Author's Notes:

(*) What, you expect me to explain everything now? I'm giving you ample time to figure it out on your own until you reach the part where I explain everything.

(**) I'm considering calling them Stranglethorn vines instead, but it sounds a bit unoriginal.

This chapter, we take a look inside the Doctor's head. What his gripe with relationships is. As a general rule, he had been married four times, all deceased, (including River Song and Scarlette) and all of his children and grandchildren were missing and assumed dead, including Jenny. You can thank Clara Oswald for this data, from when she was lying to the Cybermen that she was the Doctor herself. So yes, the man has his hands full.

In order for his character to evolve, he needs to first gain something to lose, then face the risk of losing it.
This is especially difficult with regards to the Doctor. He's both too stubborn to change willingly, and too afraid of a relationship. He's also extremely tricky and complicated. I would rather not go as far as liking him to a mountain, but he's certainly no open bookpamphlet either.

Crossroads might seem rather like the stereotypical, mysterious hooded stranger, but he has a lot of roles which could not be left unmanned. He is required to tie the story together.

The origins of his technology/magic are to be revealed on part 2, together with an adequate explanation regarding what the animals said regarding a bloodthirsty animals. I haven't forgotten about that, but it won't be hard to guess by the end of this part. Still, as a preemptive explanation, I will explain that no, he doesn't have Mr. Hyde-itis.

The path led him deeper into the thicket. Everything appeared the same, there were no distinguishable landmarks to be spoken of. The Doctor tried to tell his position, but all he could focus on were the serpent's words. Go with the flow? It certainly seemed like something an aquatic creature would say, all irony put aside. Unfortunately, even if the serpent was right, from his own narrow perspective, he wasn't exactly deciding his debate, now was he? Just telling him to be aware of the woman in front of him.

He could say it wasn't that simple without it being a cheap excuse. He had that right. He lived long enough, he was not being thick about it. He was entirely aware of why he didn't want any further relationships.

First and fattest one was, his PTSD. After destroying Gallifrey, on which, might I add, were his entire race including his own children and grandchildren. After that, he felt a bit reluctant to ever pursue any kind of life which would essentially be the core of what a race meant. Family. He killed his family, and he did not want to allow himself the comfort and happiness of ever experiencing what he'd denied to such a grand scale.

Secondly, it was above and beyond just simply missing her. He could honestly live with that. It wasn't a pain that never went away, just something he'd have to deal with. Something he was forced to accept. Remembering those he missed would stop hurting as soon as he accepted that they were gone. Leaving aside the guilt, which would never go away. Grief, however, would eventually turn to melancholy and longing. He accepted that he would never see his loved ones again, and kept his past behind him.

That was what he was really running away from. From longing. It was quite understandable, actually. You miss someone, so you seek comfort. Most often, with that in mind, he would seek thrills in adventure. To feel alive for those who no longer could, whether he'd denied them or not.

He accepted that he was never going to see his loved ones again, because he had no choice. And with accepting came a hole. By giving up on ever seeing them again, holes appeared in his heart where he used to hold the those loved ones. Every lost friend or family member took a chunk of his heart with them. And again, he went on his travels in order to try to fill those openings. He sought to become high on life, to get as far away as possible, until he'd manage to cloud the bad and focus on the good. He refused to feel sad about the memories he had. He would never regret his accomplishments and relationships, but cherish and celebrate them.

As a general rule, he had been married three times so far, all deceased, (including Scarlette, also remember that he'd yet to meet River Song quite yet) and all of his children and grandchildren were missing and assumed dead, including Jenny. He refused to accept that those lives, and his time spent with them, were meaningless. He refused to believe that those memories were anything but wonderful. They were his world, after all. And that was what the world and life meant: That both the good, and the bad, come then go.

He accepted that fact... which made him disconnected to a degree. His accepting the losses as inevitabilities weren't making him afraid of future relationships, but doing so did do one thing. It made the idea of any further relationships seem unappealing fundamentally. It wasn't remorse, or fear. It was psychological. There was a part of him that went missing, and any attempt to re-fill that hole would never truly fit, no matter how much he were to try. That was, if he met someone that measured up.

