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January 17, 2014
Booms and whirs bounce off the echoes of space. The blue police box bucks and lurches, popping in and out of the fabric of time itself, utterly out of control.
“Whoa, girl,” calls a voice from inside.
Smoke pours from everywhere at once as the man within is flung from wall to wall. He half crawls, half scrambles towards the centre console, dragging himself up and throwing his body across it. He yanks levers and slaps buttons seemingly at random, golden light bursting from his skin in sharp, erratic spurts.
His limbs feel different. Longer than before, making it difficult to get them to move with any sort of coordination.
His legs tangle as the TARDIS jerks again, sending him sprawling. He flops and rolls across the floor, reaching blindly for anything—anything—to stop himself.
“Oh no,” he groans as he continues to roll. “What good are these long arms if they don’t hold my body?”
The ship gives one final, violent shudder.
Then—silence.
He comes to a stop hanging half out of the door, smoke billowing around him. His legs dangle uselessly in the open air.
“Ow,” he mumbles, the word echoing strangely in the cavernous hum of a regenerating TARDIS.
“Well,” a small voice says behind him, indignant and unafraid. “Who are you, then?”
He blinks.
“I’m The Doctor,” he calls back, the top half of him still firmly inside the ship while the bottom half remains inconveniently outside. All four limbs flail in an uncoordinated attempt to find purchase.
“You don’t look like any Doctor I’ve ever seen,” the voice says—and then a hand grabs his leg and tugs.
The Doctor pitches forward and lands flat on the ground.
He looks up.
A small girl stands over him, barefoot in a nightdress. Bright red hair braided in two plaits, freckles dust her nose, and her green eyes are sharp and curious.
“Well,” he says, stretching out his arms and legs, inspecting them carefully. “I’m still cooking.” He flexes his fingers. Too Long. Hands broad but a bit flimsy. Might need to work on that. “What’s your name?”
“Lillian Evans.”
He beams. “That’s a brilliant name.”
She tilts her head. “Are you here about the monster?”
The Doctor begins to stand, freezing mid-crouch.
He pivots sharply, crouching directly in front of her, eyes level with hers. “What do you mean—monster?”
“Yes,” Lillian says. “Hairy. Fast. Like a big dog. Or maybe a wolf.”
His eyebrows lift. “Is it here now?” he whispers.
She leans in and whispers back, “No.”
“Well then,” he says, straightening. “Why would I be here about a monster that isn’t here?”
“It was here last night.”
“Where?”
“Where?”
“Wolf,” he clarifies. “Where was the wolf monster?”
“Outside. I saw it out my window, scratching at the back door.” She points. “Left marks.”
“Well then—no time to lose. Let’s go see the marks. Don’t wander off,” he says, already stepping forward.
He immediately falls over.
“Are you alright?” Lillian asks, peering down at him as he sprawls once again on the ground.
“Early days, steering’s a bit off,” he groans, picking himself back up.
The Doctor reaches into his pocket and takes out his sonic screwdriver, pausing first to note the differences—it’s also longer than last time, adding a more golden color, a green light shining at the top as he presses the side. Using the green light, he scans the deep gouges in the door. The sonic screwdriver hums softly.
“Hmmm,” he murmurs. “Interesting.”
“What are they?”
“They’re marks,” he says with a solemn nod. Then, brightly, “Apple!”
“They’re an apple?” Lillian frowns.
“No, no. Of course not. Do you have an apple? I’ve always wanted one.”
Lillian nods, her confused expression morphing to determination. She opens the door and leads him into the kitchen. Then, she pulls something from the fridge and hands it to him. He bites in enthusiastically—then immediately gags.
“That’s disgusting. What is that?” He lets the half-chewed chunk fall from his mouth onto the floor.
“An apple,” Lillian says, hands on her hips.
“Apples are rubbish. I hate them.”
“You said you wanted one.”
“No, no. Yogurt! Yogurt’s my favourite—give me yogurt.”
