A/N: So I'm just minding my own business yesterday when BAM I get an email from my publisher that's like "hey, check the Amazon page for Lady Thief," and there it is. The paperback release. (When I wrote the book four years ago, there was only one other "Lady Thief," and that was a short story. Now there's like five of them! Mine's the one with the blue superhero/action movie looking cover.) I am SO EXCITED so I thought I'd share that excitement with you by bringing you another chapter.

And feels. Lots of those.

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

...

They were so far out in the middle of friggin' nowhere that there wasn't even a motel to stay in.

Still, the house was nice enough. Had to be careful where you stepped, but at least it wasn't part of the ghost story. The thing was supposed to haunt the pass through the mountains, and that was still a good thirty minute hike up that trail. But the trail was too narrow for his Impala, and the house was right there with no one inside, so they figured, why not sleep inside? It was freezing cold, so it'd be nice not to sleep in the Impala—this time.

They brought in their bags and found the bedrooms upstairs. Dean dropped his bag on top of the nearest bed with a loud thump, not just to claim his space but to check for any creepy crawlies that might be living in there.

Nothing crawled out, so Dean figured it was safe to lay out a few blankets and sleep on top of the dust-covered ones.

Sam was abnormally quiet over there, but Dean couldn't really blame him. They were only a few days into the new year. Dean's last new year. Sam got drunk enough to cry when the fireworks went off, and he'd been spending the last few days pretending he hadn't.

So Dean found the first hunt he could get his hands on (with Bobby's help, of course) and whisked Sam off to the Appalachians to find some Civil War soldier's ghost.

Dean wasn't usually a believer in the whole wartime ghost stories. In his experience, most ghosts were murdered or otherwise inconveniently died. Soldiers knew they might die and tended to stay that way. Of course, sometimes they didn't, and then there was the whole matter of alien ghosts, which was something so weird that he never wanted to experience it ever again, no matter how many Klingon jokes he got to make.

But this one seemed to be legit, and it was pretty much the only thing he had.

Dean was finally drifting off into something that resembled sleep when he heard it. And he grinned.

He looked over at Sam and tried to figure out if it was worth it to wake him up. Kid hadn't slept in a while, and he deserved it.

But then Sam turned over and looked at Sam with that one arched eyebrow. "Dean?" he asked.

"I heard it," he said.

"What's he doing here?" Sam was slurring his words just a little bit. He was tired. Dean wondered how much sleep his brother had lost. That was just one more thing he'd screwed up for Sam. Now Sam couldn't even sleep, and that was Dean's fault. Dean's fault for this whole mess, and he'd never make up for it, and he would take that shame to his grave.

His fault.

But Dean just put on his usual smile and laughed, "Since when did he ever have a reason for showing up somewhere?" He grinned. "Let's go show him around. Maybe he wants to hunt some ghosts with us."

"Depends on which Doctor."

"That's true," Dean laughed.

Dean slipped out from underneath the covers and into his leather jacket. He loved that jacket. He loved that it was just barely too big for him, just enough that putting it on felt like wrapping himself up in his dad's clothes. Or the Doctor's big brown coat when Dean was just eight years old and he didn't yet know that the Doctor was going to be the best thing that ever happened to him.

Dean would miss him. He'd miss the TARDIS most, of course, miss the way she purred when Dean ran his hands over her, miss the way she dinged happily when he stepped inside.

And this might be it. The last time he saw the Doctor and that TARDIS—and Dean stopped for just a second and wondered if he should maybe turn back. Wondered if it would be too hard to say goodbye to the one thing he hadn't screwed up yet.

He'd already messed Sam up. He should just leave this one alone.

"You coming?" Sam asked. He was grinning. Sam loved seeing the Doctor—Dean could see that. Maybe it was because the Doctor was smart enough for Sam. Dean always hated that he couldn't talk to Sam on that level, but the Doctor could.

Sam deserved to have some happy memories before Dean left. Dean could give him this.

"Sure thing, Sammy," Dean said, and he put on another smile.

They were only a few steps out the door when Dean's foot went right through the boards. After Sam was finished laughing at him—and after he was done making himself look like an idiot trying to get out on his own—he heard something else.

"Take me home right now!"

It was a woman's voice. High and loud and panicked. She sounded terrified.

Dean and Sam raced each other down the stairs, but Dean let Sam get there first.

And there he was. The Doctor. The older one, the one with the big chin and the floppy hair and the personality that was hard to place. Sometimes he was like a kid that needed babysitting, and sometimes Dean saw a hunter in him that he hadn't seen before.

And there was a new girl with him. Brown hair, cute clothes. She was the one who looked terrified.

Sam had arrived first, and he extended his hand. "Hey, Doctor. What's going on here?"

The girl with brown hair was practically shaking beside the Doctor. And he wasn't one to take the flighty kind of girl to travel with him, so Dean figured there was something else going on.

"Hey, Sam," the Doctor said, but his smile was a little too forced.

"He doesn't bite, I promise," Dean said. He tried his "I'm a good guy" smile on her, but she seemed to be even more terrified when he caught her gaze.

"You stay away from him," she said at last, shakily, pointing right at him.

"I . . . what?"

The girl turned to the Doctor. "Please," she said.

"Clara," the Doctor said, quietly and patiently. "This is the younger version. I told you—we were really good friends."

Were. Past tense. Dean felt his heart sink. He remembered what Ruby had said, about demons and about his future. He was going to die, and then . . . .

He should have realized, of course. He could screw anything up. Of course he'd screw up his friendship with the Doctor, too.

"I'm sorry," Dean said quickly, and the apology tasted awful coming up, and his pride tasted even worse when he swallowed it. But if he wanted to give this to Sam, give him one thing that he hadn't screwed up. "I'll leave."

Sam started to argue, but Dean didn't listen to him. He saw instead that the girl (Clara?) had stopped looking at him like he might attack her at any moment. Instead, her eyes seemed clearer, and then she held her hand out to Sam. "Holy water," she demanded.

"What?" Now it was Sam's turn to be thrown off.

"Now," she said.

Sam pulled a flask out from his jacket, and Clara unscrewed the lid. She never took her eyes off of Dean. Slowly, precisely, she threw the entire flask's worth over him.

Dean saw it coming and closed his eyes, but he still hated the sensation. Being wet. "Happy now?" he asked.

"Christo," she said, almost savagely. Apparently just to be sure.

Dean sighed and wiped his face off with his left hand as he offered his right for her to shake. "Dean Winchester. Guess you've already met me. Sorry for whatever Future Me did, but the Doc here will tell you I didn't mean a second of it."

Clara regarded his hand coldly. "Clara," she said without shaking his hand. She turned on her heels to face the Doctor. "This is your fault," she said. "You wanted to go see Sam, and I told you not to—and this place is freezing!"

The Doctor sighed. "Clara," he said, "I didn't pick this place. The TARDIS picked it on her own."

Dean didn't listen to the rest of the argument. He just sat down, very carefully, on the rickety, wooden stairs.

A demon. He was going to become a demon. And there was nothing he could do to stop it now—no, it was written in his future. The Doctor's past.

Just a few months now, and that's what he'd become. A thing that terrified the Doctor's companion. The thing he'd been hunting his whole life.

But Dean didn't stoop to something like putting his head in his hands or feeling overly sorry for himself. Sammy was still watching. So he shouted over at Clara and the Doctor, "Get a room, you two!"

The look he got from both Clara and the Doctor was worth it.