Which left Ditzy at a rather serious disadvantage.

He felt he did stumble upon someone... above average. She was adamant, kind, (unhealthily) honest and remarkably brave. She was not unintelligent, proving to be quite perceptive and daring to think for herself. She was a caring and wonderful mother. She was not unattractive, for a creature from a different species entirely, which was a matter which the Time Lord was already used to looking past by now (as well as genders). He did think of other humans that way in the past as well (<chough> Rose <cough>), and during their communion a few nights ago, he found that this creature actually hid far more than one would expect inside her head.

Still. How long would they be able to be together? In the end, even a human lifetime would've been ultimately fleeting for him. He'd rather get back to his travels, than get attached to someone just because he felt lonely, and... so very, disconnected. So isolated.

He felt more alone than he'd ever felt in his entire life. What he saw that night in the sky... It was tearing him apart.

Only not really. That was just his excuse. It was pretty bad, but it wouldn't have been able to stop him quite how it did. He'd dealt with worse before, only not like now. Because what the Doctor does, and never fails to do, is push past his problems. Either by using them as motivation, or pushing them down and ignoring them, instead focusing on the task at hand. He ignored something else in favor of the Night Sky Revelation. He failed to push past the latter matter.

Rather than think of something he couldn't let himself accept, he ignored it in favor of focusing on something abhorrent. Rather than look for the wonder in this new world, he looked for reasons why it wasn't real. Rather than just go head-first as he always did, he stopped. He phased out in the train station, and for once in his life, let his fears and emotions defeat him and decide his actions.(*)

He was not one to pray. He never asked for the Universe to help him out, but ever since he arrived, all of his attempts at getting back on his travels only managed to do precisely nothing. Things could've certainly gone better.

Honestly, though, he couldn't quite believe that he was having so much trouble. For one thing, surely he should've managed his money problem by now?

As soon as he asked himself that question, he stopped in his tracks and put a hoof over his face, looking sheepish. He thought back to when the angels brought him back to 1969. He was lucky to have Martha to deal with the money problem. Similarly, he now relied on Ditzy to provide for him!

Normal life. Normal bloody life! Why did he have to lose his Tardis?!

He didn't usually make a habit of asking the Universe for help, but right now? He was pretty dissatisfied with himself. He was going around in circles, he noticed. Both figuratively and literally. To prove his point, a dead end decided to greet him. He only realized once he got through the last thicket. Honestly, the brushes here really were thick.

It was the foot of a steep slope. Far too steep to climb. It appeared his legs didn't take him the right way this time. That must be, what? Two out of three times his running worked out for him? First the cockatrice, carnivorous plants second, and third...

Well, he could hear growling now.

He had expected to have found Zecora's home by now. The serpent was right, she shouldn't have set up too far away from the river. He must have missed a turn in the pathway somewhere. Maybe if he didn't get lost, he wouldn't have landed in this mess now.

He was surrounded. He paid attention, and through the thickets appeared wolves, only made entirely out of wood, roots and moss.

"You must be timberwolves." he spoke to the beasts.

Their response came in the form of approaching him with feral hunger in their glowing eyes.

Running away from dogs had been a bad idea ever since the beginning of time. Facing them, however, would've been worse.

Maybe he could reason with them?

"...Before you do anything you might regret, may I point out that although my flesh might sustain you for, say, a few good weeks... it would actually be a very bad idea to attack me? After all, not only would my peers realize the threat that you possess and be more likely to hunt you all down..."

They seemed to acknowledge his words, as they stopped growling to let that thought sink in. For a few seconds before starting again.

Suppose he can't really blame them. Can't worry about what you'll have for dinner tomorrow when you're starving today. And by the looks in their eyes, he can assume that they are quite hungry indeed.

