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: Sorry for the delay (AGAIN). I've been having some dental issues – my wisdom teeth need to come out and have been causing me a lot of trouble, but I can't get to an oral surgeon yet to get them removed. But I won't bore you guys with that.

I didn't get any reviews on the last chapter, so I'm worried that it was terrible… or excruciatingly boring or something. Please review guys, even if you absolutely hated it, I'd still like to hear your thoughts!

Hope you enjoy the chapter!

Armageddon:

Part III: The Year of Hell

Chapter Twenty-Nine

It was a rare stroke of good fortune that Sarah Jane found the Joneses and Dr. Reid. She'd gotten Martha's message earlier and had spoken with the Americans about the assassination attempt. Of course she'd promised to keep a sharp eye out for anything, but given the way their luck had been, she hadn't expected to find them quite so quickly.

Good thing she had, though. Spencer was pale and shaky from blood loss and they were all frail from lack of proper nutrition – Tish Jones was barely able to stand on her own feet and thought she wasn't certain, she suspected that Clive had a concussion.

She did her best for Spencer's leg, getting K-9 to assist her as Luke handed out rations of food and water to everyone.

"Did you build him?" Tish asked, studying the little metal dog with interest. Sarah Jane smiled fondly at K-9 and shook her head.

"The Doctor gave him to me…" she said.

"How long did you know the Doctor?" Dr. Reid was watching her intently.

"Quite a while," she said, "Sometimes I still miss him…" She eyed Spencer for a moment before standing and gathering the medical kit and supplies in her arms, "but we'll have time to talk about that later. I think I should try to contact Martha. She'll be eager to know you're alright."

Her eyes went up to the ceiling and she sighed, "I had hoped we'd be able to actually speak with the Doctor by now. He's been integrating himself into the network, hasn't he?"

Spencer nodded, "He's trying. It's not easy; the Master's too smart and he – he likes to torment the Doctor by getting in his head."

Sarah Jane pressed her lips together tightly, but said nothing, nodding sharply. K-9 followed her as she left the room. She paused for a second to look at them all – broken, battered and tired, but somehow, miraculously, still hopeful. If the Master hadn't taken away all their hope after the last several months, she knew the Doctor was going to be alright. He would save them.

He always did.

And until that happened, she would do everything she could to make sure they were safe.

~/.\~

The sun was peaking over the horizon when Dean stumbled his way back to the clearing where Lisbon and Grace were. Both women were already awake, clearing the blankets and passing a bottle of water between them.

"We've got to move," Lisbon said, her voice stiff. "We can't stay here too long; the ship is going to be spotted eventually."

Dean tensed, "And?"

She sighed, "And we can't carry Sam's body around with us. Burry him, Dean. Please, he'd want you to let –"

"You don't know shit about what he'd want!" he snapped, fist tightening. His long, belligerent walk in the woods had done very little to ease the aching, crushing guilt.

"Dean," Grace cut in before Lisbon started to yell at him for being an idiot, "she's right. We can't just keep carrying Sam's body. He… he's gone. Give him a proper burial. I know it's difficult…"

"He's twenty two," Dean said, his voice rough, "he shouldn't be buried. He should still be alive!"

He'd had a lot of time to think. Too much time, really. He should've died in that attack. Hell, he should've died eight months ago when that semi destroyed the Impala. He was a walking corpse already. All the times Sam or John had saved his miserable life… His gut clenched.

He needed to fix it somehow, but he didn't have what he needed. He wasn't sure how else to rectify the damage, but he'd spotted a small crossroads the night before. The thought had crossed his mind and he'd pushed it away.

Then he'd seen Sam's body again. Now… now he just wanted to see his brother alive again. He didn't care about the price. But he didn't have the right tools. No graveyard dirt, no bones, no picture. Damn it.

"Dean," Grace was suddenly in front of him, staring at him with wide eyes. "Did you hear me? Are you alright?"

Dean's jaw tightened.

"I'm fine," he said tensely, "I just… need to think." His eyes went to Sam, "I'll be back. Don't touch him."

"Dean, we need to –" Lisbon started to tell him that he'd just returned from an extremely long walk to 'think'. They needed to get moving, after all.

