xxxxxxxx
"What's up with mutant Ugly Duckling?" Dean slumped back against the pillar, resting his head delicately so he didn't cause any more blood to spill. Gordy hadn't exactly bitten him delicately like Edward sparkly Cullen would, he'd practically ripped his way through him, and though Cas hadn't let go of his hand, it was taking Cas a lot longer than usual to heal him. Dean tried not to think too much of it but 2014 Cas appeared in his mind, broken and verging on crazy, powerless as Heaven had left him. Lucifer telling him he could change as many details as he liked, it would always end like that. He closed his eyes tight, this was just temporary.
"You're referring to the Behemoth." Cas said after a pause, making Dean smile internally, hearing Cas' voice in his head. I do not understand that reference, Dean. "There's nothing "up" with him as you say, he's actually one of our best chances to destroy the leviathans." Cas' tone was thoughtful, and not in the way of contemplating how to save the monkeys from the cages but in a good way. The old way.
Dean couldn't help but scoff at the idea. "Yeah, right. You planning to tame him with cookies and bring it home?"
Cas audibly sighed. "The Behemoth was God's first righteous warrior, created to 'cull' the leviathans, keep them in check as it were. They were God's gatekeepers of purgatory, made so the leviathans didn't eat the entire population-"
"Of his dumping ground?" Dean suggested, he really didn't see why God hadn't invested in a button that said "erase all".
"I suppose that's one way to think of it. There are many of them and though they look savage and aren't exactly the most intelligent of Our Father's creations, they are not cruel for the sake of it, they strive only for order and continued… sustenance." Cas carefully chose his words, but it didn't matter how clever it sounded, Sam had gone to Stanford to do Law, clever words no longer impressed Dean.
"Well, that's just dandy, then. We should invite him round for tea and discuss the whole idea, oh no, he's selling us to the highest bidder for his tea. We probably won't be available – busy being tortured or something." Dean growled quietly, feeling his neck ache as he struggled to keep talking.
"I'm just telling you what I know, Dean. Please." And Dean stopped, and he wanted to smash his head against something. Not again, he was hurting Cas again, he took a deep breath, he had to keep his temper under control from now on.
"I'm sorry, Cas. I'm just… frustrated." Dean grimaced, of all the places to finally discuss his 'feelings'. Cas was quiet but he wasn't crying or shaking with hysterical laughter or saying he missed board games so this was a bonus as far as Dean could tell. Dean felt tense, Cas was still vulnerable despite his obvious improvement, he could still bounce back to the broken pacifist he had been and Dean needed his friend right now. Someone who was going to fight with him out of this place and care whether they made it or not.
Cas' fingers squeezed his briefly and Dean felt his pain diminish momentarily, he guessed this was Cas' way of saying 'thank you'.
"Hey, Cas, what happened to all your mojo?" Would've been useful to have. Just sayin'. Or thinkin'.
Cas was quiet for a moment, and Dean didn't push him, he could wait for Cas. "Purgatory is not like Earth, or Hell and Heaven. It is outside my supposed plane of existence, we are almost in a different dimension entirely. I am practically human here; I am drawing on very small strings of power from Heaven. There is a reason a monster like Behemoth is the gatekeeper of this land and not angels." Cas strained to speak and Dean could sense how even healing Dean was tiring him.
"Okay, just don't push yourself; we need you to be at your best when we bust outta here." Dean tried to encourage him, while looking out at the little he could see of the rest of the cave. If Cas was weak, and supposedly only going to get weaker, then they needed to make their escape soon.
Smoke hazed his view as the cave turned a corner, he could smell burning meat, though he doubted that they were serving up his favourite bacon burgers. He couldn't see the Behemoth, though little shadows flickered past and nearby but nothing came too close. For now the Behemoth wanted them safe and sound. Dean looked at his closer surroundings, at the rope, but Gordon had been one of the best and if anything, was even better at what he did now he was a monster. There was no way Dean could loosen their hold.
He sighed, closing his eyes briefly, inhaling the deep scent of the smoke.
"You know, Cas, I miss pie." Dean murmured, tiring as his adrenaline drained, it had been a long day after all. He was hungry, and tired and defeating Dick was supposed to mean getting drunk, laying in front of the stars and teasing Sam about his sideburns. One day, they'd get an apocalypse where that worked; surely, it was all to do with odds.
"I hope Sam's alright." Cas said, his usually deadpan voice was now weary and concerned and Dean felt oddly comforted that Cas cared for Sam even though his predicament probably sucked a whole lot worse. Dean tried not to think of the Cas he'd been, of what he had done to Sam before. That hadn't been his Cas, that had been a distressed, lost Castiel. A Castiel, as much as he hated to admit, that he'd helped to create. He'd been the one to push Cas the final step to free will, to fight for what he thought was right, to do whatever was needed for the greatest good and though he didn't agree with how he'd gone through with it, Castiel had been trying to save them. And Cas was truly sorry, he'd become crazy with his regret, he'd wanted to die because of what he'd done, he thought he didn't deserve to live. Dean shook his head, momentarily forgetting his injury resulting in a loud wince and Cas gripped his hand firmly. He felt his skin draw tauter, trying to knit together.
"Cas, don't draw yourself out. Seriously, I will not be dragging you behind me as I kick ass."
"Sorry, dean."
"Stop saying that, too."
"Sorry, Dea-"
"Cas!"
Cas chuckled, a real chuckle, one that reminded him of a time when he didn't need to know the plural of apocalypse. "I am sorry, Dean, I can't help it. I am very tired."
