Fiction: Persistence of Memory (2/7) (Doctor Who/SPN)
Part 1 is here, along with all acknowledgements to my Sterling Team of Beta Commandos and Editors.
Spoilers: For Supernatural, Season 3 through 3.6. For Doctor Who, through 3.13, "Last of theTime Lords." Everything else, including Torchwood mentions for Season 2, is pure speculation on my part.
Warnings: Bad language. Also, Latin! Violence, and grossness factor. Apocalyptic landscapes and the moods that go with them.
Genre: Gen. BYO subtext for any scene Dean's in, or any scene Sam's in, but mostly, gen.
Summary: Martha Jones, Sam and Dean Winchester, and the Year That Never Was. And after.
December 2007:
Martha looked around the table inside the mine's only small office, and counted heads. Fourteen people. Sam and Dean Winchester, the man who'd organized her contact with the Underground, Bobby Singer, Jo Harvelle, who'd loaned her a change of clothes, and ten others. Hunters, Bobby had explained to her. "Hunting what?" she'd asked.
It wasn't surprising that those who'd regularly stalked the extraordinary had stayed alive during the first Toclafane attacks; even less surprising that they'd literally and figuratively gone underground, and fought against the Master and his cohorts. She wasn't as surprised at his explanation as she would have been six months ago. Despite travels in outer space and along the timestream, despite witches and Shakespeare and the power of words, she would have explained ghosts and werewolves to herself as manifestations of science back then. But that was before she'd wandered into stranger corners of the Earth than she'd ever found outside the TARDIS doors. Science, magic… maybe it was all semantics and higher math.
Which might make this talk a harder sell than it had been before. She was used to tailoring her explanations on the fly now, giving the same basic information, but adapting it to her audience. How many of them thought of the Spheres as monsters, or supernatural beings? How difficult would they find the Doctor's plan to accept?
No way to know but to start.
Sam and Dean were at the back of the room, standing against the wall, the better to gauge the reaction to the plan that was supposedly going to be proposed. Sam had heard so many wild variations of the content of her talk, he had no expectations at this point. Except that he wanted a clear course of action, a way to strike back at the psycho in his ship in the sky. He had to hope that she hadn't gotten this far around the world spouting a pipe dream, so...
"Thank you all for coming." Martha Jones met the eyes of each person, and took a breath. "You all know who I am, and why I'm here. My name is Martha Jones. Until six months ago, I was a medical student in London. Now, well. I'm trying to keep a plan alive, one to get rid of the Spheres and the Master. I need your help for it to work. It's a very small thing, but it's important. And I wanted you to know that there's hope."
She paused, waiting for an interruption, but no one in the room was willing to break in just yet. Visibly steeling herself, Martha went on. "The Master is an alien. I know you're used to battling things that are out of the ordinary. He's not from Earth, and neither are the Spheres. He's planning to use our planet as a launching pad for taking on the rest of the galaxy. We need to delay that for as long as possible, in order for the plan to work."
"Tell us something we don't know." Scotty Collins, a big, beefy guy who liked setting dynamite traps for the Tick-tocks, was seated near the end of the table. He folded his arms, tilting his chair back. "We ain't stupid. Those broadcasts of his made it real clear what he wanted from us, and that he weren't no normal human bein'. Question is, would taking him out stop the goddamn Tick-tocks? Or would they just go on without him?"
Bobby leaned forward, giving Martha a hard look. "No, the question is, how do we stop production on the rockets when everyone's too damn scared to fight? You got an explanation for how most of the population's just rolled over and showed their bellies? 'Cause this isn't just about technology. If it were, we'd've taken out those Spheres by now. But you can hardly get any of those sheep in the prison camps to say 'boo', much less help in sabotage. The most they'll do is get their kids out of the area."
Next to Sam, Dean gave a huff of agreement, and Sam slumped against the wall, remembering the last batch of refugees they'd tried to get out of the camps. Some days the futility of what they were trying to do was more obvious than others.
"The two are connected. Through the Archangel network. That's how he's controlling the population." Martha folded her hands on the table-top. "You've all known about people who were a little out of the ordinary, right? Maybe table-tappers, or spoon-benders. Or in this crowd, I'm guessing some of you have seen real magic powers."
Sam froze, aware of a couple sneaking glances sent his direction, and Dean trying to watch him without being obvious. Martha must’ve picked up on it, because she gave him a curious look, and Sam hoped like hell that his expression didn't give anything away.
"The Master's got a kind of telepathy. And he's hooked it into the satellites. Subliminal messages are added to it: don't fight. Obey. Accept the Master." She licked her lips. "'Harold Saxon' got elected because of those subliminals. He's nice, trust him, vote for him..."
