Fic: Spn/DrWho/TW crossover - Enter the Doctor - (8/?)
Title: Enter the Doctor - Part 8
Author: ravengrimm
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Ten, Sam, Cpt Jack, John, Paul
Genre: Crossover - Supernatural/Doctor Who/Torchwood, light Slash and some crakiness
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2900
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Spn - S4, DrWho - up to 4.16, TW - CoE
Summary: The search continues and the guys make another unfortunate discovery. Plus two Beatles are up to no good...
Note: This takes place between S4 and S5 - Supernatural, before 'The End of Time' - Doctor Who, and at the end of 'Children of Earth' - Torchwood.
Sorry about this chapter in advance, I'm not too happy about it :/ But it's taking too long and I don't like to keep you guys waiting
Previous Chapters: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7
“So that’s a Dalek?” Dean asks, severely unimpressed. From what the Doctor had been saying about them as they followed the rift signal deeper into the warehouse, Dean was expecting some horrendous, giant beast, and not some talking trashcans on wheels. Trashcans equipped with what looks like other household appliances as arms or whatever.
He stares down at the warehouse floor below them and the many creatures unknown standing around, most likely plotting. He cranes his head slightly to get a better view over the edge of the gangway they’re presently spying from, and counts five Daleks, eight demons and countless creatures Dean has no clue about, and also one caveman trying to ineffectually eat a Dalek. And that’s only so far…
Whilst they’ve been watching they saw one of the Daleks just appeared seemingly out of nowhere followed shortly by a… what did the Doctor call it? An Ood? Whatever they are, they look like the unfortunate offspring of a union between a squid and an egg.
“That’s them,” the Doctor says darkly, his eyes tight, chin resting on his elbow, his belly flat against the gangway.
“I gotta say, they just look like oversized salt and pepper shakers to me,” Dean says with an awkward shrug. He peers over his shoulder to where Castiel is crouched, checking he’s still there as he’s much too quiet, and nods at the small smile he offers him before turning back and watching the scene below.
“Well they’re a lot more dangerous than condiment dispensers, Dean,” the Doctor warns.
“Why are there so many humans down there?” Jack asks thoughtfully, and Sam clears his throat.
“They’re not humans, not really,” he tells him, rolling onto his side slightly. “There are demons possessing them.”
Jack’s eyes widen with the knowledge, and it surprises Dean that the alien-hunting time-agent hasn’t come across demons before.
“I knew there had to be some here,” Dean says irritably. “Fricken’ demons!”
“I. AM. DETECTING. TIMELORD!” one of the Daleks says abruptly, it’s mechanical, disjointed speech filling the cavernous room.
“Oh!” the Doctor hisses, his face suddenly sheet white, and he shuffles backwards on his belly and sits hunched with his back against the wall next to Castiel.
“What’s a time lord?” Dean asks and the Doctor smiles thinly.
“I am,” he says huddling down, a thoughtful, slightly nervous look in his eyes.
“You’re a time lord? And what does that mean?”
“It’s my species.”
“Your species are known as lords?” Dean questions, dubiously
The Doctor glares at Dean. “Of time. Hence the time machine,” he says. “And it’s Timelord, one word.”
“MUST. EXTERMINATE. TIMELORD!” the Dalek says, jerking about with it’s frantic command while the demons exchange curious glances, and Dean hears one of them ask, ‘What’s a time lord’ and it makes Dean smirk.
“Well that’s a little harsh,” Sam comments as he moves back from the edge.
“It’s what they do,” the Doctor says grimly. “They’re like the universe’s pest control, only to them, anyone that isn’t Dalek, is considered a pest.”
“So, friendly then?” Dean snorts and the Doctor breathes out heavily.
“Lets go,” he says, rolling up onto his heels and creeping along the gangway in a crouch to the door at the other end.
Dean pays the Daleks one last glance. They may look comical, but their manor and speech is far from funny. Dean silently hopes that he won’t have to find out just how dangerous they are, though he has a sinking feeling that that’s exactly what’s going to happen.
They head down two flights of stairs to the sublevel, which would bring them to the same floor as the aliens and demons, and with any luck, the rift manipulator as well.
It’s damp and musty smelling down here, with what looks like mould growing on the walls and floor. Old rusted parts of what looks like machinery are piled along both sides of the corridor that has only one door leading out of it.