"Nah, me too, man. Me too. I suppose I'm not going to enjoy the simple joy of a motel room tonight though." Dean laughed weakly, coughing to a stop as his body protested.
"When we get back, I will make a pie for us all." Cas said, and Dean could imagine it. Cas personally picking apples from an orchard in Vienna, taking wheat from Egypt and forcing Dean and Sam to sit and eat the homemade pie that would have been done precisely to the recipe.
"You gonna eat with us?" Dean played along, keeping the image in his mind as long as possible.
"I don't need to eat, Dean." Cas was lost and Dean felt his lips curl into a grin independently.
"You haven't had pie, Cas. Trust me, you need to eat pie." With custard, or cream, man, he'd have to get Cas to walk more so he could enjoy all the beautiful delicacies of food without getting fat.
"I trust you, even if you seem to have an unhealthy obsession." Cas replied with a yawn. Dean didn't think he'd ever heard Cas yawn before.
"It's not unhealthy. You're unhealthy." Dean frowned; obviously his lack of sleep was affecting his retort ability.
"My neck isn't the one gaping." Cas observed.
"That's totally normal. I'm a Winchester, after all." Dean chuckled, was there a moment when he wasn't bleeding?
"Not funny, Dean." Cas was slipping; Dean could feel his fingers softening their grip. He bit his lip, feeling the pain crawling at his skin at a renewed pace, it was really itchy too. But he wasn't about to complain.
"I think it was. Would you prefer it had mating goat mouths in it?" Dean was suddenly yawning himself, it really was catchy. But he had to stay awake, for what good it would do.
"It's funnier in Enochian." Cas feebly defended himself, his words becoming slower and heavy.
"Sure it is." The thought sobered him, had Cas ever joked with his siblings? Had he been close with any of them? He wondered if him and Sam had been his first real family or if he had had brothers and sisters he really cared for.
"Mm." Cas mumbled, and Dean kept quiet after that. He just sat, and listened to Cas' breathing deepening, watched the smoke crawl over them, and he really hoped that they would bust out of there. Because if they didn't, he didn't think he would see Sam again, taste another pie, at this point he might have even taken up a game of twister with Cas. He couldn't help but be grateful that he wasn't alone this time though; he felt that bit stronger with Cas beside him.
Xxxxxxxx
Sam sat outside, on the impala. He watched the stars, and drank a beer. The night sky shone as brightly as it ever had but it wasn't the same.
"Happy 4th July." Sam whispered to the emptiness, taking a swig of beer.
There were no fireworks.
Xxxxxxxxx
A gust of cold licked at the bare of his back, and Dean's eyes flickered open, the sounds of a hushed argument washed over him and he tried to pull his hands up so he could rub his tired eyes. He couldn't. That was when he remembered where he was.
"Cas?" The arguing stopped and Dean lifted his head, surprised at the ease of it, blinking his eyes open he saw his wound was practically healed. He also saw that there was a lack of Cas behind him, he turned and Cas was in front of him, barely standing, being supported by a woman who looked unhappy.
"Dean." Cas said, his voice a mixture of relief and exhaustion and reined in fury. Dean hoped the latter was not for him. He'd only been sleeping.
"What's going on? Are we busting out?" Dean felt hopeful but then the way the woman was looking at him wasn't making him feel rescued. There seemed to be a reason he was still tied to the pillar instead of running for freedom.
"We need to go, Castiel, now." The woman hissed, shifting her weight so that they were angled away from Dean but Cas frowned. Dean struggled against the ropes; there was no way they were leaving him.
"We cannot leave him." Cas shirked her off but only fell to the ground as he did, he tried to crawl over to Dean but the woman stopped him, bending down.
"No. I can't do that," she cast her eyes away from Dean.
"Then I am staying." Cas mumbled roughly, pushing pathetically at her hold as Dean watched her encompass him, pulling him up.
"Lady, you can't leave me here." Dean hissed, eyes flicking behind them, knowing the Behemoth could come back at any point. This was his only chance.
"You'll endanger everyone, your blood stinks." The woman shook her head, looking genuinely conflicted but she was a woman with a mission. Dean wasn't part of it, he knew that look. "I could smell you from a mile away, and if Gordon has drunk from you, you are his. Nothing will hide you from him." Dean's eyes widened, his face paled. They were going to leave him, he'd never escape, Gordon would strip him bare and sell him on, chains flashed before his eyes and he cringed.
"I don't care." Cas panted from her grip, and Dean wanted to choke. He couldn't force that on Cas, Cas was like this because of him, he'd been healing Dean and now he could barely talk or move. And now he wouldn't run to safety because of Dean. Dean swallowed bile.
"Just go, Cas! You can get away! Just come back and get me. You have to go now, while you can!" Dean whispered desperately, hoping that Cas couldn't detect lies anymore. Dean didn't want Cas to leave him, he knew it was selfish, but it was the truth. The woman threw him a thankful glance but he didn't acknowledge it. Cas was shaking his head.
"No. I will stay with Dean."
"Cas-"
"Dean. I am not going to leave you here." Cas built up the strength to look up and his gaze was determined, angry. Dean matched it with his own but it wasn't long before he was looking at the floor.
"You're going to kill us all." The woman snarled at Dean – as if this was his fault - , shifted Cas delicately onto the floor and rapidly cut through Dean's ropes. With her nails. That was when Dean started to notice her appearance, the sharp teeth, the pointed, animal-like nails, the subtly yellow eyes.
