Author's Note: Sorry for the slight delay! A little cold knocked me out for a bit and I couldn't write through the fever haze. Or at least, I couldn't write anything that made a bit of sense. So I figured you'd prefer a little late and coherent as opposed to on time and in what appeared to be the language of R'lyeh.
Martha was always exhausted after she told her story, and this time wasn't any different. There was some bustle about the bunker when she finished as the adults prepared dinner, having refused her help or Dean's in getting it ready. (Castiel had neither offered nor been asked, but instead seemed content to sit a little ways away and guard them. Well. Probably to guard Dean.) So Martha simply sat with Dean on the floor, leaning against the wall and definitely not falling asleep.
"Hey."
She blinked, surprised at how heavy her eyelids felt, and looked up at Dean, who was poking her shoulder. "Mm?" she replied.
"You nodded off," he said.
Martha made a face. "Didn't."
Dean shrugged. "Okay, then, stop snoring while you're awake, it's weird."
Martha shoved him, and he let himself be pushed, then came back and bumped her shoulder with his. He grinned at her, and she punched his arm. (She wasn't unaware of the way Castiel's gaze focused on her, but she wasn't worried about it, either.)
She watched him, the way his eyes stayed in constant motion across the room: the deeply ingrained instinct of a Hunter. The soul-deep wounds of a man who never got to be a child, the Doctor would say, when they sat in the library and talked about The Boys after an adventure.
(The Winchesters never called them adventures. They'd always say a case, a mission. The Doctor always called their trips adventures. Martha wished she'd hear one of the brothers say adventure, some time.)
"I don't think you have to worry," she said quietly, and he glanced down at her. "About...keeping an eye out. I think Castiel's got a handle on that."
Dean looked up and at Castiel, and the angel nodded when their eyes met. Dean looked away quickly. "Guess you're right," he muttered.
They sat in silence for a moment, until Dean said, "Does it get...less weird?"
Martha tilted her head, looking up at the ceiling. "I'm gonna guess, given our track record, that the answer's no, but I'll have to know what you're talking about to give you a firmer response," she said.
Dean shifted uncomfortably, and worked his jaw, then said, his voice very low: "Having him around."
Oh. Martha's eyebrows shot up, and she very determinedly did not look at Castiel, and said, "What, Cas? Oh, Dean. You have no idea."
"Well, that's a no," Dean said, sounding dejected.
"That couldn't be less of a no," Martha said, and Dean frowned. "Dean, I can't even tell you, the way you and your brother acted with him when you knew me..." She shook her head. "I can't articulate it. But yes, it gets less weird. I mean, less awkward. Not less weird. You boys never get less weird."
She leaned her head back on the wall, then realized that Dean was watching her. She made a face at him. "What?"
"Is it..." He broke off, running a hand through his hair. She waited. "Us not knowing you. It's got to be hard."
Only like not having oxygen to breathe, but Martha schooled her features into a semblance of neutrality and shrugged. "It's strange," she said with an ease she didn't feel. "But really, when you've traveled with the Doctor as long as I have you get used to things being a bit...wibbly wobbly, timey wimey."
"What the hell are you saying?" Dean laughed, shaking his head, his eyebrows drawing together in an expression of bewilderment, and Martha had to press her lips together to keep the stinging in her eyes from becoming anything more and instead tried to laugh, too. She was largely successful in the attempt.
"It's just...something the Doctor says," Martha explained. "Just that we didn't always stay in order, me and the Doctor and you and the others. It got confusing. We started to keep ledgers. Have you done this yet? No? Okay, then we must be here."
"Do I get better?" Dean asked, softly, and while Martha wished she could stall by asking what he meant, she knew and she wasn't going to insult him by pretending otherwise. She couldn't keep his gaze, though, and looked down at her hands, picking at her fingernails.
"You do," she said, and meant it. "It's not easy. And you try not to. But maybe this time, you can do it differently, y'know? Don't push Sam away. Or Bobby. Or, God, Cas." She saw the movement of Castiel's head as he undoubtedly somehow felt her use of the Lord's name in vain, and she winced and mouthed sorry. He kept his narrowed eyes on her, and she turned to Dean. "You're surrounded by people who care about you. Don't forget that, this time. If it gets too heavy, let somebody help you carry it."
"Yeah, okay," Dean scoffed, and while Martha could hear something deeper under his flippant tone, she didn't have time to call him on it before a buzzing that had started in the room escalated into pandemonium, and Dean's most-favorite-person Aaron hauled a TV into the room and hooked it up to a generator. Dean looked at Martha, confused. "What's going on?"
"I don't know," Martha said, standing slowly. Dean followed suit. "Television broadcasts haven't been up in ages. It's got to be a message from Saxon."
