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 again for the lateness! These last couple of weeks were supposed to be fairly quiet, but then family stuff happened, not to mention that it's nearly impossible to write when there's a five year old following you around and demanding that you pay attention to her.

Anyway, thanks as always for putting up with my perpetually late updates and sad excuses for chapters—you guys are fantastic.

Armageddon:

Part III: The Year of Hell

Chapter Forty-Nine

Martha tugged the backpack tighter, closing her eyes, as she took her first step on American soil. She was somewhere in Southern California, the ocean nearby and the smell of salt and sand filling her nose. Her clothes were worn and her fingernails were worn down to stubs, but she was whole.

She'd spent the last several months traversing up through South America and all the way through to Mexico. Brazil and Mexico had taken her the longest—most of Central America had been emptied out and practically gutted. There were only a few thousand stragglers left hiding down there after the Master's massacre.

Less than two months to go. She breathed in again. Six more weeks and this would all be over. It didn't quite feel real anymore.

"You're looking rough," Gabriel's voice suddenly came from her left. She didn't even flinch; she'd long since gotten used to his sudden interruptions. She smiled faintly and turned to face him, crossing her arms.

"Anyone would after travelling through a dessert for weeks without a shower," she pointed out. "I thought you were in the Middle East?"

"Got bored," he said. "Besides, I missed you."

She rolled her eyes, but kept smiling fondly at him. She was going to miss talking to him when everything was over. She wondered if he and the other angels would still remember what had happened if everything was reset… She hadn't bothered to ask. Frankly, she wasn't sure she wanted to know, and she certainly wasn't sure which answer she preferred.

"Well why didn't you say so?" Gabriel tapped her gently and she suddenly felt like she could run three marathons. Her clothes felt new and her wrist wasn't chafed from the Vortex Manipulator, the weariness seemed to vanish from her bones and she felt clean for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime. She had never realized how much she would miss regular bathing and being able to brush her teeth.

"Thanks," she said, letting her hands fall to her side and shifting her shoulders to stretch her now unknotted muscles. She studied Gabriel then—the familiar cocky grin and the leather jacket. He was dirty, which struck her as very odd and upon closer inspection she noticed that his hands were covered in tiny cuts and calluses.

Without thinking, she reached forward and grabbed his hand. "Do angels get injured?" she demanded.

Gabriel blinked and pulled his hands back.

"Relax," he said. "I'm fine. Just some scratches. I have to get close to the Toclafane to kill them. Not as easy as you'd think. Besides, I'm not hurt, just the vessel. The Toclafane can't kill me."

Martha raised a brow. "You know that for sure?"

Gabriel pulled his jacket aside to reveal several bloodied cuts and singe marks in the t-shirt he wore. "They keep trying, doesn't seem to be working. It takes a lot more than some evil Pokémon rip-offs to kill an archangel, sweetheart."

Martha eyed him anxiously, but Gabriel just grinned at her.

"Don't worry. I've been taking care of myself for a long, long time. I'm fine."

"You've had your head in the sand for a long time is more like it," she said. "You told me you ran away. I'm just worried that you're taking on more than you should."

"What part of archangel is confusing? You're the human traveling the world and risking death. I'm just swatting some flies. Stop worrying."

"Fine," Martha sighed. "Was there a specific reason for you meeting or did you just want to pester me."

Gabriel raised a brow. "Just wanted to give you a heads up. Castiel and the others haven't been able to leave Heaven for months. Michael's got them all under heavy surveillance. I heard you were going to be heading this way and there are a lot Toclafane in the area. Figured you could use protection."

"Aw," Martha grinned. "Now who's being overly concerned?"

"It's not over-concern when you could die," Gabriel pointed out.

"How'd you hear I was heading this way anyhow?" Martha frowned. "Have you got a computer hidden away somewhere in your jacket?"

"What? No." he blinked at her and then tapped his temple. "Angel radio picks up every frequency there is, even your secret messages."

"How come you never mentioned that before?" she demanded.

