As I went to get up and follow the Doctor, a sharp pain shot down through my arm. I lost my balance and landed shoulder-first on the floor with a dull thud. Ah yes, the joys of being injured I thought with a grimace. At least there'd be some impressive scars from today's events. I'd always liked scars, because of the stories behind them. I thought for a second on my scars and the telling someone the story of how I got them from a metal bird. I would sound probably sound insane.
"I-uhh... I might need some help getting up," I grunted, reluctantly from my position on the floor.
"Oh yeah, of course," Sam said at once. He put one arm strongly behind my back for support and helped lifted me up onto my feet.
"Thanks," Without thinking I went to grab my backpack, only to have Sam snatch it out of my reach.
"It's too heavy for you to carry without ripping any of the stitches." Sam protested. I glanced over at John, but he wasn't paying attention to our conversation. He listening to something Sherlock and Dean were discussing.
"I doubt it," I retorted. A throbbing pain coursing through my shoulders told me that Sam was probably right, but I wasn't going to let him win that easily. Instead I bent down and took the tea mug along with one of the remaining cookies. Sam scowled at me. I simply shrugged in reply, which sent another jolt of pain down my spine. Oh, it was so pleasant having injuries.
"All ready then?" The Doctor asked, bouncing on his toes.
"Yes!" I grinned barely containing my excitement.
"This way," the Doctor gestured with his head. I entered the passageway after the Time Lord. The ceiling was rounded and floor changed from the metal grate to gray and brown slate that was cold under my socked feet. The lights from the ceiling lit everything in a warm, other-worldly glow, and it took my breath away. I couldn't believe that I was in the TARDIS, like beyond the console. As far as I could remember most of the interior of nine and ten's TARDIS hadn't been shown on screen.
"This is so cool!" I whispered excitedly, afraid that if I spoke to loud this would turn out to all just be a dream.
"Yeah, yeah it is. Isn't it?" The Doctor beamed, walking backward to see me. We passed by a door. Its knob was shiny and the green paint was crisp as if it had just been installed. Actually, that might be the case. I peered down the hallway and saw rows of doorways on either side of the hall, continuing beyond my range of vision.
"How many rooms are in the TARDIS?" I asked. I stood on my tiptoes trying to see further down the hallway.
"Thousands upon thousands. I used to know the exact number, but I've lost count over the years. "
"Wow." I replied in a small voice, suddenly feeling very insignificant.
"Yeah, well hundreds of years of time travel does that. New rooms are added every time I have guests, and they just build up after a while."
"These are all bedrooms?" Sam asked behind me. I had nearly forgotten he was there.
"Weell," the Doctor glanced over his shoulder, "most of these rooms are."
"What types of rooms are there besides the bedrooms?"
"There's a swimming pool, a library, a kitchen, a theater—"
"A theater?" I probably shouldn't have been too surprised by that. I mean, he had a swimming pool.
"Oh yeah, it's best for those boring days like Sunday afternoons, and the best part is that it's got every movie ever made. I never have to wait for sequels!" The Doctor grinned.
"I'm so jealous," I moaned. "I've been waiting forever for the next season of Sherlock. They're still in the middle of filming and it'll be months before the first episode airs."
"You know I've met Arthur Conan Doyle a few times, so I know who Sherlock Holmes is. I've never seen the show, though."
"Neither have I," Sam piped up. "I haven't heard of Doctor Who either."
"Nor have I heard of Supernatural." The Doctor thought for a moment. "I think we must all exist in incredibly similar realities, because we are aware of similar references but know nothing of each other." The Time Lord paused, "I'll tell you what, Lucy. Once all of this is over, I'll pop ahead a few months and get you the next season of Sherlock."
My eyes widened in shock, "Would you really do that for me?"
"Absolutely!"
"Ahh! Thank you so much!" I was jumping up and down, despite holding a still semi-full cup of tea. Thankfully, it didn't spill that much. I grabbed the Doctor in a hug, which hurt my shoulders a little, but I couldn't care less.
"You're welcome," The Doctor beamed, hugging me back for a moment. I could hear Sam laughing behind me.
"You really care about these television shows, huh?" The hunter asked, as I untangled myself from the hug.