He continued. "...But I will most certainly not just lay down and give up without a fight. I assure you that I'm no pushover..." They only growled more fiercely at that, although approaching more cautiously now. "I'm a pacifist, so I will allow you to back away now." as he put up a face as certain as he could. Which is, to say, that he looked like he owned the place, and everything you were made of. "Although, whomever thinks he can take me will be sourly disappointed." They didn't look convinced, only weary of his prattling. "Alright. Perhaps a demonstration would be in order?"

They were taken aback in surprise. Now was his chance.

Before they could gain back a hold of their senses, he walked over to a particularly old tree close by. "I could fall this entire tree if I wanted to. Would doing that assuage your worries?"

They were dumbstruck. He supposed that was as good an invitation as he was going to get.

"Okay then. If you would all just move a little closer so you can be certain that you all see this clearly."

They humored him, eying him suspiciously.

"If you would all stand right there... brilliant." as they bunched up in front of him, only a few feet away. Close enough for them to jump him easily, should they decided to do so.

He looked the tree over attentively. Knocked his front hoof against the bark, listening to the sound it gave. Gave it a lick, which weirded the wolves out a bit.

"Okay then, here we go..."

He most certainly knew he wasn't strong enough to fall a tree. However, he did pick up a little trick yesterday on the farm...

He reeled in as far as his balance allowed, then hit the bark as hard as he could.

He then started jumping around on one hind hoof, bracing the other one and whimpering pathetically. It would appear that he didn't plan on favoring one hoof over the other.

The wolves noticed this and, smiling, decided that he was just biding for time. However, as they reeled in to pounce, they failed to notice the rather, large rotten tree branch headed straight for them.

They never saw it coming. They broke apart, the branches forming their legs snapping and their trunks cracking. They were caught mid-jump, a few inches away from his new position. It was like those pieces of wood were never alive in the first place. He didn't have time to regret what he did.

"Alright then." as he finally got back on all fours. "Those were six. Were they the only ones?'

Furious barking drew closer. He received his answer, and he started running like his tail was on fire.

'Guess not then! Sounds like at least seven more.'

One against three was a bad enough idea. All it took was for one of them to distract as the other two pounced and pinned him down. Running away from a dog would only encourage it, but right now he'd rather not just sit idly and get overwhelmed and systematically torn apart.

He started running beside the wall, and of course there was a lone timberwolf charging towards him. Looks like they covered all retreats.

Not much choice left, apparently. He will have to somehow breach the currently shrinking circle, then hope the law of averages didn't catch up to him quite yet.

He didn't have time to turn around and kick, every second standing in place would translate to as much as ten seconds running away, time in which he could figure out what to do next. He might be able to outrun Slitheen, but only because he could outsmart them around the corners.
Here, in the forest, it's the wolves' turf.

He decided to face the beast, clasp it under his front hoof and keep moving while it was recovering.

However, the wolf didn't exactly let itself get stomped on. It had enough common sense to know to avoid the hooves of an earth pony. It evaded his first stomp and threw itself into him to dig its sharp, wooden teeth into his pelt. It had aimed for his throat, but the Doctor threw his left foreleg in front instead, in a reactionary defense. It pierced through, went all the way in and started thrashing around. It would seem that it didn't have the patience to kill him before it wanted to tear a piece of flesh off of him.

The Doctor didn't have time for this. He bit down a yell whilst proceeding with another attempt to stomp, a decision which apparently surprised the wolf. Seems it had expected its prey would simply succumb to instinct and try to pull away from danger, not face it.

He would've been happy to just ground the mutt before, but now the Doctor was genuinely afraid for his life. Fear and adrenaline were starting to cloud even his judgment. He didn't hold back, and cracked the wood under his hoof.

If he wasn't busy right now, he'd be surprised by his own actions, or his own strength. He never really resorted to physical combat in far too long. Apparently instinct and fear pulled harder than over-confidence and conceit.

