The Wacky Adventures of the Doctor

Regeneration

He really didn't want to go.

After all, it wasn't his fault that this stupid Time-lord body had a weakness of 'four knocks'. And it wasn't even his fault that Wilfred managed to knock on the glass four times.

But, he was still dying, and alone too, he may add.

Life had just gotten so... Complicated for him.

He just wanted his Rose, Donna, or even Martha back! At the very least, why couldn't he just keep one body instead of regenerating after every fatal blow? Because changing personalities made him question whether he was insane or not more often than he should.

And, maybe it was just him, but dying really made him want to mourn for his own loss. And he'd mourned over and over again after he'd change, personality and physically-wise.

If this was always going to happen, why couldn't he just stay dead?

After all, he never really wanted to go.

—–-–—

Whoops. His foot slipped. That can't be g—

—–-–—

Waking up with wind whistling in your ears isn't very reassuring.

Apparently, the Doctor had managed to black out during his regeneration due to his feet slipping out from beneath because of his harsh regeneration energy hitting a brittle support beam and then caused it to snap. This caused the Doctor to ram his head into a loose TARDIS control panel, and leading to him blacking out.

Something must've happened to his TARDIS as well, for it was nowhere in his line of sight.

The Doctor was faintly aware of his trench coat flapping against his legs, and his curls (oh, he had curly hair now) bouncing against and away from his head as he fell quicker and quicker to land.

Honestly, the Doctor didn't really care for what was about what was about to occur, but unknowing to him, he was falling to a planet he had yet to explore: McDonald Land.

As the Doctor was crashing further, and further, closer, yet closer to land, there was a shouting man dressed in white and black witnessing this crash of a thing. He saw this shooting-star (UFO?), and shoot, if he hadn't known anything, he'd have thought it was an alien crashing to McDonald land.

And guess what?

He was correct, and he didn't even know anything.

So, he ran to Birdie's house, screaming that there were aliens coming to McDonald Land.

—–-–—

Birdie was only folding laundry when Hamburglar charged through her front door exclaiming that they were all gonna die.

She only took out her earbuds when he started tracking an excess amount of dirt inside her kitchen.

"...An—And then we're all gonna die if we don't do anything out there, I'm tellang you, Birdie, that an alien's gonna crash right outside your house!"

Okay, context was not needed to know what Hamburglar was talking about. Clearly it was just a repeat in what he had said last week when some weird-o had stolen her bird bath. (He thought an alien had swooped down and taken her bird bath. Honestly, he was too naive for his own good.)

Birdie walked up to Hamburglar and put her index finger in front of his lips.

"Hamburglar, zip your lips and tell me what's happening, or by God you will be slapped."

He took a deep breath.

"I swear I didn't do it."

"Hamburglar."

"I didn't! I—I was only chanting for the aliens to come down to McDonald land!"

"Ugh." She wanted to face-palm so badly right now. "For God's sake, Hamburglar, if you think every alien is out to eat your brains—" Which he had none of, so he really shouldn't worry about it, "—why do you try to contact them?"

"Hh—" (We're making 'Hh—'s sharp intakes of breaths. Got it? Okay, moving on.)

Hamburglar was about to defend himself, but, unfortunately, a conveniently timed crash hit the center of a city.

There was no more time to exlpain his innocence to Birdie, they had to check out what had just crashed-landed.

Hamburglar snatched Birdie's arm and started to drag her towards the crash sight.

"Hamburglar! What are you doing?!"

Still running with Birdie in hand, Hamburglar looked back to her and shrieked,

"I'm taking you to the crash sight, so you don't just think I'm some lunatic who believes in alien conspiracies!"

"AAA—" Birdie was trying to stop herself being pulled along—which she wasn't really getting anywhere with."—HAMBURGLAR, let me GO!"

He looked back and gave a very mature response of, "No!"

So, Birdie was dragged along by Hamburglar, making twists and turns through alleyways for handy shortcuts to get to the crash site quicker. They also jay-walked, and almost got ran over twice, no thanks to Hamburglar. ("There's a cross-walk right there!" "Yeah? Well, there's a road right here!")

After minutes of trekking, Birdie and Hamburglar arrived at the loud, crowded (was that Grimace they saw?) crash sight.

They squeezed their way to the front of the crowd to see what they were all surrounding.

("Ow! That was my foot, Hamburglar!" "Really? I thought that was a conveniently placed stepping stool.")

When they'd made it to the front of the scene, they peered over the yellow police tape and down into the giant dent in the ground.

Police yelling for citizens to scram filled their ear-drums, but it did nothing to distract them from the fact that a knocked-out, smoking (there was smoke coming off the man's clothers) human was taking residence inside the fitfty-foot crater.

This day just couldn't get any more interesting.