Characters: From SPN 'verse: Dean, Sam, Bobby, Castiel, Chuck. From DW 'verse: 11th Doctor, Amy, Rory, OC (Chuck)
Warnings: Spoiler alert for Supernatural 6.22 and for Doctor Who 6.08. Offensive language. Blasphemy? I think that's about it.
Summary: The Doctor, along with the Ponds, comes to the aid of the Winchesters in their final battle to save the world. Will they save Castiel, too? And will Dean ever accept how he feels about the former angel? A few mysteries are revealed, including the whereabouts of the original God, and just how the world really did come to be.
A/N: First off, just wanna say thank you to everyone who's reviewed or added the story to their favourites/alerts. Would love some more feedback though, sometimes I'm a little unsure about whether I'm getting the characters right! Secondly, how good was season 7's premiere of Supernatural? Blew my freaking mind! Just want to remind people that this story will vary from the way the season is heading, for obvious reasons. Reason number 1of course being the Doctor and company! :P Although, I'll probably take even longer to update now as I've got the new season to compare myself to, not to mention it's end of semester and all my assignments are due. Blah. But enjoy, nonetheless, and don't forget to review! :)
Chapter 3
"So what do you think?" asked Dean as he made his way into the kitchen, careful to shut the door behind him. "Can we trust them?"
Bobby shrugged. He was sat at the kitchen table, papers strewn across its surface. Dean walked over to him, looking down at the papers. Most were dated from the early noughties, and all were about alien sightings in the UK. Dean frowned, picking one up. Mysterious man saves local employee from Regent Street explosion... linked to suspicions of 'living' mannequins... Is London under attack?
"Living mannequins?" Dean mused aloud, tossing the paper back onto one of the piles on the desk. "Me and Sam dealt with something like that not long ago. It was just a ghost."
Bobby shrugged again, scratching his beard absently. "I don't know how to explain any of this bull," he said, waving a dismissive hand at the mess in front of him. "All I know is it's all somehow linked to the Doctor."
"Huh," was all Dean said in response. After a beat, he asked, "What do you make of Sammy calling him here?"
"Plausible, I guess," replied Bobby. "We know Sam's got some latent psychic ability, that's for sure... and whatever the Doctor is, he's definitely screaming 'psychic'..." Bobby trailed off for a moment, a thoughtful look upon his face. Dean folded his arms and waited, knowing prodding the gruff hunter too soon would get him little more than a growl in response. "You know, it might be worth letting him take a look at Sam. He might be able to help him."
"What, like, patch up the psychic wall in his head?" asked Dean. "Would that even work?"
Bobby shook his head. "You got me," he answered. "But it's worth a shot."
Dean couldn't help the snort that escaped him. "Am I the only one who sees the irony in that? 'Hey Sammy, the alien doc you called is here to help you with your psychic head.'"
"That's not ironic, idjit, that's just coincidence," answered Bobby, but Dean could see the smile hidden behind the old hunter's bushy beard.
"I don't believe in coincidences," retorted Dean.
Bobby rolled his eyes before stretching and getting to his feet. He walked over to the counter, fixing himself a mug of coffee as he spoke, "You give me a day and I'm going to find out everything there is to know about the Doctor. I don't think he means us any harm... at the very least I don't think he'd do anything to risk that couple he's here with... but just keep your eyes open anyway. We can't afford surprises right now."
Dean nodded, running a hand across his jaw. "Do you think that he can help us with..." he trailed off, hating himself for not being able to finish the sentence.
"With our God-shaped problem?" finished Bobby not unkindly. "Here's hoping."
Dean nodded once more, dropping his gaze to the floor before heading for the living room. "Dean," began Bobby hesitantly, stopping the oldest Winchester in his tracks. Dean turned to face the old hunter, his shoulder's squared. He knew what was coming.
"Yeah, Bobby?" he said anyway.
Bobby let out a sigh, returning to his seat at the kitchen table. He lifted his eyes to look straight into Dean's defiant gaze. "Son, I know this must be hard for you. Cas meant a lot to all of us."