"You Brits sayin' he brainwashed you first?" Scotty smirked. "Hell, wish we'd had that excuse for the guy before Winters."
Muted snickering around the table, and Martha gave them a rueful smile. "He wanted to be in a position where he could move from a secure location: the Valiant. That's why he wanted to be elected. He would have gone on with his plan even if he'd lost the election, we just made it easy on him." She sighed. "I didn't vote for him, but then, I missed the whole election. I was... elsewhere." Sam had to wonder what kind of 'elsewhere' kept you from missing an entire election campaign, and raised his eyebrows at Dean. Dean shook his head, apparently unwilling to question Martha until she'd said more.
"The plan to defeat him calls for the hijacking of the Archangel network, the hour he decides to launch the rockets." A few people sat up straighter, attention caught. A couple looked dubious. Jo sent Bobby a questioning look, and he chewed on his mustache, listening carefully. "Do you remember the broadcast the day the Master took over? A man who tried to stop him, called the Doctor?"
"Dude who got turned into Rip Van Winkle in two seconds," Dean spoke up. "You can still see him sometimes, sitting in a corner when the psycho makes his damn addresses. What about him?"
Martha nodded at Dean, face sober. "He's the same species as the Master. And he's working his way into the Archangel network right now, as we speak. It isn't an easy thing. The Master had eighteen months to set up the system. But the Doctor's good, and he just needs enough time."
Hunh, Sam thought. He folded his arms, considering. Possible? Maybe. Where there was one alien, there might be two. And that guy wasn't dead, when anyone else would already be a smoking corpse. So maybe there was something to this.
"So he's gonna take control of the Tick-tocks, and send 'em the hell home?" Bobby broke in, frowning. "What if he gets killed before then?"
Martha swallowed. "There's a back-up contingency for that, but it won't happen." She looked like she really didn't want to think about it, though, and for the first time, Sam wondered how exactly she knew all this, and what her relationship with the Doctor was. "The Master needs an audience for his victory, and none of us--" She waved a hand around the room. "--are impressive enough. He needs someone who gets what he's doing. And that's the Doctor. Believe me, if he hasn't killed him before this, he's not going to do it until he can rub his triumph in the Doctor's face."
"So, what's our part in it?" Jo asked, lacing her fingers together, eyes steady on Martha's face. "I saw my mother get cut to pieces by those Spheres. I'd like a little payback." Dean shifted next to Sam, and Sam looked away from Jo, unwilling to see her expression.
"Don't know about payback, but the hour-- the instant-- that the rockets launch, or before then, if the Master announces it, and he probably will... I need you all to think one word. Just one. 'Doctor.'" She looked around the room, probably seeing more skepticism, some disgruntlement. Sam was feeling pretty dubious himself. It was too easy. Too simple. Where was the ritual to it? Where would it get any power to work? As soon as he thought the question, Martha answered it.
"He needs the mental energy, the focus, to break the Master's hold on the network. Once the Doctor's done that, we can get to the machine that's keeping the Toclafane here, and destroy it. Maybe even make it so none of this happened."
"Okay, now you're just shining us on." Cathy Polanski got up, face twisting in anger. "What the hell are you trying to sell, little girl?"
"I'm not selling anything." Martha put her palms up on the table, keeping her eyes on Cathy's face, voice even with conviction. "I've seen things. Incredible things. Time travel, space travel. You have too, over the last six months. I'm telling you, we can fix this. You just have to say it. You don't even have to believe it. It'll help if you do, if you really concentrate, push at the boundaries in your mind. But if you just think one word, the Doctor and the satellites will do the rest."
Silence for a moment.
"Prove it." Someone had been bound to say it, in this bunch. Fighters and doubters, with the strength of mind that didn't accept hope easily. Not without something solid to hang onto.
"I can't prove what hasn't happened yet." Martha sat back, then held out one wrist. "But maybe I can show you a little trick?"
She pushed a button on her watch, and disappeared. Not even a puff of smoke, or a sound. Just gone.
Holy crap!
"Where the heck'd she go?" Bobby was on his feet, eyes wide as he scanned the room, and everyone else was half a second behind him.
"It's a trick," Cathy said, but her voice sounded miles more uncertain than it had three minutes before.
"Some trick," Jo said, checking under the table, then laughing a little nervously. "Dudes, if she has that, maybe she can get close enough to the guy to take him out, if this plan doesn't work..."
Sam could see Dean's eyes narrow, and then he nodded. That was probably the 'back-up' plan. It wouldn't fix the Tick-tocks, but at least without a leader and the subliminal messages, they'd have a shot. The implications were pretty obvious. But if that wasn't her first plan, hopefully the one she'd just proposed would actually work.