He tastes it. Spits it out instantly.
“I hate yogurt. You’re Scottish—can’t you give me any decent food?”
She gets to work cooking him bacon.
No.
Beans.
Definitely not.
She hands him something new from the fridge.
“Carrots?” he cries. “Are you insane?”
They stare at each other, both mirroring a look of indignation.
“I’ve got it! Toast. I need toast. I need marmalade. Butter. Jam. Lemon curd. And chocolate.”
Moments later, he stares reverently at a plate of toast cut into four neat triangles, each with a different topping. Chocolate sits on the side as a little treat.
“Ah,” he sighs. “This is the meal.”
He stands abruptly. “Well, better get to it—CURLS!”
He catches sight of his reflection and grins wildly. “Brilliant. It’s been ages since I’ve had curls.” He runs his hands through sandy, curly hair, then leans closer. “Oh, look at this nose.” He smirks. “I do love a nose with presence.”
He studies his honey-coloured eyes. His mouth—full lips, lopsided smile.
“Freckles!” He turns to Lillian, delighted. “I’m like you.”
Then, without warning, he snaps to attention and pivots stiffly like a toy soldier, marching back towards the door.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
The familiar whirr rises outside.
“No—no!” He bolts. “Need to stabilise.” He throws open the TARDIS door. “I’ll pop back to yesterday, find your monster, and then I’ll be straight back. Five minutes into the future should do it. Five minutes,” he calls as he runs inside.
The door slam shut.
Without another word, the TARDIS fades away.
The whirring returns to the back garden as the TARDIS materialises in the early morning light. Snow lifts and spirals as the little blue box settles into place.
“Lillian!” The Doctor shouts, bursting out the door and running for the house. He barrels through the same back entrance without hesitation. “I went to yesterday, but I couldn’t find your monster. It was the strangest thing—”
Something smashes into the side of his head.
Everything goes black.
The Doctor’s eyes begin to slowly blink open, vision blurry, then coming into focus. He’s inside the house again—lying in the hallway. He lifts his hands to rub his eyes—
Clink.
“Oh,” he mumbles, looking down at the handcuff chaining his wrist to the radiator.
The Doctor looks up and sees a policewoman standing over him—freckles, assessing green eyes, black skirt, crisp white shirt, vest emblazoned with POLICE, cap pulled low.
“You hit me,” he says, stunned.
“You were breaking and entering,” she replies evenly.
“Hang on—wait. You’re a policewoman.”
“And you were breaking and entering,” she says. “See how this works?”
“What are you doing here?” he asks urgently. “Where’s Lillian?”
“Lillian Evans?” the woman asks, body going rigid.
“Yes. Lillian. Little Scottish girl. Red hair. I promised her five minutes.” His voice falters. “The engines might’ve been off. Suppose I overshot a bit. Did something happen to her?”
The woman stares at him.
“Lillian Evans hasn’t lived here in a long time,” she says.
His hearts stutter a beat. “How long?”
“Six months.”
“No.” The word comes out small. “No, that’s not right. I said five minutes. I promised.” His bottom lip pushes out, honey-brown eyes wide and wounded.
The policewoman turns away sharply.
“What happened to her?” he presses. “What happened to Lillian Evans?”
She turns back, hands planted firmly on her hips.
“I need to speak to whoever lives in this house,” The Doctor says.
“I live here.”
“But you’re the police?”
“Yes. And I live here. Do you have a problem with that?”
They stare at each other, both mirroring a look of indignation.
“Where are the scratch marks?” he asks suddenly.
“What?”
“The marks. On the door. I need to see them.”
She hesitates, then sighs and taps the handcuff. It clicks open.
“Are you magic?” The Doctor whispers, leaning in.
“No,” she says flatly. “They’re trick handcuffs.”
“But you’re a policewoman.”
She stares at him for a long beat, then exhales and yanks off her cap. Red hair tumbles free.
