Thanks to azebra117

Disclaimer I don't own Doctor Who/Torchwood/Sherlock/Supernatural or any associated characters, events, etc.


CHAPTER ELEVEN

Amy Pond

And I'm wondering why I still fight in this life
'Cause I've lost all my faith in this damn bitter strife
~ "Shot in the Dark," Within Temptation

xxx

It takes me exactly three seconds to realize that Rose is gone.

For the first one and a half, I'm too caught up in confusion at what the hell just happened to worry about anything. I glance around as the TARDIS's lights finally stop sputtering and settle to the usual steady glow—everyone seems to be wearing an identical expression of shock; even Sherlock's eyes are wider than usual. The next second is spent cataloguing just who I see—Dean is gone, but that's to be expected. But… also…

My double take lasts half a second, and then it hits me.

"No," I gasp, and the Doctor is at my side before my legs vanish from underneath me. He holds my arms, looks into my eyes.

"Amy, listen. We're going to get her back. Amy—"

"N-no, she's gone, she's gone," I repeat, half-laughing at myself. My words catch in my throat, and I feel tears in my eyes, suddenly there without explanation. I'm hollow. Empty. Not numb; it's not as if I can't sense my emotions, but rather like they aren't there at all, like they were all tied to Rose and her departure whisked them clean out, leaving me with only a raw ache where they were torn away.

"She is not gone, Amy, I'm going to get her. We're going to get her. Everything is going to be fine, Amelia, do you understand?"

"Stop—stop." I try to pull away from his grip, but all my limbs are feather-light and just as weak. I slump forward instead, as though my legs simply give up beneath me, and I feel his body tense in surprise as suddenly he's the only thing keeping me from crashing to the floor. I don't care. My heart is throbbing now, the pangs growing steadily greater and greater. "Stop lying to me, Doctor," I whisper into his shoulder, feeling my tears wet the fabric almost instantaneously. I don't know how he can hear my tiny whisper, and I shake my head, whimpering. "She's gone, the Devil took her, we can't get her back now…"

"Amy, what are you saying to yourself?" He forces me back from him, gripping my other arms. I don't even think about the others in the room. Rose isn't here, and I could hardly care less about anything else. "We always beat them, remember? All those times, you and me. I can rescue her. We can rescue her. You and me and the TARDIS, yeah?" He tries to smile, but his eyes are dull, lacking of their usual adventurous sparkle. I'm not fooled. "We're never defeated."

"Rory was defeated," I tell him quietly, and even his faked grin falls from his features like a mask made of dry paper. "Rory's dead, you didn't bring him back…" I don't know why I'm not yelling. I should be yelling. I deserve to yell. But all I can do is murmur, breathe my quiet disbelief and wonder what on Earth happened to land me here. "Why do I always have to lose them?"

"You didn't lose Rose." His fingers are cutting into my arms now, gripping tighter than he surely must intend, and yet I barely feel them. I barely feel anything. "She's alive, she's somewhere, and we're going to find her!"

Sam's voice suddenly filters through my awareness, cleaves the uneasy silence surrounding me and the Doctor in two. "He's right, Amy," he promises. I frown slightly and look over at him. His chin is lifted, his eyes dark, and he draws his words out with intent precision. "We're going to get Rose back, just like we're going to get Dean back. None of us are letting either of them go. Are we?"

"Never," Gwen promises, stepping closer to Sam while meeting my tear-filled hazel eyes with her large, dark ones. She folds her arms, the sleeves of her leather jacket rippling under the light.

"Of course not!" Molly agrees emphatically, looking scandalized at the very notion of letting Dean and Rose go.

Sherlock hesitates the longest, and by the coldness of his expression, I think for a long moment that he's going to remain silent, or even contradict the others' determination with some icy display of logic. But when he finally speaks, his words are strong, each carefully chosen and hitting the air like individual bullets.

"If Lucifer and Moriarty are on the same side in this, then that means that Moriarty is still out there somewhere. Whether it be on Earth or in Hell, that monster is still killing. And I will not allow him to take one more life. Not one."

"Now this is the kind of companion that I'm looking for!" the Doctor exclaims, moving his arm over the four of them—Sam, Gwen, Molly, and Sherlock—in a sweeping motion. "Look at you lot, you're all so brilliant, yes you are! Humans," he adds with a wink at me, "it really doesn't get any better than good old humans."

