[This Temple Tilts] Chapter Two
"When you last saw the Doctor he didn't want to be found," Sam says. He's covered the card table in a crude timeline designed with small colored Post-Its. Castiel squints at it, all of time simplified into three lines: pink for the Winchesters, blue for the Doctor, and yellow for events that neither touched.
Thus far Sam and River had rearranged the scope of the timelines three times,trying to pinpoint the last time the Doctor visited their general timeline - if he had at all. Even Castiel is having trouble keeping track of it. Its not the intersecting timelines; that's nothing new. It's the Doctor. River speaks of him the way that angels speak of God, and it makes him uneasy. Castiel has spent a long time trying to find his Father. Trying to find another being as elusive is not appealing.
"That's right," River says. She looks as frustrated as Castiel feels, and as she leans back in her seat she sighs. "We need to do recon - see if anyone associated with the Doctor has seen him. He has a habit of visiting old friends before things go wrong, but that's a big list.”
"Sounds flashy. How big are we talking?" Dean says, scowling at the table as though it has offended him. He hasn't said much since Castiel told him all about the Impala taking a human vessel - Demons possess people, Cas, not my fucking car! As though it was somehow Castiel's fault. Then again, what had he expected? Dean had never responded graciously to bad news.
River fiddles with her wristband as though she's looking for something. Then her face lights up and she smiles. "Well, that's an interesting read. We're going to have to split up. Dean, with me; I like a man that can handle a gun. Cas?"
"Castiel," Dean says.
Castiel frowns at him, but turns his attention to River. She takes a moment longer to look away from Dean and ask Castiel, "Can you find someone for me?"
"I can find anyone who is not hiding from me," Castiel says, pushing himself to his feet. Whatever the Impala has done - and however she had done it - has taken a toll on him, even after taking time to recover. "Who do you have in mind?"
After a moment's hesitation, River nods. "Amy Pond. She's a woman in the United Kingdom, married to my - to a man named Rory. They were with the Doctor most recently. Tell them River sent you."
The task seems small, but Castiel is relieved to make himself useful. "I'll come back as soon as I have information." He considers bidding Dean goodbye, but Dean's expression is as closed off as ever. It's been getting worse since Lilith's death, something growing between them during Sam's detox and Castiel realizing that ending the Apocalypse on Earth didn't mean the war was won in Heaven.
He leaves instead, stretching his senses carefully. First to the United Kingdom. Then north, to a small town named Leadworth. Every stop brings him a little closer, until he finally hones in on one house packed in a tight row with a bright red car out front. Dean would have appreciated it. Cautiously, Castiel checks. The car is just metal and chemicals.
Then it hits him - the faint sign of the TARDIS, so faint that he almost can't catch it. He can't follow it, not while tethered to Jimmy; it stretches too far outside this world, and is fading too fast. Castiel storms into the house. "Amy Pond!" he calls out. A mirror cracks and the door slams shut behind him. A red-headed woman comes down the stairs with a bat extended in front of her. "River sent me."
She softens noticeably, but keeps her flimsy weapon extended. "Where is she?"
"There's no time. Guard this man." Before Castiel leaves, he pauses to add, "He will be hungry, and is fond of red meat." And with that Castiel leaves his vessel behind, hoping that Jimmy understands, hoping that Jimmy will forgive him for the torture of brief freedom.
Everything is so much easier once he's between planes, away from the Earth and into what humans call space. Once he's free of the obfuscation of a vessel Castiel can follow the trail more clearly, understand better what she is. With the physical world behind he can see the majesty of her design as she carried her charges through space and time as though she was little more than their mode of transportation. He follows her trail like a train on a railway, touching her remnants with his grace.
Like this, as stars and planets that humans cannot fathom rush past, Castiel feels her. Understands her love, her frustration, her dedication. The frailty of a love that cannot be attained, of connecting to another creature so totally beyond reason. When Castiel finds her last stop and pulls himself into another plane, another planet, he almost misses the impression of her.
He's surprised not to find her. There's no trail away from this place. It just ends at the corner of a dark stone hall with very little light. Without a vessel he can not interact, but truthfully he does not wish to. This place is a tomb, and Castiel cannot fathom why she lead him to this place. It reeks with a taint of something old and wicked, and Castiel explores quickly.
