Title: Armageddon

Rating: T

Warnings: Major spoilers for "Utopia", "The Sound of Drums" and "Last of the Time Lords"; violence; mild language

A/N: First, as always, enormous thanks to everyone who's reading this and THANKS to everyone who's reviewing as well! You're all amazing and I appreciate the support!

Second, sorry this is a little later than usual, in my defense I was working on my other story, "Everything Burns" (which I have been neglecting) and writing the last few chapters of it – which were fairly emotion things – plus side: only an epilogue left on "Everything Burns".

Anyway, thank you all for being patient and I hope you enjoy the chapter! Please, please review!

Armageddon:

Part III: The Year of Hell

Chapter Four

Martha's story took almost an hour to tell and by the time she'd finished, she was a bit exhausted to say the least. Sherlock kept interrupting her, demanding more details, more information. After a while she was ready to strangle the man for his incessant questioning, but she answered every question he had as best she could. She could tell she was annoying him a bit whenever she would simply huff and say "I don't know!"

Apparently, he expected her to know and was annoyed that she didn't.

"And that's it," she said, relieved to have finally gotten it all out. "Everything that I know, at least."

"So Saxon isn't human?" Mycroft mused, frowning a bit. "But another Time Lord like the Doctor…"

"That's right," Martha nodded, "And if you know much about Time Lords you'll know there isn't a lot we can do about him."

Mycroft sighed heavily, "I also know that you and Sherlock should be going soon. I'm certain Saxon – you said he called himself the Master? – knows how suspicious I am and very likely about the inquiries I've made recently. If you are to do what the Doctor has asked, you're going to need to be alive."

"Wait, are you saying you think you're in danger?" Martha frowned, "You don't seem too worried."

Mycroft's smile scared her, she had to admit. "Why should I be worried, Miss Jones? If your plan succeeds, there is every chance that this will not even be a memory."

"Figured you'd be a bit more skeptical about all this," she frowned.

Mycroft's eerie smile turned into a feral grin, "Well, I've had the pleasure of meeting the Doctor, Miss Jones, and if he believes you capable of accomplishing this, then so do I. I admit, I think he may have put his faith in you unfairly, but I know when I have met someone who surpasses my own intelligence and the Doctor is certainly more intelligent than myself."

She frowned, "I'm plenty capable," she snapped, crossing her arms, "And I will do it."

"Good," Mycroft nodded, "Hold on to that determination, Miss Jones, because you're going to need it. I imagine you've got quite a trial ahead of yourself."

Her confidence wavered a bit. He was right about that. No doubt Saxon was already looking for her and she certainly wasn't equipped to fight the Toclafane, not to mention she barely knew how to work the Vortex Manipulator – other than to press buttons and hope for the best, that is.

"Now," Mycroft stood, "Sherlock, you and Miss Jones should be going. And do not let Saxon monitor your movements, whatever you do."

Sherlock hesitated, which Martha found odd because he'd yet to hesitate since she'd met him.

"You know, Mycroft, I'm not an expert, I'll admit, but I'm sure that Vortex Manipulator would transport three people. Hiding isn't beneath you, is it, brother?"

His voice was a bit… more emotional than it had been any other time she'd heard it and Martha realized, with a surprising jolt, that he was worried about his older brother. It shouldn't have surprised her, but the two of them seemed to so cold and emotionless that the fact that he could even feel worry was a shock. Suddenly, she felt bad because she hadn't even considered helping Mycroft to hide from impending danger.

Mycroft just smiled and shook his head, "I'm afraid not, Sherlock, I have more to attend to here."

Sherlock stood there, staring at his brother with calculating eyes before nodding briskly and turning. He left ahead of Martha, who stood, confused and anxious, at the door. She sighed and followed Sherlock when Mycroft gave her a withering look and raised a brow.

"Sherlock!" she called after the taller man and stumbled down the stairs, nearly crashing into him. "Are you… alright?"

"I'm fine," Sherlock frowned, "Why wouldn't I be?"

She sighed and shook her head, "Fine. Well, then…" she frowned, "You know the plan. Any ideas?"

Sherlock met her eyes with a penetrating gaze, "Our first endeavor should be to find out whether or not any members of Torchwood have survived. They will be your best allies."

"Right," Martha sighed, "Sorry, but I think you're the Torchwood expert so do you know where they are?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and snatched the leather band from her hands, "Cardiff, Wales," he said, "I am not sure of the exact location of their base, but it's a start."

She nodded, watching as he fiddled with the buttons, seeming more adept at it than she was, "How is it you managed to figure out so much about Torchwood anyway? Got a spy inside or something?"

Sherlock gave her a cold look and shook his head, but otherwise didn't respond, "There. That should be right. Hold on," he reached out and grabbed her wrist, surprising her before he punched the button and the two of them were taken away from the house in an instant.

~/.\~

Jack was still sleeping when Hotch reached the room where the children were being taken care of. He immediately spotted Agent Anderson who looked much worse for the wear. He was hobbling a bit as he put on a smile for two little girls, probably about five or six years old, and a boy of about nine, and led them over to a television in the room. Strauss was sitting in a desk chair, her hair a mess, her eyes hollow as she sat there.

She was clearly injured as well, a bandage on her upper left arm and one wrapped tightly around her head as well. She was pale and shaken and looked as if she had been crying recently, but was smiling a bit anyway as she held a little boy in her lap and three other boys lay a few feet away in makeshift bundles, sleeping.

Her eyes caught Hotch immediately and the small boy in his arms.

"Agent Hotchner," she greeted him with a heavy tone, "Your team has been worried about you."

