A/N: This is just a short little story I wrote just for the sake of Cas and the Doctor meeting, even if only for a few moments. This whole being trapped in purgatory gave me a perfect opportunity for that. I also base this on the premise that Cas isn't insane any more. The second oneshot follows a different style, so if you don't like this part, you could read the other.
This takes place at the end of season 7 of Supernatural and after that Titanic special of Doctor Who at the end of season 3.
Watch me burn
"We're in purgatory? How do we get out?"
They are surrounded by darkness. Darkness that isn't created through absence of light but through hatred made visible, pouring from the creatures preying on them. There is nothing silent about this darkness; it is loud and shattering, the muffled echoes of long faded screams creating an undercurrent of noise that claws at the mind and soul.
"I'm afraid we're much more likely to be ripped to shreds."
Dean's fear seems to emanate from him in waves, further drawing the creatures to them. Fear is new. It is something different than pain. Fear is new and every being around them wants it all for itself, to revel in it and forget about the pain for only one second.
Castiel tries not to look at his human charge because he can't help him. Not this time, not any other time. He could never help him and now they are trapped in purgatory and Dean would die here, be trapped forever and be refused his place in heaven, if it still existed.
In purgatory, nothing seems to exist anymore.
And just in that moment, when he closes his eyes for the last time in peace before they would begin to run and be made of nothing more than running he feels something he hadn't felt in a long time. It is familiar and warm and calling out to him in a voice so beautiful. It is still far, far away but near enough to cling onto.
He leaps, leaving everything behind for a few seconds. His destination looks similar to the place before; it is dark, hopeless and cold, but the angel can feel the foreign rift pulsating just beneath his feet. He extends one hand, grasping into the cold air. Then he pulls.
The effect is immediate. A blue box comes crashing down the sky, tearing bits of reality around it like paper from a wall and burying them in the ground. Castiel cocks his head to the side and allows a small smile on his lips. A phone box?
It doesn't take long before the door is opened, surprisingly without any hesitation, and a brown-haired man steps out, an expression of both joy and wonder showing on his face. He takes a few swift steps forward, facing Castiel, then looking around with suspicion. He has probably noticed the creatures around them. They are being held back by the strange energies emanating from the spaceship for now, but the angel doesn't know how long that will last.
"Now, where are we? And who are you?" the man asks, fidgeting.
"I am Castiel," he answers and adds, "I suppose human etiquette would have me ask about your name as well." It was odd, referring to human mannerisms when none of them is one and they are standing in the one place of creation that is furthest away from feeling human, but it still seems right.
At that, the other man smiles widely. "I'm the Doctor," he replies, finally really noticing the angel in front of him, "and something about you is off." He knits his brows.
"A name that is no real name," is the only reaction Castiel decides to give him. He steps around the other man, walking towards the ship and softly putting his hand at its hull, pressing his face against it and listening. The power he feels is reassuring and so familiar he has to wince. "Thank you," he whispers to her, "for coming here."
"What do you want?" the Doctor asks, all politeness forgotten, "and who are you really? I can feel that you're not human, for one thing. But I still can't figure out exactly where we are, and why I crashed."
"You are right, Time Lord," Castiel offers and goes back to the man, staring straight into his old eyes. He is nowhere near as old as Castiel himself, but his presence tells him that he has seen enough in his life. Enough suffering, enough loss.
"We are in purgatory. I am an angel," he says and the brown eyes widen, then blink. "That is why I could summon your TARDIS."
"No. No, no, no," the Doctor mumbles and takes a few steps back, ruffling his hair and making it stand even more on end than it did before, "but that's not possible! I mean, angels haven't been seen for such a long time! No one I know has ever seen one... but... it would explain why you feel so different..."
He stops, dropping his hands to his side and playing with his coat, rubbing the fabric between his fingers and staring onto a place to his right where something had moved in the shadows.