“I’m a kiss-o-gram.”
“A… kiss-o-gram?”
“Yes. What’s the problem?”
“Why pretend to be a policewoman?”
“You broke into my house,” she snaps. “It was this or a French maid. Now why are you so interested in the marks?”
The Doctor is already moving.
Outside, he crouches low in the garden, pressing his face close to the door.
“Wait,” he murmurs. “Why are there so many more than last time?”
“There must be an animal,” she says too quickly, shifting her weight. “Let’s go.”
“But the original ones are buried,” he mutters, pulling out his sonic screwdriver. It hums as he scans. “Ten years old—at least!”
He presses his palms flat to the wood, leans in, inhales. Then he swipes a finger and tastes it—grimaces, popping his finger back out.
“Twelve years,” he says, scrunching his face. “I’m not six months late, I’m twelve years.”
The Doctor straightens and marches towards the woman. “You said six months,” he says sharply. “Why?”
“The animal could come back,” she insists, voice tight. “We need to go.”
“This matters,” he says, leaning into her face. “Why did you say six months?”
She tosses her head in frustration.
“WHY DID YOU SAY FIVE MINUTES?!”
Silence crashes between them.
The Doctor’s spine stiffens. Both hearts stumble.
“What?” he breathes.
She stares at him, green eyes impossibly wide, looking nervous.
“Come on,” she says abruptly, grabbing his hand and dragging him away from the house.
“You’re Lillian,” he says as they walk.
“You’re late.”
“You’re Lillian Evans. You’re the little girl.”
“I’m Lillian,” she snaps, “and you’re late.”
“What happened?”
“Twelve years.”
“You hit me over the head.”
“Twelve years and four psychiatrists,” she says bitterly.
“Four?”
She glances sideways. “I kept biting them.”
“Why?”
“They said you weren’t real,” she says softly, meeting his gaze. “My Moon Man. They said I made you up.”
“Did you tell them about the animal?”
“We never got that far.”
“Before the biting?”
“Before the biting.”
“Has anyone else seen the animal?”
“I don’t know,” Lillian says, shrugging.
The Doctor nods, already turning towards the nearest house.
“Then let’s ask a neighbour.”
Walking up to the house, The Doctor knocks once—then immediately opens the front door and walks straight inside.
“Hello,” The Doctor chirps, flashing a wide grin at the older woman standing in the middle of the living room. “Sorry to barge in. We’re investigating reports of strange animals in the area,” he says, gesturing vaguely between himself and Lillian as she steps in beside him. “Also… crimes.”
“Well, hello,” the woman replies pleasantly. She looks Lillian up and down. “You’re a policewoman now?”
“Hi, Arabella,” Lillian says quickly. “And—well. Sometimes.”
“I thought you were a nurse,” Arabella says, frowning at the uniform.
“I can be,” Lillian answers, rocking back on her heels.
“Or were you a nun?” Arabella adds, scepticism creeping into her tone.
“I dabble,” Lillian squeaks.
Both Arabella and The Doctor take in Lillian’s increasingly uncomfortable posture.
“Lily, who’s your friend?” Arabella asks, changing the subject.
“Who’s Lily?” The Doctor cuts in. “You were Lillian.” He squints at her. “Yeah. Now I’m Lily,” she says, chin lifting defensively.
“Lillian Evans. That was a great name.”
“It stopped fitting.”
Arabella turns to The Doctor, studying him more closely. “I know you. Don’t I? I’ve seen your face before.”
“Not this one,” he replies cheerfully, dragging his hands down his face as he smiles—dimples flashing. “Brand new. Fresh out of the box.”
“And what sort of job’s a kiss-o-gram?” he adds casually.
“I go to parties,” Lily begins, voice climbing several octaves, “and I kiss people.”
The Doctor’s head snaps up, eyes wide.
“With outfits,” she adds hastily, clearing her throat. “It’s a laugh.”