I can almost smile. Almost. At least, a faint flicker of fire is beginning to brush at my insides, a tiny, hopeful thought that maybe this isn't so impossible after all. Maybe I really can do this. Maybe we really can do this.

"Are we really going to get Rose back?" I ask him. My voice is small, like the plaintive mew of a kitten, but I don't care. I just need him to answer me. I need to know the truth.

"Of course we are, Pond," he insists, gripping my hand as hard as he can, and, for some stupid reason, I believe him.


"It's in here somewhere, it's got to be," the Doctor insists, throwing something over his shoulder. I dodge just in time for what seems to be a wooden wand to clatter onto the TARDIS's floor next to me. It's tailed by a heavy book, the spine of which splays on the ground. I crouch down and turn it over, just barely managing to make out the faded gold letters against its leather binding. The Nice and Accurate—

I yelp and drop the book in my effort to dodge the next missile that comes my way, this time in the form of a plastic toy dinosaur. Next is a golden pin shaped like a bird, followed by an airline pilot's cap, a wadded-up towel, and a clown horn that honks as it bounces. Finally, the Doctor lets out a triumphant "Aha" and resurfaces from the compartment that he's been digging in, his hair mussed up and a triumphant expression in place on his features. Clutched in his hand is a blocky, rectangular bit of technology, a bit smaller than a paperback book and more square-like in shape. "Fixed it up a while back, after the first Moriarty incident—it should do much more than detect someone's presence on a planet now."

He's told me about this device, though I never saw him use it back where Rory died. Apparently it was with its help that his younger self realized the Master was on the planet. It's used for tracking, he had explained—a little compartment opens up inside, you drop in a bit of a person's DNA, and voila—their location is instantly provided. Or, well, supposedly. It was broken last time he tried to use it, and I can't say I'm entirely convinced that he's managed to fix it. It still looks rather damaged, in any case, battered and singed around the edges, but I shrug and hold out the thin blonde hair that I'd found clinging to my shirt earlier.

"Wonderful, thanks…" He nudges it inside of the compartment and flips its small lid shut, watching intently as the numbers on its tiny, silver-lit screen scroll rapidly. A number of coordinates finally fill themselves in across it, and a grin settles over his face.

"Brilliant, it's right on Earth—Minnesota, it looks like. Right next to where we were before. For being the Devil, this bloke sure doesn't seem to have much of an imagination…"

"Minnesota?" I repeat, leaning in. Upon closer expression, these aren't any numbers I'm familiar with, but rather squiggly lines looped into figures that only almost resemble Earthen numerals. "Still in the US?"

"Apparently so." He grabs my arm and pulls me up, leading me out into a hall off of the storage closet that we've been rummaging through. Both of our feet thud on the ground heavily, and my heart increases rapidly—I can almost smile. We're getting Rose back. We're getting Rose back. In just minutes, probably, I'm going to have her. I'm going to be able to feel her and hold her again—and I'm going to kiss her, of course, probably harder than I ever have before, just to taste her again, to memorize her and remind myself over and over just how lucky I am that she's here for me, that she always is.

"No time to waste, then!" The Doctor bounds immediately over to the controls from the second we set foot in the console room. "Off we go—"

"Wait." It's Sherlock who speaks up, from where he's standing on the other side of the room, looking up from what seems to have been a soft conversation with Molly. Gwen and Sam are near the door, each with a paintbrush in hand and a bucket of silvery paint sitting on the ground, forming intricate signs and sigils over the inside of the TARDIS's door.

"No time for waiting!" the Doctor shoots back. "We've got them, and now we're—"

"No. Think," he growls. "We can't merely barge in. There's a reason why he took Rose—you do realize that, don't you?"

"What do you mean… reason?" Gwen questions doubtfully from across the room.

It couldn't be clearer that Sherlock's fighting to hold himself back from rolling his eyes. "I mean that Lucifer is only interested in Dean—or at least should be. And me, as well, though if what the Winchesters said is true, he probably doesn't want to behave violently towards me, at least not yet. He needs to convince me to let him use me as a vessel, and he's not going to achieve that by harming me. But other than me and Dean, and perhaps Sam, there's no reason that she should care for any of us. And yet he took Rose. Why? Obviously, because he needed bait."

My stomach sinks like a stone, as if his final word was the impact of it hitting a lake's surface. Everything seems to plummet as the expressions of those around me drop—all except for the Doctor's. He just adjusts his bowtie proudly. "Well. Sure. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't go. They have no idea what the TARDIS is capable of, those demons and angels. This old girl has some moves that they with their big feathery wings can't even dream of. Don't you, sexy?" He raps her wall affectionately.