"I- uhh… yeah, a little bit." I hadn't meant to show how much of a fangirl I was to everyone, because they might get a bit freaked out. I was just trying to act cool around them- a task much easier said than done.
"Doesn't sound like just a little bit," Sam nudged with a hint of a smile.
"Well-" I started, "fine. I'm a huge fangirl over the shows. Like I told you earlier, I know basically everything I could possibly know about you all. Personalities, plot lines, the sub dialogue that most viewers miss, I know all of that. The shows are my obsession, and I guess my escape from the boring life I usually live."
"Not so boring anymore, is it?" Sam asked grinning, but a flash of regret crossed his face as he looked at my bandaged shoulders.
"No, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. My shoulders will heal. I think… I guess this sounds a bit insane (and maybe it is), but if I had to do this all over again, knowing that I get hurt, I still would open the front door and invite you in for pie. Believe it or not, this has been the best day of my life." Shrugging my shoulders, I lowered my gaze down to my mismatched socks. Even with my friends in high school I was rarely this honest. It was true, though. I'd repeat this day a thousand times, because for once in my life I felt truly alive.
I opened my mouth to say how I wished they didn't have to go back to their own realities, and how I almost wished that it was impossible for them to go back there. That would be unfair to say, however. They have lives to lead and adventures to accomplish, so I closed my mouth slowly instead, keeping those thoughts to myself. Even if it ripped my soul into tiny pieces- best to enjoy the present while it was happening, instead of worrying over what might happen in the future.
"Here's your room, Lucy," the Doctor said after a moment more of walking. He opened the door, allowing me to go inside the room first. Compared to the hallway, the room was even more stunning. The ceiling was high with glittering strands of fairy lights hanging from it, just high enough to avoid grazing Sam's head (he was ducking it anyway, the tall, adorable moose). The walls had posters from every fandom I was obsessed plastered onto them. Particularly a poster of Loki, where it seemed his eyes were literally breaking through the thin paper and staring into my soul. I gazed back, unable to look away. I could hear a faint popping noise as each and every one of my ovaries exploded.
"Who's this guy?" Sam asked, walking over to the Loki poster. He had set my bag down on a beanbag in the corner of the room, and apparently noticed that his head wasn't in danger of being hit by the fairy lights.
"That's Loki," I responded tearing my eyes away from the poster to focus on Sam instead.
"The Norse God of trickery," he muttered his forehead creased and his lips pursed, as if he were trying to figure out why anyone would like such a cruel, yet devilishly handsome trickster.
"Yep, but he doesn't always look like that. This is the Avenger's version of Loki. If you ever met the trickster god, he'd probably look a little different." My mind brought up an image of Richard Speight Jr. Yeah, "Loki" looked quite different on Supernatural. Also his idea on world domination differed a great deal. I made a mental sticky note to do a comparison on the two Lokis at a later date.
"Huh, and this is the type of stuff you're into?" Sam asked, scrunching his eyebrows together.
"Well…yeah." I responded, feeling a tad insecure.
"Nice," Sam nodded apparently deciding to embrace her quirks. His eyes continued to study the posters on the wall, as I looked over at the Doctor. The Time Lord was standing off to the side, his arms crossed and grinning from ear to ear.
"So…what do you think of it?" he asked. I caught a hint of his Scottish accent and grinned.
"It's absolutely amazing! I don't- how did you even know I was into all this stuff?"
"A quick look around your bedroom and the TARDIS has always been very good at constructing rooms." He beamed. "You have a very fine book collection my dear."
"Thanks," I blushed. "You could borrow a few books if you'd like-" a yawn escaped from me, "-sorry. But yeah, you could borrow a book or two as long as you promise to bring them back."
"I might take you up on that deal," the Doctor said. "Right now though, I really think you ought to sleep. You've had a long day, and those injuries will need a while to heal." He rocked back and forth on his feet, the iconic converse sneakers squeaking on the wood flooring. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and spun around once before turning back to me waiting for a response. The questioning tilt of his head was endearingly familiar and I allowed myself to imagine traveling the universe with this brilliant albeit quirky alien.
