Author's Note: Oh my gosh, that took way longer than I'd hoped. I had company over the weekend and couldn't write at all, but I was really hoping to be able to knock this out yesterday. So thank you very much for your patience, and I hope that this chapter is worth the wait!

"He is...something else, Martha," Jack murmured, and Martha thanked him with a sharp elbow between the ribs.

They were the second cluster that the group had formed into, with Tish leading the way, the Winchesters lagging a bit behind and Castiel bringing up the rear. Jack's words hadn't been loud enough to be heard by anyone but Martha (and, she had to admit, maybe Castiel), but nonetheless she glared at him. There was less anger in her glare than there was desperation and mild panic, so his expression softened into something resembling apology. "Don't make this harder than it has to be," she whispered.

Jack lowered his eyes, then darted a glance behind them at the brothers, who seemed to be quietly conferring among themselves. "It's crazy to think it's already been fourteen years since Hanging Rock," he said, pensive. Martha looked up at him, and saw the familiar mix of nostalgia and sadness in his eyes. A little bit of pride, too. He looked a lot like the Doctor in that moment. "They're so...grown up."

"They are that," Martha replied, not taking her gaze off of Jack. "Are you all right?"

Jack nodded absently. "You know, Dean, he—"

"Jack," Martha warned, but he shook his head.

"When he was a kid, I thought I'd never met and would never meet anyone sadder in my life," he said, and Martha quieted. "I don't know if he ever told you, but when I met him...we almost lost Sam. Well, I almost lost Sam. I was the adult, after all; the Doctor'd sent me to protect the two of them. But the look on that kid's face when he came to ask for my help..." Jack trailed off, and Martha slipped her hand into his, squeezing it. "I hoped it would get better for them. You know? That what I protected them from would be the worst of it." He squeezed back, tighter than allowed for comfort, but Martha didn't mind. It was probably all of the strength he had after what he'd been through, and the idea worried Martha in a vague place in the back of her thoughts. "The Doctor sent me to America to protect the two of them from this one thing. This one event that would have altered the time line, altered—or ended—their lives. I wonder, sometimes, whether or not he meant for me to get attached like I did."

There wasn't an answer to that, so Martha just leaned her head against his arm as they walked, and murmured, "I don't think you could've helped it, Jack. You've got a big heart."

"A lot of good that did those kids," Jack replied, and there was a darkness in his voice.

Martha almost stopped to correct him, but realized that if she stopped abruptly Sam and Dean would run into them because they weren't paying much attention, and that would lead to a lot of questions about their conversation that she and Jack had no interest in answering. So she just squeezed his hand back harder. "You gave them someone who cared when they didn't have anyone else, Jack. I know these boys, and that's the best gift you could have given them. Believe me. Dean told me...in the other time line, Dean told me what happened that day." She laughed a little, under her breath. "He talked like you were some kind of superhero."

"What, are you saying I'm not?" Jack teased, and Martha nudged him again. They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a while, nothing but the padding of their quiet feet and the murmuring of the Winchesters behind them breaking it. Tish was single-minded in her careful scouting, and Martha was so proud of her sister that it made her chest ache. At the same time, the ache served to signify her mourning for Tish's innocence. She hadn't wanted this for her sister. Tish had a life ahead of her—a normal life, the kind Martha had given up (willingly, happily, eagerly) when the Doctor had invited her aboard the TARDIS. She'd hoped to never see Tish having to do this kind of thing—watching around corners for people with guns, for Time Lords with vendettas, creeping quietly through hostile places, having work towards survival.

But sometimes siblings couldn't protect each other, not from everything; often, not when it mattered most. She'd learned that from the experts.

"Hey, Martha?" She was shaken from her reverie by Jack's voice. "Could I ask you something?"

"Sure," she replied, cautious, because something on Jack's face told her she wasn't going to like the question terribly much.

"Are you...you're leaving, after this. Aren't you." It came out as less a question and more a statement, and Martha hated hearing it maybe more because of that.

"Jack—"

"You're going to leave him?" That one was a question, and it was accusatory, and it made Martha's jaw tighten in anger. She took her hand back, and Jack understood, but it didn't take that look off of his face. That look of how can you do that.

"I have to," she said, and the fact that it was true didn't make it any less hard.

"He needs you," Jack pressed.

"He'll be fine," she replied. "He always is."

Jack narrowed his eyes, mouth opened slightly in disbelief. "You can't be serious," he said. "Do you really think that? That he's always fine?"