Dean didn't hear her though. He snatched a bottle of water and knelt over his brother's body, digging in his pockets until he found what he was looking for. A faded photograph of them as kids with John. Sam had kept it after finding it in John's motel room when they'd been searching for him the year before. He tore the picture, throwing the part with Sam and John back on top of Sam and taking off toward the path he'd noticed.

It took five minutes. Used a rock to clear the hard ground between the two paths. It was really less of a crossroads and more of a small T shaped intersection of dirt among leaves. It would have to work though.

He shoved the picture into the hole by itself and searched the immediate area for dead animals. There were always small bones hidden among the leaves. It wasn't a cat's and he still had no graveyard dirt, but he was willing to try anything.

He'd barely covered the hole before a familiar, smarmy voice sounded behind him.

"You know," Crowley said, "you're incredibly lucky I was paying attention. That half-arsed little summoning of yours would never work."

Dean jerked to his feet, eyeing the demon.

"What? I'm so special they send the King? What happened to the hot chick?"

Crowley smiled, "You get preferential treatment," he said, "After all, you're the great Dean Winchester. And not-so-little Sammy is dead."

His eyes trailed over Dean and flashed red, "You look like shit."

Dean scowled, "I want to deal,"

"Oh really? And here I thought you'd summoned me to chat."

Dean gritted his teeth. Everything in him wanted to kill the son of a bitch in front of him, but Sam's dead body flashed in his mind and he just couldn't anymore.

"My soul," he said, "Sam's life. Ten years."

Crowley snorted, "What makes you so sure your soul is worth Sammy's life?"

Dean stared at him, a hard, angry stare. "There are plenty of demons who'd like to get their hands on my soul. Don't tell me it's not worth something."

"Maybe we like Sammy being dead. One Winchester out of the way, the other broken…" he trailed off, "I'm really not sure I can help you."

"Damn it!" Dean snapped, "It's a fair deal and you know it. Bring him back, you get my soul."

Crowley's smile twisted a bit and he sighed, "Alright. Sam comes back, you take his place. Right now."

"No," Dean shook his head, "Ten years. That's the deal. Besides, in this world… not likely to be more than six months."

"True…" Crowley tilted his head, "Alright, how 'bout this: I give you six months. Six months, then I own your soul."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but really, he hadn't been kidding. He was likely to die before the six months was up anyway. He swallowed and nodded, his hands shaking.

"Fine. Six months." Anything to get Sam back.

Crowley smiled and before Dean could react, yanked the young man to him, kissing him roughly on the mouth. Dean jerked away, stumbling back and spitting.

"Would it kill you to warn me, asshole?"

Crowley's eyes flashed red, "See you in six months, Winchester. Send my regards to Sammy."

~/.\~

As soon as the demon appeared, Castiel was at Zachariah's side once more. The other angel radiated annoyance at the intrusion – especially so soon after the last time Castiel had interrupted him.

"Castiel –"

"Dean Winchester is dealing with a crossroads demon," Castiel cut him off, "The demon Crowley. We must stop him before he –"

"It's fine, Castiel," Zachariah cut him off. "What happens will happen. We cannot interfere."

"We can't let him sell his soul! He will be in Hell and we cannot allow –"

"It will be fine, Castiel."

"No," Castiel frowned. Something was definitely not fine. They needed Dean Winchester. He was important and it was supposed to be their duty to watch over and protect him. Sam Winchester had died and now Dean was about to hand his soul over to a demon. This could not be allowed to happen.

Zachariah bristled, "No?"

"No," Castiel repeated. "I cannot let this happen. We are supposed to protect him. I need to speak to Michael immediately –"

"Michael is busy."

Castiel frowned. Busy. Michael seemed to be very busy these days. What could he possibly be doing?

His gut swelled with doubt and unease. It was uncomfortable and unfamiliar and he didn't like it. So much doubt these last few months. It meant something, didn't it? It had to mean something. He turned away from Zachariah.

"If you will not help me, I will stop him myself."

Before he could go anywhere, Zachariah was in front of him again.

"I'm sorry, Castiel, that's not possible."

He grabbed the other angel, eyes blazing with a dangerous, bright light. Castiel suddenly found himself in a pure, sterile room. Nothing but clean, white lines surrounded him. He stumbled, surprised and turned slowly. It took him a moment to realize that he was not alone.

