Disclaimer: My story, not my characters.
A.N: This chapter has been spilt into two parts for easier reading. Special thanks to reviewer74 for being the first to review this story.
Four
A Synergy Of Sorts – PART 1
With the line of work Dean and Sam shared, hunting the freakishly weird on a daily basis, it was difficult to be really shocked by something. Most of the time, the most shocking thing to happen would probably be considered normal for someone else. For example, Sam actually buying pie when he went shopping. Nothing typically 'normal' ever happened to the Winchester brothers. They'd seen it all. Demons, Hell and Heaven, fairies, vampires and even creatures that hadn't been named yet. So what could shock them? Sure, there were moments were they'd think 'what the hell just happened?' but there was nothing that shocked them beyond confusion; breaking down the fabrics of reality they had sewn up to support the mess they called their lives.
Until now, that is.
They weren't the only ones astounded by what they saw. John's leg had given way and, swearing, he stumbled, reaching out to take hold of the railing and clinging to it. Then he stared at it, all logic telling him that it couldn't exist. Meanwhile, Sherlock was stood ramrod straight, a little further in front of everyone as he had charged in and stumbled to a stop, and his eyes were wide. Dean would think that Sherlock and John were definitely not having a good day, if his mind hadn't gone completely blank. Next to him, Sam was gawking, wanting to speak but was unable to find words that made sense to describe what he was seeing.
It was a short moment before the Doctor jumped inside and the doors slammed shut behind him of their own accord. The Doctor weaved round them, mumbling apologetic 'excuse me's, until he had crossed the platform they were stood on. He threw the strange contraption off his chest and breathed a sigh of relief, before running to the centre of the room to a large hexagonal panel.
At last, Sam found his voice, "It's…bigger on the inside."
The gigantic room Sam, John, Dean and Sherlock had found themselves in was mostly blue and silver in colour; mostly metal and flashing lights. The roof looked like a cocoon, with ridges that curled into the centre, joining to the panel that the Doctor was currently dancing around. He flicked a few switches, mumbling things to himself. There was a hollow clunk and the whole room shifted. It was a gentle movement but it was strong enough to sway them. Once again, they heard the rasping, groaning sound that they had previously mistaken for wind. The cylinder above the panel glowed green and began to move up and down as the machine – the only word that made sense to describe it - rasped. Eventually, it stopped with another clunk and everything became quiet.
The Doctor spun round on his heel to face the others. He clapped his hands together, "Well then." He said, "Glad we got out of that one!"
He was met with four bewildered stares.
"Who are you?" John asked, finally managing to push himself back to his feet. The phantom limp in his leg didn't bother him as much as it once did; but there were times, when he'd just escaped from danger, when his sleeping injury awoken, almost as if it sensed it was a good time to fall limp.
The Doctor gave John a look somewhere between puzzled and amused. "I told you: I'm the Doctor."
Dean shifted uneasily, the gun under his jacket moving against him in a somewhat reassuring fashion. He scowled at the Doctor. "Yeah, and exactly what are you?"
The Doctor grinned at him, "Oh, you're good!" he said, meaning every word, "Most people don't pick up on that straight away. And I thought the TARDIS was a give big away!"
John raised his eyebrows. He was hearing a lot of strange words today. First it was the 'Weeping Angels' the emo rock band, and now the 'TARDIS' that sounded a lot like the name of a social drug. He imagined Billy Wiggins and many other of Sherlock's band of drug addicts would know what it is – Sherlock himself would probably know, and John looked questioningly at his friend. Sherlock hadn't been on drugs since Charles Magnussen was at large, a few months prior to this, but that didn't mean he didn't know what was what. But when John looked at Sherlock, Sherlock just looked…lost; like an adventurous child who had wandered too far into the woods and didn't know the way back home. John narrowed his eyes at this.
It was Sam who asked the question everyone was wondering. "What's a…TARDIS?"