"He'll manage," Martha amended tightly. She worked her jaw for a moment, and then, cutting off Jack's protest, said, "It's gonna kill me, Jack. And I don't mean this life. The danger I can live with. But he's...it's never gonna be what I need it to be. What it ought to be."

"So it's better to just jump ship," Jack said.

Martha turned cold eyes to him and said, "I don't need your approval, Jack."

"No," Jack replied, "you don't. But I want you to think, Martha. Be sure about this before you do something you'll regret."

"If you think I haven't thought about this, haven't considered every outcome, then you're an idiot," Martha snapped. "This is the only time I'll be able to do it. If I let it go longer...if I wait, I won't be strong enough. And I'll wither, Jack, and I'll die, and in the end I'll be nothing but one more person he couldn't save, one more regret to keep him awake at night. And I'm not going to do that, Jack. Not to him."

If her voice broke a little at the end, Jack didn't say anything.

"What're you two lovebirds talking about?" Dean's voice behind her made Martha jump, and his words made her take a step away from Jack, who gave her an odd look.

"Shut up," she shot back, and Dean grinned. Rolling her eyes to mask any other emotions she was having with frustration, she turned instead to Sam. "Is the Doctor alone?"

Sam furrowed his brow for a minute, looking up at the ceiling, and Martha felt her lips quirk up at the unnecessarily physical aspect to Sam's psychic communication with the Doctor. It also didn't slip her notice that it looked a lot like prayer, and when she glanced back at Castiel as Sam talked to the Doctor, the angel was watching the younger Winchester with that quiet curiosity that was so characteristic of him.

And Martha remembered, last time she'd lived through all of this, how tense things were between Sam and Castiel for such a long time. She remembered Sam's longing for Castiel to treat him like a person with potential rather than just a potential disaster, and Castiel's distrust and dismissal of Sam. The open quality with which they regarded each other this time...it made her heart swell. It took so long, so much blood and sweat and tears, for the two of them to form a truce last time. If this time they could fix it before it was broken, if they could just skip the "boy with the demon blood" bit...everything would be better.

Everything could be better for them, this time. And she wouldn't be there to see it, but maybe she'd get the new memories as they were created, as the Martha from their time lived through all of it with them. She didn't know how it was going to work, but given that she did still remember what she'd been through with the Winchesters, she guessed it was going to happen, in some form, provided that they didn't let the world end.

She didn't know what she'd do if those memories disappeared, and she couldn't bear to think about it.

When Martha pulled herself back into the present, she looked over at Sam. His expression was totally open, and whatever the Doctor was saying, he rolled his eyes and suppressed a grin. "He says, in way too many words, that he's alone except for two guards at the entrance into the control room. He said that they've set up the countdown clock, so we need to kind of hurry."

"Is it counting yet?" Martha asked, alarmed.

Sam bit his lip, then said, "No. He says it's static at twelve hours." Then his eyes widened, and he amended, "And now it's counting."

Martha flinched. "Damn it. All right, let's get moving. Tish, are we close?"

Her sister turned to give her an all-too-familiar withering glare, and said, "Only if we cut right through all the most crowded areas of the Valiant, or if your friend here can teleport us into the control room, which for some reason, I feel like he would have offered if it were an option."

All eyes turned to Castiel, who gazed back without expression. "Your sister is correct, Martha," he said once he realized a reply was expected. "There are too many of us and I am cut off from Heaven. We will have to walk."

"Then we're not close," Tish concluded tersely. "And if all of you could shut up that would be fantastic, we're getting closer to some dodgy areas where there are likely to be more UNIT soldiers and I don't know about any of you, but I don't fancy getting caught right as we're about to save the world. 'Course, you all have more experience with that than me, so maybe this is how we do it—get right up to the finish line and then shout so somebody catches us."

Martha had never seen Tish look like this: this tight combination of fury and command. But she'd had to live a year like this, while Martha was down on Earth, hunted and afraid but at the same time, free. "Sorry, Tish," Martha murmured, brushing her fingers against Tish's wrist, only to be shaken off irritably.

"Don't be sorry, be smart," Tish said, some of the heat gone from her voice. "Now let's go."