His eyes settled on the other angel, frowning. She seemed familiar, yet he did not recall her name or where he had met her before. That had never happened to him before.

"Do I – Who are you?"

The angel smiled, standing. She was still-faced and dead-eyed. Nothing but emptiness radiated off of her as she approached him. Her voice was gentle though. Soothing. Castiel flinched anyway and had no idea why.

"I'm Naomi, Castiel," she said, "It's been quite some time since I've seen you." She tilted her head, "Something has happened with the Winchester boy?"

"He – he is selling his soul to the demon Crowley. We have to stop him."

"Hm," she nodded thoughtfully, "I see. Well, we'll just have to fix this, won't we?"

Castiel felt something he was sure he'd never felt before – yet it felt so familiar. Fear. It crept into his mind, cold tentacles gripping him from the inside out as he stared at the other angel. A sense of wrong washed over him.

"Follow me," she said, turning with that same dead smile, "It'll be over soon."

"…What about Dean Winchester –"

"When I'm finished, it will no longer be an issue, Castiel. I assure you. Follow me."

She turned again and he followed, doubt still eating away at him.

An impossible to measure length of time later, Castiel was back at his post, staring down at Dean Winchester as he stumbled his way back to the clearing where his brother was decidedly not dead any longer.

"We're too late," Uriel was furious. "He's sold his soul! What was Michael doing that couldn't –"

"It's alright," Castiel said. He sounded very far away in his mind. "It's part of the Plan, Uriel. We're to watch and report."

Uriel frowned, "Castiel, what –"

"Watch and report." Castiel said, his voice hard and intense. "Those are our orders. We are to obey them."

~/.\~

The small communications-slash-eating area inside the safe house buzzed with the sounds of electronics. Sherlock had hardly slept at all – nothing new, of course, he rarely slept. He was awake with the dawn and not overly surprised to find he had company.

John's nightmares the night before had been loud and his thrashing had likely upset his not-entirely-healed wound from months previous. Jake's nightmares, too, had sent the other solider to the small table to have pointless conversation about their families – John missed his sister Harry and Jake didn't even know if his sister Emily was alive.

Toshiko was awake shortly after and without a word set about connecting the computers and hitting the old television to jolt it on. There had been no word yet from the Master about the failed assassination attempt. The message they'd received from the 'Rebels' and Martha Jones had been all they'd heard thus far.

Ianto went straight to the coffee pot, his good morning greeting dull. He didn't meet anyone's eyes as he passed the coffee around, not bothering to offer any to Sherlock having learned that the man would only accept about half the time and never actually said thank you.

It was all very quiet and very tense until Jake, gulping down the bitter and over-hot coffee, flinched and jerked his head toward Sherlock, who had been staring at him for several minutes.

"Something wrong?" he snapped, raising a brow before taking another long drag off his coffee.

"You're upset," Sherlock said, "The nightmare you had… what was it about?"

Jake stiffened and shook his head, "Same monsters, different night, Sherlock," he said, "I'm sure you've noticed that."

"No," Sherlock shook his head, "The nightmare you had about the assassination attempt was certainly not like the ones you usually have about your family and the Toclafane attacks. And the nightmare you had last night seemed to be about a demon."

His blue eyes were intent. He'd been thinking about Jake and his muttering for several hours – it consumed far more of his mind than the failed assassination attempt. Something was very obviously not-quite-normal about Jake Talley and these nightmares were another clue to something larger and more sinister growing around him.

Jake tensed and shook his head defensively, "It was a nightmare," he said.

"As was your dream about the assassination attempt, yet it seems that it was a fairly decent account of what would happen, right down to Sam Winchester's demise."

Jake's jaw clenched, his fingers tightening around his cup. He shook his head again, but said nothing.

"Come on, Sherlock," John cut in, "you can't really think these nightmares have any meaning? Especially not you of all people."

"Under normal circumstances? Of course not, the entire idea would be ludicrous. These are not normal circumstances, however. There is clearly something very abnormal about Jake. I'm not entirely convinced that he's human."

"Of course I'm human!" Jake snapped, fingers clenching harder against the glass, "There's nothing abnormal about me!"

The cup suddenly shattered, sending pieces of cheap glass splintering across the table.

