Info: More Snippets. No particular order unless indicated.
"Dean!" Rose shouted, seeing his green eyes being backlit by the white of Grace, "Dean! Listen! You've gotta let go!"
"I can get us back," he argued calmly.
She shook her head, "You'll burn before we get past the Void. Please, listen ta me; no one but an angel's supposed ta have that power. I wanna get home too, but I want us all ta get home." She called up the bit of power still left in her, too small an amount to do much but posture, letting her brown eyes be backlit by the gold of the Vortex.
"Please, look at me; look at what I've done ta myself," she spoke softly, desperately even as her head began to pound in agony, "I nearly killed myself, I killed my Doctor, because I pulled the same stunt you wanna try."
"Your power is stolen, Wolf," he replied calmly, something inhuman buzzing behind his deep voice, "mine was gifted."
"Not fer this, Dean; not fer something like this," she shook her head and immediately regretted it, barely able to keep from staggering, "He left that power in ya ta keep ya safer, not fer ya ta suicide by it."
She felt blood start trickling from her ears and nose and saw the same happening to him even as the Grace scrambled to keep the vessel usable.
"Let go of it, Dean; you're gonna burn. If that happens, not even God himself'll be able ta bring ya back. You'll be gone; ya won't even get an afterlife."
The handprint on his bicep began to burst and then heal repeatedly, showering the room with blood and gore.
Still, he had carried the borrowed Grace for much longer than she had carried the power of Bad Wolf; they'd both burn, she would go up first.
An internal clock started in her burning mind, ticking down to her destruction.
But she wouldn't let him burn alone.
Fighting through the pain, she snarled, "Ya burn, I burn! We promised them we'd stick together! If ya wanna do this ta Castiel, the angel that turned his back on everything he knew, everything he loved for ya, go ahead! Abandon yer brother, I'm sure he won't miss ya! Bobby'll be fine!"
Seconds to go, "You'll have ta watch me burn first, Dean! We'll kill everyone in London at least, maybe even Britain! Can ya deal with that, Dean Winchester?"
Milliseconds now.
The Grace left his eyes, "Rose!" he bellowed as he came to himself, "Let go!"
Destruction averted as she released her power and instead welcomed the black coolness of unconsciousness.
Gabriel looked over the gathered beings, unsurprised to see the humans fighting sleep.
Every time one began to nod off, they'd jerk awake and it didn't take a genius to figure out why.
With a quiet teasing smile, Gabriel spoke softly, "Bedtime for humans."
With a snap of his fingers, he removed all of the living room furniture and replaced it with a humongous bed that took up almost all space possible all without jostling anyone who had been previously sitting.
Another snap and everyone was in comfy, casual pajamas.
Without much thought, the three humans who had been stuck in Pete's universe settled down in a roughly triangular shape; their backs to each other as if all three were on guard. Once comfortable, they each pulled their other halves down to be lying near, or under, them.
Rose had the Doctor almost bodily pinned down, her upper body across his. Her nose was in his neck. The Doctor had his arms around her as if hugging her.
Castiel was the little spoon to Dean' big spoon, the Hunter's arms almost trapping the angel against him. Had Castiel not been an angel, he would have been trapped. However, both were content, so there were no problems with the arrangement.
Of the three, Sherlock had the most freedom but also the least; John only held his hand, tightly, but had pinned him with a sleepy, though no less commanding, glare that said in no uncertain terms that the detective would stay put and sleep next to him or terrible things would happen. Not wanting terrible things to happen, most likely to his coat or the experiments in the fridge back on Baker Street, Sherlock decided not to argue and settled in to sleep.
With everyone settled, Sam and Gabriel having claimed a corner of the bed, sleep soon followed.
"How did you know?" Sam questioned muzzily, punching the pillow he had claimed into the proper shape and burrowing down into his blanket.
"They've probably dreamed about this," Gabriel said softly, "not this exactly, but getting home. They're all afraid this isn't real." He paused, "So are you. That and they've all bonded, trauma does that, foxholes and all, so of course they would feel better together."
He smiled, "Go to sleep, Moose. I'll handle the watch."
Sam quickly dropped off, for the first time in months not having to worry about waking up and finding someone dead.
Gabriel settled, getting comfortable even as he raised wards around the flat; his little brother's makeshift garrison was finally in one universe and he'd tear Hell open before he let anything disturb them that night.
The hours ticked by slowly, and once or twice Gabriel found hints that Castiel, the Doctor, and Sherlock were not asleep the full night, before the sun came up.