"But that's wonderful!" he suddenly shouts and claps his hands, reverting his attention back to the angel and stepping forward again, "because that's something new I don't know about, something completely new! Oh, I love it, this is great!" He smiles at Castiel, but then looks over to his ship.
"I'd still like to know how exactly you managed to summon my Tardis, though."
The angel shifts. This is the one question he and his brethren had always avoided to answer the Time Lords; those beings who were so advanced in their technology they could alter reality. In some way, they were more powerful than a common angel. Castiel and his siblings, even the most powerful ones, could only manipulate what was around them. They could only ever know what they had seen themselves, they could never see what would be or could be. In that aspect, angels are painfully human.
Castiel shifts again and decides that he must tell the truth; the Doctor would probably spot a lie the moment he spoke it. And even if he wouldn't, the angel doesn't want to lie any more.
"The power and consciousness of your ship does not simply just exist on its own, it is channeled through the time vortex. It is not, however, made of that. It is the concentrated grace of a being existing in the vortex – one of the time angels that use your ships as their vessels. They were created in the whirling energy of the vortex to protect it from within and keep it from falling apart." They are my siblings, too. That's why we can reach out to each other. "They are very powerful, powerful enough to save us from this place, but they have become so very, very few."
The last part is said in only a whisper, trying to mask that there was one other race standing on the brink of extinction. Trying to mask that there could soon be sorrow ahead, and chaos, if the last one of them died.
The Doctor doesn't react at first, then mouths a silent wow, never turning his face from the being in front of him. Castiel feels that although he knows so little of the man in front of him, he already feels familiar, he already feels right. He doesn't try to deny it, doesn't back away from the angel in fear; he accepts it, nearly as though he should have known so all along and is fascinated that he didn't.
"No other Time Lord ever knew of this," Castiel tells him, trying to convey how honoured the Doctor should feel, trying to show him how unique he is. It has quite the opposite effect. The Time Lord holds his gaze and his expression never changes, but his eyes become hard.
"No other Time Lord will ever know," he says in a near silent but strong whisper, "they are all dead."
Half an eternity masked as a second passes before Castiel reaches out almost automatically and touches the other man, feeling his broken soul burning beneath his fingertips. He cups the Doctor's face in his hands, ignoring the silent flames and fuming ice.
"I know," he whispers, "I was there when Gallifrey burned."
I understand. My brethren are gone, too. And it is my fault.
He pours the flames and ice together and they melt into a cleansing rain, washing over the broken man. His eyes are now honest and raw. The angel can see that this soul will not be easy to save, although it is one most deserving of salvation. He cannot heal him, but he can try to give him something to hold onto. I understand.
There is a growling from the shadows and the flashing of red eyes and the moment is broken; one monster takes a step forward, out of the blackness of the woods. It opens its mouth, a distorted smile. The Tardis' hold on it is near broken.
"I'm sorry," Castiel says and lets go. "Before we leave we have to get someone else. A friend. He seems to be running eastwards." Although eastwards is a senseless word with artificial meaning since there are no fixed points in this world. It stretches on forever and left is right, up is down, but the angel can find Dean everywhere he is. He can feel him; that's how he knew the whole time that he was still alive, running and running.
"I know my fair share about running for your life," the Time Lord smiles. "Thank you," he adds silently. "Buuut we should probably go now. I'm not sure if that friend of yours can run from those things forever, whatever they even are. So, allons-y!"
He stalks off into some random direction, mumbling something about how he just met someone called Alonso some hours prior, but Castiel simply grabs his hand and leaps, leading both of them to another broken soul in need of saving. Any human therapist would have a field day with that little group, Castiel notes with something akin to humor, but after all this time with Dean... he wouldn't want it any other way.
Wrote this while listening to "This is Gallifrey" from the Doctor Who Soundtrack, simply because I adore every second of it.
Please leave some review if you liked it or – especially – if you didn't like this. I'm no native speaker so I'm definitely dependant on you telling me if something is wrong or sounds strange. Thank you!