A/N: I know this is a day later than I usually post. (I try to always post on Tuesdays so the story can move forward.) But I got a letter from a publishing company to "revise and resubmit" my manuscript for a series I'm working on, and that kind of ate all my time!

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Supernaturalor Doctor Who or any of the related rights.

...

It was a seamless motion. Dean stepped to his left and turned so he was now facing the climbing red angel. At the same time, the Doctor stepped back and to his left so that he had both the kid and Blue in his sights.

"Smart move," Dean muttered. "Can you get yourself in place?"

"Just about," the Doctor said. "You'll have to get the red one closer first."

Dean nodded, grinning. It was the first time since the Doctor had shown up that they had been anywhere close to a lead like this. Time to take advantage of it while they could.

For the first time since he'd started blinking rock dust out of his eyes, he listened to the voices in his head telling him to close his eyes. Not just blink. Just lean back, close his eyes, and let them take him.

He didn't, of course, let them take him, but he kept his eyes closed. One second . . . . Two seconds. . . . Three seconds. . . . He wrenched his eyes open again.

"Hello again," he said out loud.

Red was much closer this time, almost exactly where they needed it to be. The Doctor had his back deliberately turned to Red, so it was Dean's job now to get Red closer, inch by inch.

Of course, now Dean was starting to see the flaw in this plan.

Sure, the Doctor was all pleased to be bait. Something about not being important enough to eat. When this was over, Dean was going to have to talk to the Doctor about the definition of "important." The guy was just about as important as it got.

But as pleased as the Doctor was, he was forgetting one thing: the one who wasn't bait had to carefully time the angels around the bait before they could spring their trap. Ideally, that would involve someone who had full control over their blinking muscles. That definitely wasn't Dean.

"Okay," Dean said through gritted teeth. This shouldn't be so hard, right? He'd done worse things than this, come out of scrapes where he'd been bloody and broken, and all these guys could do was get in his head. He took a deep breath . . . and blinked.

When he managed to get his eyes open again, he was glad he'd had the willpower to do it. Red's hands were so close to the Doctor that the slightest movement would bring the two together.

"That's cutting it a bit fine, don't you think?" the Doctor asked, his eyes wide, trying desperately to fight the urge to look over his shoulder at the hands that had very nearly clamped down on his shoulders.

"Like you're one to talk," Dean said with a smile. He kept his gaze on Red and asked, "You think they're about where we want them?"

"Almost," the Doctor said. He turned his head slightly, just enough for the kid to move in a little closer so that he was in Dean's field of vision. Inches away from the Doctor. They were all so very close now, and if either Dean or the Doctor blinked, it was all over.

That was the problem with this plan. It had to be precise, but it was dangerous because of its precision.

"Ready?" Dean asked.

"As I'll ever be."

"Count of three?"

The Doctor nodded and started the count: "One . . .:

"Two . . . ."

"Three!" the Doctor shouted, flinging himself to the ground. At the same time, Dean closed his eyes.

The silence was deafening. But Dean could still hear the Doctor breathing, which meant he must still be there. That was a good sign, wasn't it?

He could still feel the angels inside him, though. Did that mean it hadn't worked?

He wrenched his eyes open and looked around, hoping he'd find the Doctor alive and well. To his ultimate relief, the Doctor was lying on the floor, looking up at Dean with that same hopeful expression: Did we make it?

Finally, Dean worked up the courage to look at the three angels. And he grinned.

It had been rough trying to get three of them arranged like that, but they managed it. Blue and the kid were facing each other, and Red was close enough to get caught in their lines of vision. They were looking at each other.

"Well," the Doctor said, pulling himself up and away from the small arrangement. "Now all that's left is to make sure no humans come tramping around and get in the way of their lines of sight." For some reason, he took the key out of his pocket, grabbed his sonic screwdriver, and sat down in the middle of the grass, working at something.

Dean sat down as well, leaning back in the grass and closing his eyes. It felt good not trying to keep them open anymore, and when he closed his eyes, the angel in his head was a little less insistent. And he was so tired . . . .

He hadn't meant to doze off, but he was glad he had. Having his eyes closed for so long had mostly silenced the angel in his head, so he was almost disappointed when he had to open his eyes again as the Doctor pressed his shoulder gently with his foot and whispered, "Dean. You awake?"

