SUPERWHO BIG BANG - So Dry Your Hollow Eyes and Let's Go Down to the Water.
Title: So Dry Your Hollow Eyes, And Let's Go Down to the Water.
Author: dougalbug
Artist: Well. See. It was meant to be coral542383 and viviantanner but I haven't heard from either of them for a while, and now it's posting date, so...*shrug*.
Characters/Pairings: Unrequited Sam/Eleven, Dean, Bobby, Cas, Michael, Lucifer
Fandoms: Doctor Who, Supernatural (and mentions of Torchwood)
Rating: M
Word Count: 24,831
Disclaimer: Neither Doctor Who nor Supernatural belongs to me personally. That goes to The BBC and The CW resepctively. This is just a story.
Warnings: I guess if you've got a break-up/abandonment trigger, stay away?
Spoilers: Supernatural to the end of Season 5. Doctor Who...throughout Eleven's run.
Summary: Sam Winchester is leaving his family, getting out of the hunting life. No, he's not going to college - he's going travelling with The Doctor. Three years, he's the companion of the last of the Timelords. After finally convincing The Doctor to show him the beginning of the Universe, Sam requests to see the end of his world. The TARDIS takes them to the end of Season Five, where they meet an older Dean and an older Sam, staring down Lucifer's gun. And the future!Doctor is nowhere to be seen. A confused TARDIS, two Sam's, a belligerent Dean, an angel suffering from "little man" syndrome, and the end of the world. Yet the Doctor has a plan that'll solve it all, and get them home in time for custard.
Notes: Thank you so much to seraphwings and clex_monkie89 for pointing out mistakes and plotholes, and for showing me when I write a lot more English-sounding than I thought I did! And of course, my long suffering best friend in fandom and IRL, roommate, partner in crime, cheerleader extraordinaire, i_dreamofstars.
Part One
Dad was pissed. Not at him, Dean knew. But the way his Father's jaw was set and the hard look in his eyes gave it all away. His hands were just a little too tight on the steering wheel of the Impala, his posture just a little too tense. And when John Winchester was pissed at one person, he may as well have been pissed at the entire freakin’ planet. He was being a down-and-out, full-on grouch. And that was putting it mildly.
Completely out of character for finishing a job. There was no usual Hunter's high. Not even a celebratory beer from the cooler in the trunk. Just a gruff “You'll live.” after inspecting the gash on the side of Dean's face - a battle wound from behind flung across the room by a C-list malevolent spirit. Dean hadn't expected (nor had he wanted) fuss and attention, but John had seemed a little colder than usual when checking out the cut.
And Dean knew exactly why.
They'd been one man down. That in itself hasn't had such a huge effect on the hunt - it had only been a C-list job. No big deal, way below their pay-grade. But perhaps the laceration Dean had received could have been avoided. The grave could have been dug a little quicker, the bones burned a little sooner.
Sam had missed the hunt - again. Something wasn't right with that kid. He'd got his high school diploma only a couple of weeks ago, free to run with them full-time now he didn't have to have his nose in a book for fifty percent of his time.
But it was almost as if Sam didn't want to hunt. There was nothing new there - Dean's little brother hadn't exactly made a secret of the fact he hated their life. But he'd still cooperated, got on with the job. However, lately...? He'd spent most of his time locked in the bathroom of their motel rooms, or out for long walks where he'd come back with his eyes bright and looking...exhilarated. It was a mystery that Dean would be damned if he could get to the bottom of. Whatever it was; it was making John angry.
They were currently squatting (Dean preferred to think of it as “borrowing”) in an old and half-decayed split-level house. Stained and dirty white wooden exterior, even had a porch wrapping around the front. It had probably been a nice family home, once upon a time. But it was clear as soon as it came into view when they'd first advanced up the street that it had been more than a long time since any pies sat in the window, cooling off. No children had played in the yard, scraping their knees and getting muddy for over a decade, at least.
Almost as if someone had planned the setting, the weather wasn't too great - it had been raining a lot. But that hadn't stopped Sam going out for long walks - alone. If Dean didn't know any better, he'd have suspected Sam had got himself a secret girlfriend that was following them on their cross-country crusade, and his younger brother had been skipping jobs to spend time with his new sweetheart. But that was impossible.
…...Wasn't it?
Either way, Dean knew Sam was in big trouble. Enough was enough, and there was only so much his Father would put up with. John pulled up perhaps a little sharper than he'd intended, missing the curb by less than an inch. Dean felt his shoulders tense, and then not entirely relax again as they sat in silence for a couple of seconds. It was becoming almost unbearable, Dean couldn't stand it. He broke, and spoke first.
