I've always wondered what Clara would get up to after she 'died', and whizzing around in a stolen Tardis just opens up a realms of possibilities, too many to ignore. I like mixing fandoms, taking characters from here and there and throwing them together to see what they do, so basically, I just thought this would be fun. I'll write meetings between Clara and other characters both major and extremely minor, like in the case of this first one. This is completely random. No pairing, only a plot if you squint, just a situation.

Here's a crossover between the Supernatural and Doctor Who universe. Enjoy!

Clara Oswald wasn't accustomed to breaking and entering, but the house had just been conveniently… There.

And if you're going to leave your front door unlocked, well…

She stumbled into the abode, barely registering the blooming warmth of bright light that greeted her before spinning around and slamming the door securely shut. Breathing heavily, though she sometimes wondered if that was even necessary these days or simply a force of habit that connected her to some degree of normality, she fumbled with the dead bolt and slid it across with a sharp clang.

She exhaled in raw relief, taking a serene moment to lean her forehead against the smooth wood of the door in gratitude. She barely had time to ruminate on her next course of action before an equally heavy sigh rivalled her own.

Possibly the most world weary sigh she had heard in years. And was that a tinge of annoyance carried on the exasperated exhalation of breath?

Clara whipped around, startled. She wasn't usually so jumpy, but a steady succession of near death experiences will do that to you, even if you're already basically dead.

She didn't see the man at first. She drank in her surroundings with fervor, her wide eyes gluttonously soaking up every small detail of the cabin-like interior. It was cosy, she'd admit, and wasn't quite sure why her Tardis- Before it had not so gracefully careered into the unforgiving ground nearby with a sickening crunch that couldn't amount to anything positive- Had warned her that there was something dark residing in this place. The ship had spewed sinister rumours and spun chilling tales so fanciful that even Clara Oswald, who had seen and done so much she could hardly be considered a sceptic, had found hard to believe. The existence of Hell in the sense of a fiery pit of doom and damnation was a concept hard to stomach when you're fleeing from a crew of disgruntled Gallifreyans intent on sending you hurtling into the next life. Besides, Clara decided firmly, this small house couldn't home a malevolent, dangerous entity. It was far too normal. It practically exuded a restful tranquility. Photographs lined the wooden walls, giving the room an inimitably homely feel, ravenous shadows cast by the flickering flames in the hearth licking eagerly at the frames. Fishing equipment, meticulously arranged was settled comfily in a corner, and an awe-inducing array of books hunkered down in the shelves that lines the far wall. It was an impressive collection, and Clara found herself itching to run a finger along the spines, knowing that if she was given the opportunity it wouldn't take long to select the perfect volume to dislodge from its closely packed neighbours and pluck from the clutches of the bookcase. All in all, the house appeared well lived in, and was warm and welcoming.

Someone cleared their throat expectantly, and Clara's wandering attention, previously occupied with following the listless trajectory of one of the many rows of old books along the shelf, was snapped into order. Alert now, she was once again drawn to the source of the sound which sat with its back to her in a rocking chair in front of a roaring hearth.

"Don't they teach you to knock where you're from?"

Clara shuffled from foot to foot, suddenly feeling a tad sheepish. She bit back her apology however, deeming that it wasn't required or expected, judging by the man's nonchalant drawl and the fact that he still hadn't bothered to turn to look at her. She hummed in a non-committal manner.

"Well this is… Something," She mused, clasping her hands behind her back and pursing her lips as she glanced around the room, observing in the dancing shadows that the flames in the hearth cast upon the walls as they cavorted mirthfully. She eyed the man warily, trying in vain to suss him out. He appeared quite relaxed, unperturbed at the fact that a stranger was currently standing in his living room, and was inspecting a gold stopwatch with pedantic appraisal. Could he really be the dark force that the Tardis had been warning her about? She tilted her head to the side and squinted. He appeared to be a regular, sandy haired, jumper clad man minding his own business. Hardly a fiendish entity. Surely just a glitch.

"Who are you?" He drew the words out jadedly, as if it took him great effort to do so. "What do you want?"

Clara realised he wasn't turning around any time soon, and so she boldly skirted around the chair and moved to stand in front of him instead. His eyes remained fixated on the watch as he wiped at it with a cloth, as if he hadn't noticed that she was there. More likely that he simply didn't care in the slightest.

"Sanctuary," She chirped, vying for his attention. "Think you can handle that?"