"She'd gotta be around here somewhere," Scotty grumbled, looking freaked out as he stomped out of the room. "I'm checkin' down the shaft, you guys check topside."
Sam walked out of the room with Dean behind him, and said quietly, "If she can do that..."
"Yeah. I got that." Dean rubbed at one eyebrow, casting a look behind them, then smirking. "Gotta be handy for tracking down terrorist cells and recruiting them, too. Now we know how she gets away from the Spheres."
"So it could work. In theory."
"Everything works in theory, Sam." Dean cocked an eyebrow at him. "You think you could take over the world if we gave you a satellite network? Saving Sam's Spheres?"
Sam shot him a dirty look, even though the comparison had occurred to him too, for reasons he was not about to get into with his brother. "Shut up, jerk."
Dean chuckled under his breath, and then they heard Jo shout behind them. "Guys! She's back!" They turned back down the shaft and hurried back to the meeting room in time to hear Jo ask, "Where did you go?"
Martha gave all three of them a wicked smile, and Sam found himself smiling involuntarily back. "Let's wait 'til the others get back. Okay?"
It took another ten minutes for all of their group to return, murmuring and confused, but less belligerent than they had been. Martha held out her wrist. "Meet my handy time vortex manipulator. I didn't go anywhere, I went anywhen. Six minutes forward in time." She dropped it back on the table. "I don't use it much, 'cause I don't know how long the battery's got. And I need it for emergencies, in case I get in a jam." She looked around at the fourteen people in the room, and set her jaw.
"I can't stop until everyone's heard this message. Until every single person left on the planet will be concentrating at the same time, on the same thought. When that's done, then I can go back, and let the Doctor know we're ready."
She bit her lip, and the one thing Sam did not doubt in that moment was her sincerity. Her sanity, maybe, but not what she was trying to do. "The Doctor's been around a long time on this planet. Fighting things like the Master, and no one's ever noticed. A hundred times he's saved the world. This is just the one time we all get to hear about. Please. He needs you. He needs everyone. Say you’ll give him this chance to do it one more time."
July 2007:
"It should work," Bobby allowed, reading the photocopy that Sam had sent to him, then peering at Sam over his reading glasses. "The trick'll be not to let on to Dean what you're up to. And getting it done in time." He blew out a slow breath. "And then doing whatever you have to, once it kicks in."
"It's the best shot I've found so far. And it isn't without precedent." Sam folded his arms, checking the entrance to the restaurant for his brother. Dean could come back at any minute after interviewing the girlfriend of the last dead guy but one.
"No, you're solid there. And the ritual should work." Bobby squinted. "I just wonder if it ain't a trap. Mysterious phone call. Whole lotta effort from you put into this, instead of something else. Could be someone's playing you for a fool."
"I know. I know." Sam pushed his hair out of his face, and stared down at the papers. "But if it isn't..."
"How likely is that, though? When did our side ever get a break?" Bobby raised his eyebrows. "If you want to go this route, you know you've got my help. But think long and hard about whether you want to do it, Sam."
The tinkling of the bell over the door had Sam reaching for the papers, then carefully, casually putting them away as Dean walked over to the table and slid into the booth.
"Bobby! Got a lead for us?"
"As a matter of fact, I do..." Bobby launched into the prepared research that Sam had fed him as an excuse to get him to the diner, and Sam pretended to listen. The case so far looked like a vengeful siren, but had earmarks of another creature too; time to get his head back in the game.
There had to be a way to trace that phone call, though. Some way to find out the motivations of the person who'd called. Maybe Missouri would have something, if he gave her a call. Although one message wasn't a lot to go on, even for Missouri. Still. There had to be something. So far, Dean had no idea what he was up to, but if he was going to commit to the ritual described in the Clavis Salomonis, he needed to make up his mind, and soon.
Good luck. And thanks. Who had he done a favor for, that would try to pay him back in something as important as Dean's soul?
December 2007:
The meeting had broken up, and Martha Jones had pleaded exhaustion after three hours of questioning, and gone back to share Jo's bunk in one of the side-shafts. Some of the hunters were still in the office, chewing over the implications of all she'd said and done, and trying to decide how this changed their approach to sabotaging the Master's plans.
Sam had headed topside, out one of the exit shafts, needing the air.
Maybe a way to make it so it all didn't happen. That's what she'd said. Paradox machine; the Tick-tocks were here through messing with time, and once that was reversed, well... they'd be back to the day of the assassination and invasion. Maybe. Possibly. She couldn't guarantee it; hadn't had time to confirm it, in the tragedy that had torn apart the world last June. But it was a chance. A possibility.
