A/N: I will return you to your regularly scheduled crises and Donna snark and things going wrong, but first...Dean and the Doctor on a road trip. Impossible to resist.

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Supernatural, Doctor Who, AC/DC, or any of the related rights to anything.

...

Dean woke up again when the Doctor had a particularly hard stop. He said some very un-Doctorish things as he muttered about people pulling out in front of him.

"You crash my baby, and I'll kill you," Dean said, stretching and yawning.

"Don't open your eyes."

He'd nearly forgotten, after that nice, long sleep, that he wasn't supposed to open his eyes. There was still an angel in his head, after all. He frowned, wished he was more . . . useful. "Did you ever get any sleep, then?"

"Didn't need to sleep."

"Uh-huh." Dean craned his neck. He could feel the heat of the sun on his face, and it was higher than midday. "How long was I out?"

"I didn't want to wake you. It seemed like you hadn't had a good night's sleep in—"

"How long?"

The Doctor paused—probably frowning, though Dean couldn't very well tell—before he said, "It's about 3:00 right now."

"That's what, twelve hours?"

"More like ten or eleven," the Doctor said quickly. "You were pretty determined to stay awake, but I suppose that's hard to do when your eyes are closed."

Dean frowned and dug in his pocket for his cell phone with a muttered, "Dad's gonna kill me."

"For what? Sleeping in? I won't tell anyone," the Doctor said, his tone lighthearted. But it was obvious he didn't understand the damage. He must not have ever met Dad.

"I was supposed to check in," Dean said. "He probably thinks he has to come dig me out or something."

"I'm sure your dad—"

Dean held up a hand for silence. "Pull over," he said.

"What?"

"I need to find a phone."

"I have a cell phone . . . well, it was Martha's . . . but nonetheless . . . ."

Dean frowned and wondered, briefly, what had happened to Martha that she would leave something as expensive as a cell phone behind. Dean didn't even have one (though he was saving up to get one for Sammy, once he got better at hustling pool).

"Anyway, you can use it. No sense in stopping. We've got to get to the TARDIS and find out where Donna is without any detours so we can't possibly run into her and cement her timeline."

"No breakfast?"

The Doctor laughed. "We'll drive through. How much cash do you have?"

"It's in the glove compartment."

"Thanks. Here." The Doctor handed Dean the cell phone. It felt much lighter and slimmer than the ones Dean saw at the store.

"What model is this?"

"Oh, it won't be out for about another decade," the Doctor sighed dismissively.

Dean wrinkled his nose. "How do you use it when you can't see any buttons?"

"Ah," the Doctor said simply. He took the phone out of Dean's hands, slowed down the car so he wasn't driving distracted (to Dean's relief) and then asked, "What's your dad's number?"

"If he's still at the same motel . . . ." Dean shook his head and gave the Doctor the number. The Doctor was quiet for a while longer and then handed the phone back to him.

He heard the phone ring out before, at last, the manager answered. "Hello?"

"Hi," Dean said. "Is Mister Grant still there? Room 210?"

"They just checked out this morning, sir," the manager said.

Dean swore under his breath. That's what he got for oversleeping. He was always supposed to check in. It wasn't that dad was worried about him or anything. He always knew Dean would get back home okay. Maybe a little battered and bruised, but he wasn't worth worrying over like Sammy was. But he had to check in so he'd know where to find them.

"Did he leave any messages?" Dean asked. The only thing that kept the panic out of his voice was the fact that the Doctor was in the seat next to him. He didn't want to give away how upset he was. But this was a major setback. He'd have to track them down, retrace their footsteps . . . .

"Just a bunch of numbers," the manager said, sounding confused. "He said to give them to his son if he called."

"That's me, yeah," Dean said quickly. "Jackson Grant." The manager tsked and sounded like he needed convincing, so Dean added, "I'm the one that spent all that time on the phone trying to find my little brother."

"And tied up the lines. I remember," the manager said. "He wasn't even really missing, was he?"

Dean frowned. "Just give me the friggin' numbers so I can stop tying up your lines." As he said that, he reached over and punched the Doctor in the arm and hissed, "Pull over."

The Impala moved to the side and slowed down, so Dean assumed the Doctor had done what he asked. "Write this down," he hissed through his teeth. He repeated the numbers to the Doctor, and the diligent scribble of a pencil told Dean the Doctor was writing them down.

"Okay, thanks," Dean said quickly and then handed the phone back to the Doctor.

"What was that about, Jackson?" the Doctor asked, only slightly teasing.

