Title: Armageddon

Rating: T

Warnings: Major spoilers for "Utopia", "The Sound of Drums" and "Last of the Time Lords"; violence; mild language; allusions to rape (but I promise nothing explicit or graphic)

A/N: As usual, thank you to everyone for the reviews! You guys are fantastic and I love you all! Seeing as the new semester has started back (NOOOOOO!) I'm pretty proud of myself for getting this chapter up as fast as I did, even if it's slower than I like.

Anyway. Please, please review and let me know what you think! Hope you enjoy!

Armageddon:

Part III: The Year of Hell

Chapter Eleven

Martha nearly landed on her face as she teleported to Lisbon, Portugal. She struggled to maintain her balance and brushed a stray hair from her face as she straightened up and looked around. It was early evening and she didn't see anyone around. Lisbon looked much like the UK had – sad and empty, a shadow of its former self.

She was outside of the Britannia Hotel. She had never been there before, but she could tell that it had once been a beautiful place. She was near the pool, which sat empty and neglected in front of the large and elegant building. It was completely dark, a few windows had been busted in and the lounge chairs were stripped of their cushions and turned over. Two sat broken at the bottom of the empty pool.

Large columns framed the entrance inside from the pool area. She let her eyes sweep up the building, wondering if there was anyone inside. The Master might have utilized the space for one of his work camps… But she saw absolutely no hint of light flicking from the windows or the busted door. The trees were dead and limp, their barks looking grey in the light as she edged her way around the pool side. She saw what she thought might've been blood stains and quickly looked away, not wanting to imagine what might've caused them.

Tucking the Vortex Manipulator into her coat, she stepped forward and kept her eyes open for any sign of Toclafane. She'd left Lestrade at the camp he was in back in London. He'd wished her luck and hugged her before she left.

She stepped over broken glass and through the door that hung from its hinges, wishing she could see better in the darkness. Inside the hotel was as quiet as the outside. A chill ran down her spine as she crept in. If nothing else, she could at least sleep for a couple of hours before starting to move again, though she had hoped there would be someone here, even if it was a work camp, it was still someone.

There was broken glass scattered all over the floor, furniture shredded and broken littered around. In the darkness, Martha nearly stumbled over what she assumed had been an end table or a coffee table, though it was missing two legs and was covered in dust. It took her several minutes, but she eventually found a small couch and settled down on it, curling up and using her bag as a pillow.

She pulled the TARDIS key around her neck out and held it in her hands, sighing heavily as she stared at it. She held it close to her chest and closed her eyes, eventually drifting into a fitful sleep.

~/.\~

The tunnel was narrow and bits of dirt occasionally crumbled down the side of it as Sherlock led the way briskly. He glanced back at the group following him every few seconds, but didn't speak to them or otherwise acknowledge that they were even there.

"Sherlock," Tosh jogged a bit to keep up with his long strides, "Have you been down here before?"

"No, but I've heard of it," Sherlock said, keeping his eyes straight ahead. "UNIT has created several of these tunnels… Fox Holes, they call them. For fugitives. We can't stay long, especially with your injured friends. We'll have to wait until nightfall and be on the move again."

"On the move?" Jake called from behind them, "How the hell is John supposed to manage that on this leg?"

Sherlock didn't respond and Jake huffed, glancing at the shorter man. "You sure you're gonna be okay?"

"I'm fine," John insisted, though he was looking very pale and his voice was strained. He wasn't putting any weight on the injured leg any longer, leaving Jake to carry the burden. Thankfully, Jake was more than capable of carrying him along.

Owen was ignoring the conversation, tagging along at the back of the group now with Gwen in his arms. He kept glancing down at her, looking for any sign that she was going to wake up. He couldn't see the tell-tale rise and fall of her chest and hadn't been able to stop and check for a pulse yet… But she had to be alive. Of course she was alive; there was no other possible option, after all.

Ianto suddenly appeared at Owen's side, his eyes on Gwen's pale form. Owen scowled and tried to move around the other man, but Ianto surprisingly kept pace with him.

"Are you sure Gwen's going to be alright?"

"She's fine," Owen snapped, "Stop asking that!"

"Here we are!" Sherlock suddenly stopped and Tosh nearly ran into him as the tunnel widened into a large, round space. There were a couple of sleeping bags and a pile of blankets in the space. For two or three people it would've been fine, but with seven of them… It was going to be cramped.

Owen and Jake quickly lay Gwen and John down on the sleeping bags and Tosh went to work helping Jack cut away the torn fabric around John's bloody leg. Owen knelt beside Gwen and brushed her blood-matted hair from her face, wining at the side. Her eyes were closed and she was entirely limp. Cautiously, he pressed two fingers to her neck and waited, Ianto watching him intently while Tosh and Jake glanced up as well.