He was bleeding now, pretty hard. Suppose the beast touched an artery If it didn't just almost succeed in tearing a piece off of him, then it certainly felt like it. Then again, he never felt this kind of pain before, despite his many, diverse adventures.

Let's see how far his binary cardiovascular system can get him this time.

He bit through the pain and tried to get as much distance in as possible on three legs. Not to get away, no. But any precious extra second might be the one he'd needed to figure something out.

As the barking and howling drew closer, though, he eventually gave way to realization. He wasn't going to get out of this alive. At least not in his current form.

Why did he come out here, he asked himself as he saw the other wolves running to pounce on him. Far faster than he would've been able to run with all four, fully functioning legs.

Time slowed down as the Doctor started counting the milliseconds. Maybe he could face them somehow?... no, no more outsmarting would help here. If only he were a unicorn, maybe he could've teleported away. Maybe now he'll turn into a unicorn?

He closed his eyes and grit his teeth, choking on his regret over his mistake to come out here. He should've heeded the warnings of the locals. He should've realized that it was a long shot to force his follower out with this stunt. What did he expect him to do? Swoop down and fly him away like a comic book hero?

Why did he even consider this to be a good idea? Is he so afraid of a normal, peaceful life that he'd rather throw himself into danger like this?
He's not even certain if he still has his last regeneration. He only assumed that this transformation wasn't one because he didn't experience any of the respective after effects...

Maybe if he does get one final chance, he might have less reservations regarding giving normal life a shot. How bad could a few hundred years be, locked up in the safety of the royal library, remembering the good old days, instead of dying so violently in the middle of- oh, for Pete's sake. Why aren't they attacking?

He finally opened his eyes to notice the cursed fiends standing still, the closest ones hovering mid-air in front of him. He drew closer to investigate, still limping. He sat on his haunches and tapped on one of the wolves. It resisted, but gave way for little over an inch.

"What is happening?"

Time was distorted. That much he could distinguish all around him. It was as if he was swimming through molasses. Either the entire general area around him was slowed down, or he was sped up somehow. Considering which one of the two was harder to do, he went with the latter.
However. It was still selectively separating him from the entire time stream, then giving him a push to outrun the normal flow. It was still something so very sudden, so well controlled...

What is doing this?

Then something else made itself known. Like the unholy lovechild crossing the sound of nails on a chalkboard with the presence of cockroaches. He felt his skin crawl, and he knew where it was coming from.

The Doctor turned around, and there he was. Half a dozen feet away. The one he'd been looking for, the way he'd seen him in Ditzy's memory.

He understood now. That thing... that abomination. That nightmare. He understood who he was faced with. Who the animals were referring to. And he understood why they didn't tell him.

It was a pegasus, from the looks of it. Just staring at him from his raggedy old gray cloak. A pair of goggles strapped over his eyes, one of the lenses slightly cracked. And he couldn't make out anything else as he would feel nauseous looking at him. He could only guess that the figure's coat is supposed to be a bluish gray.

"Hello, Doctor." the figure spoke with numerous stifled echoes surrounding them both, running about in the background. As if it could only decide in the last moment where he wanted to sound from, covering out all the other sources with silent static.

He... it continued. In a soft, even voice.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting for so long. I was hoping I didn't need to intervene, but... I was disappointed."

The pegasus' voice was so gloomy that you would be wondering if he wasn't actually some ghost mourning its own death. Some revenant of misfortunes long since passed, unable to rest until they were set right.

Of course, that would only be one guess.

"What are you?" the Doctor finally let out through clenched teeth and tightened bowels.

The figure faced away from him before answering, again in an even voice. "Now that would be telling. And quite a long tale at that... Come. Let's just get you patched up for now. Zecora can take care of your wounds. She's not far."

The Doctor didn't really know whether he should trust him. Every fiber in his being was actually yelling at him to assume fight or flight.
This isn't standing on one's head. This is being covered in cockroaches. The only thing that's actually allowing him to still think straight is the few yards distance between the two of them.