Dean might not be doomed.
"Thought I'd find you here." Sam didn't turn around at Dean's voice, didn't move from his position sitting in the sand, staring at the stars. A scratching, then the hiss of a lit match, and the smell of Marlboros drifted over to him. Dean had to be pretty shook up to dig into his precious stash of nicotine tonight. Sam looked down at the notebook in his hands, fingers tightening on it. All of his notes, all of his plans to save Dean. He'd been so sure he could do it, that a year would be long enough.
Then less than a month into that year the world exploded, and all the tools, weapons, resources, everything they had went to just getting through the next day, the next week. But he hadn't forgotten. He still counted down every day they had left.
"Do you believe her?" Sam's knuckles were nearly white, gripping his notebook. He risked a look at Dean, dreading the answer as soon as he asked the question.
Dean didn't look at him. "Doesn't matter if I do, Sammy." He tilted his head back to look up at Orion. "Question is, do you?"
Sam looked back up at the stars, and felt his throat try to close up. After a minute, he whispered, "I want to. Which doesn't make it true."
"Yeah." Dean ambled over to where Sam was sitting, and bent down to join him in the sand. "I don't think she's lying."
"No. Me neither. She could be wrong, though. Or the Doctor could get himself killed before she gets back to England." Sam kept his eyes on the stars. "But if she's right..."
He could feel Dean shrug, his shoulder against Sam's, and the resignation in his voice cut at something inside of him. "Might not change anything, you know. This could work, we could get a do-over, and I'm still gonna have to pay my accounts. I can't help you with it. I promised."
"I know. But even if there's half a chance-- I mean, why not do it? What's it going to cost us?" Sam asked, anger edging the words. "Nothing. A little hope. A little belief at the right time. We can still slow down the rocket production, try to find ways to disable the Spheres. Why not go along with her plan?"
"Maybe the Doctor will be in charge if it works." Dean's voice was flat, considering. "Maybe we'll trade one dictator for another."
"Martha wouldn't be stumping for a dictator. You saw her, Dean. She's a good person. She's risking her life for this, her freedom, her family..." Sam looked away. "She believes in what she's saying."
"Doesn't make it true," Dean said, echoing Sam's earlier words. "Maybe the psycho took Rip Van Winkle out because he was a rival, not someone who would stop him. Maybe the Doctor has her snowed. It's pretty obvious she worships the guy."
"Maybe. But I doubt it." Sam looked away from the stars, voice softening. "What are you going to do?"
"Same thing as always. Fight the bad guys." Dean took another drag on his cigarette. "I won't be here for the endgame. So it's up to you." His voice dropped. "Just be careful. I never thought… I didn’t expect the world to be like this. When I left."
"I know."
When Sam had first realized how screwed they were, how much of the world was gone, he and Dean had fought. There'd been things they said that still showed up in his nightmares. Dean had even had a few kamikaze leanings for a while; he would've taken the whole fleet with him in a suicide run just to leave Sam intact. But there hadn't been any guarantees, any way to be sure the craziest of his plans would have worked, so he'd given up on those ideas, and just concentrated on keeping them both alive for as long as possible.
The irony of Sam finding a possible ritual that could have given them a shot at saving Dean long after they could implement it, still haunted him. An article in an abandoned library in Florida, and a side-trip to Cambridge, and there it was. A way out.
One which he couldn't build or enact, not with the Spheres taking out anyone building anything the Master didn't personally approve. Not without the technology and time to make it work. Maybe it never would have worked, but at least there would have been a chance.
He hated the Master for damning Dean as much as he did for what he'd done to the rest of the Earth.
Trust, or distrust. Hope, or deny hope. Neither would have much of an effect on whether Sam lived or died. Some effect on his sanity levels, possibly. Getting through the day was hard enough sometimes, without adding in disappointment down the line. But still, true or false, he could spread the word, go along with the plan, and not expect to get anything from it. His brother would still be dead if it didn't work. And Dean would still have to fulfill his deal, would have to go through this whole year over again, even if it did.
Except... Sam took a breath, getting another idea. He'd have to talk to Martha. But maybe, maybe...
God. It'd been so long since he had something to hope for.
"We'll pass it along. All the cells along the coast, all the people in the camps." He looked at Dean. "And if we're wrong, I'll buy you a drink when I see you again."
"Sammy..."
"Shut up. Deal?"
Dean sighed, and tossed his cigarette away, the sparks flying out to fall down the dune, briefly illuminating the drop below them. "Deal. If you show up in Hell, I'm buying you a drink. Right after I kick your ass."