"You judging me, boy?" She growled as he stared, and he rolled his eyes indignantly.
"Just looking for the extra mouth." He pulled himself to his feet, just as she slapped him with liquid. He spluttered and almost hit her as she started wiping at his face as if he was a five year old who couldn't eat properly. It was sticky and disgusting on his skin but he didn't complain. If it got him out of here it was worth it.
The woman narrowed her eyes.
"You really do smell."
"You don't exactly smell of flowers either." Dean retorted, trying not to touch his face. He felt itchy.
"That's because they don't exist." The woman whispered, less angrily this time, causing Dean to really look at her. She was young, in her twenties, though it was hard to tell as her face had been ravaged by time and the hunt for survival. Her hair was cropped close to her skull; it may have been blonde once but now was the colour of dirt as was the rest of her skin. She wore simple brown fabrics over her body, it seemed more functional than anything else, and left most of her skin bare though it was coated with ash and mud. Her eyes were also the colour of earth and they looked sad as if she had forgotten what a flower looked like.
"How do we get out of here?" Dean changed the subject; guilt was lapping at his feet. He'd sent these people to this place, if not him, people like him. Normal citizens who had become victims and then been sentenced to an eternity of this godforsaken cruelty.
"Follow me." The woman's eyes hardened, an armour of focus clearing them of exterior emotion. She leaned down, pulling Cas' arm around her neck but Dean was at his other side a second later, taking his waist and heaving him up.
"I'll take him, you cover us." Dean commanded from habit. She bared her teeth, but reluctantly let him take Cas, and started walking ahead, continuously sniffing the air.
"I thought you said you wouldn't be dragging me after you when we busted out." Cas commented, lifting his head enough to cock an eyebrow at Dean.
"Dammit Cas, and I thought I told you not to drain your energy bloody healing-"
"Shut up." Dean's gaze snapped back to Dirty, she was standing stiffly, looking straight up into the darkness where the ceiling was, or where Dean assumed the ceiling was anyway, it was too dark to tell.
"We need to lift him up, quickly." Dean gently lead Cas to where she was standing and then she was scaling the wall, her claws scratching against the rock and pulling fragments loose. She reminded him of a gigantic lizard but he kept it to himself, it wasn't the most charming compliment he'd thought of.
"Can you lift him a bit?" Dirty asked breathlessly from somewhere above them, the hairs on Dean's arms rose, he got the feeling something bad was coming. Dean placed Cas' arms around his shoulders, placing him behind him, he bent down a bit.
"Can you jump, Cas?" Dean murmured, and then grunted as Cas' weight shifted and landed on his back. He stood up, arms holding Cas' legs steady, trying not to think about Cas' breath on his neck, the solid weight of his arms around his shoulders.
"Is that okay?" Dean whispered, just as he felt Cas being pulled up from him. Cas slid from his grip and he watched him rise into the darkness, Dirty must have some awesome upper body strength.
Dean waited a moment, his heart racing. It was quiet above him. He gritted his teeth, feeling up the wall for a handhold. He had to get out of here, Dirty must have smelt something or taken her chance to get away with Cas. Well, at least she'd untied him.
"Where you going, Dean?" A hand grabbed his shoulder, flinging him backwards against the opposite wall. The air was knocked out of him and he struggled to drag another breath in. His eyelids flickered, and he watched in despair as Gordon grabbed his shirt and hauled him up so his feet dangled in the air.
"Screw you." Dean croaked, wishing he could kick his face in.
"Maybe later. Let's find our missing angel first." Gordon dragged Dean across the floor as he rounded back to where he'd been trying to climb the wall. He sniffed.
"Werewolf. The little bitch." Gordon grunted.
He let go of Dean, whistling. Immediately, a gangly being stumbled from nowhere, unnaturally long, grey wings dragged behind it and its entire face curved inwards into a bony beak. It grabbed Dean, and Dean attempted to kick it away, this was a mistake. The creature grabbed his leg, spun him round, and planted a heavy, taloned foot on his back. Dean gasped in a breath of dust and spluttered, trying not to suffocate.
"Tie him up and tell the boss that's it's a distraction, we'll need tighter security around this one." The thing tried to speak but it came out as a coarse squawk. Dean just gave his best glare as Gordon winked at him, and then he was leaping up the wall and Dean was back where he started.
Beaky didn't even bother picking him up, it just dragged him by his leg back to his pillar. Shoving him upright, and aggressively lashing Dean's wrists together. It wasn't as well done as Gordon but Dean didn't believe it would matter, this time the Behemoth wasn't going to be as generous.
Beaky screeched at him, and then clumsily staggered away. Its arms dangled awkwardly in front of it, weighing its front down as its long legs struggled to cope. Dean wondered if Eve was to thank for such a creature.
"Tell him you'll need a freaking army!" Dean shouted at his back, telling himself that it was just the dust that made his voice break. Beaky didn't react, and then he was gone.
Dean rammed his head against the pillar, embracing the shrill pain of it, and just sat there, staring at the darkness. He had been so close. He closed his eyes, feeling the coolness of one tear slipping down his cheek.
"Sammy, I don't know if I'll make it out of this one. I don't know what to do." Dean stuttered under his breath, Dirty's words echoed in his ears. "if Gordon has drunk from you, you are his. Nothing will hide you from him." There was nowhere he could run, he had no way to kill Gordon – if monsters could even die here – and now he was alone. He shivered; it felt like a shadow had been cast on him. He opened his eyes to see darkness, he was surrounded by it.