"That's probably a good idea," I agreed. I hadn't really been tired before, but as soon as the Doctor mentioned it, a wave of exhaustion crashed over me. Suddenly, it was a struggle to stay on my feet, and I trudged over to the bed, my feet dragging behind me. Sam quickly came to my side in case I needed any help. The Doctor was hovering behind me as back- up. To be honest, I felt a bit crowded. Injured or not, I really didn't want all this extra attention. It made me feel weak and vulnerable. I figured, however, there was no use protesting. It would be better to pick battles where they mattered, and right now they were just trying to be helpful.
Sam guided me under the dark purple covers of the bed: jeans, socks and all. I was too tired to really care. Plus, it wouldn't be the first time I fell asleep in jeans. There had been many nights where I had worked myself to exhaustion typing up on term papers, or writing a story late into the evening. I shifted under the covers, trying to find a comfortable position, but that didn't seem to exist. Eventually, I ended up lying on my back staring up at the glow-in the dark stars on the ceiling, a position I disliked greatly, but it seemed to be the best arrangement for keeping my stitches in place.
"All situated?" Sam asked kindly, eyes roaming my face for any sign of pain.
"Yep," I yawned. Boy, did I feel like a ten year-old, being tucked in and looked after. There were definitely worse fates than this, though.
"Right then," Sam answered a bit awkwardly. "Umm, sleep well."
"Goodnight, Lucy." The Doctor echoed tapping my left foot in an affectionate manner. "Come on then Sam, let's get back to the others. We should move Mr. Eddie from the guest room to the TARDIS, for his safety."
"Right, I'll be there in a second," Sam responded. The corner of the Doctor's mouth rose in a grin.
"Of course, I'll meet you outside." The door squeaked slightly as the Doctor closed it behind him as he went into the hallway.
I was fighting to keep my eyes opened, watching Sam. Why had he wanted to stay?
"I was thinking," Sam started, "that maybe we could go on a date tomorrow. If nothing eventful is happening, it could be a nice respite from all this chaos."
"I think I would like that," I agreed after a moment. Normally, I would have reacted with more enthusiasm, but I was beginning to feel like I was drunk on warm milk. My eyelids closed themselves shut and refused to open again, as if weighed down by iron lashes.
"Sounds perfect. Sleep now Lucy. Pardon me for saying so, but you look like you really need it." Sam bent down, kissing my forehead lightly. His rumbling voice, like a sunny day dipped in honey, lulled me off into the darkness of sleep.
When I awoke, who knows how many hours later, there was a small pile of fresh clothes sitting on a chair across the room. I stretched carefully, trying to not disturb any of the stitches. They tugged at the sore skin anyway. It felt like someone was trying to cut into my shoulder with a butter knife. The pain wasn't unbearable, but it definitely wasn't comfortable. I groaned as I made my way over the chair.
The clothing was sitting in a neat stack, jeans on the bottom, a dark blue t-shirt, one of my few plaid shirts, and my brown leather jacket on top. It had Winchester-fashion-style written all over it. Quickly but carefully pulling on the clothes, I glanced at the mirror. My black hair was sticking up at random angles, but lifting my arms high enough to reach it took too much effort. So I left it as it was, disheveled and chaotic. In contrast my skin was a shade paler than normal, making me look a bit like a modern version of Snow White. I turned my attention to the outfit, someone (probably Sam) had picked out. I looked like a mini, female version of the Winchesters. A smirk crossed my lips, talking to my reflection I said, "I look good as a hunter."
My gaze refocused on the mirror, on something out of place behind me. I turned around scanning the opposite wall. A yellow post-it note had been stuck next to the Loki poster. Walking over to it, I removed the note from the wall and began to read:
"I realized that once you got up and changed, you'd probably try to take your backpack. You can't take that much weight on your shoulders quite yet. It'll rip out the stitches in an instant (I mean really, your bag weighs a ton. For a while I thought you were actually storing bricks in it). I took the liberty of carrying your stuff back into the consol area. I assure you that it will be safe.
Hope you slept well
-Sam"
A slight smile crossed my lips. It was really sweet how much Sam was looking out for me. Chances are he was right too. I would have picked up my backpack without thinking about it and torn the stitches. As I tucked the note in my pocket my fingers grazed another piece of paper. I pulled it out and laughed. It was the slip that the waitress had written her number down on. It seemed like a small eternity since we had gone to the diner. I slid the number back into my pocket alongside Sam's note, thinking that I could put the two notes into my writer's notebook as keepsakes from this adventure.
