Rating: PG-13, for some language.
Summary: Investigation of a mysterious opening between dimensions brings the Doctor and Martha to the US, in 2007. However, as a result, they end up with more trouble than they'd ever planned on ... Dean Winchester.
Spoilers: Seasons One & Two of SPN, all Series' of new school DW. With some old school references thrown in.
Disclaimer: All Supernatural characters belong to Eric Kripke, Warner Brothers Television Productions, and their many, many well-paid lawyers. All Doctor Who characters belong to the BBC, Sydney Newman, Donald Wilson, C.E. Webber, Russell T. Davies, and their many, many well-paid lawyers. I am NOT making any money off this, nor am I trying to infringe on anyone's copyright. Believe that. Any characters you do not recognize belong to me.
"Future Shock"
by Net Girl
The dead quiet of the derelict cemetery was broken by a steady, low mechanical whir, one which gradually grew louder as a strange blue box materialized out of thin air. After it had completely solidified, the accompanying noise ceased, and one of the doors creaked open.
The Doctor poked his head through the opening and looked from his left to his right. An eyebrow raised when he realized where they'd arrived. It wasn't quite what he expected, not for what they were there for. He stepped out of the TARDIS. His bright blue suit appeared to have a shine of its own in the late afternoon sunlight.
"Where are we?" asked Martha Jones as she reached the open door. Her eager smile vanished. Just as the Doctor did, she scanned the area before she exited. "This is where the readings originated from?"
The Doctor, a hand on top of his head, pivoted on a heel as he looked over his shoulder to her. "It would seem so," he simply answered.
"You're certain you're in the right place?" Martha joined him. "Maybe you punched the wrong button? Wouldn't be the first time it's happened."
His hand dropped to his side. "The TARDIS controls have been dodgy lately. It wasn't entirely my fault. Besides, it worked, didn't it?"
"If you call being stuck on Vargas slash six three for a whole week working ..." She smiled a bit as she trailed off.
"We'll have a look about," he went on, ignoring her playful grin. The trademark expression of concern crossed his features. "Whatever happened here, the disturbance was massive," he quietly added. He gave the cemetery another once over. Everything appeared in order. For a cemetery, at any rate.
"What could've caused a rip here?" Martha wondered as the Doctor removed his sonic screwdriver from his inner jacket pocket.
"It wasn't so much a rip as an opening," the Doctor replied as he tinkered with the settings on the device. "This was controlled. Not like most of the other instances in which I've seen it occur." He gestured to his right. "Take a look over there and I'll go this way." He nodded to his left.
Martha pointed to the screwdriver. "Don't I get one of those?"
"Well, I'm the only one qualified to operate it," he replied after a hesitation. Actually, he simply didn't want to give over one of his backups. It wasn't personal, he trusted Martha, but he was quite attached to his sonic screwdrivers.
"Oh, right," Martha wryly said as she folded her arms across her chest. "Flip a switch, press a button. Definitely not qualified to do that, am I?"
"Now's not the time to be cheeky, Martha – we've work to do." He flicked the screwdriver on and began to walk around the back of the crypt then disappeared from her sight.
Shaking her head, Martha's arms dropped to her sides and she headed around the crypt in the opposite direction. She wasn't sure why she kept trying to get the Doctor to notice she fancied him more than a little. After all of the time they'd spent together, she was rather sure it was more than the loss of his past companion, Rose Tyler, which made him so thick. Then again, he was an alien. A bloody thick alien.
On her side, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It was a simple old, forgotten cemetery somewhere in the western United States. Wyoming, if she recalled the Doctor correctly. Not exactly her idea of an exciting adventure, especially after nearly being burned to a crisp by a sentient sun. And, then, essentially being 'stuck' in 1913 for nearly three months during a more recent one.
Yet, when the TARDIS picked up on a temporal disturbance of this nature, the Doctor had to investigate. There was no choice.
As she studied the area, she noticed something - the incredibly eerie silence. Save for the high-pitched trill of the Doctor's sonic screwdriver on the opposite side of the crypt itself, of course. Normally, birds and insects could be heard very clearly in places like these. Not here. The lack of the sound of nature unnerved her. She wondered if he'd noted it?
