A/N: A fic request from tumblr that an anon made ages ago for some Sartha (Sam Winchester/Martha Jones) fic. Due to a series of terribly unfortunate circumstances (nothing to do with the book series), it's taken me forever to write it, and I'm not entirely sure if I like it or what happened to the tense, and it was supposed to be longer but urgh. Here you are anyway. Hopefully someone will like it.

The first time Martha Jones and Sam Winchester met was during the Year That Never Was.

It wasn't exactly a standard meeting. Sam had skidded through a copse of trees in pursuit of a shapeshifter, only to find that it had a knife to the throat of a young woman. He'd been about to drop his weapon and put his hands up, when the woman had driven an elbow into the thing's stomach, twisted, and done something that had evened up with the shapeshifter lying on the ground in front of her.

Sam had just stood and stared. Dean, mind always on the job, ran past him and drove the silver blade into the creature's stomach.

The woman had sighed. "Was that really necessary?" she'd asked, eyeing the corpse with a cross between regret and curiosity. "Who was she?"
"It," Dean had corrected, jerking the knife out with a rough movement and wiping it on the grass. "Shapeshifter. Nasty little fuckers, if we hadn't got it, it'd have carried on killing."

"Shapeshifter." There had been no surprise in the woman's voice, only the same, bright curiosity. "…Oh my god, you're the Winchester brothers, aren't you? Leaders of the Hunter's Resistance?"
"Yep." Sam had smiled, hesitantly, at her, and held out a hand. "Pleased to meet you."

She'd shook it, grip firm and confident, and then turned to Dean. "I'm so sorry about your friend. Castiel, wasn't it? I was- there, when they took him. He was a good man, managed to get me out before they found him. I'm sorry."

Dean had just grunted a vague acknowledgement, face suddenly hard and cold, and turned around and headed back towards where they'd left the stolen Jeep. But Sam had paused, narrowing his eyes at the woman. "Are you… you're not- you can't be Martha Jones?"

Martha had blushed at that slightly. She still wasn't used to being a half-legend, even after nearly seven months worth of travelling – news about her had spread ahead of her path, and those who knew treated her with a strange mix of reverence and disbelief, like she was a goddess suddenly walking the Earth. "That's me."

"Oh my- It's a pleasure to meet you, seriously, I can't believe- I've heard so much-" Sam had taken her hand and shook it, eyes wide with excitement and earnest enthusiasm, and Martha hadn't been able to stop herself from grinning.

A moment later, a voice had called out irritably from through the trees, "Hey, Sammy, you planning on asking the nice lady back for a drink, or are you planning on being single for the rest of your whole damn life?"

And Sam had blushed at that, and given Martha an awkward, apologetic look that had clearly said, I'm so sorry, he's my brother, you know how siblings are, it's just how he is, I can't control him, oh god I'm embarrassed now. And had also, maybe, said, I'm embarrassed because I'd actually wanted to ask you back for a drink and now I can't or I'm going to look like a dick.

So she'd just grinned up at him and let go of his hand. He'd looked slightly disappointed at the sudden pulling away, a small, hurt twitch of the lips that had turned to astonishment when she'd linked her arm through his. "How about this," she suggested. "I ask you for a drink. And then you can show me where to get one, because I've not found anywhere selling alcohol in over three months, and I would love to have a pint with you."

Sam had grinned down at her, face lighting up ever so slightly with hope and happiness, and he'd nodded. "Yeah. I think I could manage that."