I can't help but be both amused and heartbroken by how wounded his tone is. He wants to be right. He's trying his very hardest to be right, to make excuses when he finds that he isn't succeeding, and I don't think it's all because of him. It's because of me. He wants me to know that he's confident, so that I don't break down again.

The Doctor's holding out hope so that I don't give up.

"It's true," I agree defensively when Sherlock opens his mouth to object again. The dark-haired detective quirks an unimpressed eyebrow in my direction, and I shrug. "I mean, if you really think about it, why should Lucifer know anything about the TARDIS? There were never any angels on Gallifrey, were there, Doctor?"

"If there were, they left us well alone," he confirms.

"So, there." I stare Sherlock down as hard as I can. "We can be strategic, but we aren't going to hold back just because they want us to come. I'm going to get Rose. No matter what. And if they have it in mind that they're just going to capture me along the way to that, well, I'd like to see them try."

"Hear, hear!" the Doctor agrees brightly. Sherlock groans through his nose, but doesn't protest any farther. "Now, Gwen, Sam, if you'd be so fine as to pack up your paints—"

"'Course." Sam gives one more flourish to a complex symbol that takes up most of the upper half of the door, then drops the brush into the paint can and gestures that Gwen do the same. "It should be much more angel-proof now," he promises as he lugs the can back over our way, "but since the actual form of the TARDIS is in multiple dimensions at once, it can be hard to keep them out through a single protected side."

"Much appreciated, both of you. Now, everyone, Sherlock is right on one account, here—we should at least have some sort of plan. So, here it is: I'll lead Sam and Gwen in to get Rose and Dean, the rest of you stay here. Simple."

"Wait," I interject. My voice sounds just as dangerous as I feel, and I hope that I misheard him, for all of our sakes. "Did you say… you expect me to stay?"

The Doctor shifts a bit, clearly uncomfortable. "You're pregnant, Amy," he reminds me, not meeting my eyes. "You need to look after the baby. This could be dangerous."

"If this is dangerous, then that means that Rose is in danger." My words are low and intense—not twisted with desperation, but rather determinedly even, showing the Doctor that I'm absolutely serious about what I'm saying. "This child is going to live with both of its parents or not at all."

I've never called Rose the baby's parent before.

And maybe the Doctor notices that, too, because something in his face definitely changes. He sighs, as if in defeat, and lets his head hang for a full three seconds before jerking it back up again. "Fine. Sam, Gwen, and Amy, with me. But you're to do what I say, and never wander off or start obeying your own rules instead of mine. The only way we're going to make it through this is if we're all working together."

"The whole lot of you going," Sherlock muses. "A lot of action and anger, hardly any brains."

A scowl flickers over my face, and I wonder if I should be offended. "If this goes well, we won't need brains," I reply simply. But I can't help but murmur my next words in an undertone to the Doctor: "We do have some sort of plan, right?"

"Of course we do." He hesitates for a moment, and I raise my eyebrows, but he frowns defensively and flicks me on the tip of the nose with his sonic screwdriver, eliciting a yelp of surprise. "It's easy. We, well… we land where they are, and pull them into the TARDIS, and, er… get out of there."

That's it? But even as the logical part of my brain tells me that this is ridiculous, that we need something more material, I don't want to waste the time. I need to see Rose now. "Fine," I agree, "let's go."

The Doctor seems to pilot the TARDIS faster than ever, his hands literally blurring as they fly over its controls. It strikes me then that he's probably just as worried about Rose as I am, even if he doesn't say anything about it. He's known her longer than me, after all—years longer—and I know that his Tenth regeneration, at the very least, was clearly infatuated with her. I've never considered before that he might be jealous of me, but the thought comes up now, teasing around the edges of my mind. I shake it off hurriedly. The Doctor's happy that Rose and I are together, I know he is. She's just his friend now, same as me. Just his companion.

The TARDIS's landing seems much more abrupt than usual, somehow. Tension fills the air as all of go silent, our gazes slowly shifting to the angel-proof door. We've got no idea where we are—the only thing that we can be absolutely positive about is that we're headed straight into a trap.

"Shall we?" the Doctor beams.