“Maybe he's sick.” he offered, trying desperately to find some rational excuse for Sam's behaviour. (You could tell he was desperate - John never bought sickness as an excuse. The way he put it was “Do you think a wendigo is gonna give two craps if you sneeze at him? He'll eat you alive whether you got snot dribbling all down your face or not.”)
There was no need to clarify who he was talking about - Sam's absence had clearly been on both men's minds during the drive back to the house.
John snorted, as expected.
“There's something up with that kid, but germs ain't it.” he replied.
Dean felt a sinking, squeezing sensation in his stomach. Tonight was going to be a bad night. He could feel it. He stared up at the house, at the overgrown jungle of weeds surrounding it, and rubbed his jaw. It was worse than arriving in class, knowing you haven't completed an assignment due that day (he'd never finished a piece of homework in his life, so that had never bothered him). It was definitely worse than waking up when the rent was due and you haven't been paid (their fake credit cards always took care of that, anyway). The worst bit of it was the not knowing what was going to happen, just that it would be bad. Very Bad.
“Come on.” John ordered, getting out of the car, door squeaking. Dean automatically followed suit. He subconsciously mirrored his Father's movements, after years of training himself to do so. It came naturally to him now.
“We'll get something to eat. Pizza or something. Scope out the next case. If Sammy's not home, he can find his own dinner.” John continued, locking the vehicle before stomping indoors, his bad mood practically rolling off of him in waves that even Dean could feel.
Dean made an unusual mental note to save half his pizza for his brother. He might be pissed at Sam for not showing up, but he'd never let his brother go hungry.
*
It had been late when Dean and John had got back to the ramshackle and derelict house, so it didn't really seem to fit to say that Sam was late home. There was no set curfew, for starts, and he was technically early home, if you looked at it from a (very) semantically technical point of view.
He tried to be quiet - and Dean thought his little brother did a pretty good job. He didn't hear a single rotten plank squeak as Sam let himself into the house. His efforts were fruitless, however. Yes, Sam was good. John was better.
Dean hadn't even had the chance to ask Sam where the hell he'd been - Sam found the pizza box on his makeshift bed, and was halfway through a slice of double-pepperoni, when their Dad's voice came from the door. Shit. Dean hadn't even noticed him appear there.
“Well, Sam.” John's voice was gravelly, as if he hadn't used it for a couple of hours, and had been wetting his throat with only whiskey. Which he hadn't. And he had.
“You're physically able to take off for night-time strolls, skip work, and eat pizza, so you can't be sick. You wanna tell me what's going on?”
He was stood there, leaning on the dirty frame, arms folded across his broad chest. His expression was set, his eyes expecting answers.
Sam put the half-eaten pizza slice down. Even his stomach didn't stand a chance against the pissed-off glare of John Winchester. Whether that was due to the sinking feeling of being caught and called-out, or because he was trying to swallow his own anger, Dean didn't know. But the feeling that shit was going to go down was getting stronger. He was used to Dad and Sammy fighting, but tonight the air seemed...brittle. Like the slightest tilt of the scales could smash everything into pieces. A million, irreparable, irreplaceable pieces.
“There's nothing going on. Sir.” The last word was added with such an emphasis, everyone in he room knew that Sam wasn't adding it out of respect. John's eyes flashed.
“Boy, this sudden attitude - just because you're done with High School don't make you an adult, and-”
“Exactly, Dad.” Sam interrupted, sooner into the conversation than Dean was expecting. He wondered how long this had been building up for, how long Sam had been working up the guts to speak his mind. “I'm done with High School. Most kids my age? They're off travelling. Exploring. Seeing the world. Revelling in their new-found freedom.”
“Are you freakin' kidding me?” John asked, incredulous. “All you've ever done is whine and bitch and moan about the travelling we do!”
Sam rolled his eyes.
“A family road-trip to the Seediest Motels of America isn't exactly what I had in mind, Dad. Look - my whole life, I've done what you wanted. Learned to fight. Research. Go along with this entire crusade. But I can't even remember Mom. I just want-”
“What do you want, Sammy, huh?” John asked, his tone rising. The comment about Mary had hit a nerve. Hell, even Dean had scowled at it. “Maybe a graduation party? A trip backpacking around Europe?”
