fic: supernatural/doctor who crossover
into dreams, memories and heaven, castiel/rose, rose/ten, r, 2,663 words
(Warnings for suggestions of violence) Set post "Doomsday", s4 never happened. This is an odd, out of order on purpose, multi vignette fic that actually comes together if you pay attention. It might require multiple readings but I'm quite proud of it and think it pretty good so please give it a chance? ♥
“'M not sure I believe in God.” But she can't deny the existence of handsome men in long coats who sweep in at just the right moment to rescue her from harm.
Distantly, beyond her own sobs caught on the wind and the crashing waves against the shore, she hears the faint beat of wings as she buries her face in her mother's neck.
-
“'M not sure I believe in God.” But she can't deny the existence of handsome men in long coats who sweep in at just the right moment to rescue her from harm.
This one has a nice head of hair, as well.
She looks up at him from her spot on the bench, waiting for his response, but he's focused on a lone red balloon caught on the wind. A little girl, crying loudly, runs after it with her arms outstretched like it's the only thing she wants in the universe.
While he watches the balloon float further and further away, Rose's attention is fixed on the little girl. She's been left alone by her toy, the edge of the bridge stopping her from chasing it any longer.
“I know how that feels.” Rose mumbles, still gazing at the child. She doesn't see him look down at her so she misses the complete understanding in his smile.
-
He truly frightens her sometimes.
The way he can change from one visit to the next. The more days go by and the more times he comes to her, she can see his humanity shining through. He tries to hide it, but every now and then she'll catch the sides of his eyes tightening into little wrinkles that mean he's laughing. She takes the gift of his laughter, like a prize for her small effort at a joke that never ceases to fill her with a surprised, pleasant feeling in her stomach.
But then he can come back, sometimes even the very next day, speaking of nothing but the fight and the bloodshed to come. She has new respect for all those people in the Bible who had the courage to do what God or someone told them to, because it's hard to listen to him sometimes.
Now, the quick glimpses of his forced humanity scare her most of all. She can't tell what's real and what he's just mimicking anymore.
-
It hurts to breathe and she can't tell if her eyes are open or closed. Somewhere beyond the sound of rushing wind is the distinct flapping of wings. But large, impossibly large, wings, hitting the air quickly and with something like urgency.
She's being carried or held, or she's floating. But she can't be floating. She hears a voice, familiar and strange, speaking to her.
“Not like this, my heroine.” She hears this in her heart and not her ears. “Not like this.”
It all at once scares her and soothes her before she falls back into unconsciousness.
-
It's an apple that tempted Adam and Eve out of paradise, that sent them out into the cold, harsh world. Castiel thinks it will be an apple that tempts him out of Heaven, that makes him fall with a painful crash into the cold, hard ground.
Rose takes another bite of her fruit, sinks her teeth into the red skin and breaks off a big chunk of white flesh into her mouth. Her mouth. The apple is just the trigger, the thing that brings his attention to her mouth. It's her lips that tempt him, that will make him fall.
She chews without noticing him, eyes on the book in front of her, cheeks full of sweet apple, some flecks of it stuck in the corners of her mouth. Her tongue comes out to lick the white bits inside, the juice off her lips, and it's the snake in the garden hissing his encouragement to Castiel. Slithering across her mouth and curving against her teeth as if beckoning him in.
She blinks, and he watches the apple slide through her throat as she swallows. Another bite, and Castiel once again feels temptations pull, forcing him down, until he wants to fall, right into the depths of her sinful mouth.
-
She tells him fairy tales sometimes. He never asks her to, but he doesn't object either. He never tells her this, but he could listen to her voice, deep and soothing and a warmth in his belly, until the end of eternity.
“It's so strange to be around someone who's never heard of fairy tales.” She picks at a dent in her tea cup, and he sips at his own brew and tries to mask his inevitable grimace. He prefers coffee, but she's always so eager to make tea for them he always drinks every cup she makes for him. Besides, he likes watching her hands prepare the drink, the way they're so gentle when measuring the leaves yet strong while gripping the tea pot's handle.
“I'm a strange thing, wouldn't you say?” He's gotten the hang of teasing and lightness, although with anyone else he finds it aggravating and a waste of time.