He nodded, shifting his son in his arms for a moment, "I had… trouble getting here," he said, his voice still surprisingly steady but void of real emotion. Strauss understood what he meant and gave him a sympathetic nod.

"So did I," was all she said and Hotch didn't ask for elaboration. He was sure that she'd lost someone – husband or one or all of her children. It didn't matter, because at the moment there really didn't seem to be much that did matter except getting through this nightmare.

"I expected you to be with the director," he said, frowning, "Trying to contact Washington…"

"I was," she said, "When I first arrived, but it's difficult to be useful at the moment."

He didn't ask what she meant, obviously she had some other injury that he didn't see. Maybe the head wound was worse than it appeared to, wrapped tightly in its bloodied bandage.

"They sent me to help Agent Anderson with the children…" she hesitated, clearly upset by being downgraded to babysitting, but glad to at least be doing something. Erin Strauss was, Hotch knew, a complicated woman.

"Is your son…"

"He's sleeping," Hotch cut her off, "I should get back. Do you… Need anything?"

"No," she frowned again, glancing down at the boy in her arms, "You can lay Jack in one of the chairs if you want; there aren't many blankets and pillows, but the cushions are soft. We'll keep an eye on him."

Hotch was mildly surprised that she knew Jack's name, but again didn't comment on it. He eased his small son down into one of the chairs and brushed his mop of dirty blond hair away from his face, smiling down at him and kissing him gently. He didn't stay in the room much longer, something about seeing the other children making his heart ache a bit. He hurried left and quickly found Prentiss and Morgan again.

"Saxon's supposed to give some sort speech to the rest of the world," Prentiss said, "Until then, Garcia's coming with zero and we can't get in touch with the other FBI branches or the White House."

"We're completely cut off," Morgan nodded, his tone heavy, "Cell phones are working, but if Saxon has Archangel under his control, we don't know how much he could be monitoring."

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose, "What are the director's orders?"

"Wait until we know what Saxon wants," Morgan sighed, "It's about all we can do right now."

He nodded and then hesitated, "Were you watching when it happened?"

"You're gonna ask about Reid, right?" Prentiss asked, glancing over at her boss. "We saw him too. We don't know what it was, but… Reid's freaked about it."

Hotch sighed, dark eyes clouded with confusion, anger and fear. "The Director's right then. We'll just have to wait and see what he wants."

Prentiss glanced out at the bullpen and shook her head, "And move the rest of the bodies down stairs," she added.

Hotch's jaw tightened, "We'll figure this out…"

~/.\~

"D'ya think we could move a bit faster?" Owen muttered, hugging himself tightly, "It's snowing, in case you haven't noticed."

Gwen gritted her teeth and didn't turn around to face Owen. They'd been trekking through at least two feet of snow for almost half an hour. They were all freezing, bundled up and shivering against the occasional gusts of wind that ate through their layers of clothing. It was about a five mile hike to get back to the air strip where the old plane they'd taken sat. And it had been a much easier hike going to than it was coming back. But of course, it hadn't actually been snowing when they'd taken off the first time.

"Yes, Owen, we've noticed," she snapped. "But unless there's some tech you've got you're not telling us about, we cannot possibly move any faster so quit whining."

"Can't help it," Owen muttered, "I get whiny when I'm uncomfortable and, have I mentioned it's freezing?"

"Yes!" all three of them snapped exasperatedly at him this time. God, Owen was barely tolerable on a regular day, but stick him somewhere in nature and the man was suddenly the most intolerable human being on earth.

Owen made a face and shook his head, "Just putting this out there, Gwen, for future reference: I don't do hiking. Or camping. Or anything that involves extreme weather. Especially snow."

Gwen just rolled her eyes and trudged forward, "Maybe you could move a bit faster if you weren't busy wasting energy talking," she snapped.

"My apologies,"

For a moment, Gwen thought that was Owen's voice, except that it sounded a bit too… dead to be Owen's voice. It was a bit rough, but utterly monotone and her brows furrowed in confusion as the four of them stopped, startled by the new voice.

"Who's there?" Owen and Gwen were already reaching for their guns, but the thick snow and the gusts of wind made visibility a bit hard. As far as she could tell, there was no one there at all.

"I am here," the voice said, "Behind you."

Behind…? Gwen whirled around and pushed herself forward toward Owen, Tosh and Ianto stepping to the side to let her past. And sure enough, there stood a man, fairly tall. At least six feet, startling blue eyes and short brown hair. But the most remarkable thing about him was what he was wearing. A simple suit and a trench coat and nothing else. His eyes stared at her unblinkingly and she found herself a bit creeped out by him.

"Wh-Who are you?" Tosh asked and Gwen could've kicked herself. She was supposed to be in charge, she should've asked that question, but her mind went a bit blank staring at the man.

"I am Castiel," the man said, "I am an Angel of the Lord."

"An… Angel?" Owen spoke up now, disbelief coloring his town, a faint smirk twisting his features, "You've got to be fucking kidding me. Angels? Really?"

Castiel's eyes turned to start at Owen, still unblinking and Owen fought back a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. Man, but this guy was creepy. "Who do you think saved you from that metal monstrosity?"

"Wait a moment, that was you?" Ianto this time. Gwen still couldn't seem to get her voice to work properly, she just kept staring at the man – Angel…? – and worked her mouth a bit like a fish out of water.

Castiel nodded, a quick, up-down motion, "Yes. And as I was saying, my apologies for the snow. I meant to transport you farther to safety, but I made a minor miscalculation."

Finally, Gwen seemed to be able to speak and she cleared her throat, "Miscalculation? What does that mean? And… why did you save us?"