This made the Doctor's grin widen like a twelve-year-old boy with a bag of sweets. He stretched out his arms, gesturing to the open space the men had found themselves in, "This is my TARDIS!" he proclaimed with great pride, "It stands for 'Time And Relative Dimension In Space'."
The four men found themselves staring round with wonder. Sam was impressed. Dean looked a little intimidated. John was amazed. Sherlock was just jealous; he stood up straighter to make himself look taller and glared down at the Doctor. The Doctor just looked between the four of them, his smile never wavering.
Dean narrowed his eyes and looked back at the Doctor, "Space?" he echoed. He paused, looking the Doctor up and down as his hand moved to the gun under his jacket. He couldn't believe what he was about to ask – not even with his ridiculous life filled with demons, angels, God, time travel, and monsters of all kinds: This was something he was certain could not exist. Then again, he'd been wrong before.
He said, "Are you an alien?"
"I am!" The Doctor replied. He clapped his hands together, "Okay with that, are we?"
His question was answered with a gun in his face.
"Okay. Not quite what I was expecting."
Sam was startled by Dean's fast reflexes. Usually, he'd support his brother in this kind of affair – it was their job, after all – but he couldn't help but feel torn. The Doctor had saved their lives, hadn't he? Didn't they owe him the benefit of the doubt? Sam said, in a cautious voice, "Dean."
"He's not human, Sam!" Dean cried.
"Neither is Cas. Or Benny." Sam retorted. He paused and added, "Neither was Amy."
Dean winced at that. He still felt guilty about Amy, even though he was sure he'd done the right thing. For a moment, he felt angry at Sam for using it against him, but when his rational side washed over the flames of rage, he realised that Sam had a point: the Doctor hadn't done anything wrong, unlike Amy, but Dean ensured himself that the second he did, he would put down him like he'd done so many others. At last, Dean lowered his gun.
"Guns…" The Doctor hissed like it was a curse word. When he saw Dean slip the gun back under his jacket and give a nod to show that he wouldn't shoot, the Doctor gave a grateful smile to Sam. "I like you. What's your name?"
"Sam." Sam replied, looking up and down at the strange man. He wasn't naïve; he knew better than to trust a monster from his times with Ruby – but this man had saved them and hadn't done anything to threaten them. Yet. Sam nodded to his brother, "This is my brother, Dean."
Dean nodded grudgingly.
The Doctor gave a tight smile and turned to look over at John and Sherlock. John was watching everyone in the room with caution, his features cooled into his soldier-face. Sherlock was still glaring as he took a large stride forwards and, sticking out his hand, he practically spat his name in the Doctor's face; "Sherlock Holmes."
The Doctor paused. The smile on his lips almost slipped from his face, but he quickly caught it. "Really?" he said, shaking Sherlock's hand respectively. He looked over at John, who had pushed himself away from the railing and was taking the few heedful steps to join them. "And you must be John Watson?"
John reached to shake his hand, his mask hardening while still remaining polite, "Yes, but…how do you know that?" The Doctor looked between Sherlock and John, a little panicked, but he cooled his features when John said, "Have you read the blog too?"
The Doctor nodded quickly, "Yes, yes. Great stuff. Very…" his mouthed worked, "…bloggy."
John was a little alarmed. Sure, he knew his blog was popular but knowing extraterrestrials were reading it – then John stopped that thought because: Aliens? How could he believe that? Surely this was some strange dream? Perhaps Sherlock had drugged him again? Whatever the case, this illusion sure beats the ones he had about the war.
"Now, I'll take you lot home." The Doctor said, spinning on his heels and bounding back to the console. The Doctor pushed a lever facing the door and the TARDIS made a whirring cry. The lights in the room intensified as if the TARDIS had suddenly awakened.
