Yo, author here! Introducing some new characters in this chapter, from Percy Jackson, Doctor Who, Sherlock and Supernatural. (I bet you thought this would be a sweet and simple SuperWho fic.. well, whatever.) Luckily, I don't think you need to know all of the characters in this to get what's going on. If you don't, just PM me and I'll explain! :) Happy reading!

I fell asleep onto the tablet. It wasn't a very comfortable pillow, but after three hours of sitting in a car, staring at a slab of rock with some engravings on it, and trying to translate said engravings into English, I was utterly exhausted. I hadn't even translated much- just some scattered words here and there- 13, Gallifreyan Council, apples.. Actually, I think I got that one wrong.

Luckily, this time when I went to sleep, I didn't have any crazy nightmares. I just dreamt I was having a picnic with Sam and Dean on a beach with sunshine yellow sand and water the acidic turquoise blue color of Borax® brand dishwashing fluid.

We saw an astronaut emerge from the lake and I was just about to greet it when it started shooting at us. We ran into a truck and started to drive away...

I woke only when Sam gently shook me out of my drowsiness. He reached from the passenger seat all the way back to me, gripping onto my shoulder with firm hands.

"Are we there yet?" I asked blearily, brushing my fingers through my sleep-tangled hair.

"Yeah," Sam said, retracting his arm. Groaning, I got out of the car and slammed the door, delicately holding the precious tablet.

"What time is it?"

"About 11."

It was pitch black out. Well, it would be, but lights glowed along the dock. We had driven to a marina in the middle of Missouri, where, according to the boys, Kevin lived in a safe-houseboat. I couldn't see very much of the boat itself, but I could make out the words Fizzles' Follies painted on the back. It seemed like a large and rusty shell to me, and I didn't know why anyone would choose to live in such a place.

I was excited to meet Kevin, though. Another prophet! Maybe we'll become best friends and help each other out with translations and stuff...

Then I remembered why we were there in the first place. Kevin was a schizophrenic, depressed, damaged man who had trust issues.

I really need to be more realistic.

We clambered up the steps to the front door, careful to avoid the gaping hole between the boat and the stairs. Dean rapped on the door once, then five times, then twice. I supposed it was some sort of secret knock.

But nothing happened. The lights weren't even on.

"Maybe he's asleep," I suggested warily.

"No way," Dean said. "That kid works from 7 am to 3 am every single day, no breaks, no exceptions."

He then tried to bust down the door, but it was made out of solid metal- it wouldn't budge.

"Kevin!" Sam yelled, ramming his fists into the door. "Kevin, you in there?"

I slipped under Sam's outstretched arms and tried the handle. The door eased open.

"How'd you do that?" Dean inquired, looking at me like I was the next Einstein.

"Um, it wasn't locked."

"Right."

Smirking, I led the way inside. It was dark, but as my eyes adjusted I saw basic furniture; tables, chairs, a fridge. It was rusty on the inside as well as the outside, which was concerning. I wrinkled my nose as the scents of iron and sulfur overwhelmed me.

A figure stood before us. He was short but built, wearing a well-fitting black suit. His face was shadowed.

"Kevin?" Sam called out, sounding unsure of himself.

The figure snapped his fingers. The lights fizzled on, sparking a little. The man was dashing, with faint stubble and a smirk to end all smirks. It definitely wasn't Kevin, whom the brothers had described as young and asian.

"'Ello, boys," the man purred. He was British, surprisingly. He then fixed his chocolatey eyes onto me. "And.. a girl. Clara, isn't it?"

"How do you know my name?" I demanded.

"Relax," the man said. "My name is Crowley. And I was the one who brought you here. Well, not really me, per se, I had help, but my point still stands."

"Where's Kevin?" Sam shouted, clearly distressed by the appearance of Crowley. He reached forward and guided me behind him, protecting me, or something. I shoved him off. I don't need protecting.

"Oh, don't worry, your precious prophet is safe. And if he isn't, I've got plenty of others to choose from."

"What do you mean?" asked Dean, who was reaching into his jacket pocket for something. Probably a gun. Or a knife.

Crowley laughed. "Oh, you haven't figured out my master plan? This universe is a little low on prophets. There is, of course, only one in every universe. So I got some angels in my possession. They know of all prophets, in all universes, so they transport them to this particular version of Earth. Then I collect the prophets and make them translate the tablets for me, which I use for my own purposes. It's simple enough. But you know what's really great about this whole thing?"