Part 3
Spoilers: For Supernatural, Season 3 through 3.6. For Doctor Who, through 3.13, "Last of theTime Lords." Everything else, including Torchwood mentions for Season 2, is pure speculation on my part.
Warnings: Bad language. Also, Latin! Violence, and grossness factor. Apocalyptic landscapes and the moods that go with them.
Genre: Gen. BYO subtext for any scene Dean's in, or any scene Sam's in, but mostly, gen.
Summary: Martha Jones, Sam and Dean Winchester, and the Year That Never Was. And after.
December 2007:
Martha looked around the table inside the mine's only small office, and counted heads. Fourteen people. Sam and Dean Winchester, the man who'd organized her contact with the Underground, Bobby Singer, Jo Harvelle, who'd loaned her a change of clothes, and ten others. Hunters, Bobby had explained to her. "Hunting what?" she'd asked.
It wasn't surprising that those who'd regularly stalked the extraordinary had stayed alive during the first Toclafane attacks; even less surprising that they'd literally and figuratively gone underground, and fought against the Master and his cohorts. She wasn't as surprised at his explanation as she would have been six months ago. Despite travels in outer space and along the timestream, despite witches and Shakespeare and the power of words, she would have explained ghosts and werewolves to herself as manifestations of science back then. But that was before she'd wandered into stranger corners of the Earth than she'd ever found outside the TARDIS doors. Science, magic… maybe it was all semantics and higher math.
Which might make this talk a harder sell than it had been before. She was used to tailoring her explanations on the fly now, giving the same basic information, but adapting it to her audience. How many of them thought of the Spheres as monsters, or supernatural beings? How difficult would they find the Doctor's plan to accept?
No way to know but to start.
Sam and Dean were at the back of the room, standing against the wall, the better to gauge the reaction to the plan that was supposedly going to be proposed. Sam had heard so many wild variations of the content of her talk, he had no expectations at this point. Except that he wanted a clear course of action, a way to strike back at the psycho in his ship in the sky. He had to hope that she hadn't gotten this far around the world spouting a pipe dream, so...
"Thank you all for coming." Martha Jones met the eyes of each person, and took a breath. "You all know who I am, and why I'm here. My name is Martha Jones. Until six months ago, I was a medical student in London. Now, well. I'm trying to keep a plan alive, one to get rid of the Spheres and the Master. I need your help for it to work. It's a very small thing, but it's important. And I wanted you to know that there's hope."
She paused, waiting for an interruption, but no one in the room was willing to break in just yet. Visibly steeling herself, Martha went on. "The Master is an alien. I know you're used to battling things that are out of the ordinary. He's not from Earth, and neither are the Spheres. He's planning to use our planet as a launching pad for taking on the rest of the galaxy. We need to delay that for as long as possible, in order for the plan to work."
"Tell us something we don't know." Scotty Collins, a big, beefy guy who liked setting dynamite traps for the Tick-tocks, was seated near the end of the table. He folded his arms, tilting his chair back. "We ain't stupid. Those broadcasts of his made it real clear what he wanted from us, and that he weren't no normal human bein'. Question is, would taking him out stop the goddamn Tick-tocks? Or would they just go on without him?"
Bobby leaned forward, giving Martha a hard look. "No, the question is, how do we stop production on the rockets when everyone's too damn scared to fight? You got an explanation for how most of the population's just rolled over and showed their bellies? 'Cause this isn't just about technology. If it were, we'd've taken out those Spheres by now. But you can hardly get any of those sheep in the prison camps to say 'boo', much less help in sabotage. The most they'll do is get their kids out of the area."
Next to Sam, Dean gave a huff of agreement, and Sam slumped against the wall, remembering the last batch of refugees they'd tried to get out of the camps. Some days the futility of what they were trying to do was more obvious than others.
"The two are connected. Through the Archangel network. That's how he's controlling the population." Martha folded her hands on the table-top. "You've all known about people who were a little out of the ordinary, right? Maybe table-tappers, or spoon-benders. Or in this crowd, I'm guessing some of you have seen real magic powers."
Sam froze, aware of a couple sneaking glances sent his direction, and Dean trying to watch him without being obvious. Martha must’ve picked up on it, because she gave him a curious look, and Sam hoped like hell that his expression didn't give anything away.
"The Master's got a kind of telepathy. And he's hooked it into the satellites. Subliminal messages are added to it: don't fight. Obey. Accept the Master." She licked her lips. "'Harold Saxon' got elected because of those subliminals. He's nice, trust him, vote for him..."
