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CHAPTER FIVE

Molly Hooper

Oh, I wish it was over
And I wish you were here
Still I'm hoping that somehow
~ "Shot in the Dark," Within Temptation

xxx

"You know, I've never been to America before." I half-smile, shrugging my shoulders almost embarrassedly as I glance shyly at the Doctor from underneath my eyelashes. "I hear that it's nice there, but I never really had the money."

"Never been to America?" he repeats incredulously. His enthusiasm is warming—many people, when I try to talk to them, send me off with a condescending remark or only a tight, humorless nod, but the Doctor seems like he actually cares about what I have to say, really wants to know what's going on in my head. "Oh, but it's fantastic there! The things that Americans have done, you wouldn't believe it…" His hands gesticulate wildly above the TARDIS console as he begins to detail the many exploits of the American people, and Amy has to reach over and stop him from accidentally hitting a large red button.

"Careful where you're flailing, there," she smirks, then glances over at Rose. "Did yours do that, too?"

"Not as severely," the blonde says, grinning softly.

The Doctor's face screws up into a mask of good-humored frustration. "Now, come on, all of you chattering like a flock of mother hens. For future reference, two is absolutely, definitely, completely my limit. Not—four. Not that I mind you being here, Gwen. You haven't traveled this way before, by any chance?"

"Oh—no, definitely not." She shakes her head quickly, eyes wide. "It's all new to me—just like it is to… Molly, right?"

"That's it." I beam at her. "So this is new to you, too? But, no, you're from—Torchwood—?... the Doctor didn't explain exactly what that was too well to me, I'm sorry…"

"And for a reason!" the Doctor barks. "Torchwood will give you the entirely wrong idea about aliens if you give them the chance. It's a bit irritating, really…"

"Only some aliens," Gwen shoots back, folding her arms. She has quite a temperament, I'm beginning to notice; assertive, not afraid to stand up to people she barely knows. "Jack has quite an infatuation with you, after all. Never seems to stop talking about his Doctor."

"Is that true?" Amy sounds incredulous, and perhaps a little too amused.

Rose, on the other hand, has a train of thought that more seems to follow mine. "But he's with that Ianto bloke, isn't he?"

"Oh, yes, he's with Ianto," Gwen agrees, "but that doesn't mean very much, not really. He'll sleep with anything." Her voice begins to hold a bit of excited spice that always comes with gossip, however casual, and the Doctor spins vaguely in place, staring at the high-arched ceiling like he's trying to tune her out. "And he's been saying things about the Doctor since the very first day I knew him."

"Alright!" he bellows, "we've been landed for quite a while now, what do you say we head on out? Get your first whiff of American air, Miss Molly. It's certainly different from London."

"Doctor," I murmur as Amy, Rose, and Gwen file past me, chatting lightly. "You're blushing."

"I—?" He blinks, then an odd expression comes over his face as he tries and fails to glance down at his own pinkish cheeks. "Well, I imagine so, what with that lot talking about me like I'm not here!" He's indignant, defensive, and I can't deny that it's more than a little adorable.

"Right, of course." I bite my lip for a moment, shyness struggling with amusement and curiosity, before finally blurting out a few more words. "So you don't—return Captain Jack's affections?"

"No, he's my friend, he's my friend," the Doctor stammers, the hue of his skin shifting from watermelon to beet in about a fourth of a second.

I feel a light, tickling flush of my own set in. "Right. Just… well, curious, I guess."

"All you girls and your gossiping…" He reaches up and scratches at the back of his head, hurrying over to the door. "Scoot over, let's get out of here!"

I scurry over as he throws the door open, my breath tight in anticipation. But what waits outside the TARDIS isn't entirely impressive, I have to admit—in fact, it's just another back alleyway, not all that different from the ones I've learned to avoid in London. A few rubbish-strewn puddles lie around the cracked cement, and graffiti spatters the damp walls. I think I even see a rat scamper around the corner of the street, and I hold in a gasp of surprise. A wince, impossible to disguise, unwillingly flits over my face.

"No, no, that's wrong!" the Doctor shouts at apparently nothing, then steps fully outside and lightly slaps the TARDIS's exterior. "Didn't I say New York? And what's this, some sort of… little…" He gives the air a heavy sniff. "Iowa?"