Her grin is his reward and she nods as her mouth curves into a crescent with soft corners. “And anyhow, he climbs up her long, flowing hair, and rescues her from the tower. And--”
“They live happily ever after?” He finishes for her, an eyebrow quirking as high as it knows to go.
“But that doesn't exist, yeah. Happily ever after?” Flashes of her past sweep across her eyes as she brings her cup to her mouth, but they're gone just as fast once she swallows her drink.
Castiel smiles a quiet line and thinks very carefully before speaking again. “It should, for heroines like you.”
-
“You have a destiny, Rose Tyler.” The bullets don't bring blood, her fists don't bring bruises. When she sees the dark shadow of wings flash across Torchwood's bare, white wall, she strangely thinks of Bible study from when she was seven.
She laughs, thinking of the impossible things she's seen, and wipes the sweat from her brow. Sits down, places her gun at her side and shrugs up at the man. “'M listening, now.”
-
Her fingers are flexed tight around his coat collar, and he feels her pull, literally and figuratively, finds it hard to resist. Never ending brown stares up at him, and he wants to run his thumb across her lower lip where she's got her teeth sunk into it, to sooth her self-inflicted pain.
“I could love you, y'know.” Speaks like the words hurt to get out. “If I wasn't...” Eyes dart away and back like birds wings, when they're back on him they're shining bright with tears. She takes another shot at finishing her sentence. “If I wasn't already in love. And you wouldn't be thrown out of Heaven.” Last part said like a joke, but she's not laughing, not in her eyes.
He does run his thumb across her lip, because it's the only thing he can do, tries to ignore the urge to do more. Her breathing shallows and he can feel her resisting her own pull to kiss the skin of his finger.
He ducks his head and she closes her eyes as he speaks around a ragged sigh. “And I you, Rose Tyler.” Tries to ignore the stab of pain in his gut when he hears her slight, quiet sob. “And I you.”
When she opens her eyes again, he's gone, and she's left with the print of his thumb on her lip.
-
Handsome men in long coats. With great hair. This memory she can't place on just one man.
They're running, so she thinks it's the first man, the man she lost, but then his hand feels so strange in hers. It's a bit larger, fingers thicker and actually gripping her hand lighter than she's used to.
There's fire behind them and she hears him tell her not to look back, and she listens, because she can feel the flames licking her from behind and they're scorching.
Suddenly they're standing on glass, and something's wrong because they couldn't have switched settings so quickly. Her mind is betraying her, telling her lies or twisting facts like a drunk story teller. And no, they're not on glass. They're in the sky, above the clouds. She can hear the turning of clockwork and she knows this place, knows what it means to fly above everything and every time.
Her head turns, hand still clasping his, and her eyes cross, two faces smiling back at her.
-
He watches. Waits. Blank, emotionless, as white as the wall she clings to.
He'd done it, pulled her from a Hell. Gripped her and thrown her into the arms of her father.
He goes to the beach, further down her time line, and watches her crying in the sand. He knows she will understand when it's all over.
Knows this before he finds his vessel.
-
Rose lies on the ground, bloodstains on her clothes and she's dreaming. Dreaming of a hot rain shower on a sunny, summer day. Rain drops splash her face and make her frown. She doesn't know why, she usually relishes a summer storm.
-
She wakes up screaming, gasping for breath and clawing at the air. He's there in a flash, next to her, and she knows she's dreaming again. Even though the pain is so intense it could be real, and even though his long, lean fingers digging into her arm feel too familiar to just be a memory, it's obviously a dream if she's with him.
Her forehead is pressed into his chest and he's speaking to her in a voice just above a whisper. “Hush, now. Back to sleep, Rose. You're not ready to wake up yet.”
She grimaces at the pounding in her head and grips his tie in her bloody fist. “But I am asleep.” Her voice sounds foreign to her ears, raspy and choking to come out.
It's his palm stroking her hair to the rhythm of whirring metal that lulls her back into a slumber.
-
“Who are you?” The man is just as strong as she said he'd always been. When he sees the bundle Castiel carries, the angel can see the man's heart sink through the look in his eyes.
“What-- what happened to her?” Doesn't rush to her side, not yet. He can see him shaking like a leaf in the wind, skin paling as he speaks. “What did you do?” Voice as low as anything and just as sharp as the knife they cut her with.