"It was never important," Gabriel shrugged. "Now come on. The longer we stand here the more likely we'll become targets. And you're going to be late if you don't hurry. The other members of your little rebel party are already waiting for you online."

~/.\~

It had started to rain a bit outside by the time Martha arrived at the safe house she was staying in. She pushed her damp hair away from her face and gratefully dried off with a towel that was offered to her. Gabriel had disappeared as soon as they got there, probably popping back to halfway around the world.

She was led to the little room where they kept the computer and thanked them before connecting. Gabriel had been right—everyone else was already connected and she counted the now familiar faces, feeling her chest tighten at the many conspicuous absences.

They'd only spoken through their coded messages for the last several months so she hadn't actually seen any of them since the Master's attack and they looked terrible, all dark eyes and somber, full of anger and determination.

Abby's hair was hanging loose around her shoulders—much longer than it had been before. She looked strange without her pigtails. Prentiss was sitting beside her with Tony to her other side, his eyes cold and hard. Prentiss looked sick, her skin sallow and her hair yanked away from her face. At least she was alive…

Ducky was on Abby's other side, back straight, eyes distant, and McGee behind him with his lips pressed together, trying to look like he wasn't too affected by everything.

She spotted Sam, Dean, and Adam and they all looked like Hell. Dean especially. He hadn't bothered shaving in a while, his eyes were hollow and his skin was almost grey. She remembered the deal Sam had explained to them; the deadline was approaching and it looked like it was really taking its toll on Dean.

Lisbon, Grace, Juliet, Shawn, Jane and Gus were in pictured in a small corner of the screen. Gus and Juliet were sitting on either side of Shawn, Juliet with her hand wrapped tightly around one of his.

At least everyone in Hotchner's group was alive—Garcia didn't look like her wide-eyed, ready-to-help self and Hotch looked like he hadn't slept in a week. Morgan was hovering behind Reid anxiously and Rigsby and Van Pelt were sitting together.

Kate was supposed to be heading back toward London—preparing for the final countdown when the Master launched his universal attack. She missed seeing her, but she hoped to meet up with her again once she got back home.

Jack looked better, though, and that was something. He and Ianto were right next to each other, Ianto glancing over at Jack every few seconds like he wasn't quite sure he was really there. Jake, John and Sherlock were standing behind Tosh, while Sarah Jane, Donna and Wilf were gathered around the table on Jack's other side.

Her chest swelled a bit and she felt tears in her eyes when she saw her parents and Tish. Still alive. She hadn't seen them in such a long time. She wanted nothing more than to be able to hug them all and tell them that she was sorry that this had happened and she would put things back the way they were before.

Of course, she couldn't get emotional right then. There would be time enough for that when everything was said and done with.

They skipped introductions and hellos, worried that the Master may be getting close to finding their transmissions—after the bloodbath months ago they could never be too careful. Martha couldn't help but tell her family hello, of course, but that was the only real pleasantries that they explained.

"We're down to wire now," Tony said. "According to the timeline the Master's got for D-Day, we've got six weeks and counting."

"You sure you're gonna be able to make it across the rest of the US and Canada at this point?" Jack asked.

"I'll be fine," she said, holding up his Vortex Manipulator. "Been using this a lot lately. Hell on the joints, but it gets the job done. Six weeks is plenty of time. Besides, you lot have been spreading the word for months. This'll be the easiest run I've had so far."

She did have a point—as far as getting the story out, there were probably not many places she would have to hit. The major cities were her biggest concern. Anywhere that the Master had set up a work camp or a factory. There were about eight in the States and ten in Canada, spread out. She could manage that in six weeks, especially with the Vortex Manipulator.

"We made you a map," Garcia said, "you did get it?"

"Right," Martha nodded. She had the map pulled up in the background, the quickest and safest route highlighted already for her.

"Okay, so you follow the red line. It's a little wonky, but it's the fastest travel route. You're gonna be headed north and east," Abby said.

"Our locations are the green dots," Van Pelt added. "You'll hit Lisbon's first, probably by next week if the time table is correct."

"We'll be ready for you when you get here," Lisbon assured her.