The others took this as a welcome, and went further into the TARDIS. As they went further into the ship, they could see a silver balcony stretching around the room, which could be reached by silver steps. Sherlock followed the balcony with his eyes, turning around, and seeing that there were two other doors on either side and above the main ones, leading into the unknown. To the right of him, there were more steps leading into a large chamber that opened up below the console. Sherlock realised that where they were stood was barely a portion of the whole TARDIS.
Meanwhile, John and Sam were looking at the console, where all the controls were. Sam was looking at the one of the two screens that hung out from the silver band below the cylinder. At first he thought they were computer screens, but there was no keyboard anywhere. The controls for the TARDIS, John observed, looked almost patchwork – like remnants of different machines fixed together. They were not just in the centre; there were two side panels which had switches and controls also. John moved aside as the Doctor jumped from the centre panel to the left side panel, flicking a switch, and then back again.
The Doctor said, "Where are you living?"
John was looking up at the spinning panels above the console as they increased in speed with the more buttons the Doctor pressed. It was unlike any of the machines he'd seen during his time with the military. At the Doctor's question, John looked over at the man, a little confused, "Um…22B1 Baker Street – but why?"
Where Dean was, at the top of the balcony steps, he could see the whole Console Room. He felt the steps vibrate beneath him and heard the TARDIS take a deep trembling breath and he felt very small, like he was in the belly of a beast; sheltered but nerve wrecking. He turned and looked at the Doctor, "Wait." He said, his curiosity peeking, "You can take us there? In here?"
The Doctor grinned. He walked around the console again, slapped Sherlock's hand before he could press the switch, giving him a scolding look, and punched a large button beside Sam. "The TARDIS…" he told them all, "…can travel anywhere in time and space. Push a lever and you and end up everywhere!"
On the word 'everywhere', he threw hands out and the TARDIS chimed as though it was a part of him. Then the room jerked to right.
John fell into the console with a grunt as Dean fell down the steps.
"Whoa!" Sam cried as he fell back into his brother, bouncing off him and almost toppling over if he hadn't grabbed the side panel just in time. When Sam hit Dean, Dean was thrown into one of the black leather chairs, and he gripped it with all his might as the room tipped and spun, gritting his teeth.
Dean growled furiously at the Doctor, "What the hell are you doing?!"
The Doctor laughed. "Trust me." was all he said.
Sherlock tumbled into the console beside John and gripped it tight. The Doctor bounced to his side and whooped. He gave Sherlock a winning grin. Sherlock couldn't suppress the tiniest of smiles; even if nothing made sense here, he couldn't doubt the thrill of his heart pumping and the blood shooting down his veins. The TARDIS tipped again, this time to the left, and John almost fell to the floor if Sherlock hadn't grabbed his arm just in time. They stared at one another, and then burst into hysterical laughter. Dean did fall, however, right off the chair he was on and to the floor. He slid right across the room, past the others. He almost fell off the platform if he hadn't grabbed the railing. Now he was hanging with nothing beneath him.
He swore, "Son of a…"
The TARDIS whirred loudly, blocking out the rest of his words, and the Doctor grinned. "Don't swear in front of her!" he said mock-scolding, but Dean was too busy clinging for his life to hear him. Then, with one last clunk, the TARDIS tipped upright to its original position. John, Sherlock and the Doctor bumped against the console, almost hitting their heads, while Sam slumped to the ground with a grunt.
Sam puffed out an excited breath. "That was…that was…that was…"
"Awful!" Dean shuddered, picking himself up slowly. He looked like a cat that had just been dunked in water. "God damn it! Don't ever do that again!"
The Doctor scowled, "There's always one…" he muttered, but brightened up instantly afterwards.
John looked between them. He was breathing heavily, but was grinning. "That was ridiculous. That was just….ridiculous. Am I dreaming?"
The Doctor smiled at him, "Nope. And you're home, now." He said and then pointed at the door and clicked his fingers. The doors swung open with a creak. Through them, there was no eerie house with frightening angel statues that moved when you weren't looking. No. Now there was a chocolate-brown room with warm carpets and creamy orange lampshades.