Castiel lays her on the ground, hand beneath her head. “She's still alive.” He looks up at the man, the Doctor, her Doctor. “I shouldn't be here.”
Looking down at her again, he gently pulls his hand from under her head as he strokes the side of her face with the other. “You're the only one who can help her.” Hears the Doctor ask again, what did he do? And what has he done? He's gone against orders. It wasn't supposed to end like this.
“She saved the world.” He smiles, and for the first time, he really feels it. Feels it in his face, the way it makes his mouth curve upwards and his eyes crinkle at the edges. He can feel his teeth tighten together all the way to his heart, and he leans down to press his first and last real smile to Rose Tyler's cheek. Something hot slides down his cheek and onto her temple, and he supposes he's given her his one and only genuine tear as well.
The Doctor moves to her then, pushing him out of the way. Hands gripping her, lifting her already.
“Who are you?” He yells, to nothing but the rushing wind and Rose's gasping form.
-
“Mickey thinks I'm mad.” He thinks she's beautiful when her hair sweeps across her face like that. He isn't supposed to find things like this beautiful.
“Mum's always believed.” It's only just beginning, the fight is growing closer and all he can think about is what it would feel like to brush those silky blonde locks out of her face.
She turns, mouth a smile that doesn't reach her eyes and he tries to focus on the rocks behind her. The beach air is cold on his hands and he hides them inside his coat pockets. “Do you come here often?”
She shrugs, and he still doesn't understand this human gesture. She obviously knows, and she'll tell him, but she still pretends not to know before answering. It's odd, the way humans communicate and never question the way of it all.
“Sometimes.” She doesn't tell him she came every Sunday the first three months on this planet while her family went to church, but he knows. Remembers the way she used to sit on the ground, sifting the same handful of sand through her hands for hours until the grains cut into the skin under her nails and made them bleed.
He shifts next to her, hands fisted in his pockets still. He'd take her hand if it wasn't so cold.
He's started lying to himself, now.
-
She wakes up crying, reaching outwards and not expecting the soft, warm embrace that she gets. “It's been three days, Rose. Just relax.”
She's not dreaming. Her nose picks up the scent of old metal and what she used to call stardust, and she shuts her eyes so tightly for fear that she'll open them and realize she's gone insane.
Her hands become her eyes, and she runs them up the chest she's being held to, twists the tie around her wrist for a moment before moving on to the neck above the tie finding the Adam's apple she used to watch bob up and down while he'd ramble on about things she'd later come to ramble on about herself. Shuts her eyes tighter and sucks in a breath against the touch of his stubble, rough against her palm, hands beginning to shake. Prays to the God she might not believe in when she runs her fingertips across his lips, doesn't let out the sob that's been eating her alive until she feels the press of his kiss on her printed skin.
Swallows back more cries before licking her chapped lips and daring to speak.
“Doctor?”
-
From the word “Run!” that's all she's been doing. It's only recently she's begun running on empty, working on autopilot and just doing the best she can to get by.
She watches him, standing there. So unreal, more impossible than anything she's seen before, and yet she believes everything he says. “What about when this is all over with?” Wants to ask him what she's really wondering but it seems too much like prayer.
He looks up at her through his dark, tired eyes that don't even belong to him. “I can't promise you happily ever after, if that's what you're asking for.”
The tears come without her realizing. “I just want something I can hold on to.”
-
Her mum used to read to her before bed. Always stories of princes saving princesses, or knights in shining armor coming to the rescue at the last moment. She'd tug on her mother's sweater and ask her if the princesses ever saved themselves. Even after she told her no, Rose still dreamt of princesses climbing down from towers or waking up and slaying their own dragons before riding off to find their prince.
-
And at night, while she rests in her never world between minutes and hours, seconds and days, she sleeps and dreams of angels. One angel, in particular. One with dark eyes and wearing a long coat, hair a ruffled mess atop his head. And she can see him smiling at her and she knows it's his only real smile, the one he left against her cheek just for her to keep always.
And when she wakes-
-
His lips still against her fingertips, she feels each word as he says it.
“Yes, Rose. It's me.” And she swears she hears wing beats in between the clockwork.