"We're in the wrong place again?" Amy groans.

"Again?" Gwen repeats. "Does this, er… happen a lot?"

"More than it should," Rose admits, but the Doctor doesn't reply at all, just takes a few steps farther out.

"Well, alright, then," he grumbles. "I suppose this works as well as anything. If we're searching America for anything demonic, there's no reason not to start in Iowa!"

"Iowa," Gwen sighs. "I've never even heard of it…"

"Rose and Amy!" the Doctor exclaims before the two young women can step outside. They both direct questioning glances towards him, and he makes a series of rapid hand movements vaguely suggesting that they go all the way back inside. "If you could keep an eye on Sherlock—and, well, Junior—that'd be excellent."

"Oh, Doctor," Amy whines, sagging against the doorframe. "You've been telling me to sit aside for weeks now. I miss the running."

"Yes, but this is more essential than ever. Your baby is due any day, Pond, and the healthiest thing you can do for both it and yourself is stay inside. Off you go?"

Amy's makeup-darkened lips sag into a pout, but she reluctantly pulls herself back into a full standing position and stalks off farther into the TARDIS, leaving an opening for me and Gwen. After quickly glancing at her, I step out, shivering at the unexpectedly chill breeze. It's damp outside, and the sun is mostly obscured by pale, smoky grey clouds that mask the skies overhead. Gwen follows me, then shuts the TARDIS door behind her, and squints up into the air like I just did.

"So, this is America?" It's obvious in the tone of her Welsh-accented voice that she's far from impressed, and I can't really blame her, though I'm trying much harder not to show it. I should at least try to be respectful about it, I tell myself, and I school my features into an optimistic expression, turning to the Doctor.

"Well, it's certainly… different," I offer.

He looks at me as though I've announced that I intend to dye my eyebrows bright green. "Different? Hardly. I didn't come here on purpose!" he adds in the direction of the TARDIS, sounding almost accusatory. "You know, you could try to bring me where I ask for once!"

"Can it…" I swallow, wondering just how idiotic the question I'm about to ask is. "Can it understand you?"

"I hope so," he mutters. For a moment, a light veil of shadow seems to settle like dust over his face, but then he blinks and straightens up, considering the stretch of alleyway rather pensively. "Let's see, here. Iowa. Why would she—"

His voice is cut out by a sharp yell, coming from just around the bend of the run-down street. It's loud and harsh enough to make me flinch, and I unconsciously step closer to him, only aware of my action when I brush up against the side of his jacket. I expect him to pull away, but instead he grips onto my wrist, seeming almost protective.

Wow. I didn't think that such a simple gesture could send my heart rocketing into my throat so effectively.

Another yell comes, in a different voice—this one is much easier to understand. "Careful, Sammy, that thing's no vamp!"

"Tell me about it!"

A split second later, a figure comes whisking into sight, its feet scattering dirty droplets from the puddles. It's not a person, I know that right away—its head is almost like that of a bug, but still vaguely humanoid, hairless and round, with small, bright eyes and practically tusk-like fangs.

Another shape rounds the corner of the alley just then, this one definitely human—tall, dressed in a light jacket and jeans, with dark, chin-length hair, as well as—most alarmingly—a huge blade that looks disturbingly like a machete, held high and poised to slice in his hand.

I choke in a small shriek of surprise, forcing myself to stay silent at the bizarre sight.

Gwen works much faster than me. In an instant, she's whipped a dark, heavy-looking gun out from under her leather jacket and aimed it at the strange creature, her features stone-cold as she cocks it and pulls the trigger without the slightest hesitation.

The creature wails and stumbles over its own feet as blood spurts from its chest, then collapses onto its face. A dark pool almost immediately begins to grow around its prone form, and I wrinkle my nose, looking away as sickness grips my stomach.

The man, who's stopped running, is staring at us in complete surprise. His eyes are fixated mainly on Gwen, and his mouth is partially open, the machete now hanging limply at his side. Now that I can get a better look at him, I see that he's even younger than I first thought, mid to late twenties, at a guess.