I padded out of my room (Sam had forgotten to grab me a pair of shoes) and turned left down the hallway, hoping I was heading in the correct direction. As I continued to walk along the hallway I could hear someone talking. A few steps more, and I was certain someone was talking quietly in one of the rooms. Guessing the appropriate door, I pressed my ear against it.
"John." A low baritone voice repeated over and over with a rhythm similar to waves crashing on the shore.
I stood away from the door, thinking. Despite knowing it would be an invasion of privacy, I really just wanted to see if Sherlock was actually in the same room as John. Just one quick peek, they were my OTP after all. It was irresistible.
"Hello umm…Sexy?" I whispered, not knowing what else to call the TARDIS, "would you mind just installing a temporary peep-hole in this door? I mean… I just want to see if you know…." I trailed off, hoping that the TARDIS would understand that I was really in love with the idea of Sherlock and John being in love.
Apparently she did understand, because only a second later a peep-hole appeared. I immediately pressed my eye up to it. I took in the room for a moment. It was very plain, entirely unlike mine. Everything was either white or beige. In all respects it looked like a basic hotel room. In the middle of the wall adjacent to the door was a single bed, in which Sherlock and John were both laying. John was asleep, curled up on his side next to Sherlock. One of his arms was under his pillow, and the other was across the detective's waist. I nearly squealed in excitement. Sherlock was also on his side with his back to the door, so he was facing John.
It was as if the detective wanted to cuddle John like a teddy bear, but was afraid what would happen if his army doctor woke up and wasn't actually interested in him that way. I sympathized with the detective. John was probably one of the most complex characters I'd ever encountered, and I couldn't imagine trying to guess what he was thinking on a daily basis. Sherlock, however, was taking the rare moment of John's sleep to stroke his sandy blond hair. I couldn't tell from this angle, but it looked like Sherlock had his nose pressed in soldier's hair as well, cataloguing the scent of John Watson. Sherlock's other hand was wrapped around John's torso loosely, tracing swirling patterns into the loose t-shirt John was wearing. I could just barely hear John sigh and move closer to the detective. In response, I thought I saw Sherlock just barely brush his lips on John's forehead.
With great effort, I pulled away from the peep-hole. Fictional or not, I was invading their privacy, and why should I even be allowed to watch the sacred moments Sherlock had with John. The two of them, though! I squeezed my eyes shut to avoid breaking out in a happy dance. Sherlock was so definitely in love with John Watson, and I knew, I absolutely knew, it had to be a mutual love.
"Thanks Sexy," I whispered. The peep-hole in the door disappeared, and the TARDIS made a low, happy sort of sound. I took it as a "you are very welcome."
"What are you smiling about?" The Doctor asked as soon as I entered the room.
"The fact that you told John and Sherlock that the TARDIS didn't have any rooms with double beds," I responded automatically. The Doctor grinned in reply.
"I figured why not? If they really wanted two separate beds, they would have asked."
"Wait so the two dudes are sleeping with each other?" Dean asked, walking up behind me while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
"Seems to be the case," the Doctor beamed.
"Problem?" I challenged, raising an eyebrow. This was my OTP, and I was damned if Dean interfered with it, because of his own repressed homosexual feelings. No one insults my OTP. Well, no one who wants to live, anyway.
"Hmmph, No, I guess." Dean made his way over to one of the railings and leaned against it. "Hey Lucy, do I end up with a guy or a girl in the future? Are you allowed to tell me that?"
"Well… I don't think I can tell you that really. All I can say is that your perfect angel is out there." I shrugged. There was that angle reference again; I really needed to stop phrasing it like that. Dean's smart. He'll eventually get suspicious.
Thankfully, I was saved from any further questioning by Sam walking through the TARDIS's front doors. There were two full plastic bags in his left hand and a tray of coffee in his right. "I got breakfast!"
"Perfect, I'm starving," Dean responded, lumbering over to Sam. He took one of the bags from Sam and rooted around in it before pulling out an everything bagel. "Hey you got a table we can put this stuff on Doc?"
"Yes, of course," The Doctor took a few steps to his left, then bent down and loosened one of the metal gratings. He pulled out a small foldout table from under it and set it up in the middle of the room, far enough away from the console that there was no risk of spilling anything on it.