Pulling his hand away, Owen's face was bone white, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he leaned down, grabbing her hand and trying to find a pulse in her wrist. When he let go of her hand and it dropped down with a thud, Tosh felt new tears spark in her eyes.

Not Gwen… Not after all this…

Still not speaking, Owen leaned over Gwen, a horrifying gleam in his eyes as he began compressions on her chest, pausing and breathing into her mouth. No one knew what to say, everyone was deathly quiet as Jake tied a strip of fabric around John's leg to act as a tourniquet. He wanted to ask Owen to help with John, but something about the other man's face stopped him.

It was Ianto who finally stepped in, putting a hand on Owen's shoulder before he could begin another set of compressions. Owen froze and with frenzied eyes looked up at Ianto's face.

"Owen… she's gone…"

"No!" Owen jerked away from Ianto and shook his head, turning his face back to Gwen, "She can't be! There's still time to –"

"No there isn't," Sherlock's voice cut through Owen and he turned to glare at him. "She's dead. The only thing you're managing to do is break her ribs. There is no use trying to save a corpse."

Owen leapt to his feet and lunged at Sherlock, only stopped by Jake's quick action as he grabbed him and held him back.

"Shut up!" he screamed, "Shut the fuck up! Don't talk about her like that."

Sherlock sighed, "There is no point getting emotional," he said flatly, "In case you haven't noticed people are dying every single day in even more brutal ways than your Ms. Cooper. You need to accept the fact that she's dead and do something useful, like helping Tosh and Jake take care of John's grievous wound. There is, at least, still hope for his survival."

Owen wasn't even forming words anymore, just spluttering out noises that sounded vaguely like swears while Jake held him back to keep him from murdering Sherlock. It felt like an eternity before Owen seemed to run out of energy. He collapsed against Jake and the taller man let him go. After a long, loaded second where Owen glared at Sherlock with hate filled eyes, he wordlessly turned his attention to John's bloody leg.

~/.\~

Sam flinched at the sound of the gunshots and turned to look at Dean, who was holding his .45 in a white-knuckled grip, a stony look on his face. Henricksen had surged forward the second Dean lifted his gun, but he hadn't been fast enough to stop him and the bullets hit their mark, dead center in the demon's chest.

While Sam's attention was on his brother, Adam and Henricksen were both staring with open mouths at the man Dean had shot. The man's smirk was gone, replaced with an annoyed frown as he brushed off his suit jacket, three holes marring the expensive fabric.

"Damn it," he swore, "Do you know how difficult it is to find new suits in this shit-hole of a world?"

"What the hell…?" Henricksen swallowed, shaking his head. He had seen Dean fire the gun, had seen the man get hit and yet he was standing there, not even bleeding.

Sam sighed, "He's a demon," he said.

"Crossroads demon," Dean clarified, his voice tight and gruff, eyes locked on the demon.

"A demon…" Henricksen's voice was weak and lacked the hard edge of skepticism it had before as he stared at the man. Glowing red eyes, three bullet holes in his chest and not one single drop of blood… Nothing human could do that.

"Actually," his smug smirk was back and he took a step forward, ignoring the woman who looked like she was about to go into shock. "King of the Crossroads. Bit of a boring job, honestly, listening to whiny humans blather on about their problems. Of course, this new world order has made business very… lucrative. Take Mrs. Richardson," he suddenly turned and waved a hand toward the woman.

She let out a small gasp and clutched her arms tighter to her chest, her brown curls wild and unruly.

"Her husband died, kill in the Decimation, apparently. Now she wants him back –"

"And all it costs is her soul," Dean snarled.

"Well, yes," the demon nodded, "But I'm being rude. Name's Crowley. I already know you two, the infamous Winchesters. Big brother Dean…" He studied Dean for a moment and his lips curled into a pleased grin, "Don't you look pathetic? Not handling Daddy's death well, are we? And little Sammy… Or, not so little…"

"Spare us the mind games," Dean snapped, "Why don't you call your deal to an end, huh?"

Crowley snorted, "What are you going to do? Shoot me again? You can't kill a demon, boys."

Dean's finger tightened around the trigger like he planned to do just that, but Sam shook his head.

"Dean, you know it won't do anything,"

"It'll make me feel better," Dean muttered, but he lowered the gun. It was useless against a demon and he'd already wasted enough bullets on the bastard. He felt the flask of holy water inside his jacket pocket and glanced toward Sam, eyes darting toward the pocket meaningfully. His brother nodded and Dean slipped the gun back into his jeans.

"Well, sorry to interrupt, but I don't think I can just stand and watch while some girl pimps her soul to a demon –" his left hand reached into the pocket, but before he could pull the flask out he found himself flying through the air, Henricksen right beside him. Sam and Adam went in the opposite direction. The four of them found themselves pinned to trees lining the road, unable to move.