"You Brits sayin' he brainwashed you first?" Scotty smirked. "Hell, wish we'd had that excuse for the guy before Winters."
Muted snickering around the table, and Martha gave them a rueful smile. "He wanted to be in a position where he could move from a secure location: the Valiant. That's why he wanted to be elected. He would have gone on with his plan even if he'd lost the election, we just made it easy on him." She sighed. "I didn't vote for him, but then, I missed the whole election. I was... elsewhere." Sam had to wonder what kind of 'elsewhere' kept you from missing an entire election campaign, and raised his eyebrows at Dean. Dean shook his head, apparently unwilling to question Martha until she'd said more.
"The plan to defeat him calls for the hijacking of the Archangel network, the hour he decides to launch the rockets." A few people sat up straighter, attention caught. A couple looked dubious. Jo sent Bobby a questioning look, and he chewed on his mustache, listening carefully. "Do you remember the broadcast the day the Master took over? A man who tried to stop him, called the Doctor?"
"Dude who got turned into Rip Van Winkle in two seconds," Dean spoke up. "You can still see him sometimes, sitting in a corner when the psycho makes his damn addresses. What about him?"
Martha nodded at Dean, face sober. "He's the same species as the Master. And he's working his way into the Archangel network right now, as we speak. It isn't an easy thing. The Master had eighteen months to set up the system. But the Doctor's good, and he just needs enough time."
Hunh, Sam thought. He folded his arms, considering. Possible? Maybe. Where there was one alien, there might be two. And that guy wasn't dead, when anyone else would already be a smoking corpse. So maybe there was something to this.
"So he's gonna take control of the Tick-tocks, and send 'em the hell home?" Bobby broke in, frowning. "What if he gets killed before then?"
Martha swallowed. "There's a back-up contingency for that, but it won't happen." She looked like she really didn't want to think about it, though, and for the first time, Sam wondered how exactly she knew all this, and what her relationship with the Doctor was. "The Master needs an audience for his victory, and none of us--" She waved a hand around the room. "--are impressive enough. He needs someone who gets what he's doing. And that's the Doctor. Believe me, if he hasn't killed him before this, he's not going to do it until he can rub his triumph in the Doctor's face."
"So, what's our part in it?" Jo asked, lacing her fingers together, eyes steady on Martha's face. "I saw my mother get cut to pieces by those Spheres. I'd like a little payback." Dean shifted next to Sam, and Sam looked away from Jo, unwilling to see her expression.
"Don't know about payback, but the hour-- the instant-- that the rockets launch, or before then, if the Master announces it, and he probably will... I need you all to think one word. Just one. 'Doctor.'" She looked around the room, probably seeing more skepticism, some disgruntlement. Sam was feeling pretty dubious himself. It was too easy. Too simple. Where was the ritual to it? Where would it get any power to work? As soon as he thought the question, Martha answered it.
"He needs the mental energy, the focus, to break the Master's hold on the network. Once the Doctor's done that, we can get to the machine that's keeping the Toclafane here, and destroy it. Maybe even make it so none of this happened."
"Okay, now you're just shining us on." Cathy Polanski got up, face twisting in anger. "What the hell are you trying to sell, little girl?"
"I'm not selling anything." Martha put her palms up on the table, keeping her eyes on Cathy's face, voice even with conviction. "I've seen things. Incredible things. Time travel, space travel. You have too, over the last six months. I'm telling you, we can fix this. You just have to say it. You don't even have to believe it. It'll help if you do, if you really concentrate, push at the boundaries in your mind. But if you just think one word, the Doctor and the satellites will do the rest."
Silence for a moment.
"Prove it." Someone had been bound to say it, in this bunch. Fighters and doubters, with the strength of mind that didn't accept hope easily. Not without something solid to hang onto.
"I can't prove what hasn't happened yet." Martha sat back, then held out one wrist. "But maybe I can show you a little trick?"
She pushed a button on her watch, and disappeared. Not even a puff of smoke, or a sound. Just gone.
Holy crap!
"Where the heck'd she go?" Bobby was on his feet, eyes wide as he scanned the room, and everyone else was half a second behind him.
"It's a trick," Cathy said, but her voice sounded miles more uncertain than it had three minutes before.
"Some trick," Jo said, checking under the table, then laughing a little nervously. "Dudes, if she has that, maybe she can get close enough to the guy to take him out, if this plan doesn't work..."
Sam could see Dean's eyes narrow, and then he nodded. That was probably the 'back-up' plan. It wouldn't fix the Tick-tocks, but at least without a leader and the subliminal messages, they'd have a shot. The implications were pretty obvious. But if that wasn't her first plan, hopefully the one she'd just proposed would actually work.
