Author's note: Well, hello again. This next chapter doesn't have a whole lot of the doctor in it, but he is here, so there's your fair warning.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and Doctor Who are not mine

Chapter 2: Even If You Did Die

Dean's POV

I'd seen a lot of weird things, no question. I dare you to live my life and not be able to say the same. But this was a whole nother level.

Mr. Bartholomew was smiling at me like he was waiting for an opinion, so I just said the first thing that came to mind.

"Son of a bitch, it's bigger on the inside."

Mr. Bartholomew smiled and headed over to this round console thing in the middle. "Everybody says that. Now, Dean, I'm gonna take you home. You tell your father there's nothing supernatural about what's going on at the school and that this is something for the police."

"And why the hell should I lie to my dad for you?"

"Because I can't have hunters getting in my way right now. I promise I'll explain everything tomorrow. I just don't have time at the moment."

I guess that made sense. "Okay." I said hesitantly. "If you'll tell me everything, okay."

Mr. Bartholomew grinned. "Good. Alright, let's get you home." He threw a lever, and suddenly the whole floor started rocking, this weird sucking/whirring sound coming from everywhere.

I quickly grabbed onto the bar next to me to keep from falling over. "Son of a bitch!" This was not normal. Not normal at all. Once the floor stopped moving, I stared at Mr. Bartholomew in shock.

"Son of a bitch!" I said again.

He just gave me this knowing smile. "You know where the door is. You're home."

That didn't make any sense. We hadn't gone anywhere, we'd just shaken around a whole lot. "But-"

"Dean, I really am busy. Like I said, I'll explain tomorrow. Now go."

I wasn't really sure what else to do - I mean, what else could I do, with a psychopath like this? - so I just headed over to the door and walked out. I guess it was time to head back into the school and deal with whatever the hell it was that was doing all this.

But when I stepped out, I was in the parking lot of the motel where we were staying.

I turned back around. "How the-"

But the box was already making its weird sound again and was disappearing right in front of my face.

"Not normal." I muttered, shaking my head. "So not normal." I turned around and headed inside.

Unfortunately, my dad was already home, sitting on the bed closest to the door, writing something in his journal.

"Dean, where've you been?" He didn't even bother looking up at me. If it was Sammy coming in this late, things would definitely be different. But at least he asked, I guess.

Then he ruined that by gesturing towards my sleeping brother in the other bed and saying, "You left Sammy here by himself for a long time, you know you can't do that."

"Sorry, sir." Because who cares if I'm out late? Who cares what could happen to me? Who cares that I'm always expected to put myself on the front lines of defense? Why should I matter?

"Go run a few miles."

I glanced at the clock. It was two in the morning. Man. But I guess it was better than some other punishments I'd gotten. Better not whine about it, or I might get something worse. "Yessir."

"We'll talk about what you should've done different when you're finished."

"Yessir."

XxXxX

When I was done with my miles - four, to be safe. You never know what my dad means by 'a few' - I came trooping back inside. I'd been chased by some guys shouting obscene propositions at me from a car for a little while, but I'd shaken them off. And it sure made it all the more interesting, so I guess that was worth it.

Sammy was still out cold, and my dad hadn't moved from his place on the bed. Still not sparing me a glance, he said, "Get a shower, then we'll talk. Keep it under five minutes."

"Yessir." I'd gotten showering in under five minutes and still getting clean down to a fine art. My dad felt it was an important skill for me to learn.

As soon as I was finished, I threw on a t-shirt and sweats and came and stood obediently in front of him.

He finally bothered to look up at me. "Dean."

I didn't say anything. That seemed safer.

"You can't leave Sammy alone like that."

I didn't even bother trying to explain that I was hunting, like he told me to, and didn't bring Sammy along, also like he told me to. There wouldn't be any point, because no matter what, he was right and I was wrong.

"I don't really care what you were doing or why." he snapped, his voice getting lower and darker. It was scarier than if he'd yelled. "All I care about is that you weren't doing what you were supposed to be. Sammy is your responsibility, Dean. You know that."

I nodded. "Yessir."

"Now get in bed."

I was pretty sure that Sammy and I were technically too big and too old to be sharing a bed, but there weren't a lot of other options except the floor - which, believe me, I went with plenty of times - so I crawled in next to the kid and closed my eyes. Man, today was out of whack.

XxXxX

A small hand shook my shoulder. "Dean." It shook me harder. "Dean."

I threw an arm over my eyes. "What?" I groaned. "Is the room on fire?"

"Dean."

Then it came to me who I was hearing. I moved my arm and opened my eyes to find Sammy leaning over me. I glanced at the clock. 4:00am. "Yeah, what's wrong?"

He didn't say anything, and I noticed that he was crying.

I sat up quickly. "Sammy?"

After another second's hesitation, he launched himself into my arms and just sobbed into my neck.

I didn't have any idea what in the hell could possibly be wrong, but I held him anyway and rocked him back and forth lightly, waiting for him to calm down. "Shh, Sammy. Shh." I laid back against the headboard and just let him lean on me, his hands fisted in my shirt and hiccupping in that cute way he always did when he was crying.

When I thought he'd had enough time to calm down some, I asked, "What's up, Sammy?"

Mumbling something about bad dreams and fire and me dying and leaving him all alone, he nestled his face deeper into my shirt and went on bawling.

Suddenly, I felt really bad about asking if the room was on fire when I first woke up.

"It's alright, Sammy. I'm here. It was just a dream. There's no fire, and I ain't dead, and you're definitely not alone. It's okay."

My dad stirred in his sleep, and I tensed. He was always upset with me if Sammy or I woke him up. It was my job to keep us quiet.

Sammy noticed how still I'd suddenly become and peeked out. "What? Is something wrong?"

"You wanna take this outside?" I asked.

Sammy nodded and we both slowly got up and headed out, my arm around his shoulders, trying not to trip over each other. We sat down on the steps and he leaned his head on my shoulder. I stayed silent. He should talk first.

"I was in bed." he finally muttered. "In the dream."

I nodded carefully.

"You were on the ceiling. Your stomach was bleeding. You were crying."

I stayed absolutely still. For a second, I felt like I couldn't breathe.

"You begged me to help you. Then fire ex-explo-exploded around you, and you started sc-screaming. For me, for Dad, for Mom, for Uncle Bobby… and then Dad came in and grabbed me and pulled me out. He didn't even try to help you, even though you were crying a-and sc-screaming and be-begging him to help you. He - he just wouldn't. He took me outside and there was no you and I was s-so scared and… he - he wouldn't help, and I was all by myself, and - and -"

I pulled Sammy into my arms and hugged him, cutting him off. That was enough of that.

Finally, after a good solid twenty minutes, Sammy pulled back and looked up at me. "You'd never go, right? Even if you did die?"

"Hell no, Sammy. I'd come back and haunt your ass."

Author's afterthought: Please review! It makes me feel by far happier than it probably should.