"After that it should take you about ten days to get to us," Tony said.

Martha followed the map as they talked, mentally calculating her time. The green dots were all labeled. She wondered how much time they'd spent working this out.

"Six more days will take you us," Sam said. "We'll leave a light on for you." He smiled, but it felt half-hearted.

"Then two more weeks will have you here," Hotchner said. "That should leave you enough time to finish up and get back to London."

She did the math in her head. It left her a little under a week to get back to London and meet with Professor Docherty. She could definitely do that, especially with the Vortex Manipulator.

"Right then," she said. "And you guys have been installing weapons all over, so Toclafane shouldn't be too much of a problem. I can keep my eyes out for soldiers."

"This had better work," Morgan said. "I doubt we'll get another shot."

"It will work," Martha promised him. "You've just got to trust him. Trust me. I can do this."

"Yes you can," Sarah Jane said.

"The Doctor wouldn't have ever asked if you couldn't have," Donna agreed.

Martha suddenly wished that they were all right there with her. They felt too far away through the computer screen. But at least they were there and they had faith in her, even with her doubts and fears. She took a deep breath and nodded.

"Alright then," she said. "Best not waste anymore time. I'll see you all soon."

~/.\~

After they disconnected, Sam slipped out claiming he needed to get something from the basement. Dean didn't question him—Dean didn't do a whole of questioning anything these days and it was starting to worry Sam. He didn't have much time left before his deal was up. Weeks. Two measly weeks and then Dean would be gone and he didn't even seem to care.

None of them talked about it. Adam only tried twice to bring the subject up before Dean's glare made him stammer and walk away. Sam was tired of fighting about it.

He pushed the mess and piles of debris out of the way, clearing a space on the floor. Pulling out the piece of broken chalk he'd shoved in his pocket earlier, he drew a pentagram on the concrete and rifled through one of the duffle bags, yanking out the pack of matches and other ingredients for the summoning spell.

He'd only done this sort of thing with spirits, but as far as his dad's journal and all the lore was concerned, it would work fine with demons as well. He put everything except the matches into a plastic cereal bowl and placed it into the center of the pentagram. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and struck a match, dropping it into the bowl.

Sparks flew up and he grimaced at the sudden invasion of light. A thin trail of smoke lifted up toward the ceiling and he waved it away, frowning. Maybe the spell didn't work on demons.

Then he heard a familiar, distinctly British voice behind him and he jumped to his feet.

"Well, this is a surprise. One Winchester summoning me for a deal was odd, but two?"

Crowley was standing at the foot of the steps leading up to the main house, brushing soot off of his suit.

"I—"

"Save it," Crowley held up his hand. "I know what you're going to ask. 'Oh, Mr. Crowley, please, please spare my brother! He doesn't deserve this!' Sorry, Moose. The answer is no. No take backs with demon deals. Didn't you father teach you anything?"

Sam clenched his fists and glared at him. "I know you can't just drop the deal," Sam said. "I get that. But I'm proposing another one. You let Dean go and take me."

Crowley's eyes sparkled and he smirked. "You two are just jumping all over yourselves to die for each other aren't you? Ever considered you might have some sort of complex?"

Sam just stared at him and Crowley sighed.

"No banter? No little quips? No vicious threats? Really? Dean was more fun than you."

"Will you do it or not?" Sam demanded.

"No,"

Sam's shoulders sank. "It's a good deal," he said. "Plenty of demons would love to get their hands on my soul and you know it. It's a fair trade. My soul, for Dean's."

"Sorry, Sammy, can't help you." Crowley leaned against a rotting wooden beam. "A deal's a deal. Dean goes downstairs and you stay topside. That's how they want it."

Sam's brows scrunched together. "They?"

"Didn't I tell you? Big plans for you," he said. "So any notions you've got of being the self-sacrificing hero are pointless. No demon is going to deal with you, Moose. We've got Dean's soul on a leash."

Jaw tight, Sam tried to throw a punch, but Crowley vanished and reappeared behind him, laughing.

"Well, at least you haven't lost all your charm," he said.