Stepping through that door and into the next room the Doctor freezes, his hand clamped to the door handle, his knuckles turning white as he stares at something within…
*
Meanwhile back inside the TARDIS, location… um… France… maybe…
John stares at the cards he’s been dealt, chewing his lip. His eyes flick to his meagre pile of betting items; two half pennies, one dime, three jelly babies he found inside the sofa, and several hard lumps of what might have once been considered food.
He stares at his cards again, taking a heavy breath. John is good at poker, really good, so why is he loosing?
Paul isn’t great at the game, he’s not as competitive as John most of the time, and that cute puppy face of his gives him away, tells falling off of him like water.
But this other guy…
John glares at the man across from him, long, brown hair framing the shades he’s wearing that glint slightly in the lights of the room. He’s leaning back much too confidently for John’s liking, elbow propped on the armchair they brought in from another room, his long legs outstretched, ankles crossed beside their makeshift poker table of an upside down guitar.
“Your go,” the man reminds him in that smooth accent of his, and John turns back to his cards, huffing internally and decides to bluff.
He slides two jelly babies and a lump across the guitar in the hopes of winning back that foreign booze he had discovered and foolishly lost in a previous game.
The man smiles, and resting his chin on his hand, he turns to Paul who is staring at his own cards, deep in thought and biting his bottom lip. Paul looks between his cards and the hefty pile of coins, jelly babies and IOUs from John he’s amounted. IOUs consisting of things like 1 ciggy, 1foot rub - that he had specifically asked for with a smug grin - and several others that will remain undisclosed and hopefully unredeemed as well.
He looks up. “How many jelly babies do I need to match the bet?” he asks and John quickly says, “Twenty,” at exactly the same time the man says, “T’ree.”
Paul glares at John a moment then smiles smugly and drops three of the sweets into the winnings, then picks up another and eats it.
The man barely glances at his cards before tossing down several coins from his ample collection and leaning back again, waiting for John to make his next move.
John could kick himself sometimes. Why did he open the door? Well, because Dean told him not to, so logical, he just had to. But still, he didn’t think it would come back to bit him in the arse so quickly…
He’s still not entirely sure where they’d been when he opened it, vaguely away that somehow this box, or room, or whatever it is, moves around.
The man had just been standing there, slouching against a wall and looking oddly suspicious in that long trench coat and dark shades in the middle of the night as he peered into some posh gits garden.
And when the doors opened the man’s full attention fell on John. And John was feeling rebellious, spurred on by being told not to do something, so he invited the man inside, and he’d been more than interested to see inside this impossible box.
So here they are, playing poker, the man having suggested it, and John thinks he must be cheating somehow, and has an unfair advantage with those glasses covering his eyes, so John suggests he takes them off in as casual a way as he can.
The man smiles crookedly. “Well,” he says, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees. “Jus’ so long as ya don’ scream,” he stipulates and sliding the glasses off, he looks up slowly.
John nearly drops his cards. Paul’s mouth falls wide as he gasps…
*
The Doctor’s jaw clenches, his body stiff as he stares into the room and Dean steps past him and scrutinizes the man that seems to be holding his attention so fixedly.
The man looks as unimposing as the Doctor and yet the Doctor’s demeanour has turned extremely defensive.
He’s sitting at a circular table covered with a check cloth and holding a mug in one hand, a cookie in the other. He has cropped dark hair and is dressed in a finely tailored suit. The whole scene, him included, looks completely out of place in this grungy, abandoned warehouse.
“Master!” the Doctor says at last, his voice; that one word filled with both awe and dread.
“Hello, Doctor,” the man says, sounding only mildly surprised and his voice slightly muffled by the cookie he was in the middle of eating. “Biscuit?” he offers, holding out the packet, crumbs dropping from his lips.
“Why did you do it, Master? What are you planning?” the Doctor demands sharply, completely ignoring the offer, and finally letting go of the handle. And Dean can’t believe that this man could be the one behind it all, he looks too… normal, despite standing out like a sore thumb.
The man looks hurt. “That offends me, Doctor. I didn’t do it,” he says. “I was just having tea when I appeared here,” he explains, raising his mug, perhaps as proof of this, before taking a sip from it.
“You’re lying,” the Doctor snaps, taking a step toward him.
