Fanfic: Alternate Time Travel Method
Title: Alternate Time Travel Method (Or Why It Is A Bad Idea)
Rating: White Cortina, G-rated (Gen., no pairing)
Word Count/Length: 1,306
Notes: A/U, Crossover with Doctor Who, no spoilers. Beta-ed by moonclaw1
Summary: What if Sam had travelled by other means to 1973?
“Guv, I think he’s waking up.”
As his mind slowly crawled back to consciousness, Sam felt dizziness at first, then the realisation he was lying on a dirt ground out in the open, followed by the feeling that there were people standing around him, seeing as he could hear their voices.
“About time. Oi, wake up, Sleeping Beauty.” He felt a blunt object prod his side, most likely a shoe. He already disliked the owner of the gruff voice. Sam opened his eyes slowly, feeling a sting in his eyes from the sunlight. What happened to him? He felt too disorientated to remember… but it wasn’t a hangover. He’d had hangovers before, and he didn’t have the horrible taste in his mouth or the sharp headache beyond a slight dizziness. Although, he could smell alcohol. Maybe he did have a hangover and the headache hadn’t kicked in just yet.
Once his eyes got used to seeing in light again, he saw two people standing over him, with a third one further away. As the larger man leaned over him, he noticed the smell of booze and cigarettes actually came from him. The other guy was younger and watched him curiously, while the third seemed more amused about his situation. It took him a longer moment to realise the men were dressed a little ‘off’, but the realisation became stronger when he sat up and saw the police car parked further down. What, was he on the set of a seventies cop series? “Where am I?” He asked, reaching a hand up to rub over his head. At least the dizziness was clearing up.
Gene snorted looking down to the div that decided to take a nap in his best suit on a construction site. “Had a good night, did you?” He tossed away his cigarette. Luckily the guy had woken up when he did, that was his last one. “We thought you were a corpse already, ‘til the ME said you were still breathing.”
Sam frowned “No, no, I didn’t drink… ah, I remember, there was a call out, some old house at the edge of the city. People had disappeared there.”
Gene raised an eyebrow, surprised at the response “You’re a copper?” He cast another glance over the suit-clad man, then scoffed “Yeah, right, and I’m me Auntie Nora.”
“No, I am! I’m DCI Sam Tyler from Greater Manchester’s A Division, CID.” Somehow, Sam had the impression he made a mistake as he saw the taller man’s expression change, and not in a good way. He quickly realised that impression was correct when the man grabbed him by the front of his shirt and tie, dragging him up halfway, and was so close to his face that he could feel the spittle hit him.
“You think you’re funny, do you!? Well, I’m DCI Hunt, the -real- DCI of that lovely department, and I know how to deal with funny guys.” DCI Tyler didn’t have the time to brace himself when he punched him hard in his gut and dropped him, letting him gasp for air.
“Oh, careful, Guv, he could be injured.” Sam heard the younger man speak with at least some concern for his well-being. He coughed as the fall had stirred up the dust and some had entered his lungs while he was still trying to fill them with air.
“Where… where am I?” He desperately tried again.
The man that had identified himself as ‘DCI Hunt’ spat on the ground. “Manchester, a construction site behind Canal Street.”
“What?” Sam quickly got up and looked around. There was the canal, with the street… but that meant that this was the place the house was. But it wasn’t here, yet? Those trees along the street, they’d been much bigger when he’d parked his… his jeep! Where was it? “Where’s my car!? It was right there!” He pointed at the spot between two trees. “It’s a black jeep and… and… my jacket was in it…” He couldn’t believe he’d left his jacket in it, with his wallet and his badge. He couldn’t even prove he was who he said he was.
Gene sighed, resisting the urge to give this Tyler bloke another punch, in case he really did have some kind of head trauma. It was sounding more and more like it “A jeep? Now you’re military, are you?”
“What? No! I’m…” Then another, horrible thought hit him. It couldn’t be. But the building site, the trees, the jeep, the other car, the men’s clothes, the fact someone else was DCI of his department… Sam dreaded to ask, but he had to “When… am I? What’s the date?” He asked, with a little twitch at the corner of his mouth, fighting the urge to grin at the feeling that this, this couldn’t be. It was a joke, it was a dream, it was… it was not real.
“May 24th, 1973.” The burly man made a show of looking at his watch “It’s nearly dinnertime. I’m havin’ hoops.” He heard the third man chuckling in the background. “Is that right, Dorothy, or should I point out the way to the wizard for you too?”