"We've moved." Sam breathed, staring with disbelief, "We've actually moved."
"Now, off you go all of you." The Doctor said gently, though his feet were firmly planted by the console, "I'll be out in a second. I just need to, er…" He smacked his lips together, "I need to configure the, um, fez calibration. See you in a second."
"Whatever." Dean hissed, "Just get me off this thing."
Dean literally ran off the TARDIS and, with a knowing smirk, Sam followed. John and Sherlock left soon after, drawn to the familiarity of Sherlock's flat as flies would be drawn to the beauty of light, and the doors creaked shut behind them. The Doctor's smile, that was so perfectly carved and crafted for the four strangers on his ship, had now vanished. His face looked suspicious, dark and shadowy, with a secret hidden beneath the surface. His eyes had lost their childish sparkle and looked like the eyes of an old man.
The TARDIS made a wailing sound. A single anxious note repeated again and again and again, until the Doctor soothed the TARDIS, patting it gently on the console.
"I know, I know." The Doctor whispered to it, "I didn't think it was true. Something's not right here. It feels wrong…very wrong." He chewed his bottom lip in thought. "But I can't just…leave. They'll be suspicious."
On the screen in front of him, a number appeared with a quite beep to alert its presence. The Doctor looked up at it curiously. He knew straight away that it wasn't a traditional Earth number - those things are useless to the rest of the universe - but these were Space-Time Coordinates. Inside each of the four digits there were millions of tiny numbers that lead to a location and time zone somewhere in universe. The TARDIS used them to travel, and sometimes call people from different eras. In fact, just last week, the Doctor had a very long and interesting conversation with Florence Nightingale.
"Help line?" the Doctor said with a smile. He picked up the phone next to him and pressed it to his ear. He could hear the phone dialling the co-ordinates. He had a strong feeling he knew who it was, and the TARDIS was right to call them. If anyone could help, and would help no questions asked, it was her. "Calling the missus, are we?"
After a moment, there was a click on the other end of the line, and a woman's voice answered, "This is the Starlight Baths and Salon. How may we help you?"
The Doctor raised an eyebrow at that, but he continued all the same because he trusted his TARDIS more than any other living creature, and his TARDIS was never wrong. The Doctor said to the woman on the line, "I'm looking for a woman who goes by the name River Song. Tell her it's the Doctor."
There was a short pause where the Doctor could hear the woman rustling through some papers. "I'll put you through now." the voice said eventually and there was another pause where some murmured chatter in the background could be heard. The Doctor tapped a quick rhythm on the console as he waited.
At last, another woman's voice came through. It was light, mysterious and cheeky, as well as a bit sad. The voice said, "Hello, Sweetie."
"Hi, honey." The Doctor replied, "The Starlight Baths? Really?"
"My treat." River explained, "You've just gone to get drinks."
It was not something he remembered doing; it was his future. No wonder River was being vague. Even though he knew he wouldn't get an answer, just to break the rules, the Doctor asked, "What's the occasion?"
"Spoilers!" River singed her usual tune, and the Doctor huffed in amusement.
Then the Doctor frowned. He looked over his shoulder where Sherlock, John, Sam and Dean had disappeared into the flat, to make sure no one was still lingering. The doors were shut, but he lowered his voice just in case. "River, I need your help."
"Is it a case?"
John Watson pressed the phone firmly to his ear, but hesitated in his response because, honestly, he wasn't sure what to call this any more. He was watching Sherlock as the man repeatedly walked around the blue box that was currently stood in the entrance to the kitchen - how he would explain to Mrs Hudson how it got there he didn't know, since it was too large to fit through the doors or windows. Meanwhile, Sam and Dean were stood on the other side of the flat by the windows. Dean looked a little pale – Kinetosis his medical mind told him – and Sam was watching Sherlock, but his eyes would wander curiously around flat from time to time, as though he'd stepped in a childhood dream. John was just waiting for some kind of deduction from Sherlock, while trying to focus on the phone call.