"Don't worry," said the stranger, "you won't feel this badly for long. Just until we get far enough from the pack of hungry wolves. The sooner I get you to safety, the better for everyone... minus the wolves, of course. They will have to wait a while longer until they catch an ironhorn moss deer."

He started leading him away, and the Doctor grudgingly obliged.

He hobbled for fifteen minutes before Zecora's hut came into view. Turned out he really did make a wrong turn. It was a lot closer to the river than he'd initially anticipated.

That was when his skin stopped crawling, and he noticed the figure turn back towards him.

He could actually see him now. Not just look at him, but see him.

He was still gloomy, even though you couldn't see his eyes at all through the heavy tinting.

He started talking again, though this time normally for a change. No echoes, no static. Just a reserved monotone.

"Since we're going to be having quite a few conversations from now on, I believe I should offer a name. You may call me Crossroads."

"Crossroads?" the Doc asked confusedly.

"Yes. As in, that joke with the chicken. How did it go... Why did the chicken cross the road?"

"To... get to the other side?" he's at a loss.

"Exactly."

Silence. This got awkward pretty fast.

"Sorry, I haven't succeeded in telling a decent joke in a few centuries. I'm still working on it."

"Right... Wait, what?"

The door to Zecora's home opened. She rushed outside to join them. She was, understandably, looking worried as she was muttering something in her native language on her way out.

"Doctor, you're battered and bleeding! What happened to you?
Please come in and rest. For your pains I have just the brew."

He was still staring intently at Crossroads. A few centuries? The strange pegasus only offered a knowing, emotionless glare in response.

"Yes, yes... Thank you, Zecora. You're too kind."

"Hush now! Lay still and wait for just a moment.
I will not take long at all to ready you your treatment."

As the zebra fidgeted around the chamber, throwing the right ingredients into a small wooden bowl to mash into a paste, the Doctor was left to study his mysterious new friend whilst gripping his bleeding wound tighter.

All this time, he didn't offer a single emotion besides being somber. Like it would kill him to give a snide smirk, or anything, really. He just stood there, apparently just as content with either looking someone in the eye or looking at nothing at all.

"And Crossroads, please show some manners!
Take off your cowl whilst in my house."

They know each other?

"Sorry, Zecora, but I'm afraid I can't do that. The Doctor here is actually aware of the extent of my presence in the time stream. A problem for him, being a Time Lord and sensitive to these things. I imagine I would only make his skin crawl, if not worse."

"Worse, actually. It's about as bad as feeling the very rotting wound on the time stream which you are to it. Why exactly aren't you being hunted down by reapers right now?"

He answered with a stare. He knew what would satisfy his curiosity, it was obvious. He just didn't want to tell him.

"Reapers? What's a reap... oh. Okay, so you're asking why this universe is willing to suffer my presence. I can assure you that you don't really want to know the reason to that."

"Oh, well I suppose we have a conflict of beliefs there. See, I actually do want to know. Why are you convinced otherwise?"

"Because, Doctor, I can see it. You might think you want to know now, but I can only assure you that once you find out, you will eventually regret it dearly."

"What are you going on about?"

"What I'm going on about, Doctor, is your future. Your unavoidable fate, the way I see it at least. You see, there are many things which are uncertain, but quite enough are set in stone. I can do far more than just suspend time. My abilities are much more... subtle than that. Among the things I can do is the ability to see timelines, and I see them weaving around you like a storm waiting to happen.

"You want to know why you feel so horrible around me, Doctor? Why I can do what you've witnessed me do? Why every inch of your being insists that I should be destroyed on the spot?

"It's because I'm the kind of abomination which this universe would never, under any circumstance, allow to be created. Except for one.

"Are you still certain that you want to know, Doctor? Are you still willing to cast away your current peace of mind, and take a blind step into the darker side of this world?"