The man shakes his head. “I mean it, I had nothing to do with this,” he says, though his lips are turned up slightly on one side, a tiny, almost invisible smirk resting there. “You should be talking to them in there,” the man says pointing distractedly at the door on the far side of the room.
“Wait a minute!” Dean interrupts. “You’re called ‘the Master’?” Dean scoffs, the information having just reached his brain. “Do you get a fat head every time someone says your name?” he sniggers.
The Master nearly chokes on his drink. He glares at Dean. “Him, I don’t like,” he says. “Not the best companion you’ve had, Doctor. Now the giant, floppy-haired one, he looks like he knows how to have a laugh,” the Master cackles, looking past Dean at his brother.
He frowns when he sees Castiel. “The short, brooding one, not so much though. He-“
The Master’s eyes fall wide. He frowns and looks questioningly at the Doctor.
The Doctor nods, “An angel,” he says and the Master’s lips part slowly before forming a wide devious grin.
“That’s interesting,” he says and Dean takes an unconscious step between the Master and Castiel. The Master smirks. “Very interesting,” he corrects himself.
The Doctor eases the weird tension building in the room when he walks over to the door drawing their attention as he peers through the small, high window set in it and asks, “If not you, Master, then who?” But he still sounds unconvinced.
“One of them in there,” the Master says disinterestedly. “Don’t know who actually turned it on, or who built it.”
The Doctor turns and quirks an eyebrow at him. “How can you not be interested? I though you would have been all over this,” the Doctor says, folding his arms.
The Master says nothing, but the twitch of his lips and a sniff show him to be concealing a smile, that had Dean not been scrutinizing his face, he would have missed.
“Who exactly are you?” Sam asks, but before the Master can respond, Dean says, “Who cares. Lets go.” Because he doesn’t, he just wants to get all of this over with, so that he can get down to more important things, like him and Cas…
The Doctor looks torn though. He bites his lip as he watches the Master eat his way through another cookie.
The Doctor takes a deep breath and setting his shoulders he says, “Don’t make me have to find you, Master.” And without another word, he opens the doors and strides out.
The warehouse floor swells with silence as they enter, all eyes, and all… eyestalks falling on them.
“TIMELORD!” a Dalek declares almost immediately, as it twists around sharply, eyestalk aimed solely at the Doctor. There only appears to be two Daleks now, which Dean is thankful for, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to think about what the others might be doing.
The Dalek retreats a good few feet when the Doctor glares at it saying, “That’s me!” and he sounds more than a little angry.
“EXTERMINATE-”
“Wait!” a short bulbous headed man interrupts, and the Dalek turns sharply toward it, it’s eyestalk jerking up and down as it examines the speaker. It appears to reach a decision and surprisingly doesn’t continue the threat, but just turns back to face the Doctor.
“What’s the uh… big headed dude?” Dean hears Sam ask Jack in a hushed voice, and then notes the reply of, ‘Sontaran’.
The Doctor opens his mouth to speak, but the Sontaran get there first saying, “Hello, Dean,” And turning his full attention on him. Dean scowls at the heavily armoured man.
“Do I know you?” he asks, though he’s pretty certain he’s never come across anything that looks quite like this before.
“Yes, well, I guess you wouldn’t recognise me in this new meat-suit.”
Dean tenses. “You’re a demon?”
The Sontaran’s lips curl up. “I’m not just any demon, Dean, you silly boy,” he says, and blinking once, he opens his eyes and they are now pure white.
Dean stomach bottoms out and he swallows dryly. “Lillith?”
The demon giggles, it’s large masculine face crinkling with the girlish laughter.
“But… but we killed you!” Sam snaps out, taking a step closer and standing beside Dean.
“I’m as surprised as you are, Sammy. My brothers created this wonderful machine, and then here I was,” he - she, smiles. “And of course, here they were too.” She gestures the gathering of aliens, some of which Dean now notes have blackened eyes.
“That’s what this is about? Bringing you back from the dead?” Sam asks, and with Lillith’s attention on him, Dean takes the opportunity to gesture that the Doctor continue on without them, that Dean, Cas and Sam will hold back the demons and aliens.
The Doctor nods almost imperceptibly, his eyes flicking to Jack, and Dean shifts his weight slightly to stand in front of them.
