Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Supernatural, Doctor Who, Styx, or any of the related rights.
...
"You are not driving."
The Doctor blew out all his breath at once. "We've already had this conversation."
"Yeah, and we're having it again."
"You can't drive if your eyes are closed."
"I'm not a kid anymore, Doc. I think I can handle angel talk for the few minutes it'll take to get out of range."
The Doctor raised one eyebrow. "Out of range of angels who can manipulate the forces of time itself?"
"Yeah."
The Doctor laughed. "Just let me drive. I've got a license."
"You try to show me that psychic paper, and I'll kill you," Dean muttered through clenched teeth. When the Doctor was silent, he chuckled. "I don't get too much spare time, not with taking care of Sammy and hunting and trying to learn as much about monsters as I can, but when I do, you honestly thought I wasn't going to research you?"
The Doctor frowned. Stopped. Turned around. Here it was. The moment he'd been waiting for. "And what have you found out?"
"Well, the jury's out on whether or not you're even human, for one thing," Dean said, and the smug smile was gone. If he'd been able to open his eyes, the Doctor was quite sure Dean would be giving him one of his deep, penetrating glares.
The Doctor's frown got even deeper.
"And hey, if you're Spock, that's fine. Whatever," Dean said (to the Doctor's surprise and relief). "But if you're Arne Darvin . . . ."
"I'll find you some Tribbles you can test on me later," the Doctor said shortly. "After you can see again."
This time, it was Dean's turn to frown. But he covered up for his annoyance with more smart remarks. "The only thing—the only thing—you got going for you is the fact that all your records say you travel with humans . . . and you don't kill them. You get 'em killed, sure, but you're not the one that pulls the trigger."
The Doctor froze halfway into the car.
"So I figure you're more Spock. Or maybe Lando. Not quite all good but not bad. That changes, though, and I got lots of intel on things that might kill you. Long falls. Getting shot. You've had plenty of close calls, huh?"
The Doctor tried not to smile at that. Close calls. Yeah. "Just get in the car."
"I get to pick the music, at least, if you're not gonna let me drive."
"You're not falling back asleep?"
"I don't sleep when I'm not the one drivin' my baby." Dean turned to the Doctor, his eyes still closed, and gave a half smirk. "Something loud. Maybe some AC/DC. Aerosmith."
The Doctor smiled. At least he wasn't arguing about whether or not the Doctor could drive. He wasn't fighting. So he turned on the radio.
Well, it wasn't AC/DC. But he could see the smile spreading across Dean's face at the guitar chords. The transition from soft to louder. And then the lyrics started in, and the Doctor could see why Dean was grinning.
"A gathering of angels appeared above my head.
They sang to me this song of hope, and this is what they said."
Dean was grinning and mouthing along to the chorus of "Come sail away"s as the Doctor revved the engine.
"You really want to sing about angels right now?" the Doctor teased.
In response, Dean just sang the next verse even louder:
"I thought that they were angels,
But to my surprise,
They climbed aboard their starship
And headed for the skies!"
The Doctor snorted, but there really wasn't much else to do but sing along. So he did.
"Singing: Come sail away.
Come sail away.
Come sail away with me.
Come sail away.
Come sail away.
Come sail away with me!"
Dean leaned back, grinning, in the seat next to the Doctor, and the Doctor couldn't help grinning back, even though Dean couldn't see him. Yes, he definitely missed this version of Dean.
And they had to drive all the way up to Toronto, so Dean did eventually fall asleep. It was hard for him to do anything else when his eyes were closed and the Doctor kept turning down the radio volume by tiny increments every other song.
He'd known, of course, that Dean knew about him. He wasn't sure exactly when Dean had learned that the Doctor wasn't human, but the Doctor had been dreading that encounter. Dean had never been entirely clear on whether the Doctor escaped that particular revelation unscathed.
He still wasn't sure.
But he'd always been on shaky ground with Dean. He tended to show up for the worst of it—or else he was too late for the worst of it.
The Doctor frowned as he pulled up to a red light and looked over at the sleeping teenager in the front seat of the Impala, his head tilted back and his mouth open. He was snoring slightly.