When she reached the front, she looked to the sky. Not even a single bird flew past. Strange. Her gaze lowered as the trill increased in pitch, and she saw the Doctor at the crypt's entranceway. "What is it?" she asked, putting the oddity out of her mind.
"I've found it," he replied as he waved the screwdriver over a fitted opening near the door. He glanced at Martha as she joined him. "Do you see this?" He motioned to it as he let his thumb off of the screwdriver and the trill ceased.
Martha squatted beside the Doctor, and she carefully ran her fingers over the opening. "It's ... almost like ... a lock," she murmured. "Why would a crypt need a lock, especially one so complicated?"
"This is more than a mere crypt, Martha," he said as he fished around in his pockets. He paused when he removed a few loose Jelly Babies from one of them, then pitched them aside after he decided he probably shouldn't chance eating one. "It's a gateway to another dimension. Which one, I don't even know. It's not often I say that."
As he fiddled with the settings on the device once more, Martha looked to him, an eyebrow cocked in an unamused manner.
He placed the head of the screwdriver into the keyhole. After an irritated squeal from the device, he frowned. "That isn't good."
"What's the matter?"
"This is definitely the source, but I was too right when I said the disturbance was controlled." He removed the screwdriver. "Someone did open this gateway." He readjusted the settings. "It wasn't pried, either." He glanced at her before he replaced the device in the hole. "He had the key for it."
"How would you know?" she asked, her eyebrow now skeptically raised.
"It's a deadlock." He scowled when the screwdriver made another strange sound. "Come on, then ..." He shifted the settings then pushed the button once more.
"Can't you melt it or something?" Martha suggested after a few moments of his struggling with the irritated yelps from the screwdriver.
"I'm trying ..." The device screeched once again. "But the blasted thing won't ..." He sighed in frustration as he sat back on his heels.
"Why would someone open it?" Martha tilted her head back to look up at the crypt. "And how did a trans-dimensional gate end up in the middle of an American cemetery, anyway?"
"Long ago, they weren't uncommon in every corner of the universe," the Doctor explained as he fiddled with the screwdriver's settings. "The Time Lords sealed nearly all of them over the millennia."
"Why?"
"The beings on the other side excel in creating havoc. For most, it's all they know how or care to do."
"This is the only one in our corner? Earth, I mean?"
"Actually, I didn't know this one existed. And that surprises me." He frowned as he scratched his chin. "It takes a lot to surprise me these days."
"I've noticed," she murmured.
"There is, well was, one known trans-dimensional gateway in the States. In southern California; a fissure more than a gate, really," he said as he went back to the screwdriver. "It was mysteriously sealed about three or four years ago." He looked away, thoughtful. "Never did bother to figure out how that happened."
"Why California?"
He shrugged. "Why Glastonbury? That's where the one in Britain was." He let out a frustrated breath as he studied the keyhole. "This isn't a Time Lord-made lock. I can't fathom who else would have the inclination or the ability to do it. Other than the Eternals. Or one of the Guardians." He briefly paused in his work then shook his head. "And I doubt it was any of them." He studied the readings on the screwdriver. "There's something else." He shifted his attention to her. "This gateway isn't natural. Someone created it."
"How do you create a trans-dimensional gateway?"
"Oh, a tachyon accelerator positioned so that it can emit a steady tachyon stream onto a super-dense gravitic lens, which will focus the tachyon field into a single plane within stable protonic matter. The gravitic lens is used to refract the tachyon stream along the dimensional axis -" He stopped when he saw the way Martha stared at him. "Sorry."
She raised up her hands. "I shouldn't have asked."
The Doctor managed a smile, then tried the new settings on the keyhole. After another aggravated chirp from the device, he ran a hand through his hair and his fingers tightened around locks of it. "Since I can't seal it off myself ..."
"We find the key," Martha finished. "To make absolutely certain it never opens again."
The Doctor nodded as he rose to his feet, as did she. "Shouldn't be difficult," he said as he scanned the keyhole with the sonic screwdriver. Once he was finished, he held it up. "The signature which led us here will also lead us to the key, and whoever has it."