Grimly, the Doctor looked upon his desolate benefactor. He could only wonder what kind of person he was dealing with here.
"Of course." he responded, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

Crossroads, well... He still maintained his stony demeanor. "My story is a long one. Honestly, it doesn't concern you. At least not now. You still have better things to focus on for now. How about we just limit to how I've already implicated myself in your life, and your more immediate concerns instead? After all, I could tell you just about anything now. You're not even believing me to truly be able to see time."

The Doctor eyed him warily, taking his every word with a grain of salt. "Pardon if I find your explanations a little hard to believe. Let me just get it straight for now. You're saying that you can see timelines?"

"Aside other... oddities, yes."

The Doctor drew forward indignantly. "But that's ridiculous. What you're describing is something which could only drive you mad!"

"What makes you think I didn't grow mad?"

He drew back, surprised. It would offer a good explanation as to why the strange stallion was so emotionless. Maybe there truly was nothing left humanequine about him to speak of?

Before the Doctor could offer a retort, Zecora approached them with a bowl held in her fetlock joint.

"Here it is. A potent brew.
Drink it and your pains should subdue."

After she gave it to him, she went over to her cupboards and retrieved an empty jar and brush. He took a whiff before downing the concoction. Wouldn't want to be caught off-guard and require his hostess to make another batch, as well as clean up after him.

Contrary to how medicine usually tastes, this one wasn't half bad. And the effects were practically instant. He only noticed a slight warmth permeating through him and concentrating on his aches, soothing him and smothering them out. He poked and found that even the cut under his eye receded.

Not the most incredible thing he'd ever seen, but still manages to impress him nonetheless. He'd just love to inquire about how convenient this medicine is, but if he were to get sidetracked here, he wouldn't be able to do anything at all today.

He just tried to put his thoughts in order while she proceeded to brush some of the remaining Plunder Weed(*) dust from his back and shoulder area.

"Firstly," he started, "I'd like to ask how you two got to meet each other. Secondly, what you two have been plotting around my back. Then later we might discuss your presumed 'abilities' in more detail."

"By all means, we wouldn't have it any other way. After all, I assume that is why you've been running through the forest on your own, was it not? To gain my attention."

"You've done what?" Zecora inquired indignantly. Again, shedding her rhymes for the sake of driving her point more immediately. It somehow left a sense of dissonance.

"He ran through the Everfree to put himself in danger, in order to lure me into the open. If I were to guess, he most likely came by the understanding that I want him alive. Apparently he considered drawing me out worth risking his life on a half-baked theory."

"Don't flatter yourself. All I wanted was to finally know what's going on, and you skulking around in the shadows was not helping at all."

"You need to understand, Doctor, that you are quite the wanted man. I was merely making certain that you were safe, for my own peace of mind."

"Is it really for your own, or is it for someone else's?"

The aloof stallion stared at him. For a fleeting moment, he thought he sensed he'd hit a nerve with his last question. Crossroads continued merely a fraction of a second later than usual.

"If you're asking if I work for someone else, then no. I usually work alone..."

"-And why should I believe that?"

"I don't know, Doctor. Why should you believe anything I say? Why bother asking me anything to begin with? Why not just go back and continue your little vacation in the peaceful little village your Tardis sent you to, and let someone else take care of things for a change?"

That caught his attention.

"All right. I'm listening."

"If we're - that is to say, me and Zecora - going to tell you what happened, we might as well start from the beginning... Of course, you will have to understand that we'll skip a few things for now. You've forced our hoof with your little stunt, but we're not ready to divulge quite everything yet."

"Fair enough... as long as you get to the part where you found out about my Tardis."

"Don't worry, Doctor. By the time you leave here, all the questions you've asked yourself since you've arrived in Equestria will be more or less clarified. However, I can't guarantee for the ones that would rise in the process.

After a long, long conversation, the Doctor was led back to Ponyville. He had a lot to digest tonight.

Crossroads held his word. Most of his questions were answered, however in the process only rising more questions. Seems there's a theme of that going on.

For now, though, these will suffice. Seems there's a theme of that as well.

The only thing different is that this time, he received a name.