“No silly,” Lillith says. “They didn’t know that would happen, it was just a happy coincidence.”
“Then what?”
“Vessels,” Castiel says, his voice heavy with the knowledge and Dean can feel it weighing down his shoulders, everything suddenly fitting into place.
“They built the rift manipulator to bring through other life,” Dean says. “To find new vessels.”
Lillith smiles. “But more than that, Dean. These new vessels are strong; they have powers of their own, powers that are now ours for the taking,” she says, casting her eyes around the room at all the leering, black-eyed aliens.
Dean’s vaguely award of the Doctor edging his way toward the exit, but Lillith has apparently been paying more attention than Dean had realised as she abruptly says, “Wait, Doctor.” And with an arm out stretched, fingers curved into a claw, she holds him rooted to the spot and clutching at his throat.
“The Daleks have been talking about you, Doctor. The Timelord.
“They actually seem afraid of you,” She says and Dean watches as the Daleks shift about, seemingly trying to hide that embarrassing fact.
“EXTERMINATE!” one of them says impatiently, jerking several feet closer and something that looks remarkably like a whisk, jerks up and aims threateningly at him.
“Not just yet,” Lillith says, striding across the room toward where she has immobilised the Doctor, and the Dalek twists angrily to face Lillith, but otherwise says and does nothing.
“Leave him alone!” Jack shouts, and taking a step forward an alien clothed demon darts in front of him, blocking their path to the Doctor.
Dean looks at Castiel, telling him with his eyes alone to help the Doctor but before the angel even has time to lift a finger, demons bare down on him and he’s forced to fend them off, unable to aid the Doctor or anyone else.
“Any one that can make a fearsome race such as the Daleks uneasy, would surely make a very useful host,” Lillith continues, looking the Doctor over. She smiles crookedly. “And would certainly be a step up from this one,” she says, regarding her current vessel with a look of mild disgust. “Not very pretty, at all.”
“Don’t!” Dean snaps, desperately trying to find an opening between the demons but failing as each time he moves minutely they mimic him, keeping themselves securely between Dean and the Doctor.
“Not… a good… idea…” the Doctor chokes out, struggling for breath, as he grasps vainly at his throat, trying to prise off a hand that isn’t actually in reach.
“Oh, we’ll see,” Lillith coos and throwing her head back, black smoke billows from the Sontaran’s mouth.
The Doctor is briefly released from Lillith’s hold as the Sontaran host slumps to the floor, but all he has time to do is take a gasp of much needed breath before the smoke pours down his throat. And the sound of Jack’s cried ‘No!’ echoes into an uneasy silence that fills the room…
*
Part 9
Author: ravengrimm
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Ten, Sam, Cpt Jack, John, Paul
Genre: Crossover - Supernatural/Doctor Who/Torchwood, light Slash and some crakiness
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2900
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Spn - S4, DrWho - up to 4.16, TW - CoE
Summary: The search continues and the guys make another unfortunate discovery. Plus two Beatles are up to no good...
Note: This takes place between S4 and S5 - Supernatural, before 'The End of Time' - Doctor Who, and at the end of 'Children of Earth' - Torchwood.
Sorry about this chapter in advance, I'm not too happy about it :/ But it's taking too long and I don't like to keep you guys waiting
Previous Chapters: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7
“So that’s a Dalek?” Dean asks, severely unimpressed. From what the Doctor had been saying about them as they followed the rift signal deeper into the warehouse, Dean was expecting some horrendous, giant beast, and not some talking trashcans on wheels. Trashcans equipped with what looks like other household appliances as arms or whatever.
He stares down at the warehouse floor below them and the many creatures unknown standing around, most likely plotting. He cranes his head slightly to get a better view over the edge of the gangway they’re presently spying from, and counts five Daleks, eight demons and countless creatures Dean has no clue about, and also one caveman trying to ineffectually eat a Dalek. And that’s only so far…
Whilst they’ve been watching they saw one of the Daleks just appeared seemingly out of nowhere followed shortly by a… what did the Doctor call it? An Ood? Whatever they are, they look like the unfortunate offspring of a union between a squid and an egg.
“That’s them,” the Doctor says darkly, his eyes tight, chin resting on his elbow, his belly flat against the gangway.