Castiel once more turned to stare at her and Gwen shuddered a bit, "I should not be here. I don't have much time, the others will notice that I am gone. I must get you to safety quickly,"

"But what about –" she didn't get to finish speaking because Castiel lifted his arms and touched her and Owen on the forehead and in the blink of an eye, they were gone, leaving Castiel with Tosh and Ianto.

"H-How did you –"

"I am an Angel of the Lord," Castiel repeated, cutting Ianto's stuttered question off. A moment later, he glanced upwards warily, "Brace yourselves. It may be a bit… uncomfortable." He said the word as if he wasn't entirely sure what it meant, but didn't really care.

"Wait, where are Gwen and –" Tosh started to ask, but before she could finish, Castiel had already paced his hands on their foreheads and the next thing Ianto and Tosh knew, they were standing in the middle of Cardiff, near the Torchwood hub. In front of them stood Castiel.

Ianto's eyes were huge as he stared around the city. It was in shreds, there were bodies lying in the street, people staring up at the sky in horror, building and windows busted and broken. Cars crashed into one another.

"We're in Cardiff," Tosh's voice was shocked as she turned to stare at the "angel", "But… h-how? What happened?"

"I do not have time to explain. You are safe. For now. Harold Saxon sent a plague of sorts onto the world. Many are dead and many more will die. You four are among the few who may be able to stop him."

"U-Us four?" Ianto spun around, frowning, "But it's just me and Tosh… Where are Gwen and Owen?"

Castiel frowned, eyes scanning the ruined city for a moment before they traveled upward, "They know I have gone," he said simply, "They must have interceded. I must go."

"But-" Before Tosh could ask what he meant, the man was suddenly gone and she blinked, turning to Ianto. "Looks like we're on our own…"

"Not entirely," Ianto pointed out, nodding toward the Hub. "He did tell us where to start."

"Saxon released a …plague, though?" Tosh frowned, "What sort of plague does this?"

"Let's find out," Ianto said, "And find Gwen and Owen. They have to be here somewhere…"

~/.\~

It was quite a walk to get to the Statehouse and Van Pelt stopped a few times whenever they spotted any straggling survivors and pointed them in the direction of the police station. Rigsby had to admire the woman's composure. At a time like this, most people would be freaking out and panicking – hell, he felt like panicking a bit. But not Grace, she kept her face settled into a look of compassion and composure and did her best to pretend not to flinch at the gruesomeness of the bodies that they had to step over.

"Got any family out here?" he asked after a few minutes of silence. Grace shook her head and sighed a bit sadly.

"Not anywhere near here, no. My aunt lives up near Oregon," she hesitated, a frown on her face. "Don't even know if they're alive."

Rigsby was almost tempted to put a comforting hand on the young woman's shoulder, but didn't. He hardly knew her after all, that might be a bit weird.

"What about you?"

"What about me?" Rigsby frowned, not following her question and she smiled a bit, shaking her head.

"Any family out here?"

He blinked, "Mom died a while ago," he said, shrugging, "Just my Dad now…"

She nodded, "Does he live anywhere close by? We could go and check –"

"No," Rigsby frowned, shaking his head and Grace wasn't entirely sure if he was saying that his dad didn't live nearby or that he didn't want to check. "I can find out if he's alive later. CBI first."

"Oh," Grace fell silent again, nodding and wondering what would make Rigsby so against going to check on his own father. She couldn't imagine, and a part of her wanted to urge him to go. If he was alive, now would certainly be the ideal time to work out whatever had happened between them. They might never get another opportunity.

They walked in silence the rest of the way to the Statehouse and Rigsby wasn't all that surprised to see numerous cars and other agents heading inside through the gate. Van Pelt followed him in, determined to make sure that he got to his friends before she left him by himself. He'd already nearly stumbled and fallen twice and she kept shooting him worried glances every now and them. He brushed it off, shrugging. He was fine.

One of the elevators was cordoned off and Rigsby frowned at that, but they took the stairs anyway – the other elevator was already packed to bursting and he didn't want to stand around. They reached the floor in quick timing and he let out a relieved sigh when he immediately spotted Jane's mess of curls standing on a table, speaking clearly. He had a few cuts on his face and hands and Rigsby thought he saw glass glittering in his hair, but he looked otherwise fine.

"People, people," Jane was saying in a loud, firm voice. "Please be calm. We have medical personnel set up on the third floor, water bottles and crackers being distributed on the second. Calmly and carefully make your way to wherever you need to be. There are Agents stationed on every floor. Anyone with children, please leave your children on the first floor, there is a safe room set aside for them."

He huffed a bit when the crowd seemed to be ignoring him and Rigsby couldn't help but laugh at Lisbon when she whistled loudly and got their attention, "PEOPLE!" she yelled, "Listen to the man, alright? There's enough insanity going on without us adding to it. Agent Minelli is trying to get in contact with the AG. We don't know how many agents we've lost yet, but we're trying to sort everything out so listen to Jane."

She waved back to the blond man and Jane nodded, smiling a bit, "Thank you, Lisbon," he said, before repeating what he had been saying moments earlier.

"Is that them?" Van Pelt asked.

"Yeah," Rigsby nodded, "Hey, uh, thanks,"

Grace smiled, "Not a problem. Seems pretty organized out here. You should go get your head checked out."

"Just gotta talk to Lisbon first,"

Grace rolled her eyes and sighed, "Fine. I'm going to stand right here and wait for you to get finished talking, then I'll drag you to the medical floor if I have to."

Rigsby sighed and eyed her for a moment, "Alright, alright. Just a minute…" he assured her and then pushed his way through the crowd to Lisbon and Jane, feeling a bit better knowing that they, at least, were still alive.