“You were a little girl five minutes ago,” The Doctor says flatly.
“You’re worse than my mum.”
“I’m The Doctor; I’m worse than everyone’s mum.”
At that exact moment, a long, low howl rolls in from somewhere nearby, cutting off the conversation.
The Doctor glances at the clock on the mantelpiece—10:03 a.m.
The door creaks open.
All three of them pivot as one, watching the doorway with held breath.
Lily steps sideways—placing herself squarely between the door and The Doctor.
“Aww,” he murmurs fondly at the back of her head.
“Shut it,” she hisses.
Footsteps sound. Closer.
A man enters the room, broad-shouldered, solid, with a slim athletic build. He closes the door behind him and looks up, blue eyes flicking between them. He runs a hand through short, dark-blond hair, brow furrowed.
The Doctor strides straight up to him, invading his space without hesitation. “There was an animal? Did you hear the animal? Are you the animal?”
“Are you The Doctor?” the man asks instead.
The Doctor blinks.
“He is!” Arabella beams. “Isn’t he? He’s The Doctor—the raggedy Doctor from the moon!” She turns to Lily, delighted, missing entirely the way Lily’s face turns scarlet. “All those cartoons you drew when you were little. The Raggedy Moon Man Doctor—that’s him!”
The Doctor narrows his eyes. “Cartoons?”
“It’s really him, Gran,” the man says, grin spreading. “Isn’t it?”
Lily clears her throat sharply. “Shut up,” she mutters. “We’re talking about the animal.”
“But the cartoons—” The Doctor starts, amused.
“Oh, she was obsessed,” the man smirks.
“Benjy, shut it!” Lily snaps.
Benjy clamps his mouth shut immediately, looking apologetic—and slightly lost.
“Right,” The Doctor says, nodding. He turns back to Benjy. “Animal. Did you see it?”
Benjy opens his mouth incredibly slowly. Everyone waits for him to realise he’s allowed to talk now.
…
“No,” he says at last.
“Thank you, Benjy,” The Doctor nods.
“I heard something,” Benjy adds eagerly. “Never saw it though, Raggedy Moon Man.”
Lily groans.
“Raggedy?” The Doctor mutters, glancing down at himself. “Why does everyone keep calling me raggedy? Are these clothes raggedy?”
“Yes,” Lily, Benjy, and Arabella say in unison.
“Well, that will not do,” The Doctor declares. “I’ve got a new face. A young face. And curls. I cannot be raggedy.”
He turns and marches down the hallway.
There’s a loud crash from the bedrooms. A drawer slams. Something clatters to the floor.
The others remain frozen in the living room.
“Benjy!” The Doctor calls. “I hope you don’t mind—I’ve borrowed some clothes!”
He reappears moments later, smoothing down his long frame with satisfaction.
“Well?” He spins once, arms outstretched.
Dark brown cuffed corduroy trousers sit above monkey boots. A burgundy striped shirt, braces perfectly matched, topped with a brown tweed jacket. He straightens a burgundy bow tie with immense pride.
“Good, right?”
“Oh,” Benjy says slowly. “Those aren’t my clothes.”
“They were my Garrick’s,” Arabella says softly. “But he’d have loved seeing them worn properly again. You look wonderful, my boy.”
Lily gives The Doctor a slow once-over, smirk curling. “Alright, Grandpa Moon Man. Let’s go find your animal.”
“Grandpa?” The Doctor splutters as they head outside. “I look cool.”
“Including the bow tie?” Lily asks.
“Yeah, it’s cool,” he replies, giving it a confident wiggle. “Bow ties are cool.”
“What is this place, anyway?” The Doctor asks. “Where am I?”
“Godric’s Hollow.”
He squints. “Where’s the rest of it?”
“This is it.”
“Right. Is there an airport?”
“No.”
“A power station?”
“No.”
“Even a little one?”
“Nope.”
“Nearest city?”
“Bristol.”