Dean straightened, like a bolt of lightning had been rammed up his spine, and stared at her. "Saxon?" He glared at the television, his hands tightening into fists. "Finally gonna get to see the son of a bitch that took my brother. So I'll know who to beat the crap out of when we get there."
"Get there?" Martha exclaimed, putting a hand on his arm to stop his progress as he tried to walk to the TV. "Dean, what are you talking about?"
He frowned at her. "I mean when we get to the airship or whatever, to save Sammy and the Doctor and Jack and your family," he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Right? That's the plan?"
Martha was still staring at him, trying to develop some kind of coherent response, when the TV crackled to life and a few people gave cries of surprise. Aaron shouted over the din, "Miss Jones! You're gonna want to see this."
"We'll talk in a bit," Martha said sternly, and walked over to the crowd assembled at the TV, followed by Dean and Castiel.
She pretended not to hear Dean whining about her to the angel, who she assumed was staring at him in bemused silence.
Static gave way to a test screen, and Martha wrinkled her nose at the Master's flare for the dramatic and the nostalgic. The test screen flickered a few times, and resolved into an image of the Master, wearing a suit and looking a bit more disheveled than he normally did, which Martha took as a tentatively good sign. He tapped on the lens of the camera, grinned widely, and stepped back.
"People of Earth!" he cried, and gave a manic laugh. Martha knew that her face must have betrayed the myriad of unpleasant emotions seeing him awoke in her, because she felt Dean's hand on her arm, but she didn't move or take her eyes off of the TV. "My people. Your Lord and Master greets you on this momentous day."
A murmuring among the assembled rebels told Martha that they didn't know what he was talking about any more than she did.
"Months have gone by under my rule, and I wonder if you haven't felt...underrepresented in your new government," the Master continued. "And I am not heartless! In fact, I'm rather gifted in that particular arena, but I digress. People of Earth, I have someone to introduce you to. One of your own, in some ways. Raised among you, part of your culture. Some of you will know him...that quiet boy in your schools, your motels, your shops."
Martha felt Dean freeze next to her at the word motel.
"People of Earth, attend. I present to you my second-in-command, the new crown prince of the New Gallifreyan Empire." The Master looked off-camera, a chilling mockery of a fond smile on his face, and he made a beckoning gesture.
Sam Winchester walked slowly into the frame.
"Sammy," Dean breathed.
Martha couldn't suppress her smile.
"Sam Winchester," the Master said. "One of your own. Now your lord. And with him by my side, I will create this world anew." His expression changed, and he stared directly into the camera, and Martha felt like he was looking only at her.
And then he said, "So you might as well give up now, Miss Jones."
And the transmission cut off.
There was absolute, utter silence in the room, and as one the assembled humans turned to Martha. She couldn't keep the giddy smile off of her face, even as Dean whispered in the most broken voice she'd ever heard, "What the hell did you do, Sammy?"
She was still staring at the static-filled TV set, but she gripped Dean's arm and shook her head. "No, Dean."
He shook her hand off, and she turned to him. He glowered down at her, and snapped, "What do you mean, no? Were you watching that? What the hell was that? Sammy joined Saxon?"
Martha's smile faded, and she grabbed the lapel of Dean's jacket and tugged him down to her eye level. He was startled, so she was able to. "You listen to me, Dean Winchester," she hissed. "I've watched you give up on too many people since you've been back, but I am not going to see you give up on your brother. You hear me? It is not going to happen, not on my watch."
"Then you tell me what happened," Dean said, and behind the brashness of it, Martha heard the genuine plea, and she softened.
"I will," she said. "What happened is that your brother was taken to the Valiant and he found the Doctor. He did exactly what he needed to do, and he found the Doctor. And the Doctor, as he always does, has a plan."
"You think this is part of a plan?" Dean asked, dubious, but unable to disguise the hope in his voice.
Martha fixed him with a glare. "You think your brother would side with a psychopathic Time Lord for any other reason?" she asked. "He thinks you're still dead. They can't even hold you over his head, not at this point. He found the Doctor, Dean. And I don't know what he's planning, but he's got a plan. I promise."
Aaron had walked up to them at some point during that last speech, and Martha didn't notice until he cleared his throat. She and Dean both turned to him, a little startled, and Martha couldn't help but take note of the way that Castiel edged a little closer to Dean, in case the other man tried anything. "Who was that guy?" he asked, his voice quiet, and Martha instantly knew it was the wrong question for him to ask.
Dean puffed up aggressively, took a step forward, and said, "My brother. You got a problem with it?"
Martha elbowed him back, stepping between him and Aaron, and said, "Enough, Dean. Nobody said anything. We don't need to fight each other."
"That's your brother?" Aaron asked, and Martha shot him a warning glare. He stopped. Dean inhaled to reply, and Martha turned the glare on him, and he stopped, too.
