Title: If the Zombies Don't Kill Us…
Rating: It's zombies, people. I got creative.
Summary: As if a demon-started zombie apocalypse weren't enough, we have to put up with these weirdos.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, and definitely not mine.
Author's Note: I saw a picture on Facebook showing a "Dream Zombie Team" which consisted of:
Team Leader: 10th Doctor (David Tennent)
The Brains: Sherlock Holmes
The Medic: John Watson
The Brawler: Dean Winchester
Weapons Expert: Sam Winchester
Speed Fighter/Scout: Castiel
First to Die: Justin Bieber
Team Mascot: Platypus
I drooled a little, plot bunnies were born, and the next thing I knew this was written. This is definite crack. I'm not sorry.
Piccadilly Circus was, at the best of times, bursting with people. They sat all over the massive statue in the center, crowded into the theatres and shops on the corners, and poured in and out of the tube station.
Add in a massive horde of flesh-eating zombies, and you had complete and utter pandemonium.
Given the highly chaotic (and crowded) situation, it was understandable that no one noticed – or gave any thought to – the three men who suddenly appeared right next to the statue. One of them, with bowlegs and deep green eyes, looked like he was about to throw up. The second was taller, with hair that was almost too long to be masculine, and taking in the situation with wide, startled eyes and a slack jaw. The third was sporting a long tan trenchcoat and had his arm on the first man's shoulder in a supportive manner.
"You're lucky a boat would've taken too long." Dean Winchester grumbled, rubbing his forehead. "I fucking hate it when you zap us."
"My apologies." Castiel replied dryly. The angel looked up, assessing the situation. "I see that the curse has already afflicted this nation."
"That's kind of the point of a worldwide curse, Cas. It hits worldwide." Dean explained sarcastically.
"Uh, guys?" Sam Winchester said, still looking around them. "Stop me if I'm wrong but I don't think we're in the Scottish Highlands."
The other hunter and the angel took in their surroundings for the first time since arriving. Dean turned to Castiel with raised eyebrows.
"It appears I should apologize again." Castiel said slowly. "We appear to have landed in the center of London."
"Smack dab in the center?" Dean said slowly.
"I wouldn't say the exact center but in the main part of the city, yes." Castiel replied calmly.
Dean blinked and shook his head a little. "Cas… we said 'Scottish Highlands'. That's where Crowley went. How the fuck does that translate to you zapping us to London!?"
"I'm not sure…" Castiel said slowly, his forehead wrinkled in puzzlement.
"Just how many hundreds of miles of difference are there?" Dean demanded.
"I hate to break up the lovefest here, guys, but I think we have a problem." Sam said.
Dean would have asked what kind of problem, exactly, but it when there are a hundred or so zombies shuffling towards you it's kind of obvious what the problem is.
"This way!"
All three swung around to find the source of the sharp, commanding voice. A tall, gaunt man with exceptionally sharp cheekbones and a mop of thick, dark curling hair was gesturing at them to follow him. At his side was a much shorter, sandy-haired man with a look of disbelief on his face.
"Sherlock!" The shorter man hissed. "We can't afford to pick up stragglers…"
"They appeared out of thin air, John." The consulting detective replied with perfect calm.
"Lovely. Maybe they can pull a disappearing act as well, get us out of here." Watson shot back.
"This way!" Sherlock yelled again, waving at the hunters and the angel.
"I think we better do as he says." Sam suggested. "He at least seems to know where he's going."
"As long as he gets us out of this mess, I'm happy." Dean muttered.
The three ran, dodging frantic pedestrians, to catch up with the two British gentlemen.
"Excellent. Follow me." Sherlock turned and started off.
"Nice to meet you too." Dean grumbled.
"Dr. John Watson, and that's my flatmate Sherlock Holmes. He's a detective. We're heading to a safehouse and apparently Sherlock wants you to come with."
"I'm Dean, that's my brother Sam, and this…" Dean put an arm on Castiel's shoulder, his lips twitching. "Is Cas."
"Castiel." The angel corrected.
Watson nodded. "Great. We'd better get going. Any of you have weapons?"
Dean and Sam replied, "Yes", just as Castiel said, "I do not require them."
"Right then." Watson said, puzzled. "Let's go."
The four of them took off after the rapidly vanishing Sherlock.
"It appears as if we've arrived during a great emergency." The Doctor observed, frowning in puzzlement.
"I'd say that's an understatement. What's going on?" Rose wondered, gazing around her in confusion.
"Let's check it out!" The Doctor said enthusiastically, bounding off.
"Wha– wait! Where are you–?" Rose sighed. "Doctor!" She hurried to follow her companion through the crowded streets, fighting against the flow of the crowd.
"Strange… they all seem to be running away from something…" The Doctor paused. "Rose? Do you hear a strange sound?"
"Depends on what you mean by strange." Rose panted.
The Doctor cocked his head, listening intently. "It almost sounds like a gigantic chorus of moaning…"
And then they saw it. A wave of corpses, their flesh rotting and peeling, limbs broken and skin torn but with no sign of blood, congealed or otherwise. Those that had eyes stared straight ahead, while others had empty, gaping sockets. Their mouths hung open, from which emanated the horrendous, continuous moaning.
Rose instinctively gripped the Doctor's arm. "Are… are those…?"
"Yes, I do believe those are zombies." The Doctor replied. "While I'm all for originality I think it's best if we were to follow the crowd on this one."
"I'm with you."
They took off, scrambling to escape, swept along with the mass of panicked citizens.
I wish that I could do more than two shows with a crossover, but alas, our poor Doctor gets the short end of the stick. (As does Sammy, kind of, since he's not listed as a character.)