The name of the one who had most likely brought him to Equestria and is still in possession of his Tardis. A mysterious character that never showed his face, but made his mark. Celestia took to calling him Disdain, according to his trademark method of assault which he used in the Last War.

The reason why Crossroads knew this was left unsaid. The reason why he knew about his Tardis was, according to him, because he and his ship had already made quite the significant impact on history. The reason how he knew to find the Doctor when he first arrived was because the source of this history's being rewritten had originated from where he landed. The ripples originated where the universe had burst open to spit him out.

And Crossroads came to investigate.

So no, the Doctor's previous assumption that Cross was in some way linked to his arrival here was met with negative confessions. The cross cloak wearer insisted that he didn't know anything about what had actually happened to have brought him to this world. All he could explain was how he had reasons to track him down once his impact on history started taking place. The ripples in the timelines were an abundant marker for the site of his landing upon the realm of Feyraltia, one which could be traced down, but which only Crossroads could see clearly.

A keen eye, which made a point in hating to blink. He tracked down the source, then immediately took the liberty to try to suppress the side effects as much as he could. But why? Because the Doc's tamperings with time would cause ripples, which would expand and ultimately cause Cross discomfort.

According to the cloaked character, he found the old lord of time's messing around rather distracting and messy. That was the only answer he'd offer for now.

Noticing that was as much as he was going to get out of his cloaked benefactor for now, he decided to get back to the main course. How exactly was it that Cross got to knowing about his Tardis?

The hooded pony remained silent for a few seconds, motionless, before finally answering. "Tell me, Doctor. Exactly how strong is your psychic link to your ship?"

"Well, I could tell her location a continent away, or a few decades should we be separated on the temporal plane. But right now, for instance, I can't really tell where she is. I can only hear the faintest echoes from time to time... which leads me to believe that she's either very far away, either by distance or date, or isolated somehow... or very tired."

Crossroads nodded. "I can only assure you that she still has some control over her situation. She even managed to write a warning."

"...Say what now?"

He drew in closer. "Your craft is quite formidable, Doctor. Her presence in the time stream is simply breathtaking... although fleeting. She was the one who sent out the prophecy. I got a little more than the message, however. I've managed to track it back to its source."

"You know where she is?"

"Yes... and no. From what I could gather, she was outside of time, right outside of one of this reality's borders."

The Time Lord was losing his temper. "What's that supposed to mean?!"

"It means that she's beyond your reach, for now."

Doc was not having any of it. "Stop beating around the bush, Crossroads! Tell me where she is!"

"Doctor... Whenever you hear your Tardis, what is she telling you?"

"That doesn't matter! She's in danger! I can feel it! I can't just sit idly and do nothing!"

The cloaked character only remained silent in response. Apparently still waiting for his answer.

The Doctor eventually relented. "...That I would lose."

A lot of stubbornly going back and forth followed.

The Doctor was innately connected to time. Yet, he'd never felt a consciousness inside it. The very idea he found ridiculous.

According to Crossroads, apparently the only reason why he hadn't received any help or favors from the Universe lately was because he'd yet to prove his worth. No creating stable time loops out of nowhere with Sally Sparrow giving him a heads-up (he needed to meet her before she met him, not the other way around), no future version of himself sporting a fez and broom telling his friends what to do (what even was that anyway?), no inscribing Sontarans with ridiculous drawbacks, or Slitheen with explosiveness (which could not be natural), no infusing his companions with god powers or his enemies with stupidity (how many times did the Daleks not kill him when they had the chance?).

The only reason why the FeyVerse accepted him to the degree of rewriting time to accommodate, was because of his accomplishments during the incident involving Davros' reality bomb. And because it was desperate. Desperate enough to allow Crossroads to exist.

Before it would allow the Doctor to do anything, he would first need to prove himself to it. Which was why his Tardis had sent him to Ponyville, the little town where nothing ever happened before, but which was currently in the process of changing drastically in the near future.