"John?" his wife's voice came through the phone, gentle, questioning.
Phone call. Right. That's what he was doing.
"Er, yeah, yeah. Kind of." John said quickly. He turned away from the box; it was too inconceivable to even look at without making his mind spin. Feeling better now he'd turned away, he tried again to focus on the conversation with his wife and he said, "I'm sure I'll be back soon."
"No, you won't." Mary said, knowingly. John could sense her smirk.
John nodded, "Okay, no I won't. But I will be back." He paused then added, "Call if you, you know, feel anything. Anything at all. It can be absolutely anything. Even if it's nothing, call me and I'll be..."
"John." Mary sing-songed in her sweetest voice, "You're being paranoid. I can get myself to hospital – Sherlock even showed me the quickest routes."
John frowned, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably, "Not quite sure how to feel about that…"
"Stop worrying." Mary repeated, more firmly this time, "I'll see you later."
John smiled, "Bye." He said quickly and hung up.
At that moment, the Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS, closing the doors behind him. He took a moment to observe Sherlock's flat which they had all tumbled into – John, for the life of him, wasn't sure why he said Baker Street; force of habit, perhaps? The Doctor's eyes were wide and childish as he took in the fire-place, the brown dusty furniture, the papers Sherlock had hung on the wall. He smiled brightly at the four men in the room. "See." The Doctor said, lounging against his blue box, "I told you we could travel anywhere."
Dean looked him up and down, still a little breathless from the flight, "Well, if you're so smart…" – at this Sherlock's head jerked up and his eyes narrowed at the Doctor, pouting a little – "…then tell us: What the hell were those statue things?"
"The Weeping Angels." The Doctor replied, "They used to be called the Lonely Assassins."
"Oh, delightful." John sighed, slumping down into his chair and rubbing his eyes. Too much was happening all at once. That morning he'd been a married doctor to an amazing wife and worked all day at the Health Centre and solved crimes with his sociopath best friend as a hobby to help him pay the rent. And now, he'd seen moving statues, boxes that could travel anywhere and, oh, did he mention that it was bigger on the inside? He'd pinched himself so many times his arms were red!
The Doctor looked at Sam and Dean, "And what about you?" he asked curiously, "You're not from around here. How did you get involved with this?"
The two brothers exchanged looks. Dean's eyes were narrowed: Lie! Yet, Sam looked hesitant: No! He gave Dean a look which said: We need all the help we can get. Stop being a jerk – to which Dean rolled his eyes. The Doctor watched them admirably. Humans never failed to fascinate him. After a moment, Sam explained, "We came here looking for a friend. A hunter."
"Hunter?"
"Yeah." Sam said, "It's like our job…"
"Apart from you don't get paid." Sherlock threw in, and he gave a smug smile at Dean and Sam's cautious looks, telling him he was correct. "Knew it."
Dean scowled at him again – he was going to end up getting wrinkles if he hung around Sherlock any more, Sam thought – and he retorted, "Yeah. Good for you, Beanstalk."
The Doctor's forehead crinkled as he raised his eyebrows at the feud between the two men. John gave him a look that said 'Get used to it' and Sam's slightly peeved look confirmed to him that this had been going on for a while and everyone was already fed up. He decided to draw attention away from it and back to the original subject, so he asked the brothers, "What do you hunt?"
There was a pause, in which the brothers shared another conversation through looks alone as though they shared a telepathic link – which they didn't or the Doctor would defiantly know about it. Eventually, Dean said, "Monsters."
That's when John laughed like a maniac.
"Okay, okay…" he paused, took a breath, but couldn't hide his smirk, "Statues that move. A box bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. A quote-alien-unquote. And now monster hunters?" he laughed again, lowering his head and shaking it.