She led them through small corridors and dark spaces, through rooms with hidden exits and into corners that shouldn't have doors in them but did. This place was obviously built by a very paranoid organization, Martha thought idly—she'd never heard of UNIT before this debacle began, but from what she'd learned during the course of this year, all of these secret passages made sense. That Tish had been able to figure it all out was what impressed her, and Tish was obviously intimately familiar with the layout of the Valiant. She ducked in and out of the spaces with ease and confidence, and everyone followed her without question.

They'd been slinking around the ship for a good while when suddenly Sam reached out and gripped Martha's arm, a look of panic in his eyes, and Martha grabbed Tish. Her sister looked like she was going to protest, but looked right from Martha to Sam, and nodded. She scanned the area quickly, and then darted through an inconspicuous door, followed by the others.

Tish shut the door behind them once Castiel was in, and stood with her back pressed against it. Her eyes were wide and wild as she stared at Sam. "What is it?" she breathed.

"The Doctor says they've got a fix on Dean," Sam explained, his breathing ragged and too loud now that they were out of the corridor. "Saxon's men. They've—they've been tracking him this whole time but couldn't find him down on the surface. It was only a matter of time before they found him, now that he's so close—but they've got him now, and they're closing on our location." He paused. "It's a good thing Saxon likes to brag so much."

Martha instantly reached into the front of her shirt and pulled out the TARDIS key, slipping it from around her neck with the intent to put it around Dean's. No hesitation, no thought. But Sam put a hand over hers and shook his head. "They've been looking for you, too, Martha," he said. "You think Saxon didn't want your head on a platter? You're Earth's most wanted, and you're on the scanner, too."

"Doctor couldn't have a spare key?" Dean muttered, the freckles on his face standing out as he paled.

"Saxon won't kill me," Martha insisted. "He'll bring me straight to the Doctor, if they find me. He'll want him to watch, and he'll want me to watch the Earth get destroyed. I'm the one who tried to ruin his plans. He'll want me to suffer. He doesn't have a reason to keep Dean alive."

"He'll keep Dean alive for me," Sam said. "Remember? He's the reason I joined up with Saxon. Saxon's supposed to bring him to me."

"Yeah, well, obviously, if they catch us, the jig is up," Martha snapped. "Why would Saxon give you your brother when you've obviously turned on him? Think, Sam."

"It doesn't matter either way," Tish interrupted while Sam tried to spit something back at Martha. "If UNIT has a fix on either one of you we're all finished if they find us. If they find us, by the way, let's not give up just yet. But if they find either one of you they find all of us, because we are not going to get all horror-movie and split up. Understand?"

Martha, Dean, and Sam all nodded like scolded children.

"All this means is that we have to move fast," Jack concurred, and Tish looked at him gratefully. "Because the key's a non-issue; who's wearing it is six of one, half dozen of the other."

"Castiel, can you hide Dean from the sensors?" Sam asked.

"What is identifying him to them?" Castiel asked, his brow furrowed in consideration of the request.

"DNA," replied Tish. "It's looking for DNA similar enough to Sam's to belong to a relative." The angel shook his head.

"Not without...altering it," Castiel said, and Dean flinched. "And I am unfamiliar with this technology. Shutting it down, I would risk shutting the ship down altogether, and given our altitude that would be disadvantageous."

"Yeah," Jack said. "Disadvantageous. Looks like we've got one option, kids: barreling through to the control room and shutting down this operation like the Doctor wants us to. So who put their running shoes on this morning?"

Martha managed a half-hearted grin as she said, "Working with the Doctor? We've always got our running shoes on."

Tish turned to open the door, and with her hand on the knob, said, "Keep low and quiet and fast. Follow me. If you fall behind I'm leaving you." She glanced back. "Except for Sam, because we need him."

Sam grimaced, and Tish ignored it. She opened the door and stepped out.

A muffled noise was the only indication that something had gone wrong.

Martha was the first to rush out after her, and found Tish with a UNIT soldier's gun to her head. His other hand was around her mouth, and there was none of the last soldier's boyish hesitance. This man was seasoned. He'd shoot Tish if they gave him a reason to, so she put her arm out to stop anyone who planned to rush him.

The soldier's eyes widened when he saw Martha, then further when his gaze fell on Dean and Sam. "Mr. Winchester," he said, and Sam stiffened. "We were under orders not to disturb you, as you were...meditating to prepare for the final strike."

"Walking meditation has always suited me better," Sam replied, but it was obviously just banter. He couldn't bluff his way out of this and he knew it.

"This must be your brother," the soldier continued. "And you match the description of Martha Jones. The Master would be...gratified to know that you were here. I believe he has use for you in rather short order."