"Who are you?" he asks in a surprisingly deep voice, American-accented (which, I realize, is only appropriate considering our location). "How did you kill that thing?"

"It's called a gun," Gwen replies sharply, whipping up her weapon. "You might find it a little more effective than that knife of yours." I can't fully see her face from here, but it looks like she might be smiling a tiny bit.

"Well, yeah, but… a gun's not supposed to kill these things," he insists.

"Oh, yeah? Do you even know what they are? This is what me and my friends call a Weevil." She kicks at the corpse, and I feel the Doctor tense next to me. He highly dislikes violence, I remember; this must be exceedingly uncomfortable for him to sit back and watch as two apparent killers converse over a still-bleeding corpse. "And it's not from Earth."

"An alien?" he repeats, clearly disbelieving. "No, miss—this is… no way…"

"Did you get it?" Another rough American voice accompanies a second man rounding the corner, half-limping and rubbing distastefully at a dark stain on the sleeve of his upper arm. He's shorter than the other, with larger eyes and more close-cropped hair, as well as a face that I can't help but notice as exceedingly handsome.

"Yeah."

"I did, actually," Gwen asserts, raising her eyebrows.

"And who the hell are you?"

"Gwen Cooper." She tucks her gun away, then crosses her arms firmly in front of her, leaning back on her heels. "I work for Torchwood."

"Torchwhat?" the second man snaps.

"How about we all just… take a moment for introductions?" the Doctor suggests from beside me. Both of the Americans glance up as if seeing us for the first time, and I look back nervously, trying not to look too intimidated.

"Alright," the shorter man concedes warily, "go ahead. Introduce yourselves. We'll listen."

"I was actually imagining a more mutual thing—"

"We don't know if we can trust you yet." His tone is casual, but there's a clear tone of suspicion behind it. "There aren't many people who know how to kill something like that."

"Tell me about it," Gwen mutters.

"Are you guys hunters?" he adds, flashing a glare at her.

Gwen shakes back her hair. "I suppose you could say that."

"Definitely not!" the Doctor exclaims in protest, then releases my hand and steps forward to show that both of his are empty. "No weapons, see? We're not here for hunting anything. I didn't know that she had a gun, as a matter of fact, and I fully intend to make a rule about who can take weapons on my ship in the future."

"Ship?" The first man, the taller one, raises his eyebrows.

"Spaceship. Well, time and spaceship, but that's a different story." He's standing fully in front of them now, and he extends a hand to shake, half-glancing at Gwen as if hoping that she'll take notice at his century-appropriate approach. "I'm the Doctor, lovely to meet you—though it would have been nicer if you hadn't brought swords."

"Doctor anything in particular? Or are you just, like, the Doctor? Sounds like a title," the shorter man muses, "like the Ripper, Jack the Ripper. And he was British, too…"

A look of vague humor crosses the Doctor's features. "'He?' Jackie certainly would have gotten a kick out of that… of course, we don't associate anymore. I don't like it when people go on murder sprees, which is why you and I haven't exactly started out on the right note."

"What?"

"Don't mind him," I find myself saying. I didn't originally intend to talk until one of the others introduced me, but it's starting to look like I'm the only person who might be able to carry out a decent conversation right now, considering that Gwen's too busy showing off, and the Doctor's… well, the Doctor; social awkwardness and anachronistic musings are part of what make him the brilliant, slightly mad alien he is. "He just goes by the Doctor, and I'm Molly Hooper. This is Gwen, who just introduced herself."

"All three English?" the shorter man snorts.

"One of them is Welsh," his companion corrects under his breath.

"Nice observation." Gwen's definitely smiling now—well, more like widely smirking, but it's nice to see, especially on someone who seems so arrogant. "At least one of you has some brains."

"No reason to be like that," the Doctor chides.

"They're idiots, Doctor," she replies, sounding utterly matter-of-fact. "They thought that this thing was a vampire, did you hear that? A vampire. Been reading a lot of paranormal romances, boys?"

"Hate to break it to you," the older one growls, "but vampires are just as real as whatever the hell that was. Maybe more so."

"No, they aren't, and you two are probably more than a bit mad."