“I gotta say, they just look like oversized salt and pepper shakers to me,” Dean says with an awkward shrug. He peers over his shoulder to where Castiel is crouched, checking he’s still there as he’s much too quiet, and nods at the small smile he offers him before turning back and watching the scene below.
“Well they’re a lot more dangerous than condiment dispensers, Dean,” the Doctor warns.
“Why are there so many humans down there?” Jack asks thoughtfully, and Sam clears his throat.
“They’re not humans, not really,” he tells him, rolling onto his side slightly. “There are demons possessing them.”
Jack’s eyes widen with the knowledge, and it surprises Dean that the alien-hunting time-agent hasn’t come across demons before.
“I knew there had to be some here,” Dean says irritably. “Fricken’ demons!”
“I. AM. DETECTING. TIMELORD!” one of the Daleks says abruptly, it’s mechanical, disjointed speech filling the cavernous room.
“Oh!” the Doctor hisses, his face suddenly sheet white, and he shuffles backwards on his belly and sits hunched with his back against the wall next to Castiel.
“What’s a time lord?” Dean asks and the Doctor smiles thinly.
“I am,” he says huddling down, a thoughtful, slightly nervous look in his eyes.
“You’re a time lord? And what does that mean?”
“It’s my species.”
“Your species are known as lords?” Dean questions, dubiously
The Doctor glares at Dean. “Of time. Hence the time machine,” he says. “And it’s Timelord, one word.”
“MUST. EXTERMINATE. TIMELORD!” the Dalek says, jerking about with it’s frantic command while the demons exchange curious glances, and Dean hears one of them ask, ‘What’s a time lord’ and it makes Dean smirk.
“Well that’s a little harsh,” Sam comments as he moves back from the edge.
“It’s what they do,” the Doctor says grimly. “They’re like the universe’s pest control, only to them, anyone that isn’t Dalek, is considered a pest.”
“So, friendly then?” Dean snorts and the Doctor breathes out heavily.
“Lets go,” he says, rolling up onto his heels and creeping along the gangway in a crouch to the door at the other end.
Dean pays the Daleks one last glance. They may look comical, but their manor and speech is far from funny. Dean silently hopes that he won’t have to find out just how dangerous they are, though he has a sinking feeling that that’s exactly what’s going to happen.
They head down two flights of stairs to the sublevel, which would bring them to the same floor as the aliens and demons, and with any luck, the rift manipulator as well.
It’s damp and musty smelling down here, with what looks like mould growing on the walls and floor. Old rusted parts of what looks like machinery are piled along both sides of the corridor that has only one door leading out of it.
Stepping through that door and into the next room the Doctor freezes, his hand clamped to the door handle, his knuckles turning white as he stares at something within…
*
Meanwhile back inside the TARDIS, location… um… France… maybe…
John stares at the cards he’s been dealt, chewing his lip. His eyes flick to his meagre pile of betting items; two half pennies, one dime, three jelly babies he found inside the sofa, and several hard lumps of what might have once been considered food.
He stares at his cards again, taking a heavy breath. John is good at poker, really good, so why is he loosing?
Paul isn’t great at the game, he’s not as competitive as John most of the time, and that cute puppy face of his gives him away, tells falling off of him like water.
But this other guy…
John glares at the man across from him, long, brown hair framing the shades he’s wearing that glint slightly in the lights of the room. He’s leaning back much too confidently for John’s liking, elbow propped on the armchair they brought in from another room, his long legs outstretched, ankles crossed beside their makeshift poker table of an upside down guitar.
“Your go,” the man reminds him in that smooth accent of his, and John turns back to his cards, huffing internally and decides to bluff.
He slides two jelly babies and a lump across the guitar in the hopes of winning back that foreign booze he had discovered and foolishly lost in a previous game.
The man smiles, and resting his chin on his hand, he turns to Paul who is staring at his own cards, deep in thought and biting his bottom lip. Paul looks between his cards and the hefty pile of coins, jelly babies and IOUs from John he’s amounted. IOUs consisting of things like 1 ciggy, 1foot rub - that he had specifically asked for with a smug grin - and several others that will remain undisclosed and hopefully unredeemed as well.
He looks up. “How many jelly babies do I need to match the bet?” he asks and John quickly says, “Twenty,” at exactly the same time the man says, “T’ree.”