"There has to be something," Sam didn't care how desperate he sounded. "His deal's up in two weeks!"

"I know," Crowley grinned at him. "I look forward to sending my hellhounds after him."

Sam flinched. "Damn it. Give me something. I can't lose him, not yet. Deals are supposed to be ten years, not six months! More time."

"More time? No," Crowley shook his head. "I don't renegotiate, Moosey. Your big brother's dog food in two weeks. Get used to the idea."

"No!" Sam snapped. "Anything. I'll give you anything if you'll give him another year, just one more year."

"So you can try to weasel out of it? No."

Sam stared at him with wide, desperate eyes, feeling like he was on the verge of tears and wishing he had the Colt so he could threaten Crowley with something. "Anything," he repeated. "I'll do anything."

Crowley pursed his lips and squinted at him. "Anything's a broad term," he said. "Sure you really want to go with that?"

Sam's gut twisted, but he nodded. "If you'll give him more time, I'll do whatever you want."

"Well," Crowley tilted his head. "How can I argue with such a pathetic face? Alright. Dean gets one more year. In exchange for you doing anything."

He snapped his fingers and Sam frowned.

"Wait—what do you want me to do?"

Crowley grinned. "I'll let you know when I need you, Moose. Be seeing you." He winked at him and vanished, leaving Sam standing down there alone and feeling like he'd just made a huge mistake.

~/.\~

John had his head ducked down low as he fixed the large metal-detector-turned-giant-tazer to the ground. They were in the city, close to the weapons factory. The sky was grey overhead—not that that was unusual for London on a normal day anyhow, of course. Though, normally John knew the grey wasn't from thick clouds of noxious smoke that rose in ominous columns from just a few miles south of them.

He glanced up at Sherlock and frowned. "Do you plan on helping anytime soon?" he demanded.

"I am helping," Sherlock said, not turning to face him. "I'm keeping lookout."

John rolled his eyes. He had drawn the short stick and gotten stuck on weapons detail with Sherlock. He seemed to get stuck doing a lot with Sherlock lately. He was almost beginning to think Jack threw them together on purpose so he wouldn't have to deal with Sherlock himself. Sherlock did seem a bit less dickish around John. But only a bit.

"How about instead of standing there staring at the sky you do something useful like help me screw this bloody thing down?"

Sherlock turned to glance down at him, eyes narrowed. "You're nearly done anyway," he said. "And wasn't the point of there being two of us so that one would act as a lookout?"

"I suppose," John sighed. He went back to his work and Sherlock turned around to watch the horizon. Toclafane whizzed by several yards ahead of them, but appeared not to notice them where they were just outside of what had once been a video rental shop and what was now and empty storefront not far from the work camps.

"This would be done a lot faster if you would help, you know," John pointed out, grunting as one of the shiny little joints nearly slipped away from him.

"It would also get finished more quickly if you ceased complaining," Sherlock said. He kept his posture still and his gaze straight ahead. Which turned out to be a mistake, because even though neither of them had expected enemies to come from the opposite direction—the storefront and an alley gaze them considerable coverage in that direction—they were sorely mistaken and John suddenly felt the cold press of a gun against his head.

He froze and felt his heart thudding in his chest, a tingling feeling rushing through his body. He swallowed heavily.

"On your feet," a gruff voice said above him. "Be quick about it, come on."

Sherlock spun around at the voice, his hand already reaching for the pistol he kept in his coat. He stopped when he saw the gun being held on John and the two soldiers behind him also wielding rifles.

"Both of you," another of the men said, jerking the barrel of his rifle, "this way. Come on. Hands where we can see 'em."

~/.\~

Sherlock and John found themselves onboard the Valiant, in a room that may have been an office—it had the desk and little fake plants in one corner so John figured it was okay to assume so. John sat rigidly in his seat, absently digging his fingers into the scar on his leg from the Toclafane attack several long months ago.

Sherlock looked around the room with keen interest, his eyes seeming to take everything in. He appeared astonishingly unbothered.