"What the hell?" He growled, moving his feet away from it. The darkness stayed put, but he noticed small outlines between individual bodies. His eyes widened.
"Make her scream again, break her, Dean. She's going to be a lovely addition to your masterpiece." Alistair coaxed, his hand guiding Dean's. Dean felt her flesh give way under his knife; her blood was a ruby red that kept spilling, staining his knife and then him. He stepped closer, smelling her. Alistair let go and Dean dug the knife further, twisting it and basking in her shrieks. He sliced down into her stomach and further, watching as her insides became outsides. He stepped away, admiring the new form he had carved of her. He put the knife down, and suddenly there was a brightly glowing pin in his hands instead. He traced over her face with the scalding tip, blinding her with its heat and burning his signature into her malleable skin. Her flesh melted around the metal, and Dean delighted in the way it hissed as her tears landed on it, crudely he wrote D.W. across her face. When he was done, he started to refine his work of art. Cutting away at the bits that hung off and adding other pieces, shredding her and when he paused Alistair was always there.
"You're not done yet, Dean. Use your imagination, son." And Dean would be burning, the infernos of Hell consuming him. He would scream and Alistair would laugh, the pain diminishing to a faint tingle. And Dean would carry on, destroying them until they looked like that. Like the darkness.
Dean's breathing was harsh; he closed his eyes but instantly opened them again as images flashed behind his eyelids. He had kept his dreams of Hell away from Sam, especially as Sam had relived his own experience, they had always been something he could cope with, push to the bottom of a beer bottle, but now they were intense. He eyed the darkness surrounding him, just waiting for one to make a connection, to start attacking and carving and burning. Because he deserved it.
But they remained where they were, silent and still. And Dean's anguish almost overwhelmed him; he doubted these creatures could do anything anymore. If they were what he thought they were, they were broken, destroyed beyond repair.
He did not want to be surrounded by them.
"Hey! Get away from me!" Dean barked, but there was nothing. It was like he wasn't there. He tucked his knees against his chest, laying his head on them. It felt like they were sucking the warmth from the air, he sucked in a deep breath. Except it didn't help. His bottle was coming undone, it had been filled and pushed down and filled again, there was nowhere for it to go. He was going to fall apart.
And why not? There was no-one to be strong for now. This was the end.
Xxxxxxxxxx
Hours later, Dean was in the same position. His body felt numb, his mind was numb. He couldn't close his eyes to sleep, but he daren't look at the dark spirits surrounding him, so he stared at his knees, dreading the next time he would need to blink.
He was like this when Gordon came back. The darkness split for him and Dean squinted as faint light filled his view for a second, he hadn't realized just how dark it was but it didn't last long anyhow. As soon as Gordon was close enough, they swiftly enfolded around them both.
"Creepy, aren't they? I'd kill them all if I could." Gordon sat down next to Dean, and Dean put the last of his energy reserves into the hate he felt for this guy.
"What? Am I your only friend around here? 'Cause newsflash I'd kill you in a second if I could, Gordy." Dean snarled, wanting so bad to be able to strangle Gordon right now.
"Aw, don't be like that, Deano. Your boyfriend got away, that's always something, right?" Gordon mocked, but there was a tightness to his words. Dean tried not to let the relief show on his face but he felt lightened, Cas had made it.
"Is there a reason you're here?" Dean glared, his arms taut. The proximity of Gordon's cold skin was making him feel queasy.
"Always straight to the point, aren't you, Deano?" Gordon slapped him on the shoulder and Dean exhaled, biting his lip. He was badly bruised from being thrown at the wall, not that Gordon would care.
"I thought you weren't allowed to touch the goods." Dean glowered; he imagined watching Gordon being hacked to pieces, or eaten alive by the Behemoth. It made him feel better.
"Not allowed to kill you, to be exact, which still leaves a load of possibilities." Gordon grinned, his tongue flicking over his lips. "You taste so god-damn human."
"Really? I always thought I'd taste like chicken." Dean fought off the urge to scream, and kick and yank off his ropes. There was nowhere he could go, anywhere Gordon couldn't find him.
"I wonder what happens to you if you die here, Dean." Gordon squatted, looking genuinely curious, his red eyes focused on him as if Dean's answer would enlighten him.
"I don't have to see your ugly mug anymore?" Dean offered, taking great pleasure in Gordon's scowl.
"Your soul though, does it remain trapped here? With the monsters? A vulnerable, little human ghost? Wouldn't last long, would it? Or does it return to where it's meant to go? Does a reaper come for it, all the way into Purgatory?"
"Don't think too hard, wouldn't want to hurt yourself. Actually, no, carry on." Dean spat, he didn't need Gordon's stupid philosophical debate right now. He just needed to live so he could get out of here.
"But aren't you interested? Because when we sell you, that monster isn't going to be as nice as me, they're going to tear you up. You're the best meat we've had in a good, long time. We were meant to feast on humans after all." Gordon was eyeing his neck, and Dean's flesh crawled. There would be no Cas to fix him up this time.
"And what if a reaper did come? Would you ask if they took 'plus one's?" Dean arched an eyebrow, feeling his heart stutter as Gordon's eyes lifted back to his. Maybe there was a chance this wouldn't end like last time.
"They're doorways. Maybe it's just about timing." Gordon said, and Dean could tell just how long he'd spent thinking about this.
"Why would you want to leave? You'll only be hunted again; you seemed to have made something of yourself here at least." Dean said sourly.