Dean scowled at being ridiculed. It took him a moment to realise that John wasn't laughing because he thought it was funny; he was laughing because it was completely ridiculous, and he just couldn't accept it as truth. Everything that had happened today was impossible by his standards, and just plain weird by Dean's standards. "Well, believe it." Dean said, "We even have an angel friend of our own."
John rested his head against his fingers and peered at him, dubious, "A statue?"
"Nope." Dean gave him a snide look. "An Angel of the Lord, and we can prove it."
The Doctor inhaled sharply. Suddenly, he regretted his decision earlier and now he wanted to leave as fast as he could. He wondered if he sneaked back in his TARDIS, and put the engines on silent, would anyone notice that he'd gone. It wasn't the first time he'd met the Heavenly Host, and he and they weren't on the best of terms. A confrontation with another angel was something he wasn't ready for. He'd rather have the Weeping Angels!
Sherlock scoffed. He didn't care much for angels, religion, or anything of that genre. He wasn't open to those idiotic things. They were just fantasies. However, he didn't voice his opinion for once, because after seeing a box bigger on the inside than it was on the outside and being chased through a house by statues, he wasn't sure he could trust himself to speak.
Dean then closed his eyes and prayed, "Dear Castiel, who better have a good excuse for leaving this morning, get over here now. We have an angel problem." He opened his eyes again and found John staring at him with two raised eyebrows, and Sherlock just looked amused. On the other hand, the Doctor looked even more uncomfortable than before.
They heard rustling feathers. Castiel appeared in front of the fireplace.
Sam and Dean could barely contain their laughter at John and Sherlock's reactions. John's mouth had dropped wide open and he was gawking at Castiel. After a pause, when no sound came out of his mouth, he closed it again and just continued to stare. Sherlock stood up straight, his greenish-brown eyes flashing, and glared at Castiel as if his very presence in the room was an insult. On the other hand, the Doctor felt his stomach churn. He pressed his back against his TARDIS and looked over at the wall in an attempt to calm his nerves. Confused, Castiel looked at John and the Sherlock, until his eyes rested on the Doctor. For the briefest of moments, his eyes filled with sheer panic, but it was displaced when Dean addressed him.
"Hey, Cas." Dean said, "It's good to see you."
Castiel looked a little confused. He glanced at the Doctor again, and then the others in the room, his eyes moving rapidly, before he looked at Dean. "Dean. Who are these people?"
"Um…Sherlock, John and the Doctor." Dean waved a hand at each them in turn.
Castiel nodded to them in his way of greeting, making a great effort not to look at the Doctor. No one did anything in response. The Doctor seemed to find the swirling dust in sunbeams very fascinating at that moment. Sherlock Holmes looked enraged at Castiel: That's wrong. He shouldn't be here. All the while, John continued to open and close his mouth like a fish until he finally stuttered out, "H-how did he do that?" with a small smile; part of him was hoping this was all a joke.
Sam gave him a small shrug because he didn't quite understand it himself and probably never would. He said, "He's an angel."
John stared at him, a little peeved, "No. Seriously."
"Seriously."
John turned to Castiel, who was looking a little lost in this situation. "You're an angel?" John asked sceptically. "So, what, you have wings and you can heal people?"
Dean gestured to his fractured jaw and bruise and grinned at Castiel, "If you don't mind, Cas."
Castiel pressed two fingers to Dean's forehead and the bruise vanished from sight. His jaw was aligned perfectly again, and his skin had referred back to an even tone of light brown and not the blotchy pink and purple it had been before. John gaped, as Dean moved his jaw around and grinned at Castiel in thanks. The sharp stings of pain had gone and now he could talk without cringing.
"I need to think." Sherlock stood abruptly and stalked out through the kitchen and slamming the door on his way. Loudly.
After that the room fell into a pregnant silence.