Sometimes being the closest thing to a mother that a bunch of scared young men had was useful.
"This is what's happening," Martha said, her voice crisp and firm and no-nonsense. "Sam is Dean's brother, kidnapped by the Master and taken to the Valiant. He's on our side. Don't argue with me, Aaron, I know Sam. He'd never betray us. He doesn't have it in him, even if he wanted to. So what we just saw? It's good news. It's not Saxon that has a new ally, it's us. All right?"
Aaron didn't say anything.
Martha's eyes darkened. "All right?" she repeated.
Aaron tilted his head back a bit, sticking out his chin and his chest, folded his arms and said, "No. No, it's really not."
"The hell did you say?" Dean said, low and dark and dangerous, and this time it was Castiel who put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
He stopped. Immediately.
"I said it's not all right," Aaron said. "I said for some reason, I don't feel especially safe with the brother of the Master's new boy toy camping out with us. You can say whatever you want about oh, there's no way he'd turn on us, but I don't believe in anything I can't prove and you can't prove that to me. Not even you, Miss Jones. So I think these two at least ought to leave."
Castiel's hand had stayed on Dean's shoulder, and good thing, because it seemed like that weight was the only thing keeping Dean from trying to tear Aaron's throat out. "Nobody talks about my kid brother like that," Dean growled.
"You don't have to trust them, Aaron, but you need to trust me," Martha interrupted, shooting Dean a glare and shooting Castiel a pleading look that he returned without expression. "We can't stop the work, just because the Master took Sam. All right? We do our part, the Doctor does his, and Sam is part of the Doctor's plan, I promise you. And Dean and Castiel are with me. They go where I go, and I'm not letting them set out there alone where the Toclaphane could find them."
A quick silencing gesture behind her back cut off Castiel's inevitable protest that he could take Dean somewhere safe instantaneously. It would not be especially helpful in arguing her point.
Aaron's eyes were bright and strange as he said, "You keep saying the same things, Miss Jones. But if that's how you feel, then maybe the three of you should just get gone."
"Aaron!" The woman who'd opened the door for them gasped, and took his arm in a strong grip. "You can't say that to Martha Jones. We owe her hospitality, and we owe her trust. She and her friends are welcome here."
"I really think you ought to go," Aaron said, staring at Martha, and Martha's stomach began to knot because what was she missing here?
Suddenly Castiel's free hand was on her shoulder, and when she turned, the angel's expression was dark with alarm. "I believe he's right," Cas said. "Martha, we ought to go."
"What—" Martha began, but was cut off by the doors to the bunker slamming open.
Doors to a fall-out shelter don't slam open, Martha thought vaguely as she turned around in slow motion.
There were five of them. Five. Their eyes blacked out, triumphant little smirks on their faces, crackling with power, and the humans behind Martha and Dean cried out and cowered. Even Martha felt a surge of panic that she knew wasn't entirely her own.
Archangel. Dammit. The Master had programmed a more intense fear of demons into the network as well, not only a fear of him and of the Toclaphane.
But where had they been, all this time? If there were still demons left on Earth, why hadn't Martha run into them before?
"Well," the first demon, in the body of a pretty young woman, said gleefully. "If we don't just have the platinum package here. Martha Jones, the Righteous Man, and the angel who pulled him out? It's not even my birthday."
Martha was kind of waiting for a one-liner from Dean, but none was forthcoming, so she turned and glanced at him.
He was pale, trembling very slightly, his eyes fixed on the demons. And Martha remembered how fresh out of Hell he was. The last time he'd seen a creature like this, he'd been at its mercy, which was, Martha was sure, in short supply.
She saw Castiel, without taking his eyes off of his adversaries, gesture gently towards Dean, and she saw Dean relax just a bit. He looked over at Cas, surprised, grateful. Martha suddenly felt like she was intruding, and turned back to the demons, folding her arms over her chest. "I was told you lot had all zapped back downstairs," she said. "Didn't quite make it by the deadline?"
The demon who'd spoken laughed. "We got a better offer," she replied. "Work for the Master, get free range down here, and, finally, a place of power over the humans. Really, a better deal than Hell was offering. The Master sent us to find you...the Righteous Man and his angel are just icing on the cake." She grinned, biting her lip seductively, and met Dean's eyes. "Remember me, Dean-o? Probably not. It was early on. But we had some good times down there, me and you."
"The Master doesn't have any loyalty to you," Martha said, stepping forward to take the demon's attention away from Dean. "He'll use you and throw you away, and then he's going to destroy the planet and everyone on it—you included. You can't get back to Hell, you know that, right? Because the rest of the universe has sealed us off. Pending extinction."