“No, no, that can’t be! I’m not… oh god, what happened to me?” His hands gripped in his short hair, his mind reeling at the situation. Suddenly the memories came back to him. “Ah, the house!”
“What house? The one you got the call from?” Gene asked, getting increasingly annoyed by this weird nonce, whom he was beginning to suspect was a nutter.
“Yeah! … Yeah, that one, I entered, I called out and there was no one in. I went in further and … in the garden, there was- … I, I was attacked.” Sam’s voice sounded like he was getting more and more desperate, and he certainly felt like it too.
“Attacked? By whom?” Hunt eyed the man before him suspiciously. This was it, either he was a normal bloke that just got a hard hit to the head in a mugging, or …
“… Angel statues.” Sam heard himself saying, followed by a mad giggle that he couldn’t suppress. Angels. Angels grabbed him and threw him back in time. Angels with… big teeth and that moved when he didn’t look.
“Right.” He barely noticed the men turn away, or the gruff voice saying “Call the men in white, Chris, have them toss him in with that other skinny nutter.”
~
And the men in white did come to take him away, to the funny farm. Hahah. Sam didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry, the situation was so absurd. It did hit home when he was pushed into a white room, furnished with only two beds against the opposite walls. He sat down numbly on the empty bed, he’d gone from DCI in 2006 to a nameless asylum patient in 1973.
“Hullo!” Sam swallowed and looked up, staring at his roommate. The man was dressed in similar hospital clothes, and he was even skinnier than him. His hair was longer too, but stuck up wildly in every direction. Sam vaguely wondered if they really did hand over hair gel to the ‘nutcases’ in here. “I’m the Doctor.”
“The Doctor?” The former policeman grinned wryly “I take it you didn’t happen to travel here in a DeLorean, did you?”
To his surprise, the man grinned widely and his eyes sparked “No, sorry. Wish I had. The angels took my blue box, actually.”
“Ah. Those guys…” Sam sighed and rested against the cold concrete wall, tilting his head back. He didn’t know what happened to him, really, or how he was ever going to get out of this. One thing he did know for sure though.
If he ever saw an angel statue again, he’d take a sledgehammer to it.
Rating: White Cortina, G-rated (Gen., no pairing)
Word Count/Length: 1,306
Notes: A/U, Crossover with Doctor Who, no spoilers. Beta-ed by moonclaw1
Summary: What if Sam had travelled by other means to 1973?
“Guv, I think he’s waking up.”
As his mind slowly crawled back to consciousness, Sam felt dizziness at first, then the realisation he was lying on a dirt ground out in the open, followed by the feeling that there were people standing around him, seeing as he could hear their voices.
“About time. Oi, wake up, Sleeping Beauty.” He felt a blunt object prod his side, most likely a shoe. He already disliked the owner of the gruff voice. Sam opened his eyes slowly, feeling a sting in his eyes from the sunlight. What happened to him? He felt too disorientated to remember… but it wasn’t a hangover. He’d had hangovers before, and he didn’t have the horrible taste in his mouth or the sharp headache beyond a slight dizziness. Although, he could smell alcohol. Maybe he did have a hangover and the headache hadn’t kicked in just yet.
Once his eyes got used to seeing in light again, he saw two people standing over him, with a third one further away. As the larger man leaned over him, he noticed the smell of booze and cigarettes actually came from him. The other guy was younger and watched him curiously, while the third seemed more amused about his situation. It took him a longer moment to realise the men were dressed a little ‘off’, but the realisation became stronger when he sat up and saw the police car parked further down. What, was he on the set of a seventies cop series? “Where am I?” He asked, reaching a hand up to rub over his head. At least the dizziness was clearing up.
Gene snorted looking down to the div that decided to take a nap in his best suit on a construction site. “Had a good night, did you?” He tossed away his cigarette. Luckily the guy had woken up when he did, that was his last one. “We thought you were a corpse already, ‘til the ME said you were still breathing.”
Sam frowned “No, no, I didn’t drink… ah, I remember, there was a call out, some old house at the edge of the city. People had disappeared there.”
Gene raised an eyebrow, surprised at the response “You’re a copper?” He cast another glance over the suit-clad man, then scoffed “Yeah, right, and I’m me Auntie Nora.”