Of several pedestals - each holding one box - one in particular catches Castiel's attention. It takes him a moment to realize this is because it speaks, though it does so in a language he is unaccustomed to. He must weaken his senses, stretch his understanding before he comprehends the words.
" - and don't think that I won't scream," the box says. It's haughty and touched by fear. "Go on! I'd rather have the monks than you lot."
"Us," Castiel says before he considers the problem of his voice. The room rattles. The box responds.
"If I had feet I would be right out there - "
"You're dead," Castiel says as the understanding strikes him. He lets his grace touch the box, just so, and shudders as he realizes what he beholds. "Your soul is the victim of an ugly violation."
"Well, call it what you will, just do it from far away. I told you, you couldn't hold him for long."
"I have never been here," Castiel replies. "But you have met my brothers. And when you say him, do you speak of the Doctor?" The box goes resolutely silent, but Castiel doesn't need to hear more. He understands, and it's enough. Before the box can speak again, Castiel is gone.
* * *
Dean shakes his head when they touch back down in Bobby's kitchen. "I am never doing that again.” The lead had been a bust, making the resulting queasiness from travel that much worse. It felt exactly like tumbling through time with Castiel. Like being compacted and thrown, with a side dish of motion sickness for good measure. "I'm going to be sick." Dean replies, closing his eyes. He's not such a big fan of when angels zap to and fro, and it's not any better when sufficiently advanced time travelers do it.
"That was fast," Sam says as Dean leans against the wall and waits for his stomach to settle. His knees are weak. "Any news?"
"We visited some old friends," River says. She sounds completely unaffected by the experience, and Dean hates her just a little bit. He has a list these days, and right now “The Doctor” at the top of it. Whatever the guy is going, if he just hadn't done it his car wouldn't be traipsing about in some poor woman's body. “No word since the Doctor's death, but they're a sneaky bunch - they'll keep an eye open.”
Space cops. We visited a police station in space.” Dean takes a deep breath, and finally feels like he's regaining control of his body. "Any word from Cas?"
Sam looks up from under his shaggy hair. "It's been literally five minutes."
"Yeah, well, Cas travels Instant Air as well."
Sam clears his throat and closes his laptop. He has a look on his face - Dean knows Sam's look well enough to know a speech is coming. His expression is all concern and frustration. "You've been giving him a kind of cold shoulder lately. He didn't deserve the way you ripped into him when he told you about the Impala."
Dean closes his eyes again, and he clears his throat. "He's a big angel, Sam. He doesn't need a white knight."
"Doesn't mean we can't look out for him."
"Man, look at you, mother hen. I'm going outside." With that Dean grabs a beer off the counter and . The Impala is sitting out in the salvage yard, dead on her wheels between a beat-up Dodge and a gutted F150. He sits on the hood and pops the cap off the beer with his key chain. The breeze is beautiful and dawn is blooming on the horizon. Suddenly Dean is exhausted and can't remember when he last laid down to sleep. "Baby, why are you doing this to me? You know we're better than possession, right? I mean, our whole lives have been about stopping that kind of shit."
"Just so we're clear, are you giving the Impala a self-righteous speech?"
Dean looks over to where Sam is crossing the lawn toward him, arms crossed over his chest as he walks. "It makes me feel better."
Sam rolls his eyes. "Dean, you can't just keep running on sheer anger and alcohol, alright? You're doing a piss-poor job of hiding the fact that something's bothering you. When you're pissed off, you just piss off the people around you. We need you to get your act together." Sam clears his throat and speaks gentler. "You look like shit. Get some sleep."
"Got things to do, if I'm gonna get my act together."
"Dean, don't be like that." When Dean says nothing in response, Sam adds, "If you don't go get some sleep, I'm going to start talking about my feelings in precise and unsettling detail."
This gets Dean to move, and he gives Sam a wide berth as he walks back into the house. He drops his beer into the trash before he heads upstairs.
He doesn't even remember falling into bed.
* * *
The Impala clicks the safety on the handgun and slides it into a thigh holster she took from Dean's trunk stash before they left. She wonders if he's missed the gun yet. "It's definitely angels," she says softly, looking back to where the TARDIS rests with an arm thrown over her eyes. It's been hours since they returned from their recon, and the TARDIS doesn't look any better for resting. "Why would angels want the Doctor?"