~/.\~

John and Jake made for the village after the… things had finally ascended back to wherever the hell they'd come from. Their camp had been entirely obliterated – everyone had scattered, a few grabbing the jeep and taking off, some running into the desert, others being ripped to shreds by their attackers.

John and Jake were the only two left at the camp, gripping their guns uselessly, until they were certain that they were safe. John had immediately grabbed Jake's bloody hand, the dark skinned man hissing at the sudden movement.

"Sorry," John apologized, "We're gonna need to stitch this up, Talley. Could get infected,"

Jake laughed a bitter sort of laugh, "Yeah, yeah, sure. Hurry up,"

John had to rummage through his pack - their supplies had been scattered everywhere - to find the needle and the antiseptic. It amazed him that the man's hand was even still intact at all after latching onto the blade like it had, but the gash was nasty and, now, covered in dirt and rocks. The entire time John cleaned it, Jake hissed and grimaced, keeping his free hand clenched tightly onto his leg.

"What the hell were those things?" Jake asked, glancing up at the sky. "Sons-a-bitches came out of nowhere…"

"Dunno," John frowned, "Bit more curious about how you managed to crush them like that."

Jake shrugged, "Wish I knew," he said, flexing his free hand and staring at it with a frown, "All I know is, it started not long ago." A sly smile twisted his lips, "You have no idea how much I can bench, Watson."

John quirked a brow at him, "What? So you're Superman or something?"

Jake laughed and shook his head, "Nah, bullet's still do the trick, I guess. I mean, those knives certainly got me good, didn't they? But it's like… I'm stronger than I should be. Bent an iron rod into a pretzel last week just to see if I could. I don't know how it works, but… Thank God for it, huh?"

Watson nodded, "I'd be dead otherwise," he agreed.

"So what now? Looks like we're the only two that stuck around…"

John leaned back, doing the final stitch on Jake's hand closed and frowned, "Suppose so…" he agreed. "Guess we should… head to the village. Maybe there's someone still alive there."

Jake glanced in the direction of the village and nodded, "Don't have a better plan. Let's pack up and get moving. Maybe we'll figure out what the fuck is going on."

~/.\~

"- the Cyberman?" Gwen frowned and blinked, staring around the landscape. Owen was standing next to her, doing the same, eyes wide in shock. They were no longer in the middle of the frozen wasteland they had been in moments ago, but judging from Owen's face he didn't like this place much more.

"The desert," Owen said, his voice dry and empty for a moment. "The bloody desert. The fucking angel zapped us to the desert. If he even is an angel…" he spun around, sand wafting up in thin clouds at his feet.

Gwen sighed, shedding her jacket, "At least we're away from the Cyberman. Where do you think Ianto and Tosh are?"

"THE DESERT, GWEN!" Owen snapped, locking eyes with her. "Is that not registering to you? We were in the mountains, being slowly frozen by snow and now we're in the desert."

"I can see that, Owen," she said, "What I can't see are Ianto and Tosh."

Owen swore and shucked his own jacket off, shedding his gloves and checking his gun. "Don't know, maybe Angel-boy zapped them somewhere else. Here's another lovely fact. We're in the desert, almost out of ammo and you are taking this way too well."

"We don't have time to worry about the angel," Gwen snapped, "Alright? We're in the desert, yes, how isn't important. Let's just focus on getting home." She nodded her head to something behind Owen, "Looks like there's a village ahead. At least we might be able to figure out where we are."

Owen sighed, closed his eyes and took a deep breath before nodding. "Right. Guess that's a start," he turned and waved for Gwen to take the lead before following her. It wasn't far off, they must've landed between cities or something. The village was small, just a handful of stone buildings and what might have been a church clustered together and a road. Either way, Gwen would be happy once they talked to someone.

They walked in silence for a few minutes before Owen finally cleared his throat, "Sorry," he said. More like mumbled really. Gwen frowned and glanced over at him, seeing something on his face she hadn't expected to see. Fear.

"For what?"

"The bitching," Owen sighed, glancing over at her, "Look, I know you're trying, and yeah, you're not half bad at this, but you're still not Jack, Gwen. Jesus, we don't even know where Jack is and now we've lost Tosh and Ianto and almost got killed by a bloody Cyberman and an angel zapped us into the desert. Something tells me we're in for a shit load of trouble."

Gwen nodded seriously, "You're right," she said, "But nothing we can do about any of that right now. Let's just try and find out where we are, then we can try to find Ianto and Tosh."

~/.\~

Gibbs and Tony stayed in the morgue with Ducky while he did whatever he could to help Ziva. Jenny had left as soon as the call came through that Saxon's speech to the nation was about to air. She squeezed Gibbs' shoulder briefly, eyes traveling to the pale and unconscious Ziva on the table. Gibbs didn't react, didn't look up or shake her hand off, he just stared down at Ziva.

Ducky was at a loss. He'd seen bad injuries – hell they all had, many even worse than this – but the morgue wasn't exactly equipped to handle a wound of this magnitude and the doctor doubted that even a real hospital would've been able to help her much at all, except to ease the pain.

She had been right about her ribs being broken. The Toclafane's blade had cut right through her chest, shattering most of her ribs and exposing lung tissue to them. And one of her lungs was definitely punctured. Her breathing was ragged and strained as one lung worked to do the work of two and she kept bleeding.

Ducky didn't know what to do to stop the bleeding, she was getting weaker and paler by the second and Tony, who was gripping her limp hand, just stared at the blood that pulsed thickly out of the gash.

After searching her for any other severe cuts and injuries, Ducky turned to the broken ribs and punctured lung and flailed a bit, uncertain where to begin and not having any way to really help her.

"…She's not gonna make it, is she?" it was Tony who finally broke the tense silence. "You can't just patch up a wound like this."