--
Inspiration: Dreams, Memories and Heaven Emily Wells
-
(Warnings for suggestions of violence) Set post "Doomsday", s4 never happened. This is an odd, out of order on purpose, multi vignette fic that actually comes together if you pay attention. It might require multiple readings but I'm quite proud of it and think it pretty good so please give it a chance? ♥
“'M not sure I believe in God.” But she can't deny the existence of handsome men in long coats who sweep in at just the right moment to rescue her from harm.
Distantly, beyond her own sobs caught on the wind and the crashing waves against the shore, she hears the faint beat of wings as she buries her face in her mother's neck.
-
“'M not sure I believe in God.” But she can't deny the existence of handsome men in long coats who sweep in at just the right moment to rescue her from harm.
This one has a nice head of hair, as well.
She looks up at him from her spot on the bench, waiting for his response, but he's focused on a lone red balloon caught on the wind. A little girl, crying loudly, runs after it with her arms outstretched like it's the only thing she wants in the universe.
While he watches the balloon float further and further away, Rose's attention is fixed on the little girl. She's been left alone by her toy, the edge of the bridge stopping her from chasing it any longer.
“I know how that feels.” Rose mumbles, still gazing at the child. She doesn't see him look down at her so she misses the complete understanding in his smile.
-
He truly frightens her sometimes.
The way he can change from one visit to the next. The more days go by and the more times he comes to her, she can see his humanity shining through. He tries to hide it, but every now and then she'll catch the sides of his eyes tightening into little wrinkles that mean he's laughing. She takes the gift of his laughter, like a prize for her small effort at a joke that never ceases to fill her with a surprised, pleasant feeling in her stomach.
But then he can come back, sometimes even the very next day, speaking of nothing but the fight and the bloodshed to come. She has new respect for all those people in the Bible who had the courage to do what God or someone told them to, because it's hard to listen to him sometimes.
Now, the quick glimpses of his forced humanity scare her most of all. She can't tell what's real and what he's just mimicking anymore.
-
It hurts to breathe and she can't tell if her eyes are open or closed. Somewhere beyond the sound of rushing wind is the distinct flapping of wings. But large, impossibly large, wings, hitting the air quickly and with something like urgency.
She's being carried or held, or she's floating. But she can't be floating. She hears a voice, familiar and strange, speaking to her.
“Not like this, my heroine.” She hears this in her heart and not her ears. “Not like this.”
It all at once scares her and soothes her before she falls back into unconsciousness.
-
It's an apple that tempted Adam and Eve out of paradise, that sent them out into the cold, harsh world. Castiel thinks it will be an apple that tempts him out of Heaven, that makes him fall with a painful crash into the cold, hard ground.
Rose takes another bite of her fruit, sinks her teeth into the red skin and breaks off a big chunk of white flesh into her mouth. Her mouth. The apple is just the trigger, the thing that brings his attention to her mouth. It's her lips that tempt him, that will make him fall.
She chews without noticing him, eyes on the book in front of her, cheeks full of sweet apple, some flecks of it stuck in the corners of her mouth. Her tongue comes out to lick the white bits inside, the juice off her lips, and it's the snake in the garden hissing his encouragement to Castiel. Slithering across her mouth and curving against her teeth as if beckoning him in.
She blinks, and he watches the apple slide through her throat as she swallows. Another bite, and Castiel once again feels temptations pull, forcing him down, until he wants to fall, right into the depths of her sinful mouth.
-
She tells him fairy tales sometimes. He never asks her to, but he doesn't object either. He never tells her this, but he could listen to her voice, deep and soothing and a warmth in his belly, until the end of eternity.
“It's so strange to be around someone who's never heard of fairy tales.” She picks at a dent in her tea cup, and he sips at his own brew and tries to mask his inevitable grimace. He prefers coffee, but she's always so eager to make tea for them he always drinks every cup she makes for him. Besides, he likes watching her hands prepare the drink, the way they're so gentle when measuring the leaves yet strong while gripping the tea pot's handle.
“I'm a strange thing, wouldn't you say?” He's gotten the hang of teasing and lightness, although with anyone else he finds it aggravating and a waste of time.