“Can we walk there?”
“No. It’s about forty minutes by car.”
“Do we have a car?”
“No.”
The Doctor exhales. “So why here? Why this village? Why is the wolf monster here of all places? And why now?”
“And all the other times,” Lily murmurs.
“How many times?”
“I’ve kept a journal.”
His head snaps round. “Where’s the journal?”
“I think I left it at James’ house.”
“And who,” The Doctor asks carefully, “is James?”
Lily pointedly looks away and increases her pace.
They stop in front of a large white house just off the village centre. Lily marches straight up and knocks.
The door opens.
“Lily—hi.”
“Muscles!” The Doctor beams, immediately taking in the extremely fit man standing there in nurse’s scrubs—broad shoulders, kind hazel eyes, brown skin, and wild black hair.
“James,” Lily says quickly. “This is James. He’s a friend—”
“Boyfriend,” James cuts in, smiling.
“Kind of boyfriend,” Lily mutters.
“Oh my god,” James breathes, eyes flicking to The Doctor. “The Moon Man. It’s The Doctor. He’s real.”
Lily groans. “Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut just once?”
“But he was a story,” James says, half-laughing, half-stunned. “He was just a story.”
“James, is it?” The Doctor says, stepping forward. “Do you happen to have Lily’s journal?”
“Well—yes. She left it here by accident. But I’m not invading her privacy by sharing it,” James says, puffing out his chest like a brave little centurion.
“Right here, James,” Lily says with a slight wave. “It’s mine and I need it.”
“Oh. Right. Yes. Of course.” He visibly relaxes. “Follow me, then.”
They head upstairs to a bedroom on the left.
“Do you have your own bedroom here?” The Doctor asks Lily.
“Oh—um. No,” she says, cheeks flushing.
“What’s that? Why is your face all red?”
James grins over his shoulder. “It’s my bedroom.”
The Doctor stops short. “Then why is Lily’s journal—”
Both Lily and James turn to stare at him.
“Oh,” The Doctor murmurs. Then, louder, “Oh! But you were a little girl five minutes ago!”
“What?” James gasps, colour draining from his face.
“We’ve been over this,” Lily says sharply. “Five minutes,” she points at The Doctor. “Twelve years,” she points at herself.
“Thank god,” James mutters, dragging a hand down his face.
“James,” Lily says. “The journal.”
“Right. Journal.” He retrieves a small book from the dresser.
The Doctor’s face softens instantly.
“My TARDIS,” he cries, brushing his hand over the drawing on the cover. “Oh, she’s going to love this.”
He flips through the pages—dates, times, notes, sketches. Sightings. Sounds. Scratch marks.
“Got it,” The Doctor says, snapping the journal shut and turning for the door.
“Where are you going?” Lily asks, hurrying after him as they walk back through the village.
“I’m a time traveller. I’m already at the where. Now I know the when. ”
“You’re leaving,” she says quietly. “Again.”
He stops.
“Just for now,” he says, turning back to her. “I need to find out more.”
“Can I come?” Lily asks.
James makes a small, startled sound behind them.
“No,” The Doctor says gently. “I’ll be moving through your timeline. It’s not safe.”
He unlocks the TARDIS, pulling the door open as he takes out his pocket watch—10:28 a.m.
“But I’ll be back. I promise.”
She scoffs softly. “I’ve heard that before.”
“And I came back,” he says, half hanging out of the doorway. “Promise.”
She studies him, then nods once. “Go find my wolf monster, Moon Man.”
The Doctor hesitates—just a beat—taking in her determined stance in contrast with her sad green eyes.
He taps the doorframe once, then steps inside, closing the door.
“Alright,” he murmurs, opening the journal. “Let’s see… ah. Yes. That’ll do.”
He punches in January 17, 2022.
The TARDIS materialises at the edge of a field beneath a dark, biting sky. Snow glitters in the moonlight as the familiar whirs fade into silence.