Gibbs remained silent, eyes still locked on Ziva's face. He wanted there to be something they could do, but all he could see looking at Ziva now was Kate, the shock on her face for a split second before she'd died. Now Ziva was lying there, pale and slowly suffocating on her own blood and he couldn't do a goddamned thing about it.

"I… I'm afraid not," Ducky finally shook his head. "I could try to fix her lung, but this amount of damage… we would only be buying her a few more hours. She's already lost so much blood I… doubt she'll hold on more than another hour."

Tony nodded and there were tears in his eyes. For some reason that made Gibbs all the more pissed off. Tony was, in many ways, like a son to Gibbs. Not that he'd ever admit that out loud. Seeing him on the verge of tears made him want to cry and that pissed him off.

"And she's in pain?"

Ducky immediately knew what Tony was going to suggest and found he wasn't entirely sure his heart could take it. "Immense pain," Ducky's voice was heavy and sad as he nodded.

Tony finally looked up from Ziva and met Ducky's eyes, "So it would be better if she weren't suffering…"

Ducky hesitated, "I… I suppose you're right,"

"He is," Gibbs finally spoke and the hard anger in his voice wasn't lost on Ducky or Tony. "Think you can spare a little morphine?"

Ducky's face softened and he nodded before opening the drawer of the pre-loaded syringes. He hadn't used much of the morphine he was supplied with anyway. Most of the agents he'd tended to refused it, which wasn't surprising given that most of them were probably used to the pain.

"…For Ziva…" he said quietly.

Gibbs nodded and neither he nor Tony looked away when Ducky administered the dose and blinked the tears away. It was a quick death. Her breathing slowed and became less ragged, her body untensed and her face relaxed until finally, her body went lax and her breathing stopped altogether.

They were silent for a long minute before Gibbs once more spoke, "This will not happen again,"

They didn't ask what he meant, they understood. Saxon would be stopped, no matter what the cost, he could not be allowed to live in Gibbs' world after this. Tony couldn't help but agree.

"Gibbs…?" Abby's voice was hesitant and she avoided looking at Ziva as she entered the morgue, "Director Shepard wants to see you. Saxon's address is going live in one minute."

~/.\~

The Doctor glanced over at Spencer as soon as they were alone, eyes scanning every inch of him for injury. For the most part, he appeared to be fine, but he was shaking a bit and looked terrified. The Doctor eased himself forward, frowning at the younger man, "Spencer, it's alright. We're going to be alright. I'll fix this, I swear…"

"Doctor," Reid's voice was quiet and the Doctor frowned when his large hazel eyes met his, "This isn't… Something wrong."

He frowned, "How do you mean?" Obviously something was wrong. The Master had taken over the entire world, that was very, very wrong. And the Doctor's plan to fix it… well, it was a bit uncertain, but he didn't have anything better and he had faith in Martha.

Reid closed his eyes and shook his head, "It's not right," he said. "I… I remember Harold Saxon, Doctor."

The Doctor's eyes widened and he frowned, now yanking his seat forward until his knees were almost touching Reid's, "You remember him?" he asked, "What do you remember, Spencer?"

Reid took a breath and opened his eyes again, "That's what's wrong, Doctor. I remember his election, I remember him killing the president, I even remember the Toclafane, but none of this happened. He disappeared after the assassination, everyone thought he'd gone crazy! He never… the Toclafane never attacked, all those people… They did die. Maybe… maybe my being here changed things. Maybe …"

"Shh, Spencer," the Doctor shook his head, "Don't do that, don't blame yourself for this. If it's anyone's fault it's mine, but trust me, we'll fix this."

Reid seemed skeptical, "How though?" he asked, "How are you going to fix… this? And what about what I remember? What does that mean? It's got to mean something!"

The Doctor sighed, "I'm not sure what it means, but maybe, if we're lucky, it means my plan works."

Reid studied the Doctor, "You've got a plan?"

"A very… risky one. I'll explain later, whenever I can see you and Jack together again, alright? Right now, we're going to have to focus on making sure the Master doesn't know the plan. Can you tell me what he saw?"

Reid closed his eyes again and shook his head, "I'm not sure," he said, "There was… It felt…" he trailed off, not sure how to describe the feeling. It was a strange feeling, to have the Master inside his head. Entirely different from having the Doctor in his head, that was for sure.

The Doctor eyed him sympathetically, "I know," he sighed, "It hurts."

"I think… I think he saw what happened… before, I mean. When I first met you." The words came out in a bit of a rush and Reid grimaced, those memories still lingering at the front of his mind. He couldn't be sure exactly how much he had seen, because there was so much to be sorted through, but his gut tightened with fear at what the Master could do with that information.

The Doctor took a breath, looking just as worried as Spencer, "That's no good," he said, frowning.

"He knows I'm from… the future…" Reid frowned, "When he was in my head, I felt… I heard… I think he's going to go after me. The other me. It's 2007, so I… I'm in Virginia."

"That's very not good," the Doctor sounded more and more anxious and Reid wasn't entirely sure what to make of it.

"Alright, Spencer, we can't have him going through your memories. Not… not those memories anyway. Foreknowledge is dangerous and if he knows anything about the future… What he'd do with that information would be catastrophic."

"So how do we stop him from getting to those memories?"

"I… can try to put up a wall. Nothing dangerous," he assured him when Reid immediately looked worried. "Not like what happened to you before. You'd still have the memories, it'd just be like a safe, where the Master couldn't get in."

Reid frowned, "Will it work?"

"I don't know," he admitted, "But it's worth a try at least. He'll probably find the wall if he goes digging, but with any luck he won't be able to break it."