The demon shrugged casually. "Loyalty's not an issue for us," she said. "I don't need his loyalty. That's why I plan to stay very, very valuable to him." She snapped her fingers, and the other demons stepped forward, making their way slowly towards Martha, Dean, and Castiel.
Martha realized that at this point in time, they didn't have Ruby's knife, and Dean didn't have the Colt, and suddenly she was very worried.
"And by the way," the first demon added, striding over to Aaron, who stood in the front of the group of rebels. "Trying to warn them away, after all the work your friends did to get Martha here and contact us? That's no team spirit."
Martha winced, finally, too late, understanding the odd tone of Aaron's voice, the way he looked so panicked as he tried to bully them into leaving. "Leave him alone," she shouted, but the demon ignored her and walked right up to Aaron, placing her hands on either side of his head. "Cas!" Martha cried.
Castiel stepped forward to stop the demon, but before he could raise his hand to smite her, she'd snapped Aaron's neck.
A handful of screams pierced the air, but for the most part, the gathered humans were still silent, staring in horror at Aaron's body and the demon responsible for it. Castiel grabbed the demon by the collar, pressing his palm against her forehead.
"It has been many years since we walked the Earth," he growled, "but it ill benefits your kind to forget us. You should not have hurt that boy."
The demon opened her mouth to say something back, but her mouth continued to open as her eyes widened and light poured out from each feature, electricity dancing beneath her skin as she screamed. Castiel released her, and she crumpled to the floor.
The other four charged, and Dean reached into his pack, grabbing his flask of holy water and another container that he threw at Martha. She uncapped it, and immediately began to pour the salt into a barrier between them and the demons. Castiel took one demon down immediately with another palm to the forehead, but one grabbed Dean by the arm and threw him into the wall.
"Dean!" Martha screamed, and Dean tossed some of the holy water onto the demon's face. It shrieked in pain and fell backwards, allowing Dean time to retreat into the safety of the salt line.
"Exorcizamus te," he gasped,
"Omnis immundis spiritus," Martha joined, and he stared at her, his face pale under a sheen of sweat, and gave her a watery smile as they recited the exorcism together.
Martha shielded her eyes from the bright light of Castiel smiting two of the remaining four demons, but kept chanting, and as she and Dean shouted audi nos in unison, the last demons were cast back to Hell.
Or, as Martha realized when she looked up, maybe not.
They were writhing on the floor, the thick black smoke pouring from their mouths, but it wasn't leaving. It stopped at the floor as though it presented a barrier to the metaphysical essence of the demon. Which it shouldn't, Martha was pretty sure.
Castiel narrowed his eyes at the sight, and strode over to the demons. He pressed his palms against their heads, and shoved down, causing their faces to erupt into light. The smoke returned into their bodies, the light flared, and all was silent.
Once the demons were dead, Castiel stayed kneeling by the bodies of their hosts, and Martha and Dean ran up to him. Martha put tentative hands on his shoulder and arm, bending down to look at his face. Dean just sort of hovered uncomfortably on the angel's other side, obviously wanting to help but not sure what to do. "Are you all right?" Martha asked.
"I'm unharmed," Castiel replied, his voice rougher than usual. "But...perhaps, given that Hell and Heaven alike are closed to the Earth at this time, an exorcism is not the most efficient method of disposing of demons. Nobody in or out, as you said, Martha."
Martha and Dean shared a look, and Martha laughed quietly. "Yeah. Suppose not."
Dean looked out at the crowd, and said softly, "So they sold us out."
"Seems like it," Martha replied.
"What do we do?"
Martha looked up at him, over to the resistance, and back at Dean. She shrugged and sighed, a sound that started at her core. "I don't know, Dean. Nothing. I can guess what happened. Saxon has someone—probably several people. Their kids. Someone. And they're just trying to keep them safe. And if Saxon's got demons on his payroll, they're in more danger than I'd thought."
She straightened, and she and Dean helped Castiel to his feet. The rebels watched them warily, fearfully, but Martha just led Dean and Castiel out of the bunker.
The woman who'd opened the door for them, the one who'd tried to stop Aaron from warning them, touched Martha's arm as she ushered the others out. Martha turned. "I'm so sorry," the woman whispered. "We still believe in you."
"Not me," Martha said firmly. "The Doctor. Believe in the Doctor."
"We will," the woman promised.
Martha looked back into the bunker, and pressed her lips together. "And you give Aaron a proper burial," she said. The woman paled, but nodded. "He died bravely. More bravely than most people live."
Martha stepped out, not looking behind her, because Martha Jones never looked back. Not anymore.
When she reached Dean and Castiel, both were watching her carefully. Dean said, "Well? What do we do now?"
Rest, Martha wished she could say. Sleep. Stop.
"The work," Martha replied. "We do the work."
And she started off as she always did; but at least, this time, not alone.