"Here—" The taller man sighs. "Let's start at the beginning. I'm Sam Winchester, and this is my brother, Dean."

"Oh, way to give away our names right off the bat, Einstein," Dean half-groans. He really is quite good-looking, but I try not to dwell on it, considering that he seems like a bit of a prick anyways. I know better than to fall for anymore insensitive jerks—I've learned where that leads all too well.

Sam shoots him an irritated look before continuing. "It's our job to hunt things. Creatures. Like… this."

"Last time I checked, it was my job to do that," Gwen retorts sharply.

"Do they have to be hunted at all?" the Doctor asks, sounding rather halfhearted. "Nobody ever seems to listen to me lately…"

"I listen to you," I say instinctively, stupidly, then hesitate. What on earth was that? It was an entirely useless and idiotic thing to say, I tell myself with as much fierceness as I can muster, determinedly looking at the ground. I don't need to advertise the fact that I respect the Doctor more than the others do. Just doing so is an extremely self-absorbed action.

"Well, yes, you do," he admits, and sounds rather happy with that fact. "Nevertheless—"

He's cut off by Dean, who looks irritated to not have a main part in what's quickly escalating into full-blown conflict, despite Sam and the Doctor's attempts to keep it calm. "Look, I don't know who the hell you guys are, but we're not just going to walk around telling you every little thing about ourselves."

"Dean," Sam begins, his tone notably stressed.

"Last person I tried to talk to, we ended up out in an alley with his knife at my throat, Sammy! Cas told us to be careful, so we're gonna be careful."

"W-wait." A thought has suddenly come to mind, and I bite my lip, debating whether or not I should put voice to it. "You… you hunt creatures, you said? …Supernatural creatures?"

"What's it to you?" Dean challenges, but Sam nods, locking eyes with me in a reassuring sort of way.

"I know it can be a bit of a shock," he murmurs, "but if you're familiar with aliens, then it probably isn't as far of a leap for you as it might be for some people—"

"No—no," I half-laugh, "that's not what I was… thinking of. I'm ready to believe just about anything after today, really." I can't look him in the face anymore. Instead, I let my gaze slide down to the pavement, my shoulders moving in an uneasy shrug. "It's… you've never had anything to do with… demons, have you? Like… demon deals?"

"Oh, good, Miss Molly, you're brilliant," the Doctor breathes delightedly, his breath tickling my ear. I bite back a smile, glancing up through my lashes to see that Sam and Dean are staring rather meaningfully at each other. Dean's expression is rock-hard.

"I'd say we know a bit too much about demon deals," he growls, folding his arms and lifting his chin. "More than we'd like to, that's for damn sure."

"Alright, so…" I plow on carefully. "Do you have any idea why someone might—might, well, make one? To bring someone he cared about back… his… his brother, for instance?"

Myriad emotions dance over his face, from shock to defensiveness to plain disbelief. He doesn't say a thing, but Sam does, his tone very quiet and solemn.

"Well, I imagine he might… not know how he can go on without him. I, um, can't really think of anything too specific, but—" His gaze drifts towards the still stunned-looking Dean, and his features soften for a moment, the next words seeming to come much more easily. "But I suppose it just comes down to fundamental caring, really."

There's a faint sort of tension in the air, beyond the light electric hum that hints at an oncoming storm. I swallow, feeling as though I'm missing something rather obvious, and the Winchesters both avoid our stares, instead choosing to focus on the dirty cement.

The Doctor shatters the silence, exactly as the first raindrops coast down and tickle my neck. "No, no, it wasn't caring," he insists, beginning to pace, "it's more complicated, more meaningful than that. It has to be. Mycroft didn't seem fazed at all when we tracked him down and told him that Sherlock was dead, just a little bit disappointed if anything…"

"Doesn't really concern us, anyways," Dean cuts in gruffly. "I don't know what kind of wackos you are, but I don't think either of us want any part in your space-time adventures. We'll just be getting back to our motel. Good luck with your demon deals."