A fly was buzzing around the window. Every now and again it would smack its head against the glass, and even that tiny sound seemed so loud that it filled the room. No one made an effort to do anything to break the silence; everyone was struggling to find the words to break it. Castiel was looking at the carpet. The Doctor was looking at the wall. John was staring at his feet; every now and again he'd count his toes because he'd heard that you have the wrong number of toes and fingers in a dream. Dean shifted uncomfortably, casting glances at his brother. This would usually be the time when they'd come up with a plan to ditch this place and kill the monster but, as Sam's helpless shrug indicated, they had nothing.
The clock ticked loudly and ten minutes later, at nine o'clock, it began to chime. John jumped at the sound, and gave a heavy sigh. After a pause, he got up and went into the kitchen. "Would, er, anyone like anything? Tea? Coffee? …Water?"
Sam smiled in sympathy. He remembered when Dean told him about their dad's real job. He'd watched TV, read twelve books, and even did some chores – everything he would usually do, or at least plan to. Then, at the end of the day when Dean tucked him into bed, it all sank in and he realised that he could read a thousand books, he could watch TV for days on end, and do as many chores as he could without wearing himself out – and it still wouldn't make a difference. His world had completely changed, but it didn't stop him from grasping at those normal straws long into his future; trying to focus on his education, get a girlfriend, go to college; it was never going to work out. The only difference between then and now is that the change wasn't so dramatic for him, but for John it was. Sam decided to help him along. "Sure." He said, walking into the kitchen, "I'll have black coffee, thanks."
The Doctor said, looking to John, "I'll have some coffee. Um…milk, no sugar."
"Do you have any beer?" Dean called, feeling that this was the perfect situation to have some alcohol.
"Only the stuff Sherlock has experimented on which, by the way, I'm not even sure is beer any more." John replied as he worked in the kitchen, feeling a little more comfortable that something ordinary was happening. He placed two cups of black coffee on a tray and gave it to Sam, "The one on the right is Sherlock's."
Meanwhile Dean, who had concluded that he simply couldn't stay in the room for much longer without the help of something to dull his senses, got up headed towards the door, saying, "I'm going to check on our stuff."
At this, Castiel's head perked up. He spared a glance at the Doctor, and then stood. "I'll go with you." He said to Dean and the two of them continued out without another word.
The Doctor watched them leave.
Dean stomped up the stairs fuming. He should have known that typical Winchester luck – or lack of it – would come and bite him sooner rather than later. You see, it would be an unfortunate coincidence to get an apartment on the same street as the most annoying dickbag on the face of the planet. It would be even more unfortunate to get an apartment next door to the most annoying dickbag on the face of the planet. But no – he had to get an apartment in the same bloody building as the most annoying dickbag on the face of the planet! That wasn't unfortunate. That was pitiful.
The universe had a cruel sense of humour.
"The landlady had pie." Dean grumbled, "I should have known there was a catch." He turned to go into his and his brother's new flat when he noticed that Castiel wasn't following. At first he was worried that Castiel had disappeared again and was just using the same excuse as him to get out an awkward situation without causing further heart attacks. But this was not the case: Castiel was stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking down at his feet with furrowed eyebrows. He looked worried, and this made Dean hesitate. Something that could worry an Angel of the Lord was never good news. "You okay, Cas?"
Castiel seemed to snap out of his trance at Dean's voice. "I'm fine." He replied quickly, and Dean raised his head to regard the angel suspiciously.
The look Castiel had: the one where he was too happy, to the point where it was simply unreal and sad than anything else. Castiel wasn't good at faking emotions since he had no understanding of real ones. Dean thought back to that morning when he and Sam first took the case. He remembered that Castiel was also acting strangely then, but when he thought about it, he realised that Castiel had acted strange only after they mentioned going to England. It was something about being here, of all places, which made Castiel extremely uncomfortable.
"Are you sure?"
Castiel nodded, smiling, "Yes."
