Chapter three
The Doctor fought the urge to stroke his pregnancy as he probed, settling feather touches of mental presence on the mind of the man who lay in the bed before him. Jack had dragged them both to the Med Bay, which the TARDIS had of course moved next door in the wake of the surprise add-on pool their visitor's arrival had necessitated. Perhaps he had too soon dismissed the sharp hint of regret from Her, his Blue Beauty of a ship, at having to manhandle him so thoroughly, but now was a time for investigation. As Jimmy Novak's borrowed body had indeed landed in said pool, and that meant a dark and looming mystery was afoot; a mystery which the being inhabiting Jimmy's body could very well answer.
"Castiel? And Jimmy?" He asked softly, brushing the hair from Jimmy's pallid face, "I know you're both in there, hiding. And it's all right. I'm here. Uncle's here, Castiel. We are all of us here in this moment, at this time and this place. Try and tell us what's wrong."
Suddenly a screaming torrent filled his ears; Jimmy's mouth moved, and more dark blood bubbled from the man's throat, as if he'd swallowed glass. But a light shone from between those pearly teeth, and from the blood encrusted nostrils, and from the closed blue eyes bruised over with purple and hardship. Castiel was waking up.
"You… should be resting," the angel whispered harshly, dark blue eyes glittering and fixed on the reason for the Time Lord's extra weight. Then the Doctor put a finger to his lips and shushed him, which only works if one is five years old and unaware of the power children have over grandfather figures. "I destroyed a utensil."
"I noticed, stubborn boy. Well it was very good work! Always hated that thing because it wouldn't fit onto the console properly. I used all my rubber bands and a tube of relatively new gorilla glue, too. Who do you think you are, coming out here without some kind of specialized teleportation aid? Even an Archangel would've had trouble, this deep in space."
Castiel said nothing, only continued to stare at the Doctor's distended stomach, his mask of Jimmy Novak grave and fascinated.
The Time Lord pursed mental lips at that, paused, frowned, then reached out to feel Castiel's Vessel's forehead.
"Gaah. Two words," he murmured, bending close to a borrowed ear, "… use two words to tell me what's gone pear shaped. And when I get back from waking Jack up you are going to explain yourself; until then, I expect you both to be asleep, do you hear?"
Castiel, Angel of Thursday, nodded, then reached down and grabbed the silvery side of the medical bed he occupied and sat up, shoving his free hand out and plastering the fingers as gingerly as he could against the Doctor's pregnancy, clutching carefully to his Grace the life that grew there. He cocked his head, despite cobalt eyes swimming in the half dark of fatigue, and met the gravid alien's saucer faced, shivering wet surprise with the steel of absolute faith.
"Shub Niggurath."
There wasn't even a flash.
Existence folded, and something howled at its edges, throbbing dark and hungry in the deep like flesh in the throes of systemia.
Then, his feet touched snow; himself gentled by hands and cloth and faces long unseen.
And soon he could sense nothing.