Paul glares at John a moment then smiles smugly and drops three of the sweets into the winnings, then picks up another and eats it.
The man barely glances at his cards before tossing down several coins from his ample collection and leaning back again, waiting for John to make his next move.
John could kick himself sometimes. Why did he open the door? Well, because Dean told him not to, so logical, he just had to. But still, he didn’t think it would come back to bit him in the arse so quickly…
He’s still not entirely sure where they’d been when he opened it, vaguely away that somehow this box, or room, or whatever it is, moves around.
The man had just been standing there, slouching against a wall and looking oddly suspicious in that long trench coat and dark shades in the middle of the night as he peered into some posh gits garden.
And when the doors opened the man’s full attention fell on John. And John was feeling rebellious, spurred on by being told not to do something, so he invited the man inside, and he’d been more than interested to see inside this impossible box.
So here they are, playing poker, the man having suggested it, and John thinks he must be cheating somehow, and has an unfair advantage with those glasses covering his eyes, so John suggests he takes them off in as casual a way as he can.
The man smiles crookedly. “Well,” he says, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees. “Jus’ so long as ya don’ scream,” he stipulates and sliding the glasses off, he looks up slowly.
John nearly drops his cards. Paul’s mouth falls wide as he gasps…
*
The Doctor’s jaw clenches, his body stiff as he stares into the room and Dean steps past him and scrutinizes the man that seems to be holding his attention so fixedly.
The man looks as unimposing as the Doctor and yet the Doctor’s demeanour has turned extremely defensive.
He’s sitting at a circular table covered with a check cloth and holding a mug in one hand, a cookie in the other. He has cropped dark hair and is dressed in a finely tailored suit. The whole scene, him included, looks completely out of place in this grungy, abandoned warehouse.
“Master!” the Doctor says at last, his voice; that one word filled with both awe and dread.
“Hello, Doctor,” the man says, sounding only mildly surprised and his voice slightly muffled by the cookie he was in the middle of eating. “Biscuit?” he offers, holding out the packet, crumbs dropping from his lips.
“Why did you do it, Master? What are you planning?” the Doctor demands sharply, completely ignoring the offer, and finally letting go of the handle. And Dean can’t believe that this man could be the one behind it all, he looks too… normal, despite standing out like a sore thumb.
The man looks hurt. “That offends me, Doctor. I didn’t do it,” he says. “I was just having tea when I appeared here,” he explains, raising his mug, perhaps as proof of this, before taking a sip from it.
“You’re lying,” the Doctor snaps, taking a step toward him.
The man shakes his head. “I mean it, I had nothing to do with this,” he says, though his lips are turned up slightly on one side, a tiny, almost invisible smirk resting there. “You should be talking to them in there,” the man says pointing distractedly at the door on the far side of the room.
“Wait a minute!” Dean interrupts. “You’re called ‘the Master’?” Dean scoffs, the information having just reached his brain. “Do you get a fat head every time someone says your name?” he sniggers.
The Master nearly chokes on his drink. He glares at Dean. “Him, I don’t like,” he says. “Not the best companion you’ve had, Doctor. Now the giant, floppy-haired one, he looks like he knows how to have a laugh,” the Master cackles, looking past Dean at his brother.
He frowns when he sees Castiel. “The short, brooding one, not so much though. He-“
The Master’s eyes fall wide. He frowns and looks questioningly at the Doctor.
The Doctor nods, “An angel,” he says and the Master’s lips part slowly before forming a wide devious grin.
“That’s interesting,” he says and Dean takes an unconscious step between the Master and Castiel. The Master smirks. “Very interesting,” he corrects himself.
The Doctor eases the weird tension building in the room when he walks over to the door drawing their attention as he peers through the small, high window set in it and asks, “If not you, Master, then who?” But he still sounds unconvinced.
“One of them in there,” the Master says disinterestedly. “Don’t know who actually turned it on, or who built it.”
The Doctor turns and quirks an eyebrow at him. “How can you not be interested? I though you would have been all over this,” the Doctor says, folding his arms.
The Master says nothing, but the twitch of his lips and a sniff show him to be concealing a smile, that had Dean not been scrutinizing his face, he would have missed.