"Really." Dean said sceptically, folding his arms across his chest, "Because you seemed a little freaked out about coming to England this morning. Why was that? You hate migrating?"
"Dean!" Castiel snapped, "I said I was fine!"
Dean scowled, voice raising, "Well, clearly, you're not!"
"Is everything all right?"
Castiel suddenly went rigid. The Doctor had appeared at the bottom of the steps, wondering what all the yelling was about, and was now looking between them curiously.
"Yeah, yeah…" Dean muttered, slightly distracted. He was looking between the Doctor and Castiel, beginning to draw attention to something he had not noticed before. The Doctor only looked at Dean for a short moment before he looked at the back of Castiel's head, remorse shinning in his eyes like un-fallen tears. Castiel refused to look in the Doctor's general direction, but when the Doctor left, he turned and his gaze lingered on where the alien had been stood. Dean watched the exchange suspiciously.
"Wait a minute." He said, staring at Castiel with widening eyes as realization hit him, "Have you met him before?"
"I don't want to talk about it, Dean." Castiel said, hoping to end the conversation at that. He hurriedly moved past Dean and continued up the stairs. Dean hastily followed him. He refused to let it go that easily.
"Is that why you didn't want to come here?" Dean questioned, "Does this Doctor-guy hang around here a lot?"
Castiel hesitated, but eventually said, in a quiet voice, "He is particular fond of the UK."
So that was it, Dean thought; all this time, Castiel had been avoiding the Doctor, but why? Suddenly, Dean bit his lip as he felt a cold chill run down his spine; of course there was something wrong with that monster! What did he expect? Dean looked over at Castiel, "I guess we can't trust him."
Castiel's head snapped up and he stared at Dean with horror, "No! I trust the Doctor." He protested, and Dean was taken back by the forcefulness of the declaration, as well as surprised by what he was saying. "I trust him with this planet and all others. And so should you."
But that didn't make any sense. The two of them looked like they wanted to move to another planet each just to stay away from each other. "Then, why are you two so tense around each other?" Dean questioned, "You look like the fiancé who just bumped into the ex-husband - wait. You're not the fiancé and the ex-husband are you?"
"No, Dean." Castiel sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. He looked so defeated, Dean thought, and he was reminded immediately of an event that took place only a few weeks ago. The angel had joined them for one of their strangest cases yet, but Castiel had been acting a little strange. In fact, he had been acting just as he was at this moment. When Dean had asked him about it last time he'd gotten the answer he didn't expect nor wanted to hear from any of his closest friends and family: "I'm afraid I'll kill myself." What that what Castiel was feeling now? It made Dean sick to the stomach to think that the Doctor had re-awakened such intense feelings of guilt, pain, and loss, especially since Castiel was trying his hardest to work away the feelings he already had, and it was even more difficult for the angel, since he barely understood them to begin with.
"I trust the Doctor." Castiel repeated, giving a small shake of his head, "That doesn't mean he trusts me."
A.N: Stay tuned for Part 2 to this chapter! Thanks for reading everyone.
Chapter Notes: Google Maps strikes again! I used it to see the TARDIS interior from all angles, and help me describe it a little better. I wanted to include as much detail as possible, and Google Maps helped because it allowed me to zoom in on different parts. (I did change a bit: in this version of the TARDIS, the Doctor's phone is on the outside, but let's just pretend he put it back on the inside for this. Hehe.) Coffee preferences: I know John never took sugar in his tea, but he seemed to like it milky while Sherlock and the Winchester brothers seemed to like their black coffee, though Sherlock has two sugars with his, and since it was never confirmed how the Eleventh Doctor likes his coffee, his coffee is actually how the Ninth Doctor had his.
"I'm afraid I'll kill myself." is a reference to the Season 8 episode 'Hunteri Heroici' and I'm planning to build Castiel's story arc around the issues presented there since this story takes place just after that episode.