"You've only seen the tip of the needle. The only thing that wants to stay here are the Behemoth, even the leviathans and Eve wanted out. I tasted freedom for those fleeting moments in Castiel and nothing can stop me from getting it. I'll have it all." Gordon almost looked dreamy, his eyes distant, his mouth quirked. Monster.
"Guess who kicked them both back in here? Huh? Even if you do get out, it won't be for long." Dean leaned closer, his anger leaking through the cracked bottle. His Hunter instincts kept replaying the moment he would swing the machete through his neck, the way Sam had coarsely removed it with wire, there would be no freedom for Gordy.
"Tough words for someone who can't even lift their hands." Gordon smirked, mirroring Dean and leaning closer. Dean was about to comment on initiating gay chicken but Gordon was gone, and his teeth were caressing his shoulder. Dean only had time to tense in shock before Gordon was clamping down, and gulping him in, his whole body throbbed with the rhythm of his swallows and he was crying out. He felt feverishly hot yet cold, he couldn't feel his arm, just a concentration of spiking pain and he couldn't think. His breath was becoming uneven, he couldn't see. He slumped suddenly as the pressure dropped.
"You really do taste good. I'm already looking forward to seeing you again, princess." Dean couldn't speak, could barely focus on the words. He just hung there, feeling empty. A faint light embraced him and then it was dark again. He sucked in a breath, expecting for a sick moment a hand or a word of comfort, and then he was stifling huge breaths that racked his body. He closed his eyes and welcomed the images.
Xxxxxxxxxxx
"John, get in here!" Sherlock shouted and John tore his eyes from the resonating growls that were coming closer and back to Sherlock, who was standing in a blue box. He didn't care that the box looked barely big enough for two, he ran. He leapt past Sherlock, expecting to head-butt hard wood but instead landing clumsily against glass steps and tripping over them to fall on his stomach.
He heard a door shutting behind him and then a hand was in front of him. He stared at it and up.
"Hi, I'm the Doctor." A man with a dangerously orientated fringe grinned down at him, he didn't look at all worried about the fact he was in a blue box that wasn't a blue box and that two strangers had just ran inside because they were being chased by invisible dogs. John said the only thing that made sense.
"I'm John." He took the hand, sweeping down his clothes as he stood up. He couldn't help but tighten his hold on the Doctor's hand as he saw the true extent of how much this blue box wasn't a blue box.
"It's a lot bigger than I expected." John murmured, feeling like the first time he witnessed Sherlock deduce who he was. Freaked out and awed.
"Yeah, I get that a lot." The Doctor patted him on the back, and John almost fell forward. He wasn't feeling his most stable at the moment.
"What are you doing here, Doctor?" John frowned as Sherlock spoke up, he didn't sound as shocked as John felt was reasonable.
"And you are?" The Doctor skipped down the steps, scanning a flashy green thing at Sherlock.
"Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the Doctor, and his device.
"Uh-huh, human and clever, like me-clever! Lovely to meet you! Tell me what do you see?" The Doctor whipped out a wallet and produced a card which he waved at Sherlock.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's blank. What are you doing here, Doctor?"
The Doctor was grinning, he ran back to John, showing him the card. "Now, what do you see?"
John blinked, feeling under pressure as he read the scrawled message. "Bowties are cool?"
"You think so, why, thank you very much!" The Doctor proudly puffed up his bowtie, laughing as if he had just cracked the most brilliant joke.
"Doctor!" Sherlock shouted and The Doctor stilled, and John sensed that the Doctor could very easily turn into something very different from what they were seeing right now.
"What are you doing here?" Sherlock strode forward, getting awkwardly closer to the Doctor.
"How do you know me?" The Doctor frowned, looking him over. "We've never met, I never forget a face, and very rarely a name, except for that one time but it would be inappropriate to mention that, we've barely gotten to know each-"
"Doctor, if you just stop talking Sherlock might be able to say." John politely interrupted; it felt weird calling someone 'Doctor'. Did he not an actual name, like Fred or Terry? Though John also couldn't imagine this man having a normal name.
"Oh, yes. That may help." The Doctor paused, falling back against the futuristic console. He looked at Sherlock expectantly. "Um, go on then." He added when Sherlock continued to stare at him.
"My brother never has been very imaginative, for example his current password is Violet112, referring to dear, old mummy and his most recent weight. Though, I still think he rounds down. By knowing this password, I have access to the British government, including the deepest, darkest corners. A particular rut of one of these corners is called Torchwood, know of it, Doctor?" Sherlock leant backwards, looking curious. He tipped his head, and John wondered why Mycroft would let Sherlock get away with this stuff. The Doctor arched an eyebrow, but his previous easy manner seemed more forced now.
"You don't strike me as the kind of man that would believe in those sorts of stories, Sherlock." The Doctor glanced at John but he just felt lost, he needed a cup of tea, not anymore of this weird stuff that kept happening.
"Most of it did seem ridiculous until I looked up why the programme had been established in the first place. That's when your name kept popping up, you and your machine, always there when there's trouble. So when I saw the blue phone-box hidden away in a suspicious laboratory, I couldn't believe it." Sherlock's eyes were wide; he touched the console, as if testing how real they were.
"Yes, well, despite my protests, Vicky the First really did hold a grudge. Wouldn't rest until my head was on a stick, or something like that. It's not like I go out intending to cause trouble, it usually finds me." The Doctor raised his hands in mock surrender, facing Sherlock, because by this point John was starting to wonder if he was still dreaming or whether that drug had actually worn off and was worrying for his mental health.