Somewhere, further into the flat, an alarm clock went off; instantly, robotically, Rose was up, rubbing her eyes and blinking away sleep.
Then she caught sight of the archangel.
"Morning!" he said happily, snapping his fingers to put a pot of coffee on in the kitchen.
She blinked again before realizing she was not in the bed she had claimed nor was she alone.
"Rose?" the Doctor was pushing himself up onto his elbows, looking properly bleary eyed.
She stared at him, beginning to tremble.
Almost instantly, Dean was awake and at her side, talking to her calmingly, "Breathe, Rosie, breathe."
"But—they're—Doctor, Cas, Sher—"
"Yeah, they're here," the Hunter agreed, "It's real, trust me; it's real, Rose. C'mon, we talked 'bout this, didn't we? Johnny-boy gets to go to pieces first. Hold it together, see, look," gently he turned her head to see John cuddled up to a sleeping Sherlock, "We don't wanna wake him up do we? Let Johnny-boy sleep. They're here, we're gonna go home soon." He was on his knees, splayed like he was straddling something, and touching her shoulder.
Like he had had to talk her down before, knew just what to do.
She closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath before opening them and giving a shy smile.
"You good?"
She nodded, "I'm good, Dean." was the soft reply.
She turned back to the Doctor, who had been watching the scene unfold half risen on his elbows, and gave a more watery grin before she laid back down and snuggled into him.
Dean raked his hand through his hair, moving to stand from the bed and quietly saying, "Comin' Cas?"
Gabriel bit back all the snark.
"Dean! Put down the knife!" John shouted, grabbing the man's wrist and trying to wrestle the cleaver from him.
"Mum?" Rose was handling her mother, the would be stabbing victim, "What happened, here," she helped the startled woman to a chair.
"I—I just woke him up," Jackie explained shakily, "it's lunch."
"Oh dear," Rose mumbled, "Mum, we warned you not ta do that. He has the worst case of Shellshock this side of the Doctor. Please tell me ya didn't touch his back, please, please tell me ya didn't."
"No, no, I remembered that. He was on his side anyway."
Rose paled, "Did ya touch the handprint, Mum?"
"I was trying to shake him awake."
"Yer lucky he held himself back."
Jackie looked at the two men still fighting over the deadly weapon, "That's holding back?!"
Rose nodded, "If he really wanted ya dead, you'd be dead. Dean's probably the deadliest human you'll ever meet."
"What's so important about that stupid handprint? It's just a weird tattoo yeah?"
Rose shot a glance over to see if John needed her help before leaning close and explaining, "That ain't a tat, Mum; that's where Castiel grabbed ta drag him outta Hell. Now it's sort of an angelic engagement ring. It's a promise that Castiel will always come back fer him, be there fer him. It's like my TARDIS key an' John's key ta 221B Baker Street. Ya touched it without his permission, Mum, an' ya woke him up by touching him. Yer lucky he held himself back."
"Rose!" John shouted, still fighting Dean for the weapon, "Little help here?"
She stood up, "Let him go, an' get my Mum outta here."
John promptly did as told, ushering a protesting Jackie out and away.
Dean advanced on the slight woman, well, slight compared to him.
She did not back away, instead searching his eyes and seeing them rather blank.
"Where're ya, Dean?" she asked quietly.
"Don't even try it, bitch," he snarled in turned, "I don't know what ya did ta Cas but I won't let ya touch him again."
Her mind raced, she tried to find context. He thought she was…a dick with wings.
"What did I do ta Castiel?" she demanded imperiously, falling into the character of an angel. It was a dangerous game, if he attacked she was done for, but she needed more information to be able to pull him out of wherever he was.
"You fuckin' brainwashed him," the Hunter roared, "Your own brother; you brainwashed him inta killin' me."
Shit. Rose knew what he was seeing now; who he thought she was.
Play acting was a bad idea; going anywhere near him like this was a bad idea.
He would not be pulling punches; why should he, he thought she was Naomi.
He lunged; she dove back and glanced around for something to hold him off without hurting him too badly.
The cane! There! Against the counter, John had left his cane!
Diving under the man, through his legs, and scrambling up to her feet, she ran for the cane.
Metal, lightweight, the best chance she had.
She barely managed to grab it and spin around to block Dean's next attack and the clang of metal meeting metal echoed through the air.
"Dean!" she shouted, "Dean! C'mon! Wake up! It's me! Rose!"
She dove to his left, blocking another blow, landing on her side with an 'oompf' before lurching back to her feet and moving away.
Compared to him, she was too petite to win an honest fight. Her best chance would be to keep dodging and hope he either came back to himself or tired out.