The Doctor cracks the door open and pokes his head out, only his curls visible at first. He squints across the field, eyes catching on the distant row of houses—Lily’s street, glowing softly on the far side.
“Well,” he mutters, stepping out. “Looks like I’m walking, then.”
A sharp gust of wind cuts straight through him.
Without another word, he pivots and bolts back inside, slamming the door shut.
Several minutes later, the door creak open again.
The Doctor steps out once more, now wrapped in a soft knit jumper beneath a longer burgundy coat, shirt collar and bow tie peeking neatly at his throat.
“Ah,” he sighs. “Much better.”
He sets off across the field, careful with his footing as he approaches the lights of the village.
He keeps to the shadows, moving as quietly as possible. According to the journal, the animal will be heard right outside the house. Lily remains inside, there’s no chance that they will accidentally run into one another.
He slips into the back garden just as the bedroom light clicks off.
With the house dark, the moonlight floods the snow, turning the garden silver-bright. The Doctor pulls out his pocket watch—23:47.
“Here, doggy, doggy,” he murmurs under his breath, a crooked smirk tugging at his mouth.
The response is immediate.
A low growl ripples through the air.
The hairs on his arms rise as goosebumps race across his skin. He hears heavy breathing, like it's coming from all around him.
Without reason his vision starts to blur, becoming hazy. His head feels like it's underwater and the edges of his vision darken.
“This is new,” The Doctor says, before everything goes black.
“No—no, no,” he groans, dragging his hands down his face as he rolls onto his side.
The TARDIS hums gently around him.
“What are you?” he mutters. “What kind of creature does that?”
He pushes himself up, every muscle fighting against the movement.
“I thought I was younger this time,” he complains weakly before collapsing back onto the floor.
Darkness takes him again.
The Doctor finds himself stuck in a repeating pattern.
He works his way backwards.
January 28, 2021.
January 10, 2020.
January 20, 2019.
New Year’s Day, 2018.
January 12, 2017.
January 23, 2016.
January 4, 2015.
He tries forwards.
January 6, 2023.
January 25, 2024.
January 13, 2025.
Every attempt ends the same way.
He lands the TARDIS. He walks into Godric’s Hollow. He hears the creature. He feels it watching him.
Then he wakes up inside the TARDIS the following morning—aching, frustrated, no closer to answers.
No matter the year.
No matter the angle of approach.
No matter how far he keeps his distance.
The creature never reveals itself.
Something about it—some defensive or predatory mechanism—triggers the blackout the moment he gets too close.
He wakes on January 14, 2025, groaning as he sits up and reaches once more for the journal.
He’s out of days.
Desperate, he types in one final date—January 3, 2026.
The TARDIS wipes the entry instantly.
“I know!” he calls to his beloved spaceship. “But I know where I’ll be,” he insists. “We won’t interact. But the animal is there.”
He exhales slowly.
“I need to find it.”
The TARDIS lets out a low, displeased whine before the date flickers back onto the screen—January 3, 2026.
“Oh, thank you, thank you,” The Doctor shouts, beaming. He leans over the console and presses an emphatic kiss to it. “Just one more go. We’ll sort this. You’ll see.”
The Doctor steps out of the TARDIS and looks up at the winter-grey sky as it hangs heavy over the field.
Taking out his pocket watch and clicking it open—10:00 a.m. on the dot. He’ll be at Lily’s neighbour’s now. That’s easy, he can avoid that. He knows the animal is heard in the distance, he just needs to figure out which distance.
He walks to the left. Pivots and heads right. That’s when he feels it. The now-familiar presence of the looming wolf monster.
Everything goes black.
He wakes inside the TARDIS.
“…Okay,” he sighs. “One more time. Small adjustment.”
He punches in a new date—January 2, 2026, nighttime.
The Doctor steps out—and immediately knows something’s wrong.
It’s daylight.
Not only that—he’s standing in Lily’s back garden, not the field.