Her grin is his reward and she nods as her mouth curves into a crescent with soft corners. “And anyhow, he climbs up her long, flowing hair, and rescues her from the tower. And--”
“They live happily ever after?” He finishes for her, an eyebrow quirking as high as it knows to go.
“But that doesn't exist, yeah. Happily ever after?” Flashes of her past sweep across her eyes as she brings her cup to her mouth, but they're gone just as fast once she swallows her drink.
Castiel smiles a quiet line and thinks very carefully before speaking again. “It should, for heroines like you.”
-
“You have a destiny, Rose Tyler.” The bullets don't bring blood, her fists don't bring bruises. When she sees the dark shadow of wings flash across Torchwood's bare, white wall, she strangely thinks of Bible study from when she was seven.
She laughs, thinking of the impossible things she's seen, and wipes the sweat from her brow. Sits down, places her gun at her side and shrugs up at the man. “'M listening, now.”
-
Her fingers are flexed tight around his coat collar, and he feels her pull, literally and figuratively, finds it hard to resist. Never ending brown stares up at him, and he wants to run his thumb across her lower lip where she's got her teeth sunk into it, to sooth her self-inflicted pain.
“I could love you, y'know.” Speaks like the words hurt to get out. “If I wasn't...” Eyes dart away and back like birds wings, when they're back on him they're shining bright with tears. She takes another shot at finishing her sentence. “If I wasn't already in love. And you wouldn't be thrown out of Heaven.” Last part said like a joke, but she's not laughing, not in her eyes.
He does run his thumb across her lip, because it's the only thing he can do, tries to ignore the urge to do more. Her breathing shallows and he can feel her resisting her own pull to kiss the skin of his finger.
He ducks his head and she closes her eyes as he speaks around a ragged sigh. “And I you, Rose Tyler.” Tries to ignore the stab of pain in his gut when he hears her slight, quiet sob. “And I you.”
When she opens her eyes again, he's gone, and she's left with the print of his thumb on her lip.
-
Handsome men in long coats. With great hair. This memory she can't place on just one man.
They're running, so she thinks it's the first man, the man she lost, but then his hand feels so strange in hers. It's a bit larger, fingers thicker and actually gripping her hand lighter than she's used to.
There's fire behind them and she hears him tell her not to look back, and she listens, because she can feel the flames licking her from behind and they're scorching.
Suddenly they're standing on glass, and something's wrong because they couldn't have switched settings so quickly. Her mind is betraying her, telling her lies or twisting facts like a drunk story teller. And no, they're not on glass. They're in the sky, above the clouds. She can hear the turning of clockwork and she knows this place, knows what it means to fly above everything and every time.
Her head turns, hand still clasping his, and her eyes cross, two faces smiling back at her.
-
He watches. Waits. Blank, emotionless, as white as the wall she clings to.
He'd done it, pulled her from a Hell. Gripped her and thrown her into the arms of her father.
He goes to the beach, further down her time line, and watches her crying in the sand. He knows she will understand when it's all over.
Knows this before he finds his vessel.
-
Rose lies on the ground, bloodstains on her clothes and she's dreaming. Dreaming of a hot rain shower on a sunny, summer day. Rain drops splash her face and make her frown. She doesn't know why, she usually relishes a summer storm.
-
She wakes up screaming, gasping for breath and clawing at the air. He's there in a flash, next to her, and she knows she's dreaming again. Even though the pain is so intense it could be real, and even though his long, lean fingers digging into her arm feel too familiar to just be a memory, it's obviously a dream if she's with him.
Her forehead is pressed into his chest and he's speaking to her in a voice just above a whisper. “Hush, now. Back to sleep, Rose. You're not ready to wake up yet.”
She grimaces at the pounding in her head and grips his tie in her bloody fist. “But I am asleep.” Her voice sounds foreign to her ears, raspy and choking to come out.
It's his palm stroking her hair to the rhythm of whirring metal that lulls her back into a slumber.
-
“Who are you?” The man is just as strong as she said he'd always been. When he sees the bundle Castiel carries, the angel can see the man's heart sink through the look in his eyes.
“What-- what happened to her?” Doesn't rush to her side, not yet. He can see him shaking like a leaf in the wind, skin paling as he speaks. “What did you do?” Voice as low as anything and just as sharp as the knife they cut her with.