"Am now." He sat up on his elbows and pushed himself up so that he could see the Doctor better. As soon as his eyes were open, the dull headache started, marking the place the angel had carved out in his mind. But he'd been good at ignoring that so far . . . .

The Doctor held out the TARDIS key. Only this time, it was hanging on a huge circle of string that had been wrapped several times around the Doctor's shoulder. Looked more like climbing rope than string.

"Where did you—"

"Pockets," the Doctor grinned. "They're bigger on the inside."

"Of course they are," Dean groaned. "And what are you planning to do with all that string and a little gold key?"

"Watch," the Doctor said with a lopsided grin.

And as the Doctor turned toward the angels, as Dean could only see his back, Dean heard something. A command.

Walk in between us.

Okay.

Dean wasn't even really aware he was doing it until he felt a hand on the back of his collar, pulling him back. "What are you doing?" asked the Doctor's voice, but it sounded far away.

Dean gritted his teeth, forcing himself back into reality. "Doc?"

The Doctor now had both hands on Dean—one on each of his shoulders—to hold him in place. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Just watching you do your thing," Dean said. Only he hadn't been doing that, had he? He'd been about to do something else. But it was hard to remember, like trying to hold water in his hands.

"Maybe you should just . . . stay there," the Doctor said carefully. "Just keep an eye on the angels for me, would you?"

"They can't move."

"All the same." The Doctor tilted his head at Dean, almost like he was studying him. "You stay put."

"Like I'm planning on going anywhere," Dean muttered under his breath. But he waited, if only because the Doctor asked him to.

The Doctor moved quickly, unrolling the string and looping it around the angels.

Step in between us.

Dean moved automatically. It was an order, like the kind Dad gave, and he wasn't about to disobey. He moved forward. He was going to block the angels' view of each other . . . .

But then it was hard to see the angels all of a sudden. Like he knew they were there but he didn't want to know they were there.

He put a hand to his forehead and staggered back, trying to force his mind to think straight. It was a little easier now that he couldn't see the path he'd been trying to walk.

Why was he trying to go there, anyway?

Dean didn't realize he was sitting down until he saw the Doctor's outstretched hand in front of him. He reached up to take it and stood up, a little shaky.

This was ridiculous. Why was he having such a hard time? It had only been a little bit of running, but he was used to that sort of thing.

"Dean," the Doctor said. He sounded really far away now. "Can you hear me?"

"Yeah, Doc. What's happening to me?" He tried to ask it like it was just a question, like he was just asking for a status report, but he really couldn't stop the little quiver in his voice. The scared little kid that Dad thought he was.

"I don't know yet," the Doctor said. "But I swear, I swear I'm going to figure it out."

Dean frowned. That didn't sound very reassuring. "Maybe we should get you to your TARDIS and you can do some of your time traveler science stuff on me, right?"

The Doctor just laughed—well, it was really more like a nervous chuckle. He was quiet for a while before, finally, he asked, "Is there anything that helps?"

"Sleeping," Dean said. The throbbing and the talking stopped when his eyes were closed.

The Doctor put his hand up to his eyes and rubbed. Dean was surprised to see rock dust come out of the Doctor's eyes as well. They were both infected, then. This was definitely going to be harder than they thought. The Doctor stared long and hard at the dust in his hands and then frowned. "The infection—or whatever it is—entered through our eyes, right?"

"That's where I'm bleeding rock dust, yeah."

"Maybe . . . shutting down the vision centers of the brain . . . ." The Doctor stared at Dean. "Close your eyes, Dean."

"What?"

"Just do it."

Dean closed his eyes. Almost immediately, the throbbing in the back of his head let up. "It helps," he said reluctantly.

"Okay," the Doctor said, carefully, quietly. "Just . . . hang on." Dean felt the rough fabric of a coat underneath his hands and then, to his utter humiliation, he let the Doctor lead him, blindly, back to the Impala.

...

A/N: Yes, I'm aware that the Doctor didn't know this stuff about angels when he was the Eleventh Doctor, so how can he know it as Ten? I'm getting there. Promise.