"Like right now! I never meant to come here, I was pulled here to this room," The Doctor didn't look away as Sherlock turned from the console to stare just as deeply at the Doctor. "What about you, Sherlock? Why are you here?" Sherlock frowned.
"I was sent here. Weird events, behaviour, missing people. Someone has to solve the puzzle." Sherlock flashed a look at a John, and John blinked. There had been something in Sherlock's expression that had shocked him, but he was looking away again, John couldn't focus on what it was.
The Doctor grinned. "It's not as simple as that though, the things you've found suggest a problem far beyond an afternoon case in London." Sherlock pulled back from the console, eyeing The Doctor.
"Like what? What can you tell?" John's interest piqued, Sherlock was testing The Doctor, measuring him. John wondered what Sherlock had already concluded.
"Well, you've been sent by your brother to investigate not just some 'weird events' but someone. Instead you've found invisible monsters, things you can't explain and that don't fit the pattern, now you've found me and you think you're a step closer but I can tell you now Torchwood had nothing on what we're dealing with. Even I didn't until prettily recently. Something a lot bigger is happening." The Doctor stood up, his eyes flashing and he was flitting over the controls, pulling levers and pressing switches.
"You asked me why I'm here, I don't know. You saw that room. Not normal, neither were those things chasing you, in fact none of us involved are normal. My TARDIS just brought me here; I was trying to get her sorted when you popped up."
"Sort her out for what?" Sherlock followed the Doctor, and John just stood and watched, feeling very surreal.
"Oh, um, that's right. I should call Sam, it's not safe here." The Doctor pressed one last button and then was pulling out a phone, he frowned at it. And then the next second, John was catching it.
"Phone that number, never did like those things." John's eyes widened, this guy was almost as bad as Sherlock, he hoped he wasn't expected to call another murderer. At least the phone wasn't pink.
He pressed the dial button, then panicked, what was he supposed to say?
"What am I saying?" He shouted rapidly.
"It's not safe, where are you, I'm the Doctor's new friend, something along those lines." The Doctor called. "Anyone want tea by the way?"
"Um, yes please." John replied just as the ringing stopped.
"Hello?" A gruff voice answered, John wondered if it really was a murderer, just a random axe murderer in a forest. Was this a joke that the Doctor played on all his new friends?
"Hi, I'm John – um, the Doctor's friend – I was just told to tell you it's not safe here. And, er, where are you?" John garbled, sure the other man would hang up at any moment.
"Oh, right. Tell him I'm at-"
"Oh, don't worry, I've got his position! Cracking tracking system, the TARDIS! We'll be right there! And, tell him to put the kettle on, won't you?" The Doctor shouted from behind the console, he and Sherlock seemed to be studying a screen.
"Did you hear that?" John sighed, The Doctor made him think of what Sherlock would be like if he liked other people, he didn't know whether or not to be grateful.
"Yeah, I got that. How many am I catering for, John?" Sam sounded bemused and John doubted his axe-murdery potential. Which was always a good thing.
"Just three, but I'd make a large pot of tea. Long day." John was looking at the doors he'd run through, how they seemed to block out the outside world. He could almost believe that the last day had been his imagination, except that he wasn't that creative.
"I have scotch." Sam sounded serious, making John chuckle.
"Nah, I'm not a fan of Irish tea." The normal small talk felt like a luxury, he could hear the conversation going on in the background and even the little snippets were making his head whirl.
Sam snorted, "Okay, I'll be seeing you in a minute, John."
The line went dead, John frowned, "in a minute?"
He turned, walking over to where The Doctor and Sherlock were having a heated discussion.
"Um, may I interrupt briefly?" John politely cut in. Unlike Sherlock, John was still experiencing a reasonable amount of shock.
"Er, yes, go ahead, I mean technically you already have." The Doctor garbled and John started to wonder if the Doctor was Sherlock's social twin.
"How are we getting out? I mean invisible dogs outside, along with Moriarty and People Eating monsters. I don't know if you have any weapons or provisions in here but-"
"No, no weapons! None needed, you see, Johnny boy, I have a time machine." The Doctor's eyes shined and he patted the console proudly. Sherlock's crazy twin. John glanced at Sherlock urgently.
"Torchwood said the same thing, but he refuses to explain how it actually works." Sherlock stated, sounding bored as ever. He rolled his eyes at The Doctor, looking back to the door, as if wondering whether he would have more fun out with the hounds.
"That's because you wouldn't understand! Do you know how many hours I've wasted explaining this to everyone who asks? None! Because I just do this." The Doctor pulled down the lever closest to him and there was a sudden whirring noise and a green thing began pumping dramatically and the floor wobbled and John fell back onto the sofa. The room spun and John tried to find some concept of a seatbelt and failed.
"Doctor, is this supposed to happen?" John wailed, gripping tightly onto the sofa, and trying to suppress the images of bashing his head against the console or the metal rails. "Surely this isn't safe!"
"This is brilliant!" Sherlock shouted, and John paused, genuinely shocked, he didn't think he'd ever heard Sherlock so elated.
"Well, actually she is a bit unstable at the moment, still getting used to her new parts!" The Doctor shouted back, sounding vaguely guilty.
John had been about to shout something offensive when he fell on his face, the TARDIS coming to a halt.
John groaned, lifting himself, and rubbing his arms. He watched dazedly as Sherlock ran to the doors, flinging them open. John sat frozen, waiting for dogs to maul them or Moriarty to lazily saunter in but instead there were wooden floors and the sound of a kettle boiling.
"Seriously, am I still drugged?" John groaned, smothering his face with his hands, his brain was hurting.