Hunters were good for sprints; Companions excelled at Endurance.
Oh, there went the kitchen table.
As she moved, she pulled up her mental map of the house; they had to avoid any point where he could get the high ground on her.
If she could get him out of the house…
Parrying his attacks, she backed towards the front doors.
"Fuck!" the moment's distraction that was opening the front door cost her; her cheek had been hit by a glancing blow, a thin cut bleeding profusely.
"C'mon, man!" she shouted, leading him onto the front garden, waving a hand that glistened red in the sunlight, "Look, I'm Human! Human! See! Red blood!"
He wasn't stopping; for the first time in a long while, Rose was gripped by Mortal Terror.
She made a decision.
He had tripped and given her time to grip the cane like a baseball bat and wind up the hit.
"Sorry, Dean."
With all her strength, she delivered a wallop of a strike to the side of his head; it only stunned him. She took another swing, landing another blow to roughly the same spot. And then another.
He finally collapsed, out cold and bleeding, face first into the dirt.
Falling to her knees, she dropped her impromptu weapon and dragged in ragged breaths.
Sherlock's mobile went off and he gave Moriarty a bored look.
The other man gave him a gesture that said, "Go ahead. I don't mind."
The detective nodded and pulled out the phone, setting it on speaker phone, "Dean."
"Hey," came the American voice, "we got it, Sherlock. James Moriarty's soul. Or at least the contract for it."
Sherlock gave his shocked archenemy a smirk as he said, "Well done…" the phone beeped again, "Excuse me Dean, the Doctor's on the other line." He clicked over, "Doctor?"
"No, Rose, Doctor's driving," came the voice of a woman, "We got 'em, Sherlock. All the snipers have been rounded up by UNIT."
"And I assume my colleagues are enjoying their holiday?" the man questioned, now grinning maliciously.
"Yep, spa planets are the best in that galaxy."
"Good." Sherlock cleared his throat and spoke loudly and clearly, "Dearest Castiel, who should be about five feet behind Moriarty anyway, please reveal yourself and do your duty. Amen."
The air behind Moriarty shimmered as the angel came into view before, with just a snap of his fingers, the evil human was immobilized.
"Hello, Castiel," Sherlock was grinning widely now, "Might I assume that you are 'wired' as well."
With his free hand, Sherlock opened his coat and shirt to reveal a recording device.
Castiel nodded, opening his own coat to reveal a similar device, and said, "Of course, Sherlock. May I assume that the TARDIS is keeping these recordings safe?"
"You may, Rose?" that was directed back to the phone.
"Yep. Got the full confession backed up here," Rose chirped happily as they heard her tapping away at something, "UNIT an' Torchwood an' MI5 are getting their copies…now. Also sent it ta Sam, just in case."
"Please send it to Gabriel," Castiel voiced.
"Right," Rose agreed, "'m also placing it in the SP's archives." Her voice turned malicious, "We got 'im, Sherlock; he won't get outta this one."
"Fantastic," Sherlock's grinned was rather disturbing now, especially as the Torchwood 3 Team arrived and took Moriarty into their custody.
"We have James Moriarty in our custody, Rose," Jack said into Sherlock's phone, "the Doctor used to wear a leather jacket and taught you how to play chess. You beat him once."
"Read ya loud an' clear Jack. We're all good on this end; Sherlock, have the boys got the deal yet?"
"Yes, Dean is waiting on the other line. They have the contract."
"…Right, the Doctor says we'll pick it up; he has someplace ol' Jimmy-boy can never reach. TARDIS out." The call ended and Dean's came back on line.
"Dean," Sherlock spoke calmly. "Rose has sent a copy of Moriarty's confession to Sam and Gabriel; Torchwood has Moriarty, and the TARDIS will arrive shortly to get the contract. The Doctor will hold it."
"Yeah, okay," came the reply, "Sam's got it; we're putting it in the Bunker. Hey, Cas, pick up a pie when ya get flying home. Bunker out."
The call ended.
Sherlock put his phone away and bowed mockingly to Moriarty, "Thank you for playing. You lose."
With a nod, Torchwood 3 took their prisoner away; they had to carry him, because Castiel still had him paralyzed.
With a smile, Sherlock waved goodbye.
He turned to the angel, "Than you, for your assistance in this matter."
A small smile quirked Castiel's lips, "A wise man once said family does not end in blood. Would you like to accompany me to the Bunker? John's not due home for another week."
Sherlock smiled softly, "Castiel, I would be delighted to."
Castiel put a hand on the human's shoulder and off they went.