"What?" snapped Sam, his usually curious hazel eyes now cold and calculating.

"I got three for the price of one- I was just following Clara, but I got you two knuckleheads as well! What a steal! We'll have you two locked away, because it's really quite annoying, how you keep killing my kind."

I was still confused. "So how many prophets do you have?"

"About five or six. Why is that important, darling?"

I shrugged. "Just wondering. How many tablets do you have?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Four. Leviathan, demon, angel, demigod. Just got that one this week. Look, we can chat after you're safely behind bars, alright?"

Click.

He snapped his fingers and the world dissolved into red smoke.

"Hello? Hello? Are you alright?"

Gasping, I sat up, instinctively gripping tightly onto the Time Lord tablet, which was still in my arms. Where am I?

I was in a large room. There were 4 bunk-beds at the back, unoccupied at the moment. There was also a door at the back that presumably led to a bathroom. The walls were white and gleaming, but they were stuck with hundreds of post-it notes. It kind of looked like a large classroom, if not for the prison bars that replaced the door. There were a few desks scattered around the room, which were covered in paper and notebooks. I counted four stone tablets like mine.

I was on the ground, looking up at five other people who were either sitting at paper-covered desks or standing over me.

Standing over me were two teenage girls. One was curvy and Latina, with soft brown hair and dark eyes. The other was lanky, with wild red hair and freckles, her jeans covered in pen doodles.

"Are you alright?" the Latina one pressed, eyes full of concern.

"Yeah, I.. I think I'm fine," I mumbled.

At the desks sat three men, all staring at me. One was young and asian, fitting the descriptions of Kevin Tran.

The one next to him was skinny and had sticky-uppy brown hair, wearing a maroon t-shirt and converse. He had rectangular glasses on, which suited his pointy face.

The other one was older, but still pretty attractive. His silvery hair was balding and his fox-like features morphed into a smirk. His fancy suit was dusty but I could tell he liked to keep up appearances.

I got up, dusting off my dress, extending my hand. "I'm Clara Oswald. Who are you?"

The redhead grinned, shaking my hand firmly. "I'm Rachel, Rachel Elizabeth Dare. This is Gloria Ramirez," she said, pointing at the Latina girl.

"Kevin Tran," said the Asian man without looking up from his notebook. So I was right. It was him.

"Name's Lestrade," declared the gray-haired man. "Greg Lestrade. Detective Inspector of Scotland Yard." He was British, as well! Has England invaded or something?

"Detective Inspector... really?"

"In the flesh."

Finally I turned to the man with glasses. "And you are?"

"The Doctor. Just the Doctor."

What?

"That's not possible," I breathed. "You can't be him."

"Well, I'm not, not really. Wait, how do you know him?"

"I'm his..."

Girlfriend? Acquaintance? Partner in crime?

".. Companion."

"Ah. Right. My future, can be tricky. I'm not really him. Human metacrisis version. Different universe, y'know."

"Um, okay..." I mumbled. Information overload much? "Where am I, anyway?"

"We're... well, I don't know. We're prisoners," Rachel answered sullenly. "We were taken by some guy called Crowley, apparently because we're 'prophets of the Lord'. We're being made to translate these tablets... but if you're here, you already know that."

Reluctantly, I took out the Time Lord tablet from under my arm.

"I.. found this."

"Yeah? I found one too. Demigod tablet. As if I didn't know enough about demigods already! What's yours about?" Rachel inquired, her green eyes wide, seeking knowledge.

"Wait, demigods?"

"Yep. My universe has loads of them. I'm their.. prophet, so to speak. Well I was, until I was sent here. I landed in a motel room in Kansas, where I stayed, until I found my tablet and Crowley came looking for me. I managed to hit him in the nuts with my hairbrush before he got me," she stated proudly.

"Okay... Mine is about Time Lords. I haven't translated much yet. Wait, why are you translating them? Why don't you just... not? Can't we rebel or something?"

Rachel's eyes darkened. "You get taken to a Time Out room. Crowley himself interrogates you. It's not fun, trust me." I noticed her entire hand was rudimentarily bandaged- I decided I really did not want to go the the Time Out room.

"So, welcome to your new life, Clara," Gloria muttered bitterly. "Oh, and Crowley expects a certain amount of it translated every day, so you'd better get started soon. Dinner's in an hour, and lights out is at 3:45. Wake up call's at 6. Good luck."