"That really wasn't right at all, my poor girl. If you have time later, Sherlock, I'll show you a bit more. Maybe you can help me." The Doctor was stroking the screen in a way that made John think he should be averting his eyes. He really hoped Sam was normal.
"It actually worked." John glanced at Sherlock who was still standing at the entrance. He looked like he was in the middle of living his long-kept secret of a dream. John couldn't take it anymore; he stood up, and pushed past Sherlock.
"Where is that god-damn tea?" John growled, needing something stable, grounding, something that would never surprise him.
"Yes, nothing like a super-heated infusion of free radicals and tannins to make everything better." The Doctor cheered, strolling past him, his arms locked behind him as he checked out the wooden ranch.
There were books stacked in somewhat organised piles by the door, a worn sofa that looked like it could claim title of 'Great Grandmother of all sofas' was positioned with a coffee table in front of it, and an old, heavy TV balanced on a drinks cabinet. It was kinda cosy.
"Salt and devil pentagons?" Sherlock commented, examining the salt line that ran across the doorways and window sills. He toed at a carpet, revealing the red spray paint of a pentagon with unusual symbols; the same thing was replicated on the ceiling.
"Hey! Put that back!" A huge man bounded in, smoothing the carpet back and making sure the pentagon couldn't be seen. "No touching." He scolded Sherlock and John immediately had to hold back his grin at Sherlock's confused expression. He hadn't seen anyone talk to Sherlock like that.
"Moose! Did you manage to get some supplies?" The Doctor stepped forward, making sure to sidestep the carpet. Moose/Sam (John was confused as to why anybody would choose to be called Moose) nodded, brushing back his long, interfering hair. He looked like he was about to say something then reconsidered and just smiled at John and Sherlock.
"Yeah, I did, Doc. Hi, I'm Sam, you must be John and…?" Sam raised an eyebrow at Sherlock, who curtly replied.
"Sherlock."
"Well, then, welcome to the base. I put the kettle on so make yourself at home, I guess, and I'll make you a pot." He gestured to the ancient sofa, and they all made their way over, Sherlock slightly more reluctantly. John wondered if he was being overcome with deductions.
"Where's everyone else?" Sherlock said, and Sam's eyes widened.
"There is no-one else, just me." Sam frowned, looking at The Doctor, but The Doctor was currently grimacing at the doors, muttering something about wood.
"There was though." Sherlock said and John grimaced, this was not how you made friends. And it was not how you talked to an 8 foot giant either.
"Are you Hunters?" Sam's frown deepened, his tone becoming a touch threatening.
"No, I'm a consulting detective and John is an ex-soldier. How are you and The Doctor acquainted again?" Sherlock was bristling and John stiffened, looking at Sam's belt and noticing the gun straddling his hip, the knife in his pocket.
"Oh, don't worry about him, completely friendly once you jam his precious toy!" The Doctor leapt up, squeezing between the two men.
"The Doctor and I met in a lab, he just popped up-"
"What were you doing in there?" Sherlock accused.
Sam's eyes flared at that, "what are you suggesting?"
"You obviously know a lot more than any of us about what's going on. What's with the devil, voodoo rubbish you have around here? The weapons? The fact you were at the crime scene first. Even this ranch looks like a spare base, a place you go when you're at risk. What's going on?" John detected the slight desperate ruthlessness in Sherlock's voice, he wasn't used to this. He was used to science, explaining things using logic. Sam represented everything he didn't understand, and therefore distrusted.
"You haven't told them anything?" Sam rounded on the Doctor who had been edging away, the Doctor grinned coyly.
"I'm still not used to the idea, myself; I figured you'd be better at explaining. Besides, this is all good bonding time, right? And you can't have bonding time without tea, I'll start fixing that up, why don't you sit down and go through the details?" The Doctor patted the sofa's cushion alluringly until John relented and sat down. Sherlock and Sam followed suit, Sam sat on the coffee table and Sherlock drew up his knees, watching Sam. John smiled awkwardly.
"So, um, why were you at the lab?" John tried to get into a comfortable position, he kept sinking into the sofa and he felt awkward sitting upright but then he didn't think leaning back, arms sprawled would send an appropriate message. This felt serious, whatever it was.
"I was there to stop a…" Sam hesitated for a moment, looking to the kitchen, then visibly steeling himself, his chin lifting, his spine straightening, "monster. He was called Dick, you may have heard of him, the CEO of Richard Roman Entreprises."
"And you killed him?" Sherlock asked.
"My brother did. Him and our friend, Castiel. The guy exploded in a black mess and when I looked up all three of them were gone. That was when the Doctor appeared." Sam gestured to the kitchen just as the Doctor shouted out.
"Hey, do you have any biscuits?" The Doctor peeked round the corner, his hair wiggling comically.
"Sorry, Doc, you were lucky we had tea." Sam smiled as the Doctor ran his hand through his hair dramatically as if he'd been told the world had 5 minutes before meltdown.
"Ah, I'll be right back!" They all watched as the Doctor ran back to the TARDIS.
"Is he gonna use that thing to buy some biscuits?" John exclaimed.
"I highly doubt he has any money." Sherlock commented, they were still watching, waiting to see if the TARDIS would start whatever it did.
"What, you think he steals them?" Sam wondered if he just parked the TARDIS in the confectionary aisle.
"No, I expect he has a room dedicated to them or something similar." Sherlock smirked and Sam chuckled, easily imagining it.