Dean visibly stiffened at Bobby's words. His throat felt tight. He wanted to tell Bobby he was fine, to leave it alone, that one of his friends stabbing him in the back wasn't anything new in the life of Dean Winchester, but the words didn't come and he simply stood there.
Bobby seemed surprised at his reaction – or lack of reaction. Dean was sure the old man had expected shouting and harsh words. He most certainly would not have expected stiff silence. Then something must have dawned on Bobby because it was like a curtain had been drawn back from behind the man's eyes all of a sudden. His eyebrows shot up underneath his trucker hat. He looked lost for words.
"What?" managed Dean gruffly, his voice as raspy as when he'd had to climb his way out of a pine box barely four years ago.
Bobby sighed and shook his head. "We'll get through this, son."
Dean nodded, fighting the urge to laugh like he had at Sam. "Yeah, Bobby. Okay." And then he turned back around and exited the kitchen, his shoulders shaking with the tension in his back.
When Dean re-entered the living area he had his game face back in place, but the facade was instantly dropped upon seeing his brother standing where Dean had been resting earlier. "Sammy," he breathed and without hesitation he closed the distance between them, gripping his brother's shoulders. He looked into Sam's face, reading the haunted look there which broke his heart. "How are you feeling, man?"
Sam smiled grimly. "Like Hell," he quipped. Dean tried to hide his flinch. He released his brother from his grip and turned to the Doctor.
"Well, I'm guessing you introduced yourselves," he said before glancing back at Sam once more. "You wanna tell me why you called him here? Or how, for that matter?"
Sam raised his eyebrows at that. Taking a step towards the Doctor, he jerked a thumb at his own chest. "I called you here?" he repeated in surprise. "How the hell did I do that? I don't even believe in aliens."
"So much for being immune to surprises," mumbled Rory to no one in particular and Dean nearly laughed at the matching bitchfaces Sam and Amy directed at the man.
"It may have been an unconscious effort," suggested the Doctor mildly.
Sam snorted. "You got that right," he answered. "I've been unconsciously battling my own mind all afternoon so can't imagine how else it could've happened."
The Doctor seemed intrigued at that. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, unable to hide the curiosity in his tone.
That question seemed to take a lot of the wind out of Sam's sails. "Nothing," he replied flatly.
The Doctor tilted his head slightly, staring at Sam with such intensity that Dean was suddenly, painfully reminded of Castiel. Thankfully, before Dean could follow that train of thought, the Doctor spoke, "Let's see, someone set up a wall inside your head, shielding you from God-awful memories..." he began slowly, and then laughed awkwardly. "Bad pun. Sorry," he apologised before continuing, "The wall's collapsed now though, hasn't it? You're struggling to keep yourself in one piece. That's where you've been all afternoon, fighting your memories. That's why your call for help was so powerful."
Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise at how on the mark the Time Lord was, but supposed it had something to do with his psychic routine. He watched as the alien paused thoughtfully, before asking, "Sammy, did you scratch at the wall?"
"It's Sam," said Sam pointedly, clearly irritated at being treated like a child. Dean could hardly blame him. Only Dean gets to call me that, the memory flashed in Dean's mind suddenly. But he knew Sam's testiness was less about the nickname and more about how the Doctor had spoken as though he were asking a five year old whether he'd been scratching his chicken pox.
When it became clear that Sam wasn't going to say anything else, Dean answered, "He didn't break the wall."
The Doctor nodded understandingly, not taking his eyes from Sam. "So it was broken on purpose," he said sadly. "I'm sorry."
Dean continued to watch closely, forcing himself to remain still, as the Doctor took a step towards his brother. He reminded himself, as the Doctor slowly lifted one of his hands, that Bobby had suggested this. Even when every instinct in him told him to stand between his brother and a potential threat, he told himself firmly that the Doctor could help Sam...
"May I?" asked the Doctor when he had raised his hand to chest-height.
Sam narrowed his eyes, leaning away from the Doctor's outstretched hand instinctively. "'May I' what?" he replied warily.
The Doctor smiled sadly. "I want to access your memories," he answered calmly. "See if I can find a way to help you."
Sam widened his eyes so quickly it appeared almost comical, and then he shook his head furiously. "No," he said. "No way."