"There's no reason for these angels to take him," the TARDIS says, her words clipped and hard. "He doesn't pose them any threat, so they must need him out of the way. This unraveling of time is deliberate. Someone is tugging away threads, trying to find something. I can feel it as surely as if they were pulling it from my body.” She runs a palm over her sweat-dotted forehead. “It hurts."
Biting her lower lip, the Impala pulls the blinds of the room closed and sits at the TARDIS' side, touching her shoulder. Even through the fabric of her t-shirt the Impala can feel that she's burning up. It can't possibly be that long before they both burn out of these bodies. She doesn't feel it the way the TARDIS does, but she's still aware. She can still feel time ticking away under her skin. "Is there anything I can do? Can't we block it out somehow?"
"No. I need to feel it to know how much time we have before it all collapses." The TARDIS looks out from under her arm and looks up at the Impala with sad eyes. "Didn't I tell you not to worry, Baby? We'll find my Doctor. He's not dead - I would know, as surely as you would if you lost one of your boys. You know these angels, where would they put him?"
The Impala lays out on her stomach; their legs just touch, and Impala finds the sensation distracting. Having a body like this is unusual enough, and even more so when she's reminded of how functional it could be. "I can't say for certain. Each angel is different, and the only angel I know closely would never bring harm to this world."
"The angel from earlier."
"Castiel. He would help us if we asked."
The TARDIS shakes her head and takes a deep breath. "No, it's not safe." They lay in silence, and the Impala listens to the TARDIS' uneasy breathing. She lays a hand softly on the TARDIS' chest. "We'll come up with something," the TARDIS says. "I just need to think."
* * *
Castiel finds his way back to the little house in Leadworth and is a little shocked to find that the time of day has changed. It's now a rainy afternoon, instead of a late night it had been when he left Jimmy behind. Jimmy is sitting on a couch with the redhead - Amy Pond - and a man that Castiel has not met. Rory, River said. They're drinking dark tea from large mugs.
Jimmy looks tired, physically worn beyond his years. He's changed into clothes that aren't his; jeans and a dark long-sleeved shirt that seem out of place of his vessel - on Jimmy's body, he reminds himself. When Castiel lets himself settle in the room a radio switches on, quite unexpectedly, and Jimmy looks over to it. "There he is. Took you long enough, Castiel."
"The angel?" Rory says, tensing instantly.
"Don't worry, he's only here for me." Jimmy scowls at the radio like it's brought him some doom. He's so different from the devout man who had agreed to save the world; there's no light in his face, no joy in his words.
You can say no, Castiel says; the radio hisses, high-pitched across the static. Amy and Rory wince.
"Now? In the middle of all this? You know as well as I do that you need me, and I also know who your alternative vessel is if I say no." At this Jimmy looks down at his hands, down at his wedding band. He pulls it off and examines in carefully. Castiel can feel his anguish, his wants. "This was cruel, Castiel."
It was necessary.
A lightbulb bursts, and Amy jumps to her feet. "Jimmy, don't."
Jimmy looks over to her and manages a small smile. He sets his wedding band onto their coffee table. "Thank you, you've been very kind. Yes, Castiel. I still consent to be your vessel. Amy, Rory - avert your eyes."
Castiel finds that he hesitates, briefly, before he moves to inhabit the vessel that he's too often considered his own flesh. His brothers, his Father, would be appalled by the very idea. He finds the familiar fit inside Jimmy's skin. He compresses himself until he's small and nestled within Jimmy's beating heart, then expands, floods away like blood as he fills every inch of Jimmy's body, reclaims arms and legs and creating a safe place for Jimmy within his own mind. I'm sorry.
When he is done Amy and Rory are crouched and protecting their heads. "It is safe," he says, readjusting to the way his voice has never quite come out like Jimmy's.
Amy jumps to her feet and shoves him, the motion so unexpected that he stumbles in place. "How could you? He was a nice man - he has a family! A daughter!"
"He consented," Castiel says, a pang within him at the thought of Jimmy's family - his Amelia's wide-eyed horror, at the gentle innocence of Claire's mind. He leans down to take Jimmy's wedding band from the table, and slips it into his pocket. He can find a safe place for it when he returns to Bobby's home.
"Under duress! Because - "
"Enough," Castiel says, looking away from her. She turns back to her husband, who seems less angry and more curious. She turns into his arms and he holds her close. It looks like a beautiful comfort. "How long was I away?"
"Two days," Rory says.