"There you go," He said satisfied, dusting off his hands on his trousers. Dean and Sam set the food and drinks on the table as the Doctor slid the metal grate back in place, so none of us accidently toppled into the storage hole.
"I figured John and Sherlock were still sleeping, because they were about to pass out of exhaustion before they went to their bedroom earlier. So, I only got four drinks. I can make another run, when they get up." Sam lifted up two coffee cups from the tray. "Umm, this one is yours Dean. I had them add in extra shot of caffeine."
"Thanks Sammy," Dean took the coffee with his left hand, already chewing on the bagel, no cream cheese required.
"And this one is… hot chocolate. Right I got hot chocolates for you two," Sam addressed the Doctor and me. Holding out the cup to the Time Lord, "no offense, Doctor, but you don't really seem like the type that needs caffeine. You're a bit hyper already."
The Doctor shrugged, not making any argument against it and accepted the drink. Sam took the other two cups out of the container. His shoes tapped lightly on the floor, as he walked over to me and extend out his left hand. "And you don't really seem like the coffee type. Actually that's what prompted the coffee shop run; you don't have coffee in the kitchen… just tea and hot chocolate."
"Sorry," I cringed, taking the hot chocolate. I hadn't been thinking about entertaining any guests, though. All of this was sort of sudden. Otherwise I might have prepared.
"No, it's fine," Sam tipped his coffee back and swallowed a few gulps. "It gave me a chance to check out the town again. There's a restaurant called Acquerello. Would you like to go there tonight?"
I scrunched my eyebrows together involuntarily, thinking if I wanted to go or not. Acquerello was the fanciest and most expensive restaurant in town. Only the wealthiest people ever seem to go there. I don't think there was a dish that was under thirty dollars, and the atmosphere demanded the guests to dress formally. I didn't have the money or the ability to dress in formal clothing (because of the stitches) at the moment. I voiced these hesitations to Sam, and then asked "there's a bar down town that serves good food, and it's not too expensive."
Sam relaxed more and more as I continued speaking. The tension I hadn't realized was there oozed out of his shoulders, and a grin spread across his face. "That sounds fantastic, Lucy," He said when I had finished talking.
"Prefect," I beamed back at my hunter.
"Are you sure you won't get cold?" I looked down at my outfit once more. I hadn't really changed since this morning, so I was still wearing jeans and my leather jacket. The only difference was now I was wearing a necklace and some make-up.
"No, Sam, I'll be perfectly fine. It's autumn here, not the middle of an Alaskan winter."
"Fair enough," Sam laughed at my sarcastic reply. The sound was a deep and hearty and warmed me to the tips of my toes. The hunter stepped out of the driver's seat, motioning that I stay seated. He walked around the car and opened the passenger's door for me, saying "After you my dear."
"Thank you," I smiled as I stepped out of the car, mimicking a curtsy. Sam bowed in response and closed the door behind me.
We walked into the bar and seated ourselves at a table near the back of the room. The bar was filled with the pleasant buzz of background noise, and the lights were bright enough to allow us to see each other, but dim enough to be unaware of everyone else in the area. Only about half the tables were full, mostly with couples like Sam and I. Sam and I? A couple? I still hadn't quite wrapped my head around the thought. I mean, he's a fictional character. Yet, by some bizarre happenstance he was now a non- fictional character. I tried not to dwell on the thought of defining Sam as fictional or real too much, because it made my head hurt (If I was dating him in real life, that made him real right? Even if his origin was fictional?).
"How are you feeling?" Sam asked, breaking my train of thought.
"Much better than I probably should feel, but that isn't a necessarily a bad thing." I replied, tucking away my thoughts about fiction versus reality. "I can't move my arms much for fear of tearing any stitches, but nothing really hurts."
"That's great!" Sam exclaimed breaking into a grin. "You must be the resilient type."
"Really?" I tilted my head to stare at him. I wouldn't use the word resilient to describe myself in the least. I was stubborn, sure. But at the moment my shoulders were stiff and my body was still exhausted despite sleeping earlier. I honestly couldn't tell why I looked like the resilient type to him.