The Doctor looked almost crest-fallen at Sam's adamant refusal and dropped his hand back to his side. "Sam," began Dean uncertainly, and Sam took a step back from the Doctor while glaring at his brother.
"No, Dean," he repeated firmly. "No way. You can't make me."
Sam stalked out of the living room before Dean could stop him, and he heard the front door slam shut behind him. Dean sighed, running a hand along his jaw, feeling the rough stubble he normally sported becoming short whiskers. At this rate, he'd have a full-on beard before the week was out, but the last thing on his mind was shaving. He was debating whether to chase after Sam, when he felt Amy's hand touch his arm. He turned to face her, surprised. She returned his gaze with concern shining in her eyes. Genuine human concern; there was nothing other-worldly about Amy Pond. He surprised himself at how pleased that made him, how much comfort he took from it.
"Is he okay?" she asked gently.
Dean shrugged. "He's been through a lot," he supplied. We all have. "He'll come around."
Amy nodded. "The Doctor only wants to help him. I know he's a bit... odd, and he doesn't like to explain himself – at least, not in any way most people can understand," she said, pausing to offer a brief smile over her shoulder at the alien, before continuing, "But he's great, really. He's my best friend. I'd trust him with my life, with Rory's life. With our daughter's life."
Dean raised his eyebrows and looked from Rory to Amy, before jerking his fingers between them both. "You have a daughter? You're parents? Where is she?"
Amy smiled. Was there a bit of sadness behind those eyes, Dean wondered, before she answered, "Wibbly wobbly, timey wimey. It's complicated."
He gave a short laugh at that. "I bet," he replied. Still smiling, he added, "Seriously though. You're a MILF!"
"Oi! I may be a thousand years old, but I certainly know what that means," said the Doctor pointedly, "The woman's husband is sitting right here, Dean!"
Dean smiled apologetically at Rory, who shook his head, a smile crinkling his eyes. "Ignore him," he said lightly. "He's cock-blocked me enough times, haven't you, Doctor? I haven't forgotten about the bunk beds."
"Not to mention hitting on our daughter right in front us," pointed out Amy, hands on hips.
"What?" spluttered the Doctor. "You can't hold that against me! We didn't even know she was your daughter then!"
"This is crazy," said Dean in amazement. "Your lives are way too 'Back to the Future' for me."
"Please," The Doctor snorted. "The TARDIS is far cooler than that old DeLorean."
Amy rolled her eyes fondly. "Boys and their toys," she laughed.
Dean shrugged. "Hey, I can appreciate. You should see my baby when she's in her prime," he replied earnestly, before dropping into silence, suddenly all too aware of how damaged his pride and joy really was. It didn't help that thinking of the Impala only brought back his and Sam's conversation earlier that day with a sickening clarity. In four days we'll be dead anyway, so what's the point?
He let out a sigh, feeling ashamed at how hopeless he had let himself sound in front of his brother. The poor bastard was going through Hell, quite literally albeit in his mind, and instead of being the supportive big brother – instead of giving him hope that they would get through this, he was too busy feeling sorry for himself, drowning in booze and misery.
Amy seemed to sense his change in mood, which he was grateful for. He was starting to feel a little like a schizophrenic. She offered him a slight smile. "That car you were sitting on when we arrived?" she asked gently.
He nodded. "Yeah, that's her. She's a beauty," he said in a soft voice. "We ran into a bit of trouble only a couple of days ago, though..." He trailed off and Amy didn't push him for any more details, instead she simply nodded her understanding. He sighed once more. "I'm gonna find Sammy," he told them. He looked around the living room, before adding, "Feel free to have a look around, I guess. Can't imagine sitting on a moth-eaten couch all afternoon can be much fun when you've got all of time and space at your disposal."
He grimaced a little at the memories his words evoked. Years ago squatting in a dilapidated house, the night before almost-certain death... So, last night on Earth, what are your plans? All of time and space at his fingertips, and... I just thought I'd sit here quietly.
He shoved the memories aside, and walked stiffly out of the living room. Pausing at the threshold of the room, however, he added with a hint of his humour from only moments ago, "Just don't touch the decor. Assume it's all loaded."
Man, he really was becoming schizophrenic.