She frowned. "Which reminds me of my other question – what sort of human being would willingly open it? Aren't they aware of what they might have ... released into this dimension?"
"If it was even a human."
He gazed up at the symbols around the doorway of the crypt. He recognized most of them. They resembled ones he'd seen at an archaeological dig in Wiltshire during his third incarnation. The time when he was exiled to Earth by the Time Lords and functioned a part of UNIT, which was under Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart's command then.
"As impossible as it is, I've a fair idea of what may've escaped ..."
"What do you suspect it was?" Eyebrows raised, Martha looked to him. Despite her relatively short time with the Doctor, she knew whenever he made statements like that it was rarely good.
"I shouldn't say until I'm positive," he answered as he looked to her. He tucked the screwdriver back into his coat. With not a hint of a doom and gloom on his face, he cheerfully declared, "Let's find our key."
Somewhere in Colorado ...
"Well," Dean Winchester said as he shoved his cell phone into the pocket of his open flannel shirt. "Bobby's already on some job in Illinois."
Sam glanced away from the text which lay open in front of him on the small table. "What about Ellen? Any word on her?"
"Stayin' with Jo. For now." He sat down on the full bed nearest Sam. "She's fine," he assured him. "Don't worry."
After a nod, Sam focused on his book. It'd only been five days since the incident at the Hellgate in Wyoming, as well as the destruction of the yellow-eyed demon. Even with the knowledge a couple hundred demons escaped Hell, that simple fact should've been cause for more celebration. For them both.
He stared at the images on the page before him - illustrations of Dante's version of Hell. Where gruesome tortures befell human souls, the degree of heinousness dependent on the severity of their sins. He wondered which Level Dante would've placed someone who sold his soul to a demon? Academics aside, the reality remained – Dean didn't have much time left.
"So, I was thinkin'," Dean sighed as he kicked back on the bed. He folded his hands together behind his head and used them as a pillow as he gazed at the water-stained ceiling. "Tonight, I say we hit every dive bar within a fifty mile radius." He glanced at his brother. "You bein' Designated Driver Dave, of course."
"And you'll be Designated Drunk-Off-Your-Ass Dean," Sam muttered, his eyes never leaving the book.
Either he didn't hear Sam or chose to ignore him, because he only kept talking. "You and me, we'll find us a couple of chicks, have some fun." He looked to Sam. "You remember fun, right? Where you don't read books and generally don't give a crap about anything except a good time?"
"You want to go out, feel free," Sam casually replied as he flipped the page. "Just call if you need me."
"What's with you?" Dean asked as he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Christ, you don't want to enjoy anything even after bein' dead? Look, we don't have a lotta time left to do stuff like this together. So stop being a poindexter and let's go."
"Maybe some other night," Sam replied as he rested his chin in the palm of one of his hands. "If you want to go out, by all means, go. I have things to do."
With a frustrated sigh, Dean jumped to his feet and came over to the table. He slammed the book shut. Startled, Sam looked up to him. "No more reading." He tossed the book into the far corner of the room. "Get your coat on, we're friggin' goin'." He watched as Sam simply retrieved his book. "Sam?"
"I'm busy." He waved a hand towards the door as he sat down at the table again. "Go. Like I said – call if you need me."
The lid of the boot popped open. The Doctor tucked his sonic screwdriver into the pocket of his brown overcoat. Nothing. Empty. His mouth quirked, wondering what was wrong. The source of the signal was in this vehicle. Upon closer examination, he noticed something. There was another level to it. As the secondary lid raised, his accomplished grin turned to mild surprise.
Martha stared at the contents before she finally asked, "What the hell is all of that?" She looked to the Doctor, who surveyed the odd collection of weapons and (what appeared to her to be) duff. "Can we assume this lot isn't nice now?"
"Don't rush to judgment just yet," the Doctor admonished as he leaned into the back. He carefully pushed aside some of the weapons. "Look at this!" He held up a silver pendant with markings unknown to Martha. "A Reknit pendant. Haven't seen one in centuries."
She accepted it from him, hesitantly. It was interesting-looking, to say the least. "What is it? Does it do something?"
"No," he answered as he shook his head. "Bit of gaudy fancy dress bauble from the planet Reknit. They never did have proper taste in anything, much less personal decoration."