He looked peaceful, and that wasn't a word that the Doctor usually associated with Dean. Sure, he had that tense relaxed look—where even though he was sleeping, his muscles were tensed, ready to spring into action.
But it wasn't as bad as the Doctor had seen it before. Or later, if they were going by Dean's timeline. It wasn't exhaustion- or beer-induced sleep. It wasn't punctuated by bad dreams. Bad memories.
The light turned green, and the Doctor looked away from the boy who would one day be so tired.
…
"Miss?"
Donna groaned. Her head hurt. A lot.
"Miss?"
She was going to say something about being old enough not to be single anymore, but she didn't quite have her mouth back. It still tasted like lead.
"Miss, you can't sleep here." And then she felt the slight poke of a stick in her side.
She sat up quickly, then grabbed her head. The sudden movement made her dizzy. When the world stopped spinning and came into focus, she recognized the policeman's uniform. "Oi," she said, "don't go poking me!"
The policeman stepped back just a bit but quickly recovered. "You can't sleep here, miss."
"And where's here?" Donna asked. Her head still hurt, but she could take in her surroundings now. And this little park looked like it could belong to any other little town in all of anywhere.
"Lawrence, miss. Lawrence Kansas." The policeman tilted his hat at her. "Long night?"
Donna bit back a laugh. If you counted watching a stone angel get slowly closer and closer and then waking up in Middle of Nowhere USA as a long night, then yes. She just shrugged instead and said, "Bit, yeah. You haven't seen my friends, have you? It's just that they're my ride . . . ."
The policeman looked around. "Sorry, miss. No one around here except you. And you can't stay here."
"I got that the first time, thanks," Donna said. She stood up, and this time, she felt a little more sure of herself. "You sure you didn't see them? There's this older bloke, a little older than me, spiky hair, skinny as a pencil, wears a ridiculous suit and sounds like he's talking nonsense?"
The policeman looked like he was ready to report her for being drunk and disorderly, so she decided not to ask about the plaid-wearing hunter with the cute freckles.
"I know, I know. I'm going," Donna muttered. She gathered her jacket up—it had fallen off her shoulder while she slept—and glared at the policeman until she was sure he got the message.
Donna hugged her arms closer to her and tried to think of a way to contact the Doctor. He said that the weeping angels sent you back in time to live to death, so maybe she could send a signal to him in the future?
She wandered just far enough to find a good bench to sit on. She didn't have any money with her, so she couldn't just stop for breakfast. Her stomach protested.
Well, she was good at temping. Maybe she could just hunker down, get something secretarial. Everyone needed secretaries, right? Just something small, something to get her enough money for the days or weeks ahead. The Doctor was never really good at coming on exactly the same day as Donna did. His wasn't an exact science.
"Excuse me."
Donna looked up only to grin when she saw a little boy, maybe three, holding out a piece of candy to her. He had long hair that needed a good trim, but kind eyes, and he looked even a little bit shy. Careful not to scare him, Donna reached out and took the candy with a whispered, "Thank you."
"Are you okay?" asked the little boy. "I saw you sleeping on the bench and thought you looked lost."
Donna smiled. "Hello, sweetheart. What's your name?"
But then the little boy's mother saw him talking to a stranger, and she rushed over. "Dean, what are you doing?" the mother asked.
"She was lost, and I wanted to help!"
Dean.
Donna stared, eyes wide, at the little boy in front of her. She could even sort of see the resemblance now. The freckles, the eyes, the determined little scowl he got when his mother started to pull him away with a whispered, "Don't bother her."
"Oh, I don't mind," Donna said quickly. "He's right, you know. I don't really know where I am. Some friends of mine were out late, and they sort of . . . left me."
Dean's mother kept hold of Dean's hand tightly, but the frown went away the slightest bit, replaced instead by worry.
What cinched it, though, was when Dean looked up at her with his big, green eyes. "Mommy, can we help her?"
The woman sighed. "Would you like a place to clean up? Maybe call your friends?" she asked at last. (Dean's unending tugging on her sleeve probably had something to do with it.)
"That would be lovely, yeah. I don't have a wallet or a phone on me, or I wouldn't want to bother you," Donna said quickly. "I'm Donna, by the way. What's your name?"
Her smile was genuine as she reached out a hand. "Mary. Mary Winchester."