I nod silently, and he leads us towards the door. "Sherlock, Molly, stay behind," he reminds them, as if they aren't already practically frozen. "If we're taken—" His eyes lock with Molly's for a moment, and his voice goes quieter, more intense. "If we're taken, you need to get out of here. Don't hesitate. Don't try to save us. The TARDIS—the TARDIS will probably know where you want to go… Sherlock, mate, you've probably got at least some sort of grasp on the controls by now?"

His chin dips in a shallow nod. "I know the basic maneuvers at this point."

"Good. Then if we're captured, just get her moving, and she'll take you to a safe enough location…" He takes a deep breath. "Alright, everyone ready?"

He's the first one to open the door, and I'm right behind him, peering over his shoulder. Surprisingly, I'm greeted by complete darkness. I squint into it. The golden light pooling from the TARDIS illuminates a small area of cracked cement floor, and freezing air wreathes around me, so that I can't help but shiver, goosebumps rising on my skin. We slowly step out, Sam and Gwen at our heels, and Sam tips the door shut, sealing off our only light source.

A shuffling noise comes from the shadows, followed by a soft, feminine voice. "Doctor? …Amy?"

"Rose—" My mind goes blank. I shove past the Doctor, not thinking, and trip over the floor so that I fall to my hands and knees right and front of her. I can see her shape, now, just barely—a shadow within shadows—but her warmth touches my skin even from inches away. I reach forward and snake my arms around her shoulders, gasping as I wind my fingers through her hair and pull her in as close as I can. My eyes squeeze themselves shut, and I press my forehead to the fabric of her shirt, gulping in her scent as the tears begin to come again. "Rose… I thought—I thought you were gone…"

"I'm not…. I'm fine… Amy, I'm fine." Her hand brushes my cheek, and I pull back for a second. I can see the glimmer of her chocolate eyes, now, wide and dark, and I'm filled with such an intense surge of warmth that I feel as though I might collapse in on myself.

"You're safe," I say, leaning in and kissing her, hard. Her fingers move to my jaw, pressing lightly against it as her lips fully crush themselves to mine, and I allow myself several seconds of blind bliss, feeling her and knowing that she's there, that she's safe, that she's safe.

A nervous throat-clearing from the Doctor is what finally reminds me that we're not alone, and even if no one can see in here, I realize that I've hardly been quiet in my motions. My cheeks stain a deep crimson that no one can see, and I sit back on my heels, still not taking my hand away from Rose's shoulder.

"I'm fine," she continues, like I'd never done a thing to interrupt her. "But Dean isn't."

I can practically feel Sam tense behind me. "What's wrong?" he demands. "Where is he?"

"Just out there… we're in some sort of warehouse place, Lucifer brought us here and then threw me in this closet. I didn't see anything, but—there was screaming. A lot of it. It only stopped a few minutes ago…"

Sam mutters a string of curse words under his breath. The flick of a match echoes through the small space, and then orange light dances over us in a small, twisting stream. I blink as my eyes adjust, then look around, taking everything in. The five of us are cramped, like Rose said, into what seems to be a storage closet, judging by the few empty boxes piled in a corner. She's slumped against a wall, looking exhausted, and the TARDIS—

Gwen and I cry out at the exact same time. There's someone else in here with us, lounging against the bright blue wood. It's a young woman, slim and decked out in thin black leather. Her face is pale, surrounded by wavy, dark hair, and a smirk twists her thin lips, arms crossed almost lazily.

In a split second, Sam is staring at her, and the last thing I see is his wide-eyed, horrified face before the match sputters out. A light laugh, presumably from the unfamiliar woman, floats eerily through the air, and then a light bulb creaks to life overhead, illuminating the scene dimly.

"Getting slow, huh, Sammy?" She tilts her head and raises her eyebrows. "Or are you always this pathetic without Deano to back you up?"

"Meg." He spits out the name like a curse, and she blinks almost docilely. I can't help but gasp—when her eyes open again, they're pure, solid black, shining like oil under the light. Rose's hand tightens on my shoulder, and a heavy dose of pure fear slides through my veins. A demon. She's a demon.

"It's been a while, hasn't it? Haven't seen you since my dogs tore apart your precious Harvelles… and your angel had to absolutely humiliate me." Her lip curls. "It's been nice to get revenge on him, let me tell you…"

"You have Cas?"

"Oh, we've got everyone now, sweetheart. All of you tucked into one little warehouse. And I'm afraid I'm not going to let you get back to your time machine… you're ours now."

"The one you really want is Sherlock," I blurt out, "and he's not here."