"Yeah, I mean you're holding up pretty well right now. Most people wouldn't be in your case. I mean you have stitches on both shoulders, a cut on your arm from grazing a bullet, and your heart probably still feels like it's being squeezed by the demon, which I'm pretty sure is normal." Sam paused for a moment looking at me gleefully, not focusing on the affects all those events had on my body but on my mental toughness to them. I was about to say something to cut if off before it began when he launched into the next part of his speech.
"Then on top of being resilient, you're brilliant. You tried to exorcise that demon before any of us thought of it. John even told me that you managed to communicate with him using Morse code by blinking your eyelids!"
"I think you're giving me too much credit," I was sure I was blushing. I could feel the heat of it in my cheeks.
"No, you really are. And then it feels like every time I turn around you've got another talent." My blank stare prompted him to continue with more detail. "Like yesterday in the elevator when you took Dean down? I've never seen someone do that as effectively as you did. Not to be rude, but I honestly wasn't expecting it from someone your size."
"Well I mean we all probably look like ants too you seeing that you're a six billion foot tall Sasquatch." I giggled at that last statement as Sam same threw his head back in laughter.. I carried on talking before Sam could start again. "Honestly, I wouldn't have expected it either. It's all about leverage, and using your opponent's strengths against himself."
"I feel like Dad mostly taught us offense types of karate. Maybe one day when your shoulders are better you could show me some stuff from your system?"
"Yeah, of course!" I beamed. We talked about martial arts for a little while longer before a waitress came over to take our orders. When she asked about drinks, I told Sam to pick a beer that I'd probably like.
Within a few minutes of taking our orders, the waitress returned with two beer bottles. I instantly wrapped my hands around mine, a habit I had gotten into from drinking too many cups of tea. Instead of the warm kiss to the palm of my hand, the bottle was cold with drops of condensation rolling down it. Obviously, I didn't drink often.
Sam took a sip from his and prompted me to try mine (he had gotten us the same kind). I lifted the cold bottle to my lips and poured a bit into my mouth. It was crisp and smooth, definitely one of the better beers I had tried in the few months since I turned twenty- one.
"How is it?" Sam asked, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a smile.
"Really good," I responded. I berated myself for the lack of eloquence, but Sam didn't seem to mind. In fact he was grinning even wider. "What are you smiling about?"
"This, us, it's a lot of fun." He shrugged still smiling. "In contrast to the "excitement" of the case it's enjoyable to do something relatively normal and relaxing."
"I can see what you mean. I always used to wonder why you and Dean (mostly Dean) went on so many dates. I guess it was the only bit of normalness you ever really got in your lives." Well I said dates but it was really more like one night stands for Dean and dead girl friends for Sam. I desperately hoped that I didn't turn into one of the dead girlfriends.
"Well, not exactly. We do lots of normal stuff. We eat. We sleep. We drive. The only not normal bits come in between all the normal ones. But for us, all of this is normal. Always has been."
"Huh," I sat stumped for a moment. After taking another sip of beer, I opened my mouth to speak again. "It's not all normal for my perspective. Normal for me is going to school, getting good grades, training in karate, and every once in a while attempting to write a book."
"People have different perceptions of normal," Sam replied simply.
"Yeah, I guess they do," the corner of my mouth rising in a half smile.
Just then the waitress came back with our food. "Who ordered the mac and cheese?"
"That would be me." I said raising my hand slightly. She set the plate in front of me, and the bowl of salad in front of Sam. After we had both smiled and thanked her, we turned back to our conversation.
"Now let me ask you a question," Sam said, spearing a forkful of salad from his dish. "Why do you want to help us so much if we're just fictional characters in your universe?"
"Well, to me you are all much more than fictional. You're like my friends and family. Granted I've never talked to any of you before… two days ago, but I'd followed all your adventures and analyzed your characters to figure out your emotional standpoints and how you react to certain events. Like how under stress, Doctor Watson will revert back to his army training, and his first objective will be to get everyone else to safety. It isn't that he's self sacrificing, just… he doesn't put himself first." I paused for a moment, debating what else to tell Sam about my favorite little hedgehog. I figured that I shouldn't say too much else about John's life. After all, he wasn't just a fictional character any more. But I couldn't resist one more statement, "Also between you and me, John and Sherlock are in a relationship at the moment whether they realize it or not."
"You know, I was wondering about that." Sam nodded with a smile. "It seemed like they were, but it also seemed like they weren't acknowledging it. They must not realize it at all… weird." Sam took a bite of salad, while I attempted to fight back the impulse of my next statement. It didn't work.