The man raised his head slowly, a blank, expressionless stare made colder by his empty eyes, devoid of compassion or feeling. She suppressed a shiver. Maybe he was more sinister than she had anticipated. Or maybe she had just been rendered paranoid by her recent status as one of the living dead. Nonetheless, the man appraised her for a moment, then returned his attention to the watch.

"No."

Clara quirked an eyebrow.

"Abrupt. Snarky. Brash and to the point. I like it."

"How did you get past Crowley's demons?" The man finally deemed the watch satisfactory and placed it carefully on the round table beside him, already the resting place for an upturned book and an empty glass. He proceeded to fold the cloth painstakingly slowly, going to great lengths to line the corners up just so. Clara blinked.

"Demons? Those are real?" She frowned, then decided that it made sense, judging by what the Tardis had been nagging her about. She opted for the nonjudgmental approach, the time spent with the Doctor having made her immune to being shocked by most outrageous claims. "Well, I've heard crazier, I suppose. I hope they weren't your friends. Because my Tardis kind of crushed them. Very Wizard of Oz-esque."

"What?"

"Sorry, are you confused about the Tardis or the Wizard of Oz reference? Because I'm presuming you're a demon too, and I'm no expert on hell and all that so I don't know how up to date you are with films and such-"

"Leave now. Before I make you."

Clara put up her hands with a bashful grin.

"Okay sorry. I'm rambling. Just give me five minutes? Just for the hell of it? Eh?" Her laugh died out like a frail wisp of smoke struck and scattered by an icy gust of wind and she winced at the man's stony expression, offering a grimace. "Sorry."

He braced his hands against the arms of the chair and stood. He looked as if he was battling another sigh, raised his eyebrows almost patronisingly, and shuffled slightly as he folded his arms across his chest. Finally. She was the centre of his attention. And quite probably the bane of his entire existence, if the air of acute agitation he was exuding was anything to go by.

"Five entire minutes of my time? Gosh. I'm not sure."

Clara took the venomous sarcasm as an encouraging sign.

"I'll make it quick."

"Why are you here?" He interjected. Why indeed, Clara pondered. Well, she was on the run from a group of arrogant Time Lords who wanted to return her to her point of death toute suite, which wasn't exactly on her bucket list of goals to complete today. The Tardis had landed here for a reason, more like crashed, but all the same. And what she had seen so far gave her reason to believe that this place could make quite the safe house. Demon guards? Precisely what she needed.

"I just told you. I'm in a bit of a fix, and I'm looking for somewhere to lay low. I hear you're a man who doesn't like to be disturbed, and if those demons outside were anything to go by, it seems like you're pretty good at not being bothered."

"You haven't answered my first question. Who are you?"

"Clara Oswald, at your service. And you are?"

"Not important."

"I've heard different."

"Then why did you ask?"

"I wanted to know if the whispers were true," She bit her lip, then decided to relay the far-fetched, albeit probably true story the Tardis had told her. "About you being a prince of hell."

The man sniffed and gave a derisive shrug, his face contorting slightly as if the name left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Titles, labels. Doesn't mean anything."

"True that. Now are you going to kick me out, or let me stay?"

The man stared at her for a long moment. Clara allowed a small smirk to curve her lips.

"Ah, now, I don't know you, but I know that look too well. You're thinking. Calculating. So what have you decided? Accept or reject?"

The man had begun to walk slowly, a prowling predator circling his captive prey, contemplating when to bite the bullet and lunge for the jugular.

"Killing you is on the cards also," He cocked his head to the side meditatively, a breezy air to his voice as if he had just made a noncommittal comment on the weather. Speaking of which, he chose that moment to angle his head and gaze out the window absently. "If we're playing multiple choice."

Clara broke into a grin. Now this was a game she could play.

"Oooh, should've considered that. Wait, I did. And it's an empty threat."

The demon smiled wanly.

"Why's that, Clara?"

"Because I'm already dead. Here, check my pulse."

She proffered her wrist proudly. The man paused, held his hands up and wrinkled his nose. The very idea of human contact didn't seem to sit well with him.

"I believe you. I was just testing. I'm well acquainted with the dead sort. Takes one to know one, you could say."

"Kindred spirits, we are," Clara beamed, nonplussed by his arguably unfriendly behaviour. "So, can I stay?"

A laden pause.

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Why not?" Clara folded her arms and chanced a pout. The demon shook his head in mild disbelief.

"Because I don't care about you or your plight. I want my peace. I like my quiet. Already, I can see you can't offer me either of those things."

"I'll be quiet, I swear."

"Swear on what? Your life? That's a good one, Clara."

"Twice."