"Could you possibly look a bit less concerned for our safety?" John bit out, frowning at him. "We're sitting here, probably about to die and you look as if you're about to be interviewed for a job!"

Sherlock blinked slowly and turned to look at him, one brow arched in that really annoying way of his. "We aren't about to be killed," he said. "Not any time in the near future at least. We'd have been dead already if that were the case. I suspect the Master believes he can gather useful information from us."

"Oh, much better. We'll be tortured and then killed. Brilliant."

"Well, yes, I admit, the odds are not in our favor at the moment. There is still no reason to be panicking about it. It won't do you any good to dwell on the inevitable."

Sometimes John really thought that Sherlock could not possibly be human.

The door behind him flew open and in stepped the Master himself, smiling congenially at them both. He was flanked by two armed men, but both John and Sherlock knew he didn't really need them there. He moved around to the desk and sat behind it, eyes wide and bright.

"This is a lovely surprise," he said, resting his elbows on the desktop and lacing his fingers together. "It's been far too long since I've had any guests and such naughty ones as well." His lips twitched, somewhere between a smirk and a sneer.

"I believe I have some questions that you two have the answers to…"

~/.\~

"They should've been back already," Jack was watching the door anxiously. He, Jake, Sarah Jane and Ianto had gone out at the same time as Sherlock and John, and they had returned hours ago. There was still no sign of either of the others though.

"They're probably alright," Ianto said. "Knowing them, they've been delayed because they can't go five minutes without bickering,"

Jack tapped his fingers on the table and shook his head. "It shouldn't be taking them this long though."

"Ianto's right," Tosh said. "You know how they get. They're probably on their way back as we speak." She bit her lip, though, and followed Jack's gaze to the door.

"Still no Sherlock or John?" Donna asked, coming into the room and taking a seat next to Tosh near the computer.

"Nothing so far," Sarah Jane said. "Perhaps we should go out and look for them…"

"No, too risky," Jake said. "It's patrol time right now. We'd have to wait until after dark to have some cover, and if they aren't back by then…" he trailed off, frowning.

"They're smart boys," Wilf said. "They'll be alright. They can take care of themselves." Donna nodded in agreement.

"I'm sure it's nothing, Jack," she said. "They'll be fine."

"There must be something we can do though," Sarah Jane said.

"Right now we can't do anything except wait." Jack said, standing and moving toward the window. Outside it was only just beginning to get dark, the sky still lit with the last bit of sunset. He pressed his forehead to the glass and barely registered Ianto putting a hand on his shoulder. He reached up and squeezed his fingers gently.

His eyes narrowed and he frowned, tilting his head.

"Is it just me or is that an awful lot of Toclafane for this area?"

Outside the window, maybe fifty feet away Jack could see at least six Toclafane. Usually they didn't spot more than two or three at the most and K-9 dealt with them easily enough. Sarah Jane stood and went to check the window as well, brow furrowing in worry.

"K-9," she called.

"Yes, Mistress?"

"We've got more Toclafane incoming."

She let the little metal dog out and watched anxiously from the window where Donna, Tosh, Jake and Wilf had gathered as well. K-9 had gotten extremely adept at taking down the Toclafane, even with a group as large as the one they had spotted. It only took a few minutes and he was back inside, little tail wagging.

Jack grinned down at him. "You're one hell of a shot, K-9," he said. K-9 seemed pleased with the praise and Sarah Jane was patting him on the head. Jack turned back to the window and squinted anxiously.

Still no sign of them, and now there were six dead Toclafane out there. His gut twisted ominously and he tried to tell himself it was a coincidence.

~/.\~

A/N: Hey look, a decent length chapter!

And I know, I know. That was a rather huge time skip. I'm sorry, but… honestly, there was little happening except grief, weapons installing and spreading the story. The same exact thing I've been writing forever. I desperately needed to get to where something plot-worthy was happening. There are only so many ways I can write the same thing before I bore even myself. So I'm very sorry. It seems like this story just kind of starts and stalls and then lurches forward. I'm working on that, I promise.

In the meantime... I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please don't forget to review!