She replaced it into the boot then gingerly picked up an extremely long knife with a serrated edge. "And this?" She nodded to it. "A matchin' sword to go with it?"
He glanced over his shoulder. "Merely a knife." He continued to search. "Where are you?" he muttered. The TARDIS pinpointed this particular motor as the source of the energy connected to the gateway. It would've helped greatly to know exactly what it was he was searching for.
After giving the knife another glance over, Martha returned it to the boot. She couldn't begin to imagine the uses the owners of the car had for such things. Alien fancy dress pendants? Knives? Shotguns? Who knew what was giving off that foul odor?
"This is intriguing," the Doctor suddenly declared. He stood up straight, a big grin on his face as he held up a small ammunitions box. "Rock salt cartridges!"
She peered into the box then frowned. "More alien party goods?"
"No. Used rock salt cartridges to defeat the Fendahleen," the Doctor replied, still grinning. "Haven't any idea what use they'd have for it, though."
"Fendahleen, maybe?"
"Impossible," he firmly replied, shaking his head. "The Fendahleen don't exist without the being which controls them." He placed the box then continued his search. "I would've known if the Fendahl had returned." He stood straight again. "Here we are!" he exclaimed. "This is it."
Martha's eagerness in seeing what a trans-dimensional gate key looked like was quickly replaced by disappointment. "That's the key?" She watched him use the sonic screwdriver to scan an old Colt revolver. "Are you serious?"
He flicked the screwdriver off and nodded. "Absolutely." He turned the gun as he frowned. "Something's not quite right about it ..."
"I'll say. It's a gun."
"No, Martha. It's more than what it is ..."
"You've been like this all week," Dean said. He placed his palms flat on the table as he leaned forward. "We deserve some time off, Sam. Don't you feel entitled?" When Sam didn't reply, he stood straight. "You're really not goin'?"
"Really," Sam assured him.
"This sucks. No, you suck," Dean corrected himself as he jabbed a finger at Sam.
Sam lifted his head and was about to reply when he noticed something outside in the parking lot. "Dean," he said in a low, even tone. "Did you leave the trunk open?"
He rolled his eyes. "Of course I didn't. What am I, stupid?"
Slowly, Sam rose to his feet, his eyes still on the Impala. "Then why's it open now?" He gestured to the window.
"Shit," Dean breathed. Before he headed out of the room, he snatched up his 9MM from the nightstand.
"Dean, wait -" Sam paused to consider taking his own gun but, instead, simply followed his brother.
"Doctor, what's wrong?" Martha asked, unsettled by the expression on his face as he beheld the Colt. He seemed almost ... enthralled by it. "Doctor?" she said a little louder.
His body tingled oddly almost as soon as he'd touched the cold metal. It was a sensation like no other he'd experienced before. "It's ... it's emitting a distorted subharmoic pulse -" He stopped when he heard one of the motel room doors open. Quickly, he dropped the Colt and his screwdriver into one of his overcoat pockets.
Martha looked from the Doctor to the two young men - one of which had a gun leveled on them - who'd appeared at the back end of the car. They seemed human enough. However, if she'd learned one lesson early on during her travels with the Doctor, looking human didn't matter. Usually, the more fit, the more deadly.
"Who the hell're you and what the hell're you doin' in my car?" the one with the gun demanded.
Sam, though, was surprised by the couple before them.
The man, probably no older than Dean, was dressed in a tailored blue pinstripe suit, a brown trenchcoat and worn out white Converse shoes. Just behind him, an extremely pretty young woman, maybe closer to his own age, was in jeans, a black top and a fitted red leather jacket. Certainly not the kind of people they came across on a regular basis. Neither one appeared particularly threatening or potentially dangerous. Then again, he knew from first-hand experience, evil came in all forms. Usually, the more attractive, the more deadly.
The Doctor, hands half-raised, pleasantly smiled. "Hello!" he cheerfully greeted. "I'm the Doctor, this is Martha." He nodded to the Impala. "We were only passing by and noticed your boot wasn't secured."
Dean's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "My what?"
"I think he means the trunk," Sam murmured.