"She'd gotta be around here somewhere," Scotty grumbled, looking freaked out as he stomped out of the room. "I'm checkin' down the shaft, you guys check topside."
Sam walked out of the room with Dean behind him, and said quietly, "If she can do that..."
"Yeah. I got that." Dean rubbed at one eyebrow, casting a look behind them, then smirking. "Gotta be handy for tracking down terrorist cells and recruiting them, too. Now we know how she gets away from the Spheres."
"So it could work. In theory."
"Everything works in theory, Sam." Dean cocked an eyebrow at him. "You think you could take over the world if we gave you a satellite network? Saving Sam's Spheres?"
Sam shot him a dirty look, even though the comparison had occurred to him too, for reasons he was not about to get into with his brother. "Shut up, jerk."
Dean chuckled under his breath, and then they heard Jo shout behind them. "Guys! She's back!" They turned back down the shaft and hurried back to the meeting room in time to hear Jo ask, "Where did you go?"
Martha gave all three of them a wicked smile, and Sam found himself smiling involuntarily back. "Let's wait 'til the others get back. Okay?"
It took another ten minutes for all of their group to return, murmuring and confused, but less belligerent than they had been. Martha held out her wrist. "Meet my handy time vortex manipulator. I didn't go anywhere, I went anywhen. Six minutes forward in time." She dropped it back on the table. "I don't use it much, 'cause I don't know how long the battery's got. And I need it for emergencies, in case I get in a jam." She looked around at the fourteen people in the room, and set her jaw.
"I can't stop until everyone's heard this message. Until every single person left on the planet will be concentrating at the same time, on the same thought. When that's done, then I can go back, and let the Doctor know we're ready."
She bit her lip, and the one thing Sam did not doubt in that moment was her sincerity. Her sanity, maybe, but not what she was trying to do. "The Doctor's been around a long time on this planet. Fighting things like the Master, and no one's ever noticed. A hundred times he's saved the world. This is just the one time we all get to hear about. Please. He needs you. He needs everyone. Say you’ll give him this chance to do it one more time."
July 2007:
"It should work," Bobby allowed, reading the photocopy that Sam had sent to him, then peering at Sam over his reading glasses. "The trick'll be not to let on to Dean what you're up to. And getting it done in time." He blew out a slow breath. "And then doing whatever you have to, once it kicks in."
"It's the best shot I've found so far. And it isn't without precedent." Sam folded his arms, checking the entrance to the restaurant for his brother. Dean could come back at any minute after interviewing the girlfriend of the last dead guy but one.
"No, you're solid there. And the ritual should work." Bobby squinted. "I just wonder if it ain't a trap. Mysterious phone call. Whole lotta effort from you put into this, instead of something else. Could be someone's playing you for a fool."
"I know. I know." Sam pushed his hair out of his face, and stared down at the papers. "But if it isn't..."
"How likely is that, though? When did our side ever get a break?" Bobby raised his eyebrows. "If you want to go this route, you know you've got my help. But think long and hard about whether you want to do it, Sam."
The tinkling of the bell over the door had Sam reaching for the papers, then carefully, casually putting them away as Dean walked over to the table and slid into the booth.
"Bobby! Got a lead for us?"
"As a matter of fact, I do..." Bobby launched into the prepared research that Sam had fed him as an excuse to get him to the diner, and Sam pretended to listen. The case so far looked like a vengeful siren, but had earmarks of another creature too; time to get his head back in the game.
There had to be a way to trace that phone call, though. Some way to find out the motivations of the person who'd called. Maybe Missouri would have something, if he gave her a call. Although one message wasn't a lot to go on, even for Missouri. Still. There had to be something. So far, Dean had no idea what he was up to, but if he was going to commit to the ritual described in the Clavis Salomonis, he needed to make up his mind, and soon.
Good luck. And thanks. Who had he done a favor for, that would try to pay him back in something as important as Dean's soul?
December 2007:
The meeting had broken up, and Martha Jones had pleaded exhaustion after three hours of questioning, and gone back to share Jo's bunk in one of the side-shafts. Some of the hunters were still in the office, chewing over the implications of all she'd said and done, and trying to decide how this changed their approach to sabotaging the Master's plans.
Sam had headed topside, out one of the exit shafts, needing the air.
Maybe a way to make it so it all didn't happen. That's what she'd said. Paradox machine; the Tick-tocks were here through messing with time, and once that was reversed, well... they'd be back to the day of the assassination and invasion. Maybe. Possibly. She couldn't guarantee it; hadn't had time to confirm it, in the tragedy that had torn apart the world last June. But it was a chance. A possibility.
