He's back and it hurts.
Not physically -the Time Lord's had healed any injuries every time they brought him close to death- but it still hurts. Out of the time lock, out on Earth God-knows-where, and he hurts so badly.
Silence, that's all there is. Not around him. Around him there is so much noise. Night birds and wind and crickets somewhere in the distance. But his mind, it's so quiet in his head and that aches. He's had the drums for over nine hundred years (he's nine hundred ten now, right? He can't recall), and now they're gone. Rassilon had taken them out, tried to reverse what he'd done.
But he's gotten so used to it. He accepted it so long ago - that he would always be insane, that there would always be that sometimes-painful drumming in his head. He's even started to enjoy it, just a little.
And now it was gone, just like that. It's far more painful than the drums could ever be, that silence in his mind.
Huddling up beside a nearby shed he curls into himself, arms set protectively over his head. Wasn't that what he always did? When he was scared, when it hurt? Curl up and pretend it would all go away, just for a moment. He almost can't remember the last time he had, except he does. With the Doctor near by, saying how hungry he was (and the Time Lord's had healed his dying body, so he's not any more, and he almost aches for that too), and it had only lasted a moment. A moment of weakness.
He shudders, tapping his fingers against his head in that damnable rhythm to try and bring it back and stop how much it hurts to be without it. It doesn't work, not that he expected it to. It helps though, a little. It's external, but it's there. The never ending drums.
In that moment he realizes something. Those drums had made him, turned him into something mad and horrible and evil. Without them, what is he now? He is nothing. He's back to what he used to be.
The thought of trying to take over the universe again -to beat the Doctor- makes him nauseated, and that scares him.
For the first time since, well, ever, he feels guilt for everything he's done.
If he hadn't been mad in the first place he's sure that guilt would drive him insane. Instead the feeling is almost welcome, and he's not sure why.
There's footsteps, crackling footsteps, and he unravels himself, trying to look powerful and confident even though he's leaned against a shed in tattered clothes with tears in his eyes. A young woman walks up to him, green eyes suspicious. She's dressed in her nightgown and slippers, with bright red curls put up and falling against her freckled face. She glares at him.
"Oi! Who are you?" She says, and he dully notes that she's Scottish and is hiding a cricket bat behind her back.
So he sighs, rolling his eyes at the human before him. "So I'm in Scotland then?" She scoffs at him.
"Leadworth, in fact." Her voice is sarcastic. "Now who are you?"
He pauses, brows furrowing. How does one answer that question when everything they've been their whole life has been stripped away from them? He decides quickly that he'll answer by who he was, who he used to be… who be might just be now, a little.
"Koschei. My name is Koschei." He promptly ignores how wrong the words feel in his mouth.
A/N: *happy sigh* My first real jump into the DW fandom that doesn't involve Sherlock. It feels so good... I'm honestly not surprised my very first fic here is centered around the bad guy. XD
I might continue this, if anyone wants me to. Just tell me in a review, if you'd be so kind. Thanks.