"That's too long," Castiel says. "Has Jimmy told you about the Doctor?" Amy looks back, venom still in her eyes, and nods. "Good, I must go." He turns to go, but finds an hand tight around arm. He looks at Amy. He knows what she will say, and is glad for it.
"Not without us. You have my daughter, and I'm not going to sit by while the Doctor is in trouble."
Castiel nods. "Hold on, then."
* * *
"You think you can imprison me in time?" the Doctor snaps when the world rights itself. "Do you have the first clue who I am?" A cursory glance tells him that this place is an abandoned pocket of time. Somewhere outside Earth's stream, an abandoned possibility. Clumps of trees nearly block the view of cabins, each connected by a trail worn into the dirt. "I'll be out of here in time for lunch."
"How?" The angel is dark-skinned and speaks with authority. His strength is obvious in his every movement. The air crackles as if burning around him. The Doctor grins wide and spreads his arms; ever since he helped an archangel sneak into the Norse pantheon he has trouble taking them seriously, even with the showy sound effects.
"You have no idea the connections I have."
"Use them." The angel indicates the world around them and fixes the Doctor with an even expression. "You cannot. You are perfectly sealed here."
"I won't do it," the Doctor says, shoving his hands in his pockets. The sonic was still nestled deep there, safe and whole. Whether it was overlooked or deliberately ignored, he isn't sure - he just knows that they're going to regret it. "You have no idea what you're doing."
The angel snorts. "We're not asking a lot of you, Doctor. You can still steward the humans when it's all over, if that pleases you. I don't even care if you make them an arc - it worked for Noah. The offer is just. Your total freedom, if you will go back and fix the detail you changed."
"No can do. This one is fixed. Those boys were meant to stop your self-centered little apocalypse." The Doctor rolls his eyes and leans against a nearby tree, glancing at the ramshackle cabin to his left. "And how blasé, an apocalypse. You religious types."
At this the angel actually laughs. "You are not the only one who can play with time; even as I speak Heaven is rearranging the world, finding a way to undo your meddling. You had no business interfering with God's plan."
"There is no plan. Trust me, I met your god once or twice. He's not a planner."
The angel waves a hand as though to dismiss the idea entirely. "When you're ready to help us unlock Lucifer as was planned, pray for Raphael. I will come, and I will set you free." Raphael does another turn, surveying the setting. "I have an inferior with a knack for creating these little bubbles. I do believe this is one of his favorite hells. Enjoy it."
With that the angel is gone, and the Doctor is left to his own devices. First things first - he pulls the sonic from a pocket and runs a quick scan of the area, looking for something to give him an idea of what this place is supposed to be. There's a pit in his stomach that he can't place, and he needs to contact the TARDIS. The more the angels play with time - and boy, was their father going to get an earful about hiring a responsible babysitter - the harder it would be to find her.
"This is nothing," the Doctor says, following a defined path into a nearby wooded area. "I've gotten out of death, I can get out of this."
The small woods aren't large, and trees have been pruned and chopped down to the bark. The Doctor scans the area. The woods end, and the Doctor finds himself staring at a strong man with hard eyes and a large gun. "Oh, hello," the Doctor says, smiling and shoving his screwdriver in his pocket. "Dean Winchester, how do you do?"
Dean's glare narrows, and a man comes up behind him. Dean ignores the hand on his shoulder and doesn't take his eyes off the Doctor. "Have we met?"
"Absolutely! Well, not really, but I have watched you and you're distinct at any time. Tell me, where's that brother of yours?" The gun cocks, and the Doctor ducks reflexively. "Hold on! What on earth?"
"Dean," the man behind Dean says; the Doctor feels like he should recognize him, and doesn't until he looks further, just beyond the man's shoulders. Anger coils in his chest, and his hearts beat a little faster "Dean. Wait. He's not from here."
"Neither are you." The Doctor glares at Dean, at his gun and his posture, and straightens the lapels of his jacket. "Look at this, Dean Winchester, destined to failure in all time lines. All the people he loves, doomed to death and disaster. At least you have something to shoot at, right? I bet that makes you very happy."
A peculiar expression crosses Dean's face, and Castiel's hand tightens on his shoulder. For a tense second the Doctor is sure Dean is going to pull the trigger - and he's gotten rather fond of his body, too - but then Dean lowers the gun. "Follow me," he snaps. "And shut up."
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Epilogue