Dean might not be doomed.
"Thought I'd find you here." Sam didn't turn around at Dean's voice, didn't move from his position sitting in the sand, staring at the stars. A scratching, then the hiss of a lit match, and the smell of Marlboros drifted over to him. Dean had to be pretty shook up to dig into his precious stash of nicotine tonight. Sam looked down at the notebook in his hands, fingers tightening on it. All of his notes, all of his plans to save Dean. He'd been so sure he could do it, that a year would be long enough.
Then less than a month into that year the world exploded, and all the tools, weapons, resources, everything they had went to just getting through the next day, the next week. But he hadn't forgotten. He still counted down every day they had left.
"Do you believe her?" Sam's knuckles were nearly white, gripping his notebook. He risked a look at Dean, dreading the answer as soon as he asked the question.
Dean didn't look at him. "Doesn't matter if I do, Sammy." He tilted his head back to look up at Orion. "Question is, do you?"
Sam looked back up at the stars, and felt his throat try to close up. After a minute, he whispered, "I want to. Which doesn't make it true."
"Yeah." Dean ambled over to where Sam was sitting, and bent down to join him in the sand. "I don't think she's lying."
"No. Me neither. She could be wrong, though. Or the Doctor could get himself killed before she gets back to England." Sam kept his eyes on the stars. "But if she's right..."
He could feel Dean shrug, his shoulder against Sam's, and the resignation in his voice cut at something inside of him. "Might not change anything, you know. This could work, we could get a do-over, and I'm still gonna have to pay my accounts. I can't help you with it. I promised."
"I know. But even if there's half a chance-- I mean, why not do it? What's it going to cost us?" Sam asked, anger edging the words. "Nothing. A little hope. A little belief at the right time. We can still slow down the rocket production, try to find ways to disable the Spheres. Why not go along with her plan?"
"Maybe the Doctor will be in charge if it works." Dean's voice was flat, considering. "Maybe we'll trade one dictator for another."
"Martha wouldn't be stumping for a dictator. You saw her, Dean. She's a good person. She's risking her life for this, her freedom, her family..." Sam looked away. "She believes in what she's saying."
"Doesn't make it true," Dean said, echoing Sam's earlier words. "Maybe the psycho took Rip Van Winkle out because he was a rival, not someone who would stop him. Maybe the Doctor has her snowed. It's pretty obvious she worships the guy."
"Maybe. But I doubt it." Sam looked away from the stars, voice softening. "What are you going to do?"
"Same thing as always. Fight the bad guys." Dean took another drag on his cigarette. "I won't be here for the endgame. So it's up to you." His voice dropped. "Just be careful. I never thought… I didn’t expect the world to be like this. When I left."
"I know."
When Sam had first realized how screwed they were, how much of the world was gone, he and Dean had fought. There'd been things they said that still showed up in his nightmares. Dean had even had a few kamikaze leanings for a while; he would've taken the whole fleet with him in a suicide run just to leave Sam intact. But there hadn't been any guarantees, any way to be sure the craziest of his plans would have worked, so he'd given up on those ideas, and just concentrated on keeping them both alive for as long as possible.
The irony of Sam finding a possible ritual that could have given them a shot at saving Dean long after they could implement it, still haunted him. An article in an abandoned library in Florida, and a side-trip to Cambridge, and there it was. A way out.
One which he couldn't build or enact, not with the Spheres taking out anyone building anything the Master didn't personally approve. Not without the technology and time to make it work. Maybe it never would have worked, but at least there would have been a chance.
He hated the Master for damning Dean as much as he did for what he'd done to the rest of the Earth.
Trust, or distrust. Hope, or deny hope. Neither would have much of an effect on whether Sam lived or died. Some effect on his sanity levels, possibly. Getting through the day was hard enough sometimes, without adding in disappointment down the line. But still, true or false, he could spread the word, go along with the plan, and not expect to get anything from it. His brother would still be dead if it didn't work. And Dean would still have to fulfill his deal, would have to go through this whole year over again, even if it did.
Except... Sam took a breath, getting another idea. He'd have to talk to Martha. But maybe, maybe...
God. It'd been so long since he had something to hope for.
"We'll pass it along. All the cells along the coast, all the people in the camps." He looked at Dean. "And if we're wrong, I'll buy you a drink when I see you again."
"Sammy..."
"Shut up. Deal?"
Dean sighed, and tossed his cigarette away, the sparks flying out to fall down the dune, briefly illuminating the drop below them. "Deal. If you show up in Hell, I'm buying you a drink. Right after I kick your ass."
Part 3