Dean laughed dully. "Don't blame me. It was Sammy's turn to pick the alias, and he's reading Civil War history right now. I was all for something a little more Zeppelin . . ."

The Doctor was laughing.

"What?"

"Nothing," the Doctor said. "I just forgot that you two do that."

Dean shook his head. He wasn't supposed to know about his own future, so he decided not to ask. "So, how much longer we got til Toronto?"

"A couple hours."

"That short?"

"We'll cross the border soon."

"We've got to stop before we get there, grab some fake passports or something," Dean said, then paused. "Well, for me, anyway."

"When we stop for food," the Doctor agreed.

"Someplace that has pie," Dean said. "If I'm gonna be stuck like this," he said, motioning to his tightly shut eyes, "I might as well have something nice to eat."

The Doctor laughed again. "I'll see what I can do."

Dean reached over and felt around for the right button to turn on the radio, grinned, and proceeded to air guitar the entire opening to "Back in Black."

The air guitar and singing lasted for all of an hour before the Doctor pulled over and announced that he had found an acceptable place to eat. "You want to come in with me?" he asked tentatively.

"And do what?" Dean asked. Now that he didn't have music to distract him, he was in a surly mood. The Doctor still wouldn't let him open his eyes, and once the Doctor had explained that he was afraid Dean would try to take over the car and get back to the angels and possibly cause a wreck, he had to agree. It wasn't just about being careful with Dean but with the Impala.

"Decide what you want to eat?"

"Just get me a burger and some pie."

"What kind?"

"I don't care. Mix it up." Dean slumped back in his seat. "And don't take too long, okay? I'm ready to find your TARDIS and get somewhere I can open my eyes."

Dean figured he'd be safer in the TARDIS. He didn't know how to fly the thing, so there wasn't much of a chance that the angel in his head would use him to get back to the frozen ones. And since they didn't know what the range of these angels was, it was probably best that they locked themselves in the TARDIS first.

"Lock the door behind me," the Doctor said.

"Like you need to tell me twice," Dean said. But he didn't figure anyone would try anything when he was still sitting inside. They didn't know his eyes weren't opening, and Dean liked to think he was pretty intimidating. Hunting would do that to a person.

The Doctor didn't take long at all, and Dean didn't need to be able to see to notice that the Doctor had't bought much for himself. "You not eating?"

The Doctor chuckled. "I got a milkshake. The sign said they were the best in the area."

Dean shrugged and decided that it was not the time to have the discussion with the Doctor about taking care of himself. If he was an alien, which he almost definitely was, maybe he didn't need to eat that much. Instead, he asked, "Did you grab a passport from the trunk?"

"Yep."

"Which one?"

"The Hamil one."

Dean grinned. "I like that one."

The Doctor just snorted a small laugh through his milkshake and plopped the rest of Dean's food into his lap so he could actually eat it. And for another half an hour, there was silence (except, of course, the radio, which Dean insisted on to keep himself awake, since having his eyes closed wasn't helping him feel any less drowsy).

Finally, after the last of the pie was gone, Dean turned to the Doctor. "Okay, I can only take so much singing to myself."

"Sorry," the Doctor said quickly. "I've been . . . ."

"Distracted, yeah, I figured," Dean said. "And I can't blame you. Donna's gone, and you're trying very hard to get her back safely." He paused, took a breath, and just decided to go for it, "How come you still look human?"

Even without looking, Dean could feel the Doctor stiffen, could hear the steering wheel behind held just a little too tightly. "Are you sure you want to do this right now?"

"I figure it's going to be much more interesting learning about alien planets than singing to the same ten songs," Dean pointed out. "I don't know if you've noticed, but all the stations play the same stuff the further you go."

The silence told Dean that, yes, the Doctor had noticed but decided not to say anything.

"So what are you? Vulcan?" Dean asked. He figured he'd break the ice with something ridiculous.

"Time Lord."

"Is that a species?"

"Yes."

"Huh." Dean frowned. "I always figured that was your title when I was researching."

The Doctor laughed drily.

"And what planet do Time Lords live on?"

"Gallifrey," the Doctor said, but there was a catch in his voice.

Dean bit the corners of his cheek as he tried to decide how far he could pry into the Doctor's life before the Doctor pushed back. But hey, he didn't have anything else to do. And the Doctor's guard was down. And sure, the Doctor was a friend . . . sort of . . . but Dean had to be sure he wasn't a threat.

He figured he'd start with an easy question, then. "How come you're here on Earth and not on Gallifrey?"