“Five minutes!”
A body barrels into him, arms wrapping tight around his middle. Red hair whips into his face.
“Lily?” he asks, startled.
She pulls back, grinning. “You actually did it. You came back in five minutes.” Her smile wobbles. “I really thought it’d be another twelve years.”
“So it’s still the morning of January third?” he asks quickly.
“Yes,” James says from behind her, checking his watch. “It’s 10:33.”
A howl echoes through the trees.
“The animal’s still here,” The Doctor says.
“Yeah, mate,” James replies dryly. “Thought you were sorting that.”
“Did you learn anything?” Lily asks.
“Only that it’s incredibly powerful,” The Doctor admits. “But maybe the TARDIS knew there needed to be three of us.”
Another howl.
They break into a run towards the road.
Across the way lies the field The Doctor now knows too well.
And there—huge and unmistakable—stands the creature. It looks like an impressively massive wolf. It seems confused about what direction it wants to go, running a few metres to the right, before pivoting and running to the left, only to then turn and go right again.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” The Doctor breathes out in awe. “Let’s get closer.” He grins and starts walking forward.
“What?!” James yelps.
“You can stay,” Lily calls over her shoulder. “I’m going with him.”
James curses softly, then jogs after them. “We better not die from this.”
All three walk at a brisk pace, keeping their eyes on the creature in the field.
“You know,” James says. “If this were last night, I’d say it was a werewolf.”
“Why last night?” The Doctor asks.
“Full moon,” James replies. “But it’s daytime now.”
The Doctor snaps to attention, head whipping towards James. “What did you just say?”
“…It’s daytime?”
“No. Before that.”
“Full moon last night.”
The Doctor whirls on him. “James,” he says reverently, “you beautiful, brilliant man.”
He grabs James’ face and plants a kiss on the side of his head.
“Oh—um—thanks,” James stammers, flushing.
“Lily, James—keep moving towards the field. Don’t lose sight of it, but keep your distance. I need to check something.”
He heads for the nearest house.
“Hello again, Arabella,” he calls cheerfully, already halfway down the hall.
He swings open a bedroom door.
Benjy sits on the bed, laptop open.
“Sorry,” The Doctor says briskly, snatching it. “Need this.”
“What—hey!”
“Lily’s cartoons!” The Doctor says excitedly, looking at the screen, and beginning to scroll.
“Ah— Um—“
“These aren’t a little girl’s drawings!” he shouts in alarm.
Benjy shifts. “I—uh. I do a bit of art myself.”
“But they’re me!”
Benjy nods, sheepish.
The Doctor continues to stare at the screen.
“Are you blushing?” Benjy asks.
The Doctor snaps his gaze up. “So are you!”
“I know why I’m blushing. Why are you blushing?”
The Doctor swallows, scrolling faster.
“…Can you email these to me? [email protected].”
Benjy blinks. “Sure.”
“Right! Now stop with these distractions!” The Doctor says, as he clicks away and starts typing. “Of course. How did I miss it?”
The Doctor snaps the laptop shut, and hands it back.
“Don’t forget to send those—I look incredible.”
And then he’s already gone, racing back outside.
The Doctor spots Lily and James lying flat at the edge of the field, half-hidden behind a mound of snow but keeping the wolf squarely in sight. He drops down beside them.
“Still running back and forth?” he murmurs.
“AHH—!” James yelps.
“Shhh!” Lily hisses.
The wolf snaps its head towards them, nostrils flaring as it scents the air.
“I’m going to try talking to him,” The Doctor says quietly as the creature begins to creep closer.
“Do you know what it is?” Lily whispers.
“Yes,” The Doctor says. “James was right. It’s a werewolf.”
“But it’s daytime,” Lily says. “And there’s no moon.”
“Ah,” The Doctor smirks, rising to his feet so the wolf can see him, “just no moon that we can see.”
“That makes absolutely no sense,” James mutters.