Reid took a breath and nodded, "Alright. I trust you,"

The Doctor smiled a bit, "Not sure you should, given the circumstances, but thank you anyway. Hold still. It'll be a bit uncomfortable…"

~/.\~

The Prime Minister's address was broadcast nationwide, one nation at a time, everything else being shut off. Not that there was much else on – just news stations relaying the same information they'd been showing for the last several hours. The Toclafane attack, the presidential assassination. The still rising death toll. There were no official numbers, of course, but things were bleak enough as it was.

The second it started the FBI agents were waiting, every working television on, radios tuned in. Everyone on every floor stopped whatever they had been doing and watched with baited breath as Harold Saxon's face dominated the screen, his wife, Lucy, standing behind him.

No one else was visible, but the people who'd been aboard the Valiant were either dead or prisoners by the FBI's guess anyway. Saxon started the presentation with a smile that was so like the smile he'd smiled just days ago after he'd been elected.

"Greeting citizens of… what country is this one? The United States, oh, lovely," his smile twisted a bit, "Right, well, I don't have to inform you that your president has been killed. You were all watching that, I suppose. I do have a few other things to say, however. President Winters wasn't only the first world leader to have been killed by the Toclafane… You see, they targeted the leader of every single country in the entire world. Magnificent creatures, aren't they?"

He beamed when several Toclafane appeared behind him, floating gently in the air.

Morgan scowled at the things, rage burning inside of him at the very sight, but everyone remained silent, waiting to hear what Saxon wanted. And what he wanted, apparently, was their surrender. He told them he knew about the safe houses cropping up, about the military deserters who'd taken weapons and run underground. He assured everyone that the Toclafane had no problems taking the families of those who continued to resist and that he didn't want anyone else to die.

His speech lasted almost an hour, explaining that anyone who resisted would be killed, anyone who tried to fight back would have their families taken into custody. He explained the ways things were to be handled. Doctors, law enforcement and military would be used for other purposes, but anyone else would be relegated to working in his soon to be in commission factories. He didn't say what the factories would be building, but it didn't really matter.

The situation seemed to spin even deeper into some horrifying science fiction movie whenever Saxon let out a loaded statement. "I'm not even human,"

They weren't sure what to make of Saxon's claims of being an alien. On the one hand, it seemed completely ridiculous, but on the other… after what had just happened, the claim gained a lot of validity. There were whispers going on after that, agents wondering aloud what he meant and whether he was crazy or if it was possible he was telling the truth.

It wasn't until the end that Saxon announced that had a list of people he wanted and that hiding these people who be punished with death. The list was long and there were governors, senators, the Director of every national and international government agency – CIA, FBI, MI5, etc. – and several other political players that even they had never heard of. They sat in silence through it all until near the very end, after the photograph of Martha Jones flashed on the screen and was quickly followed with the face of Prentiss' mother, Elizabeth.

Prentiss swallowed and closed her eyes, tension filling her gut, but at least that meant her mother was still alive out there. She could only hope that she'd be able to avoid Saxon.

"FBI Agent Dr. Spencer Reid,"

The Master read from his list and Reid's photo flew onto the screen.

Reid's heart stopped for a second and Morgan and Garcia both gripped Reid's hands, sitting at their side.

"What the hell does he want with Reid?" Prentiss spoke for the first time, turning to give Hotch and incredulous look. Other agents were turning to look at them as well. It was one thing for Saxon to want the Director, but what did he want with Reid?

Hotch stared at the screen, shaking his head. "I don't know, but he's not getting him."

~/.\~

It was late when the Impala finally pulled into the old salvage yard, broken and beaten cars littering the way. They had listened to Saxon's message on the radio, both shaking their heads in disbelief. No one had a choice, they either bent to Saxon's will or they were destroyed. According to what they'd heard, America and the UK were fighting back the hardest.

Safe houses were already beginning to crop up and Saxon's list of "Most Wanted" was a daunting and terrifying list. Any powerful political player who hadn't been killed in the initial attack, UNIT agents, military personnel who had already gone underground, family members of powerful people. FBI agents, governors, senators, religious leaders. The list just went on. The brothers didn't even know most of the names, but that wasn't really saying much. They could hardly say they stayed in tune to the news, unless it was something weird enough to be considered Supernatural, they didn't really pay attention.

Right now, Sam was wishing they had because Saxon had been in the news for a long time as the up-and-coming new Prime Minister. All Sam really knew about the guy was that he'd won in a landslide victory and apparently most of the world had fallen in love with the man. A regular Hitler if he'd ever seen one.

After Saxon's announcement that he wasn't human, Dean had scoffed at the idea of him being an alien.

"Probably possessed by some demon," Dean had said, adamant that there was no way this was aliens. Sam was still on the fence, of course. Given their experience, it did seem more likely that Saxon had been possessed by a demon, but he couldn't dismiss everything that seemed to prove that the earth wasn't the only planet with life.

There were no lights on at Bobby's and the Impala's headlights flashed against the old house eerily as they climbed out. There were obvious signs of Toclafane having been there: busted windows, shredded metal, splintered wood. Hell, Sam was half amazed the house was intact at all. Even the old rusty dog chain had been cut in several pieces, the links twisted and bent. A sick feeling entered Sam's stomach and he glanced at his brother.

Dean was thinking the same things Sam was, but there was that look in his eyes that made Sam nervous. He'd seen it before, a look that said very clearly that he had already made up his mind that Bobby was going to be fine and if he wasn't…

Instinctively, they pulled their guns from their jeans, clicking off the safety and edging cautiously toward the house. They hadn't seen a single Toclafane on the way over, but there was no sense taking any chances. The wood creaked beneath their feet and Sam shot anxious eyes toward Dean, that worry gnawing at his stomach.

