FREMEN WARRIORS! OW OW OW!"
"...Uncle, I won't pretend to understand that reference, but you may... break my hand as much as you need," said Castiel flatly, rubbing the Time Lord's forehead with another damp rag as his Vessel's wrist was telescoped in another bone-shattering crunch of inhuman fingers.
"Castiel, I think... we've landed! Bear me up- we need..." the Doctor managed, grimacing through another contraction, "...we need to be out there, Wheel of Timing it on them bones! OH GOD, WHERE'S JACK? JAAAAAAAACK!"
A scuffling behind them somewhere, in the din of the console room.
"Here, honey, I'm here, I'm here," Jack called, sliding onto his knees beside the Angel and his Time Lord, "...I'm right here. Hold on till we get there, Hot Stuff. Can you sense where we are?"
The Doctor pulled up on Castiel's disturbingly bent and purple arm, then gritted a few choice words into the air along with some spittle and a glare that could skin a rabid camel at twenty paces, "...NO. SHIT. GAAAH!"
Suddenly a wet, hot something punctured him, a wiggly something that crawled tiny toes over the thick, swollen lips of his throbbing, fat vagina.
A foot, small and charming, was popping in and out. The foot of a baby. His baby's foot.
With abrupt lack of composure, Castiel dropped the Doctor suddenly, forcing the Time Lord to gasp air as he turned 'round. But his leg... was wrapped...
The Angel of Thursday scrabbled hands across the ground as he faded from view into the Pocket, dragged away by a solitary tentacle. Shadows bounded forth from the break, crossing close and closer, crunching quietly.
In Castiel's wake, the Doctor cried without sound, breathless and bobbing as he mouthed a desperate mantra to his emerging child, "Please don't touch the floor. Please don't touch the floor. Please don't touch the floor. Please don't touch the floor. Please don't touch the floor... Jack! Jack, where are you?"
But as the baby's foot flowed downward toward the ruin of the rocky bone-coat covering the ground, what remained of Chuck Shurley was vomited from the fissure between realms, one long defeatist shard of plastic armchair, a naked leg cleanly minused its foot, and a blood-soaked Panama.
And as his dark, deep-body blood soaked into those ancient bones, the Doctor could no longer stop his muscles tensing around the baby, readying to shove.
So he shoved against the pain, against the Shadows... striving to give birth alone, in the dark.
All alone.
In the Dark.