"Don't hurt her," Martha spat through gritted teeth.

The soldier shrugged. "I don't have any orders to," he said. Then he cocked the gun. "On the other hand, I don't have any orders not to, either."

Distract him, Martha Jones.

Castiel's voice in her head was almost painful in its intensity, and she winced, grateful suddenly for the soldier's threat—it was a good cover for her motion. She slipped her hand behind her back and flashed the angel the a-ok hand, hoping to God that he knew what that meant.

She could almost hear the head-tilt as he said, I am connected to your mind, Martha. There's no need for hand gestures. Just do as I said.

She swallowed hard, and stepped forward towards the soldier, who flinched a little and pressed the gun harder against Tish's temple. Martha raised her hands, but her voice didn't match that gesture as she said, "If you kill her, there's no reason for us to let you live. Don't be stupid. I know they must've told you about us, about what we're capable of."

The soldier scoffed. "I know all about you," he said. "And your Doctor. And I know that he doesn't kill, and that neither do you. You can go ahead and threaten me all you want, but you won't fool me."

"Doctor might be all Woodstock peace and love," Dean growled, walking up just behind Martha, "but that vegan crap isn't my MO. Let her go."

"Your gun's in its holster," the soldier snapped. "She'd be dead before you could aim it."

"And you'd be dead right after," Dean returned. "Wanna risk it, hot shot?"

The soldier glared at Dean for a moment, then looked up, an expression of confusion passing over his face. His lips moved slightly, and he said, "Weren't there six of—"

"Cover your eyes," Castiel growled from behind the soldier, gripping the back of the man's head in one hand, the other pulling the gun away from Tish.

Martha obeyed immediately.

The backs of her eyelids reddened with light, and she heard the beginning of a cry that was quickly cut off. Then there were two sounds, a metallic clang and the thud of a body falling.

When she opened her eyes, the soldier was on the ground, dead.

Everyone stared for a moment like they'd never seen a dead body before, and Martha was struck by the ridiculousness of the situation: the Doctor's Companion, the Undying Man, the Winchester brothers and Tish, who'd seen enough slaughter and horror to last a lifetime, all staring at a dead body like it was their first.

But something about Castiel having killed him was startling.

The angel didn't acknowledge their shock, but said, "He would have killed Tish Jones, regardless of our actions. I heard him decide so. But he was able to set off an alarm, so my recommendation is that we run."

So they ran.

They ran through the halls, quietness being a secondary priority to speed, and they didn't complain as Castiel neutralized soldier after soldier. No one else was killed, but then, they didn't have time to pose much of a threat. Martha could see the angel tiring, but each time he faltered, she caught him glancing at Dean and righting himself.

He'd protect his charge, regardless of the difficulty.

Martha's legs screamed their protest, but just as she was afraid they'd give out, Tish turned a corner at breakneck speed and when they followed her, she'd stopped. "This is the control room," she said. "Castiel, can you open the door?"

The angel lifted a hand and the door slid open. "Yes," he intoned, walking through into the room.

The sight that greeted them in the room was quiet, but dire. Castiel quickly knocked out the two guards, leaving the only conscious inhabitant of the room...

The Doctor.

Martha couldn't speak, couldn't breathe for a moment as she stared at him. Shriveled and small and so weak, so exhausted, so vulnerable. She ran up to him, tearing at the bars of his cage, and realized that she was weeping.

"Doctor," she cried, "we're here, Doctor, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry we took so long—"

She felt a hand on hers, and stopped, looking up at the too-large eyes of her friend. He smiled, and she fell to her knees in tears.

More hands found her shoulders, and she didn't look up; she knew the weight. Dean crouched by her. "Hey," he said quietly, soothingly. "Come on. We've almost made it. Pull it together for another minute because we need you. Save the nervous breakdown for after we've gotten celebratory drinks."

It wasn't terribly comforting, and it wasn't terribly sensitive, but it was Dean, and Martha couldn't deny him. She nodded, using his arms as leverage to stand, and faced him.

God, if she survived this, the next thing she'd do would be the hardest thing she'd ever done.

She opened her mouth to speak, but slow applause cut her off.

"Well done, boys and girls. And so punctual."

Harold Saxon stood in the doorway, flanked by a dozen or more UNIT soldiers and a pale woman in a red dress. The Time Lord clasped his hands together, beaming down at them.

"Shall we begin?"