They didn't say anything. Dean jerked his head forward and Sam moved to push the door open. It slid open silently and they slowly hedged their way inside, guns going to the left and right before aiming straight ahead. They went through the entrance and kitchen first, frowning and lowering their guns.

"I don't think anything's here, Dean," Sam said quietly.

"…Yeah," Dean nodded, shoving the .45 into the back of his jeans again, his face set in a hard line. His green eyes were clouded with far too many emotions for Sam to be comfortable. "Maybe… maybe Bobby hightailed it outta here as soon as he heard 'em coming…"

The half-hopeful tone in his older brother's voice almost killed Sam. They both knew that was unlikely, but he nodded anyway. He wanted to believe that was what had happened. "Let's check upstairs, just to… to be sure…"

They didn't find anything at first, but pushing the door open to Bobby's bedroom, they heard it. Shallow, ragged breaths of a pained man. Without thinking, they rushed inside and found him. He was propped up against the wall, head leaning back against the wood, eyes closed, weathered face pinched in pain. One arm was hanging uselessly by his side and from what Sam could tell it was cut right down to the bone.

There was so much blood that it actually took them a moment to realize what was really wrong. Bobby had his good arm wrapped tightly around his middle, blood staining his fingers and shirt. He was… Sam fought the urge to puke at the sight and shook his head. His midsection had cut almost clean open and Bobby was barely holding his own intestines inside his body. It was a miracle the old man was breathing at all.

Dean ignored the blood, ignored the guts and edged forward, cautiously touching a hand to Bobby's shoulder.

The old hunter's eyes snapped open, bleary and glassy. It took a moment before they settled on Dean and then a half-grimace, half-smile twisted his lips.

"Took you idjits long enough," he rasped, a choked sound that Sam guessed was supposed to be a laugh puffing out.

"Sorry, Bobby," Dean's voice was tight, "We got caught up, ya know? Alien monsters killing people…"

Bobby closed his eyes and nodded as best he could, "Figured," he said, "Least you two are… alright…"

"Don't worry, Bobby," Dean slid a bit closer, "We'll get you out of here, find someone to fix ya up –"

"Dean –"

"Shut up, Sam," Dean turned and glared at his younger brother before edging a bit closer to Bobby, "He's gonna be fine."

Bobby's lips twisted a bit more, but there was blood on his teeth and lips and Sam had to look away, his insides twisting with pain, "Boy, don't be… stupid…" he rasped, "We both know I ain't getting out of this one…"

"Nah, come on, Bobby," and there were tears in Dean's eyes, "You're fine. Just… Just a flesh wound, that's all. Stitch ya up, you'll be okay."

Bobby shook his head, "Don't… don't do that to yourself, Boy…" he gasped, the effort was taking a lot of him. Sam was pretty sure he didn't have a lot of time left and goddamn it, he was not going to cry right now. He scrubbed at his burning eyes. Dean was already starting to shut down and he wasn't going to cry in front of Bobby.

"You two just… just focus on stopping th-those things…"

"Bobby –" Sam's voice cracked. He hated that it cracked, but he couldn't help it. Bobby had been more like a father to him than John ever had. He knew Dean would hate him if he admitted that, but it was true.

"Sam, don't," Bobby's eyes slid open slowly and he met Sam's teary gaze, "I'm getting' old anyway… Y-You and Dean," he looked back at Dean, "You two gotta keep going. Don't… don't let this… slow… you… down…"

"Bobby," Dean's voice was watery and even though Sam couldn't see his face he knew he was crying now. "You can't die, Bobby. We need ya. Come on, Bobby, I can't lose someone else. I can't."

"Sure ya can…" Bobby closed his eyes again. "Happens all… the time, boy. Losing people… Part of… part of the life…"

"Not this time…"

Bobby didn't say anything, but they knew he was still with them, his ragged shallow breathing their only indication that he was alive. They sat in silence for almost an hour, listening to him breathing, not wanting to wake him up because at least while he was asleep he wasn't in pain.

"Sam, we gotta do something, there has to be something we can –"

"Dean," Sam's voice was heavy and tired and he never took his eyes off Bobby, "What are we supposed to do? We can't just stitch that up. There's no way –"

"There has to be a way!" Dean snapped, anger and bitterness eating through his voice. "He can't just die, Sam! Damn it, not now. Not after…" he trailed off but Sam knew what he was going to say anyway. Not after Dad.

They fell quiet again, but only for about fifteen minutes. Then the entire room went silent and Sam, tears falling down his face, leaned forward to press two fingers to Bobby's neck. No pulse. He leaned back and with one look, Dean knew it was over. Before Sam could say anything, Dean was already up, fire and rage and pain blazing in his eyes before he suddenly whirled around and slammed a fist into the wall.

"Goddammit!" he screamed, body shaking with emotion.

"Dean –"

"I'm gonna kill him," Dean suddenly said, not turning to look at Sam. "I'm gonna rip that son of a bitch's head off."

Sam didn't ask who he meant because he already knew. And he didn't follow Dean downstairs or investigate the sound of splintering wood and shattering glass because he had no intention of being caught in the crossfire of Dean's grief this time. Instead, he sat back down on the bed, let out a slow breath and felt the sobs overtake him.

~/.\~

The world bellow was in turmoil from where Castiel watched; his anxious, uncertain eyes cast down toward the earth. Being an Angel, of course, did not grant omniscience by any stretch of the imagination, but from Heaven's vantage point, the solider could see a great deal more than humans could hope to.

He sensed rather than heard his brother appear behind him and couldn't honestly say that he was surprised.