"Dean, they're not wackos!" Sam insists, gripping his brother by the shoulder as he attempts to turn around. "Listen to what they're saying! They're investigating a demon deal, and anything concerning demons could be important, after what that man told you about Lucifer…"

I almost choke on nothing. Lucifer? I can't help but shudder at the prospect—is the Devil himself real? Demons and aliens are one thing, but the Devil… fear, probably very delayed at this point, begins to tingle through me, and I force myself not to scoot closer to the Doctor, who's really the only person here who I'm entirely sure I can trust. The icy rain collecting on my hair and shoulders doesn't help, and I tuck my arms around myself, pressing my lips tightly together and trying to pretend that I can't feel the chill.

"Anyone up for investigating this inside?" the Doctor offers. "Maybe it's just me, but it feels like a bit of a freezer out here…"

"Inside, yeah, great. Just lead us to whatever cozy building you happen to have in mind, and we'll be glad to chat," Dean growls.

"Alright!" he complies brightly, apparently nowhere near picking up on the sarcasm piled heavily on the other man's words. "This is my TARDIS right here, hop on in." He raps cheerily at the vivid blue wood of the rain-streaked box beside us, and I see Dean's eyebrows rise even higher, while Sam just appears confused.

"Okay, so now we know you're crazy," the shorter one scoffs. "No way in hell are we getting into that tiny thing."

"Oh, it's bigger on the inside," the Doctor supplies matter-of-factly. "Very roomy, and nicely heated, too. Gwen and Miss Molly, why don't you two just go right ahead, I'll be behind with these two lovely chaps…"

"Lovely?" Gwen certainly doesn't seem to agree with his admittedly generous statement.

"Let's just go," I mumble, traipsing towards the TARDIS and glancing over my shoulder to make sure that she follows. She stares towards Sam for another long moment, her expression unreadable, then snaps her gun to her side and joins me at the TARDIS door.

We slip inside, and I breathe a sigh of relief at the warm golden atmosphere inside. Amy and Rose are nowhere to be seen, so I wander over to the console, lingering nearby it but not touching anything for fear that I might somehow cause the machine to malfunction. Moisture from the now-heavy rain outside runs down under my shirt, and I reach up a hand to rub at it, gritting my teeth against the cold.

"They were perfectly awful, weren't they?" Gwen says loudly.

I don't dare to look over at her. "Well… not really," I get out, twisting my ponytail uncomfortably. "I mean, a bit hard to get along with, yes, but… Sam was alright. And I'm sure Dean is just fine too, once you get to know him better."

"I'm way too familiar with that kind of person," she replies darkly. "Arrogant, complete showoff, knows his own good looks too well…"

I keep my mouth this shut. Presumably she's talking about Dean, and I personally didn't find him to be arrogant at all—perhaps a little tetchy, but nothing else. It's not as if he tried to flirt with us or anything, which is a bit implied by the last thing on the list that she ticked off so irritably. The awkward silence between us, luckily, isn't given much time to stretch out before the TARDIS door creaks open and the Doctor trots in, tailed by the two Winchesters.

They go through the same motions that I suppose I did—disbelief, checking to make sure that the exterior of the TARDIS isn't more expansive than it seemed at a glance, exclaiming that it's 'bigger on the inside' as if such a thing is a massive revelation rather than a statement of the obvious. The looks on their faces really are rather warming, and I can see why the Doctor likes this part of his relationship with his companions. It's where they learn who he really is, or at least begin to, and when he gets to see them stripped down, at their base amazement, any defenses knocked aside.

I wonder if he liked seeing me like that. If he took pleasure in knowing that I was so impressed by his practically magical craft.

"So," Dean starts once he and Sam have processed that the TARDIS defies several laws of space, "you gonna show us this guy who's supposed to be dead?"

"Right down the hall," the Doctor agrees, gesturing in the right direction. The three of them wander that way, but I stay behind with Gwen, not particularly wanting to join the large groups at the moment. I still have a lot to process, after all. Time to myself, or at least practically to myself, is sure to help with that.

Lucifer. That's the biggest thing on my mind, without doubt. Lucifer… they couldn't have been talking about some other creature by that name, could they? Perhaps a mythical being from which the title originated? From everything Dean had said, it sounded as if someone had tried to kill him, someone who had connections to Lucifer. The actual Devil would have been much more efficient if he wanted someone dead. Right? It… there's no way that the two men we just let into the TARDIS are wanted by Satan himself.