“Do you remember what time we first heard the howl today?”
“10:03,” Lily answers immediately.
“Exactly! And you know what else happened at 10:03?”
“I’m guessing it has something to do with the moon,” James says.
“It has everything to do with the moon. 10:03 is the exact moment of peak fullness.”
“But the moon was full last night,” James argues.
“No.”
“No?”
“It looked full,” The Doctor explains rapidly, excitement building. “But it wasn’t quite there yet. 10:03 this morning—that was the moment it became fully full. That triggered the werewolf.”
“During the day?” Lily asks.
“Yes!” The Doctor beams. “Who would expect a werewolf at 10:03 in the morning?”
The wolf is close now—barely a metre away. Up close it’s enormous, far larger than it appeared from a distance. Its tail sways slowly, uncertainly, as it sniffs the air.
“Hello there,” The Doctor calls. “Can you understand me?”
“How could it understand you,” James whispers.
“There's still a human in there,” Lily whispers back. “...There is a human in there, right?”
“I think so,” The Doctor says softly. “We just have to work out who.”
“I’m a friend,” he says, stepping closer.
“What time is it?” he asks Lily and James.
Lily grabs James’ wrist. “11:01.”
The Doctor nods and takes another step. “Why are you here? What brought you to this place?”
The sudden wheezing roar of the TARDIS echoes across the field.
The wolf’s hackles rise instantly. It snarls, barking furiously at the sound.
“Oh—no, no, not now!” The Doctor shouts.
The wolf whips its head around and launches itself forward.
The impact knocks The Doctor flat. Jaws snap dangerously close as he twists to avoid a bite.
“Oi! Over here, you big bad wolf!” Lily shouts, scrambling to her feet.
The distraction comes too late.
The wolf bites down—hard—on The Doctor’s shoulder.
“OW!” he cries, pain tearing through him.
The wolf freezes.
Its growl breaks into a whimper as its body goes rigid, transformation already beginning.
The Doctor gasps, writhing as a crushing pressure floods his chest. His senses fracture—mind, body, and self pulling in opposite directions.
The edges of his vision darken—
Then erupt in blinding gold.
“Lily—James—get back!” he shouts as regeneration energy explodes around him. “I suppose I wasn’t finished yet!”
Through the light, he sees—
Himself.
Two Doctors, both glowing, both fighting to correct the impossible overlap.
The energy surges between them, pulling, healing, collapsing the paradox in on itself.
Slowly—painfully—the light drains back into him.
When it fades, the other Doctor is gone.
“Oh,” he manages, before everything goes black.
He wakes slowly, blinking. He’s back in the TARDIS again.
“Oh, thank god,” a voice says as arms wrap around his chest. Red hair spills across his face.
“What happened?” he asks hoarsely.
“We were hoping you’d tell us,” James says, crouched nearby.
“I was the wolf,” The Doctor says.
Lily bolts upright. “What?”
“It must have happened during regeneration,” he explains weakly. “By trying to find out more, I traveled across your timeline—as a werewolf.”
They stare at him, stunned.
“First Law of Time Travel,” he continues. “You can’t cross your own timeline. I did. Then I bit myself. Regeneration energy plus paradox equals… well.” He gestures vaguely. “Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey.”
James breaks into a massive grin.
“Why are you smiling like that?” The Doctor asks warily.
“You were a werewolf the entire time,” James says, delighted. “I can’t wait to tell Benjy.”
“Why Benjy?” Lily asks.
“His drawings are going to be unhinged.”
The Doctor’s eyes widen.
“Right. Off you pop,” he says firmly. “Your wolf problem solved.”
“More like your wolf problem,” Lily says. “And I’m not popping anywhere. I’m coming with you.”
The Doctor’s face softens, wonder lighting his eyes. “Are you sure?”
“I think we both are,” James says as the TARDIS begins to whirl on her own accord.
The Doctor grins.
“Brilliant.”