"Dean, check this out." Sam rifled through the pages of a local newspaper, showing his brother a story near the back page. Dean snatched the paper away from Sam, skimming the words. "Three skeletons found in a home in Colorado. According to dental records, the skeletons belonged to Harry, Sylvia, and Rae Bernadette. And they were all alive and walking... in the past week. This is definitely our kind of thing! We've gotta check this out!" he yelled excitedly, slamming his fork down on his plate and tucking the newspaper into his leather jacket. He urged Sam out of his seat and slipped into the '67 Impala. "Dude, I am SO excited for this! We haven't had a case in, what? Weeks!" Dean ranted to his younger brother. Sam shared the enthusiasm, but didn't show it, like Dean. He was busy thinking, already. "Sure, but what could've done this? I mean, stripped someone to the bone?" he wondered, mostly to himself. Dean shrugged. "I dunno, but I'm sure as hell ready to fight it!"

The Impala rolled up to the scene of the crime, an unassuming little house in an unassuming little neighborhood. Families taking an afternoon stroll spotted the car rolling up to the forsaken house and quickly walked the other way, grabbing their children and hurrying them along. Just past the house, beside the mailbox, was a tall, blue box. The top of the box read 'Police Public Call Box', and there was a small sign underneath one of the two windows. "Dean," Sam said, eyeing the box. "Check this out."
Dean strolled casually toward the box, admiring it on all sides and stroking the nicely painted blue exterior. "This is nice. What is it?" he asked Sam, the learned of the two. Sam approached the Public Call Box cautiously. "I don't know, Dean. I mean, I read somewhere that they had these boxes in... I dunno. A while ago. I think it's from the 60's. But what's it doing here?" he wondered. Before Dean could reply, something crashed inside the house of interest. "C'mon!" Dean yelled, tugging his gun out of his belt and cocking it. The brothers sprinted back to the house and quietly climbed the stairs to the front door, both armed and ready to kill any predators. They quietly opened the door, which was unlocked, and made their way inside, trying their best to walk lightly and avoid any creaks. They heard a strange buzzing noise from the living room. They decided to find the source of the noise and crept through the house, hiding behind the door frame and communicating silently before swinging around and holding their guns up, aiming at a tall, slim man peering at a small, long rod glowing blue at the tip. "Put your hands up and drop the... thing!" Dean shouted, staring at the rod the man was holding. Immediately, he threw his hands into the air, dropping the tool and surrendering. "Don't shoot! Listen, I'm here on business, I don't mean you any harm. Just put down your guns." he said, trying to persuade the two. Dean laughed uneasily. "Yeah, fat chance buddy. Who are you? What are you doing here?" he demanded. The man tentatively reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a leather wallet and flipping it open, showing it to the two men. "John Smith, Denver Police. I'm here investigating the murders of Harry, Sylvia, and Rae Bernadette." he explained. Sam snatched the credentials away from John Smith and peered at them. He lowered his gun and motioned for Dean to do the same. "Dean..." he whispered. His older brother and he swerved into the kitchen. "Dean, this guy seems friendly enough... but there's something wrong with his I.D." he murmured. Dean peered into the living room and checked on the man, who was peering into the shadows with flashlights. "What do you mean?" he said. Sam showed him the paper. "Look at it. Doesn't it seem... strange to you?"
"No, it's perfectly fine."
"Look at it harder. The... the texture's off."
"Since when have we cared about texture?" Dean said, losing patience. He grabbed the I.D. and took a long look at it. "Sam, there's nothing wrong with this guy's stuff. He checks out." he said, slapping the wallet closed and pushing past Sam back into the living room. "Sorry, sir. I'm Dean Hardener, and this is Sam Myles. We're from the CSPD." He explained, introducing the two using their false names. They handed John Smith their fake I.D.s and he scanned them with the rod he was holding. The rod was the source of the buzzing noise. John started to laugh. "Oh, you two! You two are good, very good!" he exclaimed, handing them back their I.D's. "Those are fake, are they not?" Dean froze. "Um, uh... no, sir. Those are as real as I am." he tried to assure Smith. The man simply laughed. "There's no use trying to fool me I've already seen straight through you!" he raised the tool and buzzed Dean, running the tip up and down his body and reading the side. "You're human..." he did the same process to Sam. "And you're a little more than human, aren't you Sam Winchester?" he said with a smirk. Sam paled. "H-How do you know who I am?"
"I've got a screwdriver! And you... you're Dean Winchester! Brothers in crime! Ooh, I quite like that."
"Yeah, I'm Dean, but how the hell do you know who we are using a screwdriver?"
"Well... It's sonic." the man scratched the back of his neck, running his hand through his hair. Dean put his hand on his gun, cautious of the strange man. "Oh, please don't. I don't wanna hurt anybody, just here to investigate."
"What is that thing?" Sam asked, gesturing to John's 'sonic screwdriver'. He looked down at it and then tossed it in the air, catching it before it clattered to the ground. "A sonic screwdriver!" he said proudly. "With it, I can open any locked object-Well, when I say 'any' I mean anything that isn't wood or deadlocked. I dunno why, but it has a problem with wood. I've been working on that, so don't worry. Most of the time we've just kicked down the door I couldn't open, and you two look fit enough."
"Who are you?" Dean demanded. John Smith shrugged. "I told you! My name's John Smith, Denver PD." he said again, Dean laughed, pulling out his gun. "No one has a name like 'John Smith' anymore. Now tell us who you really are!" he demanded, squeezing the trigger slightly, but enough to make John tremble. "Alright, alright! I am the Doctor."
"The 'Doctor'?"
"Yes, I'm the Doctor. I'm here investigating, that hasn't changed, but if you want to survive the night, you have to listen to me and trust me. I'm only trying to help." he pleaded. Sam put his gun down, but Dean remained firm. "What do you mean?" he interrogated. The Doctor peered at the side of his sonic screwdriver again and paled. "You both need to leave, now." he commanded. Sam laughed. "Oh, so we're just going to leave our investigation because some Doctor tells us to?"
"I asked you to trust me. If you want to live, leave now."
"Why?"
"The Vashta Nerada."