"Sherlock? Sherlock Holmes?" I shudder as her pitch-black eyes glare over at me. "I don't care about him. He's Lucifer's toy. No, the set I want is the Winchesters. And since the angels don't need to wear your meat anymore… I reckon I can have a bit of fun with it."

"Where's Dean?" Sam demands, stepping closer to her.

"All in good time, sugar, you'll get to see your brother soon enough. And he is a mess, too, let me tell you. Who would've known that he was so attached to that little angel…?"

"What did you do to him?"

"Didn't even touch 'im," she promises boredly. "At least, not physically. Precious little Castiel, on the other hand…"

"Then, what did you do to Cas?" Rather than becoming shaky, Sam's voice is growing harder and darker with every word he spits out.

"Oh, you'll see soon enough," she promises. "I can barely wait to see the expression on your ugly little—"

"Thanks for your time. I appreciate it."

Out of seemingly nowhere, Sam has a knife—a long, serrated blade, engraved with ancient-looking symbols. Meg's eyes widen for an instant, but she doesn't have the chance to so much as flinch before he thrusts forward, piercing deep into her chest. The muscles in his arm tighten, and her mouth falls open, a light gasp falling from her lips. Sam leans in, his eyes icy, his glare deadly.

"I don't take it lightly," he hisses, twisting the knife slightly, "when people hurt my brother."

He wrenches it out then, and her eyes and mouth flash with golden light, stuttering as her shriek fills the air. Sam raises his chin, glaring in utter contempt as the young woman's body, now free of its demon, drops to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. None of us speak for what feels like a long time, and I can't help but feel like something huge just ended, something that I've barely brushed the surface of. Sam and Meg knew each other. How long had they? Were they enemies? Archenemies? Had they ever been friends?

Gwen speaks first. "Someone will have heard that," she breathes, glancing over at the door across from us.

The last word has barely left her mouth before it flies open, its many chain locks shattering immediately. Standing there is another demon, dark-eyed like Meg, but otherwise entirely different, taking the form of a heavyset, middle-aged man. He's closest to Rose and me, and I freeze, my heart leaping into my throat as he steps forward, but then Sam moves in front of it, the blade of his knife skating over the demon's throat. It bellows in shock, eyes and mouth flashing before it crumples to the floor.

Sam looks back over his shoulder. "Doctor, Amy, get back into the TARDIS," he barks. "Gwen and Rose, come with me."

"Sorry." I latch onto Rose's wrist, staring him down. "But she's not going anywhere without me."

He seems to bite back angry words, his head dipping in frustration, then he turns back to the Doctor. "Doctor, go! Get to the main part of the warehouse!"

The Doctor looks ready to object, but forces it down, nodding and dashing back into the time machine, which instantly fades away. I glance back to the door just in time to see Sam stabbing through the throat of a third demon, another woman. As soon as she's down, he hurries out, with Gwen right behind him. Rose and I follow—I try not to think about the dead bodies at our feet, or the fact that we're plunging into a nest of demons.

Two more try to stop us as soon as we exit the closet, but Sam works almost supernaturally fast, cutting them down before they can get within arm's length of him. We are indeed in a warehouse, the ceiling high above us and abandoned storage racks situated around us like walls of a maze.

"Dean!" Sam shouts at the top of his lungs. There's no response, and we continue to dash through the dusty labyrinth of cement and metal. He slices or stabs any demon who approaches us—they seem to never end. At one point, a group of three seem to melt into existence right in front of us, and Sam doesn't even break a sweat as he twists in place—sinking the dagger into the side of one's neck, pulling its dripping length out in time to tear it across another's throat and then plunge it firmly into the heart of the third. He's scarily cold with his actions, displaying no emotion at all, and giving no regard to the rest of us with the insane speed he's moving. I begin to lose my breath after a couple of minutes of flat-out running, and Rose grips my arm, pulling me along behind her. This can't be good for the baby, can it? I nearly trip over my own feet when Sam finally halts, blade held out from his side, and Gwen and Rose quickly stop behind him.

"Dean," he says simply, and as he rushes forward, I realize that we've come to a clearing in what must be the center of the building. Dean is slumped against a wall, his green eyes heavy-lidded in the low light. I follow him over, catching snatches of their conversation as Sam kneels before him, taking him by the shoulders and staring at him with a tender, almost vulnerable desperation.

"Sam… Cas… he…"

"It's alright, we're here now, okay?" Sam's fingers move over Dean's chin, where a thin trickle of blood runs down, starkly visible against his whitened skin. "Did he hurt you?"