"Castiel," the greeting was short and a bit strained. Obviously, he knew what he had done in the Himalayas.

"Uriel," Castiel didn't bother turning around, still watching the earth, something he had never felt before welling up inside of him. Angels didn't experience emotions, not like humans did, but if he had to place a name on what he was feeling he would call it fear.

The other angel suddenly appeared in front of him, a disapproving frown marring his features. "You took a vessel," Uriel stated. Castiel did not bother contradicting him because it was true. He had taken an earthly vessel, but he had deemed it necessary.

"Castiel," Uriel's frown turned into a scowl, "You know we are not permitted to walk the earth, much less take a human vessel!"

"It… was necessary," Castiel said, his voice a low monotone, a hint of that uncertainty slipping through. "Those people were going to be killed."

"And it is not our place to save them," Uriel said, "It has been expressly forbidden, Castiel. It is not yet time."

"That is the problem, Uriel," Castiel said, finally lifting his eyes to look at his brother, "Time. There is something… wrong with time. Can you not see it?"

Uriel hesitated, "Time has gone… indistinct," he nodded, "We've all noticed, Castiel. But our orders remain the same –"

"It is Armageddon bellow," Castiel said, shaking his head, "An Armageddon that is not of our Father's making."

"You still should not have left," Uriel insisted, "Until we are told otherwise, our orders remain the same. You are supposed to be watching the Winchesters."

"I am," Castiel insisted, nodding his head toward the scene he had been observing before Uriel interrupted him. "They are… upset. Robert Singer has been killed." His eyes traveled back to Uriel's, "Perhaps I should –"

"One trip was risky enough, Brother," Uriel warned, "Robert Singer is of no importance to us or our Father's plan. When the time comes, we must make sure that Dean Winchester is ready. Other casualties need not matter."

Castiel remained uncertain, "Perhaps you are right," he said, "Yet Sam and Dean Winchester view Robert Singer as a very important factor in their lives. If we were to –"

"Castiel," Uriel's voice was a low growl of a warning now and Castiel narrowed his eyes at the thinly veiled threat in his tone. "We are not to interfere."

"Time is being tampered with," Castiel's voice was still steady, but gruff and his eyes were hard and flinty, "We should be concerned about this new… occurrence, Uriel, but I know my orders and I am following them. Do not forget who the leader of this garrison is."

Uriel bowed his head, but something flashed in his eyes, something that Castiel would rather pretend he had not seen. "Of course not, Brother," and the word was almost a sneer if angels could really sneer, "I am merely concerned that you are becoming a bit… reckless and attached to these… apes."

For a second, Castiel's eyes flashed with unexpected anger, "Those apes are our Father's creations, and he commanded that we love, protect and bow down to them," he said, "Be careful of your words, Uriel. You are beginning to sound like Lucifer."

~/.\~

Jack paced the cell back and forth for what felt like hours. They were all silent, Clive and Francine sitting with Tish on the bench, her mother holding her tightly in her arms. Jack had done nothing much but pace since Spencer had been taken.

They were too far down to have heard anything and it was beginning to annoy Jack that they hadn't brought Spencer back down. He didn't even want to imagine the things that could be happening up there. It was the longest few hours of Jack's life before someone finally came down the hall and the former Time Agent was surprised to see the small frame of Lucy Saxon standing there, her eyes dead and face unsmiling as she watched them. There were three armed guards with her, though none of them looked exactly thrilled to be there.

He blinked and moved to the bars of the cell, gripping them tight and glaring at the woman. He wasn't sure why he held so much contempt for her, but she was obviously unbothered by what her husband had done and that was reason enough, he supposed.

"Where's Spencer?" he growled, fingers so tight against the bars that his knuckles turned white and his eyes blazed with anger.

Lucy didn't answer and Jack hadn't really expected her to, "My husband –"

"Is a psychopath," Jack cut her off, frowning at her. "He's not even human."

She tilted her head curiously, "I know," she said, her words flat.

Jack shook his head, "That doesn't bother you?"

She blinked, "Should it?"

"Of course it should!" Francine stood from where she'd been sitting, scowling at the petite blond woman, "It should make your skin crawl! The things he's done! How can you stand to be in the same room with him."

Lucy took the outburst in without one ounce of emotion flittering on her face. "He loves me," she said simply, as if that were the only justification she'd ever need. And again, Jack was stunned by how entirely dead the woman seemed emotionally.

After a pause, she turned to look back at Jack, "As I was saying, my husband wants to see you. All of you. He's very busy, so move quickly. Anyone who resists will be shot." Her eyes went to Jack, "And he said to tell you that if you resist, he will have that other man, Spencer, shot."

Jack's eyes darkened and he growled, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

For the first time, Lucy Saxon smiled, it just a small, twitch of her lips, but it was a smile. "I imagine there are a great many things wrong with my by your standards. Now stand back so they can open the doors. And remember what I said. Harold does not like to be kept waiting."

~/.\~

A/N: And that, my friends, is the longest chapter I've ever written for a fanfiction. *looks up at chapter* Hope it was alright. I gotta tell you, part of the reason I took so long with it was Bobby's death. It took everything in me to write that scene. I kept crying, it just ripped my heart to bits to do that, but my muse kept insisting that Bobby wouldn't have survived and she made me keep it like that even though I wanted Cas to swoop in and save him. *cries*

Also, who else is loving series 7 of DW so far? Gah, "Asylum of the Daleks" might be my new favorite series opener. Oswin was certainly amazing =D And Rory's dad in "Dinosaurs on a Spaceship" … Fantastic! No spoilers though, promise, but if you haven't seen the new episodes you are going to love them!

Anyway, please review!