Charlie looked to her right, a bit nervous and uncomfortable as she clutched the steering wheel of her classic VW bug. It puttered along the highway, a bit bumpy – though Charlie loved it, she thought it made it feel authentic – and would occasionally make a mysterious noise coming from the radio.
Charlie bit her lip. This was awkward.
Not that having an alien in the car wasn't cool; it totally was. It was just . . .
Well. Odd.
"So you're an alien," Charlie said bluntly.
"Time-Lord," the Doctor said proudly. He had insisted on coming with Charlie, refusing to explain his reasoning. Now he fiddled with a device he called a Sonic Screwdriver and occasionally smiled brightly at the scenery.
Charlie nodded. "I've been following you. Not, uh, you know. Like, legit. Just, maps, pictures, stuff like that. I didn't know you were an alien, though. Just a time traveler."
"I'm both," the Doctor smirked.
"I mean I met this girl once," Charlie continued. "At a bar, we we're both drinking. She swore up and down you were an alien. What was her name . . ." Charlie shook her head. "Man, that's gonna bug me."
"You're handling this well," the Doctor observed.
"A few years ago, I'd be freaking out," Charlie admitted. "Sam and Dean and I, we go back. We defeated some monsters a few times, and then I decided to be like them and join the good fight. I've seen Leviathans, demons, vampires, werewolves . . . aliens don't come as a big shock." She frowned again. "What was that girls name? We went home together. Mary? Morgan?"
"You're very smart, aren't you?" The Doctor asked, and Charlie laughed.
"Well, yeah. I mean I can hack with the best of them and I have a pretty high IQ. So yeah, why do you ask?"
"What does Clara see in that big bloke?"
Charlie bust out laughed. "Are you jealous of Sam?"
"No!" the Doctor snapped, though you could see by his face that he was. Charlie could only guess; the Doctor was very showy and seemed to thrive on attention, and his best friend was doe-eyed over a man they had just met.
"Well, he's Sam, so there's that," Charlie shrugged, stifling a smile. "He's big and handsome, if you're into that. He's smart – not as smart as me, though," she added, and the Doctor grinned a bit. "And he's basically one of the best guys out there. He's been through a lot, him and Dean . . . they cling to each other." She snapped her fingers. "Martha! That woman, her name was Martha!"
"Well, looks like we're here," the Doctor said quickly as the car came to a stop at a bar. He quickly exited the vehicle, and Charlie followed.
A moment later, a cab pulled up to the side of the road. A tall man got out of the backseat, his long coat flapping around his legs in the wind. He adjusted the scarf around his neck.
A much shorter man followed, wearing an old jacket and jeans. He paid the cabbie and turned, running a hand through his blonde hair.
"You have bangs now, I don't like them," the tall man said to Charlie as they approached her and the Doctor.
"Thanks," Charlie said. "Did you get more awkward?"
"Less so, I'm a regular social butterfly these days, tell her John," he retorted, and then he and Charlie both grinned, coming together in a short embrace.
"How'd you do it?" Charlie demanded, pulling away and looking into his eyes.
"Do what?" he asked innocently.
"We're not playing that game," Charlie warned. "I'll figure it out."
The man looked past Charlie to the Doctor, not looking surprised. "Mycroft said you'd be here."
"Well I had no idea that you'd be here, or I wouldn't have come," the Doctor said lightly, narrowing his eyes. "Welcome back to the world of the living, Sherlock."
"How do they know each other?" Charlie asked John as Sherlock and the Doctor sized each other up.
"I was going to ask you," the man replied. "John Watson."
"Charlie. Hey, boys," she called. "Put the rulers away, we've gotta get going."
"I went through all that crap just for the bitch to still be alive," Dean was muttered as he aggressively yanked books off the shelf and slammed them on the table.
"Well I don't know why you're treating me like it's my fault," Crowley said innocently, flipping through the pages of one of the books.
"Because it is your fault, Crowley!" Dean yelled.
Clara watched from the kitchen, before frowning and retreating farther into the kitchen.
"Are they always like that?"
"Sometimes," Sam said from where he was slapping some sandwiches together. "They're . . . complicated."
Clara nodded, propelling herself onto the counter and sitting there. "It's a good thing you've got all this room," she noted. "Seeing as more people keep dropping in."
"Yeah, it's like a hotel right now," Sam agreed, handing her a sandwich and leaning against the counter.
"Thanks," she said softly, nibbling on the snack.
They ate in silence, besides from the raised voices coming from the main room – from the sound of it Cas had joined in as well.
"Sometimes I feel like more of a babysitter than a hunter," Sam sighed.
"Why do you hunt, Sam?" Clara asked, sucking the peanut butter off her thumb.
Sam looked a bit distant, or pained, or both. "It's a family thing, I guess. When I was a kid, my mom . . . she got killed by a demon. So my dad and Dean and me, we started chasing down all kinds of crazy. And we've been going ever since."
"Do you enjoy it?"
Sam chuckled darkly. "No."
Clara looked sympathetic, and laid her hand on his where it rested on the counter. They looked at each other, dark brown eyes meeting hazel. They stared at each other for a moment, each debating on leaning forward.
"Charlie's back," Dean said, coming into the kitchen.
Sam and Clara followed him into the main room, watching as Charlie and the Doctor entered, followed by two men.
"Mr. Holmes," Crowley said, frowning.
"Crowley," Sherlock said, looking a bit surprised. "Why are you here?"
"This is my home," Crowley said smugly.
"No, it's not," Sam growled, and looked at Charlie. "This is them?"
"Yep," she said. "Sherlock Holmes and his friend Dr. John Watson."
"Awesome," Dean grumbled. "Everyone sit down. Time we figured this all out."