My palms begin to sweat with anxiety, and I glance over at Gwen, seeking some sort of grounding or reassurance, but she's lost in thought, her lips pursed and her fingers drumming on the railing. Without the Doctor in the console bay, it's much quieter, I can't help but notice. The TARDIS itself isn't entirely soundless; a low thrumming fills the space, along with something that sounds almost bubbly, like thick liquid sloshing around in a massive plastic container. This must be the noise that his companions get to fall asleep to at night, and a strange pang twists my stomach at the prospect, like some sort of reverse nostalgia. I want that, I want it so badly. Being able to travel with him. Be his companion.

But thinking like that is absurd. He has two companions already, Amy and Rose, and he's firmly established that he has no desire to take on any more. I'm only here to help with Sherlock—though, so far, I've truly proven myself useless. What have I done, really, all in all? Nothing. I barely even talk, generally…

The gold light is burning my eyes. I blink heavily, and a yawn itches at my jaws, but I keep them shut. How many hours have I been in the TARDIS? Going to fetch Sherlock, trekking through the woods to find him, patching him up and nursing him back to health, visiting Torchwood, and now coming here. Far too much for one day, and that's not even taking into consideration the fact that it's emotionally overwhelming, as well—intensely so. I've had more ups and downs today than I have in the past few months. Ever since Sherlock disappeared, my life was a gradual downwards slope, and here I am now—not twenty-four hours from when I woke up from a dream about him, and I'm in America, standing in an impossible time machine, waiting for two monster hunters to return from examining a man whose brother brought him back from the dead.

The sleepiness doesn't leave me alone over the next impossibly long minutes, and, what with Gwen's quietness and the soothing hum of the TARDIS, I'm actually beginning to doze upright by the time that I hear footsteps again. I snap to attention, expecting the Doctor, Dean, and Sam, but instead I see Rose and Amy, their shoulders brushing.

"Looks like we've got even more crewmates!" Rose announces, sounding half-anxious and half-excited. "Those American blokes are coming with us. It's going to be a full house."

"They're coming with us?" Gwen sputters. "Why?"

Amy explains this time. "Apparently we have common enemies, and they could use a… more efficient method of transportation."

"Though you should've seen that shorter-haired one," Rose adds good-naturedly, "he was having a right fit about his car being taken care of…"

"Common enemies?" Gwen repeats, apparently choosing to tune out Rose's comment. "Do we even know who our enemy is?"

"Moriarty." Amy's voice shapes the unfamiliar name, and for some reason it strikes me as a rather eerie one to have. Moriarty. Something about it suggests intelligence, evilness. Of course, I've never heard of him, and that fact is what leads to my next question.

"I didn't realize that we had some… Moriarty as our enemy. Aren't we just trying to find out why Mycroft sold his soul? Or…?"

"Moriarty is—well, an old friend of ours, you could say. Last time that we and the Doctor went on a big sort of mission, it was against two criminal masterminds, one of which is Moriarty. He's brilliant, he's terrifying, and he's supposed to be dead."

A bit like Sherlock, I can't help but think. I shake away the parallel, though—Sherlock, unlike this man, certainly isn't our enemy. "But they don't seem like the type to join us—the Americans, I mean, Dean and Sam. They're a bit… independent…"

"Apparently not." Amy shrugs, and it's clear that she barely knows more than me, even though she was apparently there while the Doctor and the Winchesters sorted it all out. "I don't know, it looked like they were pretty desperate for information, if you ask me. And we know more about Moriarty than basically any other humans on Earth. Or, you know, aliens, but I don't think he's quite freakish enough to be famous on an intergalactic level."

I force a smile as another wave of tiredness crashes over at me. "Right," I murmur, this time unable to contain the yawn that arches through my throat. "Well—I'm going to find a bed, if I can… it's been a very long day, I have to say."

"I can show you the bunks," Rose offers immediately. I nod my gratitude, and allow the prospect of sleep to wash away all of my anxieties.

Of course, there's no doubt that they'll be waiting for me as soon as I wake up again.