The TARDIS screamed as it tore through the bridge of reality, the once-familiar groan now twisted into a painful, strained whine. Sparks flew from the console, showering the Doctor as he gripped the controls with both hands, trying desperately to stabilize her. But the damage was too severe. Lights flickered, and the room shuddered violently, sending him sprawling to the floor.

The impact was deafening when it finally came. The TARDIS crashed hard, throwing the Doctor against the console with a sickening thud. He groaned, clutching his side as he forced himself upright. His head pounded, and a warm trickle of blood ran down his temple, but he ignored it. The TARDIS needed him, and he wasn’t about to let her down.

He stumbled toward the console, using it to keep himself upright. The hum of the TARDIS was faint, weak, and riddled with static. She was alive, but barely. A pang of guilt cut through him as he rested a hand on the console’s surface, his voice low and strained.

"Shh, it's all right, old girl. I’ve got you. Just... just rest."

The Doctor glanced at the monitor, its screen cracked and flickering, but even in its damaged state, it told him what he already knew: they’d crash-landed. Hard. And wherever they were, it wasn’t where they were supposed to be. He could see glimpses of a garden through the cracked doors, the faint glow of porch lights in the distance.

Pain shot through his side as he took a step toward the doors, and his knees buckled slightly. He caught himself, straightening quickly. Weakness wasn’t an option. Not now. Not when someone out there might’ve seen the crash. He couldn’t afford to look vulnerable.

Taking a deep breath, he adjusted his bow tie—his trembling fingers betraying his calm facade—and made his way to the doors. For a moment, he hesitated, leaning against the frame, before deciding to stay inside.

The TARDIS rumbled in protest, knowing the Doctor needed help.