"Shit!" Jake jumped up, wincing as blood began to well up around the half-dozen new, superficial cuts that littered his hand. He snatched a cloth and mopped up the mess, giving Tosh an apologetic grimace, realizing she'd been splattered with coffee.

"Sorry," he sighed and she shook her head, helping him to clean up the mess.

"Clearly," Sherlock said, watching it all impassively, "you're entirely normal."

Jake sighed and slumped into a chair, "Anyone could've broken that cup,"

"Could anyone bend steel bars into pretzels?"

"…Okay. Maybe I'm not normal. But I don't have any answers for you. I got no clue why I can do that; I'm human. My sister's human, my parents are human. I'm not some freaky alien… thing."

Sherlock did not look convinced.

"If he was an alien," Ianto said, "don't you think he'd have done something about that by now? He's not exactly posing any threat living with us here."

"And he was with me in Afghanistan," John pointed out, "Saved my life."

Sherlock shrugged, "I never said he was hostile. In fact, I never said he was an alien. I don't have any more answers than you do, I was merely speculating. There is something inhuman about you, Jake."

Jake shifted and turned away, "I'm human," he said, "I have some weird super-strength or whatever, but I'm still human."

"Then explain the strange dreams,"

"They're just dreams!" Jake insisted, "I've had 'em for a while. I mean, since before the Decimation. They're nothing. Last night didn't even have anything to do with anything; it was just some weird, freaky… dream."

"Then what was last night's latest… monster?"

"I don't know," Jake sighed, "Nothing. Just some dude there with freaky yellow eyes talking about destiny and demons and Hell. It was a nightmare. It didn't make any sense."

Sherlock still seemed unconvinced, but Tosh suddenly cut them off, "We've got bigger problems anyhow," she said, "The Master's about to start a live conference with the world…"

~/.\~

The cells in the lower deck of the Valiant were cold, but surprisingly large. Rossi assumed that was because the ship was used to housing far more criminals and prisoners than it currently was.

He had spent an entire night in the medical bay, being treated by a skittish young man who wouldn't look him in the eye. He still couldn't walk, but the bullet had been pulled from his leg and the bleeding had stopped. Now there was only the pain that wouldn't let him sleep.

He, Jenny and Lassiter were in the same cell. Sometime in the night, before Rossi had been half-dragged down into the cells, two guards on the ship had been tossed into the cell adjacent to theirs – two former DIs of Scotland Yard, Sally Donovan and Greg Lestrade.

They were still breathing, as far as Rossi could tell, but they were also bleeding. Lestrade, at least, had a small pool of blood forming beneath him and Donovan seemed to having difficulty breathing.

They had tried talking, even just whispering, but every attempt to say anything was met with a harsh reprimand from a guard stationed near the end of the long corridor. Twice, warning shots had been dangerously fired, ricocheting around the metal space with a thundering boom that nearly deafened them all.

Jenny had eventually resorted to miming things, trying to get her point across with wild hand gestures and odd faces. She was pale and every time she moved, she grimaced. She'd broken two ribs that Rossi knew of, but there was nothing fatal, not yet.

From what they had been able to discern from Sally and Greg's wordless conversation, the Master kept them alive to torture them. Rossi wasn't surprised, but he felt uneasy, thinking back to the live feeds the Master had sent out – torturing Jack Harkness, torturing the Joneses and Spencer and the Doctor. Killing Owen Harper.

His stomach twisted. Lassiter was trying to find out if they knew any way to get out of the cells, but heavy footsteps echoed down the hall and new guards were suddenly there, staring blankly ahead.

"You two," the guard on the left motioned toward Rossi and Jenny, "Up."

Rossi's brow furrowed as Jenny stood, "What's going on?" she demanded.

"The Master wants to see you," the same guard answered, fixing Rossi with a hard look when he didn't move.

"Up," he repeated.

"I was shot in the leg," Rossi said, "unless you've got a wheelchair hidden somewhere, I'm not going anywhere."

The guard's face fell and his eyes jerked toward Jenny.

"Help him," he said, "Hurry up. He doesn't like waiting."

Jenny moved over to his side, starting to heft him up, grimacing under the strain it put on her chest. He whispered an apology as he tried to balance himself on his one good leg. Lassiter watched them with narrowed eyes.