Castiel lays her on the ground, hand beneath her head. “She's still alive.” He looks up at the man, the Doctor, her Doctor. “I shouldn't be here.”
Looking down at her again, he gently pulls his hand from under her head as he strokes the side of her face with the other. “You're the only one who can help her.” Hears the Doctor ask again, what did he do? And what has he done? He's gone against orders. It wasn't supposed to end like this.
“She saved the world.” He smiles, and for the first time, he really feels it. Feels it in his face, the way it makes his mouth curve upwards and his eyes crinkle at the edges. He can feel his teeth tighten together all the way to his heart, and he leans down to press his first and last real smile to Rose Tyler's cheek. Something hot slides down his cheek and onto her temple, and he supposes he's given her his one and only genuine tear as well.
The Doctor moves to her then, pushing him out of the way. Hands gripping her, lifting her already.
“Who are you?” He yells, to nothing but the rushing wind and Rose's gasping form.
-
“Mickey thinks I'm mad.” He thinks she's beautiful when her hair sweeps across her face like that. He isn't supposed to find things like this beautiful.
“Mum's always believed.” It's only just beginning, the fight is growing closer and all he can think about is what it would feel like to brush those silky blonde locks out of her face.
She turns, mouth a smile that doesn't reach her eyes and he tries to focus on the rocks behind her. The beach air is cold on his hands and he hides them inside his coat pockets. “Do you come here often?”
She shrugs, and he still doesn't understand this human gesture. She obviously knows, and she'll tell him, but she still pretends not to know before answering. It's odd, the way humans communicate and never question the way of it all.
“Sometimes.” She doesn't tell him she came every Sunday the first three months on this planet while her family went to church, but he knows. Remembers the way she used to sit on the ground, sifting the same handful of sand through her hands for hours until the grains cut into the skin under her nails and made them bleed.
He shifts next to her, hands fisted in his pockets still. He'd take her hand if it wasn't so cold.
He's started lying to himself, now.
-
She wakes up crying, reaching outwards and not expecting the soft, warm embrace that she gets. “It's been three days, Rose. Just relax.”
She's not dreaming. Her nose picks up the scent of old metal and what she used to call stardust, and she shuts her eyes so tightly for fear that she'll open them and realize she's gone insane.
Her hands become her eyes, and she runs them up the chest she's being held to, twists the tie around her wrist for a moment before moving on to the neck above the tie finding the Adam's apple she used to watch bob up and down while he'd ramble on about things she'd later come to ramble on about herself. Shuts her eyes tighter and sucks in a breath against the touch of his stubble, rough against her palm, hands beginning to shake. Prays to the God she might not believe in when she runs her fingertips across his lips, doesn't let out the sob that's been eating her alive until she feels the press of his kiss on her printed skin.
Swallows back more cries before licking her chapped lips and daring to speak.
“Doctor?”
-
From the word “Run!” that's all she's been doing. It's only recently she's begun running on empty, working on autopilot and just doing the best she can to get by.
She watches him, standing there. So unreal, more impossible than anything she's seen before, and yet she believes everything he says. “What about when this is all over with?” Wants to ask him what she's really wondering but it seems too much like prayer.
He looks up at her through his dark, tired eyes that don't even belong to him. “I can't promise you happily ever after, if that's what you're asking for.”
The tears come without her realizing. “I just want something I can hold on to.”
-
Her mum used to read to her before bed. Always stories of princes saving princesses, or knights in shining armor coming to the rescue at the last moment. She'd tug on her mother's sweater and ask her if the princesses ever saved themselves. Even after she told her no, Rose still dreamt of princesses climbing down from towers or waking up and slaying their own dragons before riding off to find their prince.
-
And at night, while she rests in her never world between minutes and hours, seconds and days, she sleeps and dreams of angels. One angel, in particular. One with dark eyes and wearing a long coat, hair a ruffled mess atop his head. And she can see him smiling at her and she knows it's his only real smile, the one he left against her cheek just for her to keep always.
And when she wakes-
-
His lips still against her fingertips, she feels each word as he says it.
“Yes, Rose. It's me.” And she swears she hears wing beats in between the clockwork.
--
Inspiration: Dreams, Memories and Heaven Emily Wells
-