"…Bit my tongue—Cas—get… Cas…" His voice is hoarse and cracked.

Rose's fingers suddenly clench tight on my wrist, and she murmurs in my ear. "Amy…"

I turn in her direction, and see that she's staring a little ways away. There's a table—almost surgical-looking—and on it is a body. My eyes widen, and she pulls me over. It's a man, his form completely limp and his head lolling, eyes closed. Every inch of him seems to be stained or splattered with blood, and the trench coat that he's wearing is ripped in what must be a hundred places. It seems to be tan, underneath a heavy overtone of rusty red from the wounds torn all along his body.

My stomach lurches.

"Is he…?" Rose whispers.

I can't stop myself from moving forward, my hand moving to ever-so-lightly touch his shoulder. He doesn't react, and I lift my fingers to his mouth. A slight, faint whisper of breath coasts over them, and I exhale in relief—I don't even know if this man is a friend or an enemy, yet I'm somehow glad that he isn't dead. "He's alive," I whisper.

"Cas…" Dean groans again.

Cas. Castiel. Is this him? Is this Dean's angel? He seems so small, somehow, smaller than I imagined, or maybe that's just his state, so utterly destroyed. I realize then that there are leather bindings around his wrists and calves, etched with dark symbols, and I hastily go about unstrapping them. "Help me out," I urge Rose, and she does, a bit reluctantly. As soon as the last buckle comes undone, his eyelids flutter for a moment, and I lean in closer, watching hopefully for a sign of consciousness.

"Cas?" I ask softly. His irises, though I can barely see them, are the precise color of lapis lazuli. It's breathtaking.

He stares hazily at me for a moment, and mumbled words come from his lips. Only one word, actually—a name. "Dean…"

"Dean's right over there," I promise. "He's fine, Cas, we're all fine. We're friends—we're going to get you out of here, okay?" As gently as possible, I slide an arm under his shoulders and lift him into a semi-sitting position, propping him up enough so that he can see Dean over my shoulder. "Don't worry about anything, just relax. We're here to save you, I promise."

"Just… get Dean… out of…" His muscles slacken against my arms, and his head falls back, eyes slipping shut again. I pull him into my chest, glancing over at Rose with wide eyes.

"We have to get them out of here," I whisper.

"Let me see him." It's Dean's voice, and I glance over to see him standing, supported on either side by Sam and Gwen. I'm reluctant to let Cas down again, so I merely turn, so that Dean can see the angel lying limp in my arms. His breath rushes out, and I swear I can see the swell of tears in his green eyes. "He's alive?"

"Definitely alive. He was just asking for you, but…"

"Christ… Cas, I'm here, damn it, I'm sorry—" His voice chokes up, and he shakes his head, clenching his teeth. Sam glances over concernedly, his arm tightening around his brother's waist. Dean looks away from Cas, up to me. "Is the Doctor coming?"

"He should be here any moment—where's Lucifer?"

"Right here, sweetheart. I was waiting for someone to bring me up… you'd think that I'd get more attention, but I suppose the pretty-boy angel is more important…"

I gasp and stare. Standing just behind Dean is Lucifer—I recognize him immediately, even though I saw him only for the briefest moment in the TARDIS. My stomach twists. "You can't stop us!" I half-yell. Resentment and fury build in my chest as I fully realize that this is the man who took Rose—who I thought would kill her. Who still could—no, I can't think that way, I can't. We have Rose now. She's safe.

I won't let him take her from me again.

"Darling, I'm the Devil. Getting away isn't going to be quite this simple."

"On the contrary," a bright voice declares, seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once and accompanied by a wheezing, mechanical groan. "I'd say it's going to be simplicity itself."

I realize what's happening as Rose grips my shoulder and pulls desperately. I cinch my arms more tightly around Cas and pull him off the table, praying silently that it doesn't do any massive damage. Rose supports me before I can topple under his deadweight, and together we manage to stumble the few essential steps needed before the TARDIS closes in around us. It only takes a few seconds to go from fading half-presence to full solidity, and the last thing I see is Lucifer's shocked expression, moments later obscured by solid wall.

"We did it," I gasp, sinking to the floor. I laugh and shake my head in disbelief at our impossible escape, as my heart hammers out fiercely against my ribcage.

I'm so filled with relief, buzzing with triumph, that I barely feel as Cas's breath stutters to a halt.