“Well, actually-” Sam's retort was cut off when Dean interrupted the heating argument.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. How's about everybody just calms right down?!” he pushed his way between his Dad and brother, who had, at some point, moved to stand facing each other, squaring each other off.
“Stand down, Dean.” John ordered, in an almost snarl.
“No, Dad. You stand down. You and Sammy.” Dean insisted, pushing his Father and younger brother apart some, ignoring his Dad's instruction - something he rarely did. “Look - maybe Sam shouldn't have been skipping jobs. But yelling about it ain't gonna help anyone.”
“No.” Sam agreed, his eyes still angrily locked on John. “No, it isn't. But neither is talking. I've made up my mind.” He took a deep breath, stalling for just a split-second longer, nervous. “I'm going to Rome.”
There was a heavy silence, bursting with tension and testosterone.
“Rome.” John repeated, finally, his voice flat. “You've been bailing on jobs - jobs that save lives - to plan a little trip to Rome?”
“Believe it or not, going to Europe isn't all that unusual.” Sam's voice contained a little bitterness. Everyone in the room knew that, for a Winchester, who all lived on credit card fraud and hustling pool and poker, who lived in the cheapest motels they could find; and sometimes, when their provisions didn't even stretch that far - like tonight - squatted in empty houses or slept in the car, yes, going to Europe was always going to be an unusual anomaly.
Dean knew his brother had always felt like a freak, an outcast. He supposed it was only natural that the kid wanted to fit in, just a little. But that didn't mean he was comfortable with the idea of Sam being thousands and thousands of miles away, somewhere the Impala couldn't reach, even if they'd drove for days straight, without sleeping.
“...” the prolonged silence was agonising.
Dean glanced at his Father, and could see his tactical mind working through his options. There was no denying that Sam had been off his game, lately. Perhaps a vacation would do the kid some good. He could get his little trip out of the way, and things could get back to normal.
“Fine.” John said, finally. Dean almost felt his knees weaken in relief. It was over, just like that? His breathing came easier, and he stepped back, dropping his arms, which he'd been using to keep a safety barrier between the arguing men.
“Fine. Go to Rome. See Europe. Then we can get this show back on the road, and...”
There was a noise. A noise that was the first sign that Dean had been wrong to assume the confrontation would be over so easily. He didn't yet recognise it, but it was a noise that would come to haunt his dreams in the very near future.
He couldn't describe it, even to himself. It was like...a repeated whooshing, like a refrigerator or A/C unit had broken down and was trying to fire back up. The way John had cut off let Dean know that he didn't have a friggin' clue what the hell it was, either. But...the look on Sam's face told him that his little brother knew exactly what the noise was. For some reason, that made Dean's stomach sink.
The noise stopped. The room stood in deathly silence for a few seconds, all eyes on the door. John slipped his .45 out of his waistband, aimed it at the door frame.
“Dad, don't-” Sam started, but the door crashed open, and a man practically bounced in.
He wore a bow tie. That was the first thing Dean noticed. A freakin' bow tie. He was smiling - a genuine, excited smile that reached his eyes.
“Sam Winchester, this is the Captain speaking. The TARDIS flight for Rome 202 AD is now boarding. If you have anything in your luggage to declare, please do so now and...”
British. The dude was British. And he'd stopped talking, eyes taking in the tense scene before him.
“...Ah.” he seemed to at last realise he'd walked in on something.
“Who the hell are you?” John demanded, removing the safety from his gun. Slow. Deliberate. The click of the catch was loud. Threatening.
“I'm...The Doctor.” was the only reply he got. Not enough information. That infuriated John. However, before he could question it, the newcomer continued.
“And put that thing down. It's really rather rude to point guns at people's heads, you know.”
John did not change the aim of his weapon. This man, The Doctor, seemed completely unfazed. He instead shifted his attentions to the youngest Winchester.
“All packed and ready to go, Sammy?”
Sam did not correct the man for using the nickname he hated. Dean's gut twisted slightly.
“Yeah.” Sam replied. “I was just telling my Dad and brother that I was going. Dad, Dean...this is The Doctor. Doctor, this is my brother, Dean, and my Dad, John Winchester.”
“Nice to meet you, Dad.” The Doctor still had a grin plastered on his face as he extended a hand to John. John did not shake it.
“What's a TARDIS?” he asked, suspicious, voice hostile. “And why did you say 202AD?”