"Why not take me instead of him? I can walk on my own at least…"

Rossi resisted the urge to tell him he could take care of himself; at the moment, he really couldn't and it wouldn't do them any good if he started snapping at his friends because they tried to help him. It was bad enough he had to have Jenny's help to even stand up properly.

The other guard – much taller and with a broad, barrel chest, shook his head, "The Master wants these two," he said, "Now get a move on."

His accent sounded odd to Rossi – a strange mixture of southern American and English that clashed and made the words mesh together. He reached out and grabbed Jenny by the arm as they reached the door of the cell, drawing her out with a rough yank.

She sent him a glare as they stumbled, "If your Master wants us there in one piece, it'd be a good idea not to send us falling on our faces before we get there."

The guard grumbled, but he released her arm and instead prodded her with the rifle, "Let's move," he said sternly. Rossi had to more or less hop down the hall, pain spiking up his leg with every small movement. He gritted his teeth against groans of pain and tried to keep as much of his weight on his good leg and off of Jenny as possible.

He was grateful when they reached the large conference room because he was pushed down into a chair – it was an uncomfortable chair, but at least it took the pressure off of his leg.

He'd been led past the room earlier, but not gone inside. It was the same room where Winters had been killed all those months ago. The same room where the Master had his broadcasted torture sessions. Where Owen Harper had died.

He spotted the Doctor, the Time Lord's face set in an angry, defiant glare as he sat, chained against one wall. There was a small, makeshift tent there that Rossi hadn't ever seen in the broadcasts before. The Doctor's gaze turned to him and Jenny as they were led inside and his eyes went wide.

"You can't!" he said, his voice sounding weak and dry.

The Master suddenly appeared, emerging from where he'd been standing just out of Rossi's line of sight.

"But I think I can," he said, "I did tell you, Doctor. I'm going to hunt them all down and make you watch as I kill them."

His eyes flicked to Jenny and Rossi, "I'm sure if anyone knows where the other… Rebels are, it's their own people."

"You don't expect us to actually tell you anything?" Rossi stared at the Master, "You realize we were here to kill you."

The Master turned slowly to face his prisoners fully, cocking an eyebrow. "Of course, but you failed rather miserably at that, didn't you? I think you'll find that I can be very persuasive."

Jenny tilted her chin up a bit, meeting his eyes, "We've already been through Hell," she said, "and we've all seen what you can do. It's not going to be easy to break us."

The Master smirked, "I never intended to make it easy…"

Rossi snorted. He'd sat across one too many interrogations with men like this to let his fear show – even with the pain and the certainty that he was going to die on this ship, he refused to take it all lying down.

"Even if we told you everything you wanted us to, you'd still torture us. We'd still die. You enjoy it. No point letting you win."

"I already have won," the Master said, eyes sparkling as men and women entered the room carrying cameras to begin filming. "Haven't you noticed that yet?"

"I noticed a man who thinks he can stomp out humanity's will to fight," Rossi said. "But you can't. Kill us, torture us, do whatever you want. You won't get information and there are thousands more just like us out there."

The Master seemed utterly delighted. Rossi would be he got bored when people simply cried and begged.

"And I look forward to wiping them all out," the Master said, "but for now, let's start with showing them the consequences of trying to best me…"

~/.\~

A/N: Ah… hm. Don't know what to say.

Next up: Sam's reaction to Dean's deal. Everyone's reaction to the Master's latest broadcast. Some slightly graphic torture (nothing too horrible graphic, I don't think…) and Martha. Plus Gabriel.

I know the Sarah Jane scene was short – I hope she was in character though. I've only seen three episodes of SJA (counting the long opening special as one episode…) so I'm nervous about that, but I'm trying to watch as much as possible between writing to get a better feel for her and Luke (I'm kind of terrified to write Luke…)

(And as for why Dean's deal here was 6 months instead of 1 year like in canon – Crowley would never back down like that other demon did. Crowley's not technically working toward Azazel's plans AND given the circumstances, I figured Dean's even more desperate and broken than he was before. I mean, at least then he had the option of giving up and he still had Bobby. Here? He's got… ya know, nothing but death…)

Anyway. I hope this was good! Please let me know! Even if you absolutely hated it, I still want to know!