At first, the Doctor was skeptical about the involvement of a universal will, but then Cross started untangling him with the many instances in which he should've lost, but always won. That was, after all, what he would boast about, wasn't it? Him being able to win wars with just words...

And of course, whenever words weren't enough, then someone else saved him. Occasions which weren't exactly rare.
When knowledge and good will wouldn't prove enough, someone else would always pay the price in his stead.

Rose, absorbing the time vortex.
Jack, dying to buy him enough time to destroy the Daleks, only for him to chicken out in the last second.
Martha, going on a year-round trip around a post apocalyptic Earth just so he could lure the Master into a false sense of security.
And of course there was the DoctorDonna incident...

"Alright, alright, I get it!"

"No, you don't get it, Doctor." Crossroads persisted in his constant monotone. "You don't realize how lucky you've always been. Didn't you consider that maybe your Tardis left you here for a reason? That maybe she knew that you couldn't possibly slip through the cracks this time, especially with no scape goat? And especially after what you've gone through before you've arrived here?"

"I don't know what you're talking about..." he denied.

"They saw you, Doctor. Your followers saw you for what you really are, and you've seen yourself back, through their eyes. You've been running all your life, but ever since the Last Great Time War, you've been running from yourself. That night, you've found yourself. You've seen what you were doing to the ones around you. That night, you remembered why you're always so alone."

"Enough..."

"It's because whatever you touch, wherever you go, everything around you turns to ash."

"I said enough!"

The rest of his visit went in silence. He just stood there, staring at his tea cup, for a few minutes before he got up to leave.

He had a lot to digest tonight.

However, the day wasn't over quite yet. It was only a small ways past noon. He still needed to speak to Vinyl about any way she could help him get started, talk to the owner of that one workshop which just got emptied today, which he found out about last night, and... talk to Ditzy about last night.

He's tired. Tired of thinking, tired of running into dead ends. And right now, he's tired of having to worry about how this encounter would go.

Plus side, he can't imagine things getting any worse between the two of them.

It was a long day, and it had only begun.

When she got back from her lunch, it appeared they didn't need her for the remainder of the day. Suppose there really wasn't that much on the schedule. Either that, or they just figured out how upset she had to be and decided to offer a leave.

She certainly hopes it wasn't the latter.

Let's just take it easy. Just make some muffins, enjoy them with some tea. Alone...

Only halfway through her snack did she remember that these muffins were Finn's family recipe. She used it so many times, she would rarely give it any thought. Only now did she find her mind wandering, and her mood slipping.

"Hello, Ditzy."

She didn't have enough time to gather herself by the time she heard him returning home.

"Hey, Doctor. Where have you..."

She turned around to face him, and went pale at the sight of him. "Is that blood?"

After a few moments of staring back at her confusedly, he looked himself over and noticed that he was, indeed, pretty dirty. He had some dried blood left from Zecora's cursory attempts at wiping it away, suppose she missed a few spots. He was also full of dried up mud and his disheveled mane even sported a few bits of vegetation.

"Oh, right. Yeah, I've had a little rough and tumble today with the Everfree wildlife while looking for the mysterious stranger who wiped your memory when you found me. Turns out he's a pretty decent guy, if a bit ominous and depressing."

She only stared at him blankly. "You've been through the Everfree?"

"Yeah."

"Alone?!"

"Well, not exactly. I suspected that Crossroads was watching, which was kind of what I was counting on... ugh, you're not getting anything, are you?"

"Please. Let's just get you cleaned up." She went on, leading him to the bathroom.

He'd noticed that she was upset when he came in. Nothing she tried to let on, but equine ears seemed to like to give you away.

Usually, under such circumstances, he'd try to make his companion laugh. This time around, however, it would seem that he would need to do something else. Something he usually tried to avoid.

Then again, it wouldn't really matter at this point, with her. He needed to help her let go before it became too much to bear.

He stopped her by the wrist in the doorway, making her turn around curiously. "We need to talk."

She didn't turn around. "You made me wait all day. You can wait a little while until you're done cleaning up."