"Pardon?"

"That's twice now you've used my name. Play fair and tell me yours."

"Ramiel. You happy? Now, get. Out."

"Ramiel, Ramiel… I like it. It's almost lyrical. If I shut up will you let me stay?"

"My patience is starting to wear thin, and I didn't have a measurable amount to begin with. So, if you would please just…" He gestured towards the door, eyebrows raised expectantly. Clara clicked her tongue pensively. Something obstinately rooted deep inside her seemed to feed off Ramiel's reluctance to allow her refuge here, and the closer he came to actively tossing her outside the door, the more she seemed intent on staying. She couldn't explain it. Perhaps it was the fact that he was simply not interested in her in the slightest, the mere prospect of having a conversation with someone who harboured no ulterior motive yet carried an unmissable hint of danger intrigued and excited her and reminded her of adventures with the Doctor that had been swept away by the implacable transience of time. She missed being grounded. And by nature, she had an insatiable curiousity and thirst to unravel the mysteries of the stubbornly unknown.

"Okay wait, I can see I'm not going to win you over with my charm or my pleading," She crossed her own arms, mirroring Ramiel's guarded position as information from the Tardis database skipped past the other notions and unformed ideas and clawed its way to the surface of her mind. "But I hear you're a collector of weapons."

Ramiel paused mid sigh.

"Dare I ask how you know so much about me?"

"I googled you. No, that was a joke, sorry I do that when I get nervous. The Tardis told me. Warned me against coming here, actually. Or did she mean for me to come here? It's hard to tell sometimes, mercurial machines, they are. Don't ask what a Tardis is, not yet, at least. I'll get to that."

"Weapons. You mentioned weapons?"

"Yes. Well, a weapon. Not the most obvious, might even seem a little bit ridiculous to you, in fact. But hear me out. Ah! How ironic. That's basically the weapon."

"I'm not following."

"Can I sit?"

He motioned to a seat, his expression unreadable. Clara deposited herself in the armchair and peered up at Ramiel expectantly. This was a long shot, but she was desperate. She hadn't been lying when she said she wanted sanctuary.

"Please sit too, you just standing there makes me…" She trailed off under the press of his withering glare. "Okay, never mind. Right, don't laugh. Just listen. You want to know what one of the greatest weapons of all is?"

"Ten. Nine. Eight-"

"What?" Clara sat bolt upright with a frown. "Hey, don't do that, don't count down."

"Seven, six-"

"Alright, alright! I'll cut to the chase. Make the long story short. Ha! Irony again. Stories."

"Excuse me?"

"Stories. Or even just a story."

"That's your weapon?" Ramiel's eyes widened incredulously. He let out a sound which was a strange hybrid of a laugh and a choke. Clara shrugged.

"It's worked for me."

"Get out, before I make you pay for the time you've wasted," Ramiel's voice was low and there was a sharp, deadly edge encompassed in his tone.

"Tell you what," Clara bounced up and started towards the small kitchen adjacent. "I'll make tea. Demons don't mind tea, right? I'm guessing your water supply isn't connected to a blessed spring or anything. And if it was, would boiling knock the holiness out of it?"

"Rambling," Ramiel reminded her bluntly. "Again."

"Sorry, sorry. I'll make tea. I'll tell you about the fiercest weapon of all time. And you'll listen."

"I will, will I?" He leaned against the door frame and gazed at her with a dubious frown as she pottered around the counter, lifting and slamming various lids in an attempt to locate the teabags.

"Yes, you'll listen," She smiled. "Because I've killed monsters with stories."

Ramiel stared at her for a long moment, and during his brooding deliberation Clara wondered briefly what would happen if he really did kill her. Could someone really die twice? It would be an interesting experiment, but truth be told she wasn't in the mood for playing guinea pig.

The demon sighed again and pushed away from the door, turning his back on her and ambling back towards the rocking chair.

"Just make the damn tea."

If you like this sort of thing, just let me know and I'll continue with this series of one shots! Various meeting between Clara and different characters each chapter, I'll take requests so if you have an idea in mind, throw it at me guys, throw all the suggestions and I'll damn well catch them. Leave it in reviews or message me, whichever suits. Any fandom will do, I'll be writing more anyway with focus on doctor who, supernatural, Sherlock etc… But whatever you come up with guys, major character, minor character, I don't care. I'll only draw the line if there's a character that I genuinely have no clue about because I don't want to write anything out of character, but I'm part of a lot of fandoms guys, so chances are I'll know it.

Thanks for reading, hope to hear from you!