“The TARDIS is my ship.” The Doctor replied, as if he'd given the same speech a thousand times before. He slowly withdrew his hand, his face showing no sign of offence or awkwardness. “Time And Relative Dimension In Space. 202 AD is a year. Just like 1607, 1990, and 2002.”
The tension in the air shifted.
“...you're insane.” John replied.
“That-” The Doctor replied, not appearing to be bothered. “Is not a very nice thing to say. It's not the first time I've heard it, either, though.”
Dean noticed that he didn't actually deny the claim.
“Anyway. We have a flight to catch, so...lovely to meet you all!” he took a few steps forward, and hugged Dean, kissing both of his cheeks, leaving the older Winchester brother standing there, stunned, and then proceeded to almost do the same thing to John, but something made the Doctor curl his arms back to his sides, and not subject John to the air-kisses.
Dean wondered, suddenly, if Sam was with this man, and that was why he was so keen to ditch his family for him.
He opened his mouth, intending to ask if this was the case, if somehow he had managed to miss Sam being into guys. He might have teased him in the past about it, but he'd never seriously thought that...
“What are you?” John asked, eyes narrowed, snapping Dean's attention back to the scene before him. “You got in here, so you aint a demon.”
They were protected against those. And spirits.
“A demon!!” The Doctor sounded practically gleeful as he repeated John's words in an exclamation. “Oh, that is truly wonderful! A demon indeed!” he chortled to himself. “I'm a Timelord. Demon.” he chuckled again. “Demons don't wear bow ties.”
“Yeah, what's the deal with that, anyway? You taking my brother to the prom?” Dean asked, trying to subtly get confirmation for his new suspicions.
“No. Bow ties are cool. You might want to try them at some point. The beer-swilling lumberjack look isn't exactly...well. It's not cool. Never was, never will be. Bow ties, however, are.”
He spoke so fast, Dean had trouble keeping up. He blinked, and shook his head, and by the time he'd processed what this Doctor, Doctor Whoever he was, had said, the crazy man was picking up Sam's packed bag.
“I'll just...leave you to say your see-you-laters.” he told Sam. “I'll wait in the TARDIS. Jolly good to meet you, brother and Dad. See you again, I expect! Tally-ho!” and he walked out of the abandoned house, the bag he’d just picked up in hand, leaving the three Winchesters all looking at each other, nobody quite knowing what had just happened.
Dean decided to break the silence first, before something happened the cause Sam to stomp out before he got the chance to ask.
“Dude. Are you sleeping with him?!”
“What?!” Sam exclaimed. “No! Geez, Dean! No!”
Dean believed him.
Now he knew, he could let his Dad speak.
Only...John wasn't speaking. He was staring very hard at the gun in his hands. Probably wondering if a non-fatal but incapacitating shot to the shoulder would stop his younger son from leaving.
“Dad.” Sam said. “Say something.”
John's eyes raised, but his head didn't. His stare locked on Sam, and Dean felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
John still did not speak.
“Dad!” Sam repeated, agitated.
“What do you want me to say, Sam?” John's voice wasn't just angry. It was hurt. Barbed with betrayal. “Have a nice time, send a postcard, oh, but make sure you tell Western Union to bring it to this exact place at this exact time on this exact date? Watch out for erupting volcanoes and centurion soldiers?”
Sam looked like he'd been slapped.
“Dad, this is an incredible opportunity to-”
“To bail on your family!” John interrupted. “Fine. We're not good enough for you. You want a different life. Fine. Go. Just go.”
“It's not like that!!”
“Are you sure? Because that's damn well what it looks like from where I'm standing!!”
“You're not being fair, Dad!!” Sam yelled, angry again. “I just want to explore. This chance doesn't just get offered to anyone.”
“And I ain't gonna stop you.” John replied. “But I'm telling you now, boy - if you get gone, don't you dare ever come back.”
That stung. Even Dean felt it. He saw Sam's face fall for a fraction of a second. He could almost see his Dad wishing he could pull the words back. But it was too late. It'd been said, the words cutting all three of them deeper than any knife ever could.
“...fine.” Sam replied, breathing heavy, somehow managing to control the stinging in his eyes. He picked up his other bag, the one the Doctor hadn't taken, and slung it over his shoulder.
“Sammy, wait-” Dean protested, taking a step forwards, but Sam held up his hands as a barrier.
“No, Dean. I'm going. And it's Sam.”
Those were the last words Dean heard his little brother say, before Sam turned his back on his family, and his tall frame walked out of the decomposing doors.
He didn't look back.
PART TWO