"Sorry," Crowley said, "Busy. I'll be with you in a moment…"

Henricksen was breathing heavily, turning his head to stare at Dean, trying uselessly to move his arms from where they were pinned by something.

"What the hell…?"

"Demons," Dean said, not turning to look at him, keeping his eyes on the girl and Crowley. "Told ya."

Henricksen swallowed, shaking his head. "Demons are real…"

Dean's lips twitched a bit, "Yeah, just like Shape Shifters and werewolves and ghosts…"

"Holy shit,"

"Yeah,"

Across the road, Sam was fighting against the invisible bonds, head pounding from slamming into the tree. Adam was entirely silent, his face pale and eyes wide. After a minute, Sam turned his head as far as he could to look at him and cleared his throat, "Adam? You okay?"

"Fine…" his voice was faint, "Just… trying to work through the whole… demon thing…"

Sam smiled, "Lot to take in, huh?"

"Little bit,"

"Yeah," Sam sighed, "Guess it would be…"

"What are we gonna do?"

"You aren't gonna do anything; Dean and I will get you outta this. Don't worry."

~/.\~

It was late that night after almost everyone else had gone to bed and Tony just couldn't sleep. He hadn't had this much trouble sleeping in a few weeks, but he eventually gave up on sleeping altogether and quietly made his way into the living area. It was dark and quiet and he sat down at the table, frowning and playing with one of the small wooden chess pieces on the board that was still set up.

Ducky and Reid had played chess for a couple of hours before going to bed that night and hadn't put the board away. He lifted the black Knight and studied it. It was worn and chipped, like much of the stuff that they had, but in some spots the pain job still shone bright when the light hit it just the right way and the surface was mostly smooth.

He hated the nights when he couldn't sleep because that inevitably led to thinking. Usually about everyone who was gone. It usually revolved around Ziva. He still had nightmares about that day, about her stumbling into headquarters half dead and gasping for help. Her blood all over him as he tried desperately to get her down to Ducky in time. Her pale face, the terror in her eyes… He relived the entire experience and no matter how many times he saw her die, it always hurt like it was the first time.

McGee wasn't talking about it. Abby studiously avoided the subject as well and there was no way in Hell he was going to go to Gibbs about it – Gibbs hadn't handled Kate's death well and Tony didn't want to push too hard to see how Gibbs was really handling Ziva's.

He sometimes talked to Ducky about it, but he didn't mention the nightmares. He wasn't sure if he should or not, but he didn't exactly feel comfortable sharing that sort of thing with anyone anyway and so he was left to brood in silence.

The sound of footsteps pulled him out of his thoughts and he turned to see Prentiss, looking tired and disheveled. She smiled a little whenever she spotted him sitting at the table.

"Couldn't sleep either?"

Tony shrugged, "Nah. This hotel has some crappy sleeping arrangements,"

She laughed and slid into the chair opposite him, picking up one of the white chess pieces and turning it over in her hands just as he was the black piece.

"Yeah, I have nightmares too," she said quietly.

"How did you –"

"Profiler," she said, smiling. Then she looked down and stared at the piece in her hands – a small white pawn – and sighed.

"It's hard, isn't it? Going on and fighting after losing friends and family and not knowing who's gonna be next… There was another woman on our team, you know,"

Tony blinked, surprised. They never mentioned another woman before. None of them. Then again, he and the rest of his team never talked about Ziva either so…

"Her name was Jennifer… When… when the Toclafane attacked, we were all together and I… I was with her when she died…" there were tears in her eyes now. "Sometimes, I close my eyes and I can still see her face. She didn't deserve to go like that…"

For a long time, Tony wasn't sure what he was supposed to say, but he put the piece down and stared at his hands, taking a breath, "We had a woman on the team, Ziva… We hadn't heard from her all morning after the attacks…"

~/.\~

"Damn it!" Rufus swore and tossed the bottle into the trash bin. There went the last of his precious Johnny Walker Blue. Gordon looked over at the older man and frowned, shaking his head.

"You'd still have that if you didn't drink like a fish,"

Rufus narrowed his eyes at him, "Excuse me?"

Gordon just shrugged and went back to cleaning his rifle. He'd been doing that a lot, just sitting and cleaning his guns. If he didn't have anything else to do, that is. He and Martin would go out on hunts occasionally whenever Sam and Dean were gone and Sam and Dean would go out whenever Gordon and Martin were gone. If Rufus ever went out on a hunt, it was solo – he refused to hunt with anyone else, not Sam, not Dean not even Gordon.

Martin was fidgety and quicker on the trigger than Gordon liked and a couple of times Gordon had had to rely on only himself, which he was fine with. He too preferred to hunt alone, but was practical enough to know that in times like these hunting in pairs was essential.