"Right!" The Doctor snapped his fingers. "The trunk! Thought we'd do the proper thing and close it." He placed a hand on the lid then gently brought it down until it latched. "We'll be off, then." He waved then gestured for Martha to follow him. However, he only managed two steps before the sound of a hammer being cocked stopped him cold.
"Doctor," Martha said under her breath, her eyes riveted to the gun in Dean's hands.
"Yeah, right." Dean smirked. "Must be some walk the two of you are on, huh? Little far from home, aren't you?"
The Doctor looked to Martha, more than a bit surprised. "What do you mean by that?" There was absolutely no way this man could know whom he truly was.
Martha pointed to one of the rooms farther down, near the corner the building, where the Doctor had "parked" the TARDIS. "We were on our way back to our room when we saw your car," she replied. She could see the suspicion still in their eyes. With a smile, she linked her arm with one of the Doctor's. "Really, ask the clerk, if you like. Room 42."
"Room 42?" Dean repeated.
She nodded. "We're on holiday," she continued as she smiled up at the Doctor. "Experience the real America. Visit the spots no one else usually goes, the really fascinating places. Honestly, if you've seen one big city, you've seen'em all!"
Dean exchanged a look with Sam, then he relaxed just enough to uncock the hammer and lower his gun. He raised an eyebrow. Sam understood.
"Oi!" Martha exclaimed as water splattered across her face and chest. Arms out at her sides, she glanced from her shirt to the taller of the two. In the next motion, he did the same to the Doctor. "Are you mental? What the hell're you doing?" She wiped the water away from her jacket the best she could.
"Sorry," Sam apologized as he put the cap back on the flask of holy water.
The Doctor stared at the wet splotches on his suit and overcoat. After a moment, he raised his head. "Exactly what was the purpose of this?" he asked in an even voice.
Sam looked to Dean. Obviously, these two were as human as they were. Though, with everything that had happened lately, it was a fair assumption. "Just ... checking something," he finally replied.
"What? If water's still wet?" Martha shot back. If they'd ruined her jacket, she'd be more than furious. She accepted the handkerchief the Doctor offered her. "Thanks."
Sam glanced between them. They were an odd couple, but nothing to be concerned about. Maybe they were as they seemed. Maybe they were simply a couple on vacation. Maybe the job had them so paranoid, they'd just insulted foreign visitors.
"If you're quite satisfied with the results, we'll be off," the Doctor said as he offered something of a smile. To continue the discussion increased the chance these two would discover he'd taken the Colt before they could escape.
Martha, though, half-scowled. Not only did she have a gun thrust in her face, she'd been doused with water for apparently no good reason. Was every American this off his trolley? He couldn't be. Certainly not.
"Good day!" the Doctor called as he feigned tipping a hat to them. He turned and fell into step beside Martha. "That was close," he breathed.
"Absolutely mad, they are," she muttered as she finished drying off her jacket and face. "Good thing we showed when we did. No telling what they might've done with that." She nodded to his coat pocket. "Unless they've done so already."
The Doctor glanced over his shoulder as he watched the one who had the gun open the boot. "I don't believe they were responsible."
"What makes you so sure?"
He took hold of her arm and quickened his pace. "No time to bother with that." They vanished around the far end of the motel building.
"What're you doing?" Sam asked as Dean dug through the contents of the trunk.
"Makin' sure everything's here. Strange those two didn't bat an eye at any of this." He waved one hand at the collection of weapons and gear.
"Maybe they thought it would've been rude to ask?" Sam suggested. "They are from England. Different set of social standards and rules over there."
"I don't care what country you're from, Sam. This -" He paused to point to the trunk again. "- is weird to normal people. And normal people ask questions about what's weird." Suddenly, he slammed an open hand against the top of the trunk. "Son of a bitch!"
"What is it?"
"The Colt's missing," Dean replied as he grabbed one of the shotguns. He shut the trunk. "You stay here."
"You shouldn't go alone -"
He stopped when Dean only sprinted in the direction the couple had gone. Before he followed, he realized he'd no weapon. And Dean had the keys to the trunk. He ran back into the motel room to retrieve his own gun.
End Chapter One.