John dragged his gaze from the TARDIS and tried to get back on topic. "Anyway, Sam, you said 'monster'. Do you-"
"He believes he hunts them, and there are others too. What kind of monster exactly was Richard Roman?" Sherlock interrupted, focusing intensely on Sam, making him squirm uncomfortably. What was it with all these British people?
"He was a Leviathan, some monster from Purgatory, there's a whole bunch of them trying to convert humans into cattle at the moment and me and my brother were trying to stop him."
"My brother and I." Sherlock corrected.
"What?" Sam stuttered, "is he always like this?" He glanced at John, he struck him as the only other normal person here.
"Except when he's worse." John laughed at Sherlock's glare. "Do monsters pop out of purgatory often? Should I be worried about this stuff?" John questioned, going with the flow, it was hard to take all this in rationally.
"Not really, just in the last few years but we're taking care of it, well, we were anyway." Sam dropped his gaze and John recognized that look. That was the look of a man who'd lost people, who had to keep fighting but was losing the motivation, however he had no choice, he would keep going anyway. He'd seen it all the time when he'd been treating soldiers. He suddenly realized this man had lost his brother and friend, and now he was having to explain his world to two sceptical bastards. He felt like a twit.
"I'm sorry. We're being dicks, you don't need this." John stopped Sherlock with a look, and smiled when Sam looked up, grateful.
"Nah, I'm just tired." Sam let out a long breath. "Feel like telling me why you're here? How'd you meet the Doc?" Sam jumped as the Doctor suddenly appeared behind him, dropping a mountain of biscuits beside him. Sam stared; jammy dodgers, Jaffa cakes, shortbread, Oreos, bourbon and ginger biscuits, and countless other cookies were piled on some invisible plate.
"We met in much the same way really. More invisible dogs and running but practically the same. I'll get the tea." The Doctor skipped away and Sam started to wonder if he'd just replaced one crazy other-species for another.
"Invisible dogs?" Sam got back on track, thinking of Crowley's message. Why would he be using hell hounds on these two?
"Yeah, invisible and fast and growly and strong." John filled in, he wanted to carry on, maybe repeat the invisible part but he held back. He just needed his tea; he was also eyeing the shortbread.
"Did someone set them on you?" Sam persisted, looking at Sherlock.
"An old friend of ours. My arch-enemy. Moriarty. Just appeared from nowhere and set them on us." Sherlock said, looking slightly distant as if he was still thinking that through in his mind, going through all possible scenarios of what it could mean.
Sam ignored the 'arch-enemy'; he just figured Sherlock was that kind of guy. "Does he have a scrawny neck?"
John spluttered, not expecting that.
"Yes, I suppose you could describe it as such. Why?" Sherlock leaned forward, taking a bourbon biscuit and slowly taking it apart.
"And now I have tea! Move it, Moose!" The Doctor edged in, butt pointing at Sherlock as he balanced the tray precariously onto the coffee table, mission accomplished, he plopped between John and Sherlock.
"Where am I supposed to sit now?" Sam stood, looking around the room.
"I removed your stuff from the kitchen, so you could take one of those chairs." The Doctor winked sneakily at him while taking a jammy dodger.
"You better not have damaged anything, Doctor." Sam growled, striding to the kitchen.
"Of, course not!" The Doctor shouted back, nibbling on the biscuit. "Did I miss anything?" He nudged Sherlock who glared at him.
"Oooh, that's not a happy face! It's probably that bourbon, I always wondered if they had a hidden agenda. Have some tea, it'll help." The Doctor nodded, waiting patiently for John to finish making his own tea and then pouring a tea for himself and Sherlock.
"I don't need some placebo effect." Sherlock grumbled.
"Sugar?" The Doctor asked.
"He has three quarters of a teaspoon." John replied for him.
"Sam, how do you have your tea?" The Doctor shouted, stirring hastily, secretly revelling in the whirlpool he created.
"I don't!" Sam came back, carrying a chair. He dropped it next to John, then bent and pulled out an icebox from under the coffee table; and brought out a beer.
He twisted the cap off and took a long gulp.
"There you go. Do you want a dodger? I think they'll go splendidly together!" The Doctor continued to harass Sherlock until he drank the tea; with a ginger biscuit thank you very much.
"This is good tea, thanks, um, both of you, I guess." John mumbled over his tea, inhaling its homely scent.
"Sam, what were you going on about when you asked about his scrawny neck?" Sherlock leaned forward, trying to see Sam from behind the Doctor who was warily picking out biscuits.
Sam took another swig of the beer, running through some sort of explanation in his head but whatever he said it would sound like something straight out of an asylum.
"You know about Leviathans, purgatory and invisible dogs, right? Well, those invisible dogs are also known as Hell Hounds who are controlled by demons who, obviously, come from Hell." He paused, then just dived straight on. "So the King of Hell recently visited me to say he was bound to some guy with a scrawny neck and that guy is also friends with some leviathan and basically if we don't fix this, we may have a bit of a catastrophic world-wide problem on our hands." There was silence and Sam drank another long gulp, he wished Dean and Cas were here. Cas could at least show them some mojo, he felt like they might be ringing the doctors in white coats very soon the way this was going.
"Moriarty is going to cause a bit of a catastrophic world-wide problem?" John tried to piece it together in a way he understood.
"Let's go with that." Sam nodded, relieved someone had said something.
"Doesn't seem like him." Sherlock stated, and John looked back at him, he couldn't help but agree. Moriarty didn't strike him as the villain that wanted mass destruction; he liked to play with people. He liked it to be fun.
"Might not be him." Sam murmured.
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