“No, I am! I’m DCI Sam Tyler from Greater Manchester’s A Division, CID.” Somehow, Sam had the impression he made a mistake as he saw the taller man’s expression change, and not in a good way. He quickly realised that impression was correct when the man grabbed him by the front of his shirt and tie, dragging him up halfway, and was so close to his face that he could feel the spittle hit him.
“You think you’re funny, do you!? Well, I’m DCI Hunt, the -real- DCI of that lovely department, and I know how to deal with funny guys.” DCI Tyler didn’t have the time to brace himself when he punched him hard in his gut and dropped him, letting him gasp for air.
“Oh, careful, Guv, he could be injured.” Sam heard the younger man speak with at least some concern for his well-being. He coughed as the fall had stirred up the dust and some had entered his lungs while he was still trying to fill them with air.
“Where… where am I?” He desperately tried again.
The man that had identified himself as ‘DCI Hunt’ spat on the ground. “Manchester, a construction site behind Canal Street.”
“What?” Sam quickly got up and looked around. There was the canal, with the street… but that meant that this was the place the house was. But it wasn’t here, yet? Those trees along the street, they’d been much bigger when he’d parked his… his jeep! Where was it? “Where’s my car!? It was right there!” He pointed at the spot between two trees. “It’s a black jeep and… and… my jacket was in it…” He couldn’t believe he’d left his jacket in it, with his wallet and his badge. He couldn’t even prove he was who he said he was.
Gene sighed, resisting the urge to give this Tyler bloke another punch, in case he really did have some kind of head trauma. It was sounding more and more like it “A jeep? Now you’re military, are you?”
“What? No! I’m…” Then another, horrible thought hit him. It couldn’t be. But the building site, the trees, the jeep, the other car, the men’s clothes, the fact someone else was DCI of his department… Sam dreaded to ask, but he had to “When… am I? What’s the date?” He asked, with a little twitch at the corner of his mouth, fighting the urge to grin at the feeling that this, this couldn’t be. It was a joke, it was a dream, it was… it was not real.
“May 24th, 1973.” The burly man made a show of looking at his watch “It’s nearly dinnertime. I’m havin’ hoops.” He heard the third man chuckling in the background. “Is that right, Dorothy, or should I point out the way to the wizard for you too?”
“No, no, that can’t be! I’m not… oh god, what happened to me?” His hands gripped in his short hair, his mind reeling at the situation. Suddenly the memories came back to him. “Ah, the house!”
“What house? The one you got the call from?” Gene asked, getting increasingly annoyed by this weird nonce, whom he was beginning to suspect was a nutter.
“Yeah! … Yeah, that one, I entered, I called out and there was no one in. I went in further and … in the garden, there was- … I, I was attacked.” Sam’s voice sounded like he was getting more and more desperate, and he certainly felt like it too.
“Attacked? By whom?” Hunt eyed the man before him suspiciously. This was it, either he was a normal bloke that just got a hard hit to the head in a mugging, or …
“… Angel statues.” Sam heard himself saying, followed by a mad giggle that he couldn’t suppress. Angels. Angels grabbed him and threw him back in time. Angels with… big teeth and that moved when he didn’t look.
“Right.” He barely noticed the men turn away, or the gruff voice saying “Call the men in white, Chris, have them toss him in with that other skinny nutter.”
~
And the men in white did come to take him away, to the funny farm. Hahah. Sam didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry, the situation was so absurd. It did hit home when he was pushed into a white room, furnished with only two beds against the opposite walls. He sat down numbly on the empty bed, he’d gone from DCI in 2006 to a nameless asylum patient in 1973.
“Hullo!” Sam swallowed and looked up, staring at his roommate. The man was dressed in similar hospital clothes, and he was even skinnier than him. His hair was longer too, but stuck up wildly in every direction. Sam vaguely wondered if they really did hand over hair gel to the ‘nutcases’ in here. “I’m the Doctor.”
“The Doctor?” The former policeman grinned wryly “I take it you didn’t happen to travel here in a DeLorean, did you?”
To his surprise, the man grinned widely and his eyes sparked “No, sorry. Wish I had. The angels took my blue box, actually.”
“Ah. Those guys…” Sam sighed and rested against the cold concrete wall, tilting his head back. He didn’t know what happened to him, really, or how he was ever going to get out of this. One thing he did know for sure though.
If he ever saw an angel statue again, he’d take a sledgehammer to it.