"Weird? Man, just wait until your brother finds his soul mate. Talk about denial or lack of realization. I mean seriously Ca-" I cut myself off mid-sentence. Shit, I wasn't supposed to say any of that. Suddenly feeling like Hagrid as I blurted out, "I shouldn't have said that!"
Sam looked like he wanted to pursue the topic, but the look of panic in my face must have stopped him. So instead he changed the conversation's direction by asking, "What about the Doctor? I was talking to him, and he's like 900 years old. He's had dozens of companions and they almost all end up getting hurt or killed in some way. Why do you trust him at all?"
I paused for a second to finish chewing on a piece of macaroni, "There's no doubt that the Doctor's dangerous. It's a sort of job description. However, you know how old he is, he gets lonely. He doesn't genuinely want to hurt anyone. I mean he took the name "Doctor," he wants quite the opposite: to fix everyone's problems. It seems like a lot of problems occur from him, but he doesn't do it intentionally. He's just sort of… unlucky. It's part of the job, you should understand. He saves the world every other day, and it's dangerous. He knows it. His companions know it. But he's willing to die for them, for this planet, or any planet for that manner. And you know the worst part? He never gets thanked, but I guess you and Dean understand that too."
"So despite traveling through the entirety of space and time, and then some, the Doctor doesn't have a life anyone should envy."
"Basically, he loses everyone, so from that point of view, yes. You shouldn't be envious of him. I mean, even at the end of this case he's going to lose the five of us, because either all of you will return to your fictional universes or you won't but you will continue your adventures without the Doctor's aid, which means he has to carry on alone once more."
"So will you, if we all go back." Sam said after a moment. The look of concern on his face was genuine; I knew Sam cared about me. Overtime, he'd probably even love me. I wasn't sure if what we had was too new, too unformed to keep him here. We had only known each other for two days anyway. He couldn't possibly feel that strongly for me in that amount of time that he would choose to stay with me over returning to his own universe.
"Yeah, that's true. I got to meet you all once, though. So I guess that's better than nothing." Inside it crushed me to think that they would leave again, but what could I do? If they left, they left. I wouldn't be able to stop it, and I didn't want them to go feeling guilty about leaving me.
"Would it be better for you if we stayed?" Sam asked looking directly into my eyes. I looked away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. Trapped in the beam of Sam's eyes, I knew my distress couldn't be hidden. Sam seemed to look right into the depths of my mind and understand that losing him would crush me, despite my attempt to hide it.
"Probably," I answered truthfully. There was no way for me to lie to Sam, "but it's not my call to make. You all have friends and family in your universes. I can't keep you from them." This made Sam pause in the middle of chewing on another forkful of salad.
"What if they fell through as well, but they didn't land in the center of the storm?" He asked abruptly.
I stared at him stunned. I hadn't thought of that, but could others have fallen out of the rips too? "I guess… I think it's possible."
"We'll have to make sure that it's true, before we strand anyone else in this universe."
"So… you're going to stay? After the case?" I asked barely containing my excitement and trying to hide the hopeful tone in my voice.
"Looks like we might," Sam nodded.
"Could I help?" I inquired on impulse.
"Aren't you in college?" He asked, stealing a bit of my macaroni and cheese.
"Yeah, but I only have a semester left. I could take all the courses online." I retaliated by stealing a walnut from Sam's salad.
"But you're only twenty one, how can you graduate so early?" Sam asked confused but a hint impressed.
"I got a lot of college credits in high school, so when I started college I came in basically as a second semester sophomore. I was already planning to graduate early, so I could save some money. You know, writers don't really make much." I laughed with my whole body, my black hair bouncing across my forehead. Sam's eyes followed my movements. I could see something cross Sam's face, maybe it was affection hidden inside his smile, and I knew this date was already a success.
"Oh wow, so you're, like, really smart?" Sam grinned jokingly. His brown eyes (they were more greenish before, but apparently they changed color like Sherlock's eyes did) looked affectionately at me. I stared back my green eyes meeting his. Somehow how it made sense, perfect sense that I was here with Sam, who was no longer a fictional character. That our feet were linked together under the table and our hands were only centimeters apart. It was as if I had been preparing for the moment all my life and it was finally here. Happiness and comfort, which I imagined was the same color as Sam's eyes, welled up inside my stomach at the perfection of this moment.