The only one who would hunt with Garth was Martin and once or twice, Sam had. None of them thought Garth was real hunting material. He was gangly and uncoordinated and if you asked Gordon, not too bright either. But somehow he managed to keep himself alive.

"Man, when are Sam and Dean gonna be back?" Martin griped, picking through the food supply that was running dangerously low. They'd have to go on a food run soon.

"Three more days at least," Rufus said, standing from the rickety chair he was in and moving over to the liquor supply which was also dangerously low. He picked up a bottle of whiskey, made a face and put it back.

"Three days?" Garth entered the room, dressed in his loose jeans and an army jacket that was probably three sizes too big. "I thought they were gonna be back today?"

"Nah," Ash, who was sitting at his computer, beer bottle in one hand, shook his head. He spent most of his time on the homemade laptop. "They had to take a detour. Called a couple of hours ago."

"So that means they found the safe house?" Garth sounded excited as he sat down across from Ash.

"No," Gordon's voice was hard, "They found their long-lost brother."

"Brother?"

Ash looked up at Garth over the screen, "Yeah, Adam Milligan. Apparently, their daddy had a lady friend and they had a kid together. Sam and Dean ran into him or something. They didn't give me details, Dean just wanted to make sure it was legit."

"Is it?"

"Looks like it,"

Garth smiled, "Well, isn't that something? In the middle of this mess they get a new brother!"

Rufus eyed Garth like he was crazy, but didn't say anything.

"Yeah," Gordon muttered, "It's wonderful. They get to take time out of doing what's important to have a family reunion!" He sneered and rolled his eyes.

"Don't be like that," Garth said, "This is still good news, isn't it? Besides, maybe this Adam guy can help Sam and Dean find the safe house."

"They haven't been lucky so far,"

"If Sam and Dean can't find it, it probably isn't there. Their dad trained those boys well," Martina said.

Gordon snorted, but before he could say something else, Rufus spoke. "Alright, all of ya, just shut up. No use talking about this until the Winchesters get back. We've gotta go on a food run tomorrow. Who's going?"

~/.\~

The Doctor didn't rest at all while Spencer was gone. He tried to calm himself down – the Master wouldn't kill him, surely – but horrible thoughts were racing across his mind and each seemed to be worse than the last. He was tempted to reach out telepathically to the young man, but thought better of it. The Master would have probably sensed that and who knew what he'd do then?

He spent the time trying to concentrate on infiltrating the Archangel network. Integrating himself into it without the Master noticing wouldn't be easy, but the Master was more preoccupied with running the world at the moment and that certainly did help at least a little.

It was difficult to concentrate, however, when he was worrying about what was happening to Spencer. By the time the guards finally dragged the young man back into the conference room, the Doctor was certain he was going to go insane thinking about what the Master had done. Spencer wasn't tugging against the guards as he had been when they'd been ordered to drag him out. The Doctor might've concluded that it was simply because he was being taken away from the Master, but there was something in the way Spencer was moving that made him worry.

His eyes were on the floor, tear tracks marring his face. His fists were clenched tight and he was slumped over as much as he possibly could be. He avoided the Doctor's gaze as the guards chained him again and immediately tugged his knees into his chest, burying his face into his legs. It took a moment, but the Doctor was certain he heard him sobbing.

Something snapped inside the Doctor's chest and he very cautiously reached forward, putting a hand on Spencer's shoulder only to have Spencer jerk away from him violently.

"Spencer…" he kept his voice low and slid a little closer to him, "Are you alright?"

No answer.

"You can talk to me –"

"Don't," Spencer's voice was rough and garbled. "Just… don't."

The Doctor would've loved nothing more than to drop the subject, but his hearts were racing in his chest as he stared at Spencer and he couldn't just let him suffer alone.

"What… what did he do to you?" there was a hard edge to his voice this time as he thought about how much he hated the Master for whatever he had done to make Reid behave this way.

"I don't want to talk about it, Doctor," Spencer's voice was muffled by his knees, "Please. Don't ask."

"Spencer…"

"I said drop it!" Spencer finally looked up and the Doctor flinched. His hazel eyes were clouded and dark, tears trailing down his face. His left eye was a bit swollen and a new bruise was forming, but the Doctor couldn't see any other bruises anywhere.

Turning away, Spencer put his head back onto his knees and gripped his legs tightly, his entire body shaking as he continued to sob.

~/.\~

A/N: TA-DA! Proof that I am going to Hell :P

Anyway, we shall see more Mentalist (and Psych) next chapter, promise.

First, what you think the Master did to Reid? Yeah, that's what he did.

Second, yes "Mrs. Richardson" is Amelia Richardson. Yes, I am so very tempted to have Crowley kill her.

Third, Gwen… Well… I feel bad, but… yeah.

Hope you enjoyed! Please, please review!