"I'm fairly smart." I smiled back. It felt so nice to be complimented by Sam, sort of like the warmth you feel after drinking hot chocolate. He flashed a smile filled with white teeth at me, a perfect smile if you will.
"I think you underestimate that," Sam laughed. He went to take another bite of salad when his fork screeched across the bottom of his empty dish. I chuckled and ate the last bit of my macaroni and cheese. I had been so engrossed in the conversation that I hadn't been paying attention to how much food I had left. Apparently Sam had been too.
Appearing magically, like she knew exactly when we had finished our meal, the waitress returned to take our plates and prompt us to buy something off the desert menu. We ended up picking a slice of cheesecake to share.
When that arrived about five minutes after we ordered it, Sam and I were discussing nothing in particular. At some point he had taken hold of my hand and rubbing patterns into the pad of my thumb. I could have sworn it was a protection symbol that he was drawing, but it was a little hard to tell. It felt nice and tender. I was beginning to feel sleep drunk from the food and the content I felt in his presence, and probably from the bit of alcohol as well. It was a good feeling, and for a moment I forgot about the demon and the time rips and other universes.
Sam, not wanting to let go of my hand, attempted to pick up a fork with his left hand. He nearly knocked it onto the ground in the process of grabbing it. Having successfully picked it up and gotten a piece of cheesecake on it, he pointed it at me. Teasingly he said, "Open your mouth."
I cooperated, opening my mouth while Sam tried to navigate the forkful of cheesecake into it. I admit in thought it was romantic, but in action attempting to feed someone with your non-dominant hand just ended in getting food all over the other person's face before successfully getting it into his or her mouth. Sam and I were in stitches laughing as I rubbed my face clean with a napkin.
"Well that was an interesting endeavor." I teased.
"You try it then, if it's so easy." He retorted grinning.
"Fine, I will." Taking my left hand out of Sam's grasp, I took my fork and got a bit of cheesecake on it. Smoothly I aimed the fork at Sam's opened mouth, and got the cheesecake in on my first try.
"What? How did y-" He mumbled with his mouth full, eyes widening in surprise and glinting with an emotion that I couldn't identify- attraction? Happiness?
"Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. You shouldn't talk with your mouth full Sammy." He rolled his eyes, before he finished chewing as if to say fine mother, I won't talk until I've swallowed this mouthful.
"How did you do that?" Sam exclaimed immediately after swallowing the piece of cheesecake.
"I'm ambidextrous." I responded simply, causing Sam to laugh hysterically. I could almost see him adding this to the silly 'list of things relating to Lucy' in his shaggy head. Leaning across the table suddenly, so that his plaid shirt barely avoided a collision with the remaining bits of cheesecake, Sam pressed a soft kiss to my lips. Once I had gotten over the surprise, I kissed him back. He tasted like beer and sunbeams and something similar to allspice. I pulled away after a moment, smiling shyly.
"Public area," I answered to the question in Sam's eyes to why I had stopped.
"Oh right," Sam blushed as if he had forgotten that we were in the bar still.
"It's all good," I responded, taking his hand and planting a kiss on his palm. Maybe guys were the ones who were supposed to do all the hand kissing, but to be honest I didn't really care. I was in falling in love with Sam, and I couldn't be more delighted.
We were driving back in the Impala when I realized something was off. It was only 9 o'clock at night, but none of the windows in the neighborhood were lit up like they were normally. None of the older residents were outside on their porches knitting like they usually did. The late night runners weren't running at all.
"Sam… something's wrong." I scanned the street in front of us as if it had the answer to all the questions running through my mind.
"I can feel it too. Let's hurry up and get back to the TARDIS." He pushed down on the gas pedal, accelerating the car by 10 miles per hours. We were well over the speed limit, but there wasn't a soul around to see it.
We pulled into the driveway, and jumped out of the car immediately after Sam put it in park. He pocketed the keys as we went running into the backyard.
"It's not here." I whispered. Sam stood next to me, body still but eyes scanning the yard hoping they missed something.
"No… it's not." He concurred.
"So next question- where the hell is the TARDIS?"