“Who exactly are you?” Sam asks, but before the Master can respond, Dean says, “Who cares. Lets go.” Because he doesn’t, he just wants to get all of this over with, so that he can get down to more important things, like him and Cas…
The Doctor looks torn though. He bites his lip as he watches the Master eat his way through another cookie.
The Doctor takes a deep breath and setting his shoulders he says, “Don’t make me have to find you, Master.” And without another word, he opens the doors and strides out.
The warehouse floor swells with silence as they enter, all eyes, and all… eyestalks falling on them.
“TIMELORD!” a Dalek declares almost immediately, as it twists around sharply, eyestalk aimed solely at the Doctor. There only appears to be two Daleks now, which Dean is thankful for, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to think about what the others might be doing.
The Dalek retreats a good few feet when the Doctor glares at it saying, “That’s me!” and he sounds more than a little angry.
“EXTERMINATE-”
“Wait!” a short bulbous headed man interrupts, and the Dalek turns sharply toward it, it’s eyestalk jerking up and down as it examines the speaker. It appears to reach a decision and surprisingly doesn’t continue the threat, but just turns back to face the Doctor.
“What’s the uh… big headed dude?” Dean hears Sam ask Jack in a hushed voice, and then notes the reply of, ‘Sontaran’.
The Doctor opens his mouth to speak, but the Sontaran get there first saying, “Hello, Dean,” And turning his full attention on him. Dean scowls at the heavily armoured man.
“Do I know you?” he asks, though he’s pretty certain he’s never come across anything that looks quite like this before.
“Yes, well, I guess you wouldn’t recognise me in this new meat-suit.”
Dean tenses. “You’re a demon?”
The Sontaran’s lips curl up. “I’m not just any demon, Dean, you silly boy,” he says, and blinking once, he opens his eyes and they are now pure white.
Dean stomach bottoms out and he swallows dryly. “Lillith?”
The demon giggles, it’s large masculine face crinkling with the girlish laughter.
“But… but we killed you!” Sam snaps out, taking a step closer and standing beside Dean.
“I’m as surprised as you are, Sammy. My brothers created this wonderful machine, and then here I was,” he - she, smiles. “And of course, here they were too.” She gestures the gathering of aliens, some of which Dean now notes have blackened eyes.
“That’s what this is about? Bringing you back from the dead?” Sam asks, and with Lillith’s attention on him, Dean takes the opportunity to gesture that the Doctor continue on without them, that Dean, Cas and Sam will hold back the demons and aliens.
The Doctor nods almost imperceptibly, his eyes flicking to Jack, and Dean shifts his weight slightly to stand in front of them.
“No silly,” Lillith says. “They didn’t know that would happen, it was just a happy coincidence.”
“Then what?”
“Vessels,” Castiel says, his voice heavy with the knowledge and Dean can feel it weighing down his shoulders, everything suddenly fitting into place.
“They built the rift manipulator to bring through other life,” Dean says. “To find new vessels.”
Lillith smiles. “But more than that, Dean. These new vessels are strong; they have powers of their own, powers that are now ours for the taking,” she says, casting her eyes around the room at all the leering, black-eyed aliens.
Dean’s vaguely award of the Doctor edging his way toward the exit, but Lillith has apparently been paying more attention than Dean had realised as she abruptly says, “Wait, Doctor.” And with an arm out stretched, fingers curved into a claw, she holds him rooted to the spot and clutching at his throat.
“The Daleks have been talking about you, Doctor. The Timelord.
“They actually seem afraid of you,” She says and Dean watches as the Daleks shift about, seemingly trying to hide that embarrassing fact.
“EXTERMINATE!” one of them says impatiently, jerking several feet closer and something that looks remarkably like a whisk, jerks up and aims threateningly at him.
“Not just yet,” Lillith says, striding across the room toward where she has immobilised the Doctor, and the Dalek twists angrily to face Lillith, but otherwise says and does nothing.
“Leave him alone!” Jack shouts, and taking a step forward an alien clothed demon darts in front of him, blocking their path to the Doctor.
Dean looks at Castiel, telling him with his eyes alone to help the Doctor but before the angel even has time to lift a finger, demons bare down on him and he’s forced to fend them off, unable to aid the Doctor or anyone else.
“Any one that can make a fearsome race such as the Daleks uneasy, would surely make a very useful host,” Lillith continues, looking the Doctor over. She smiles crookedly. “And would certainly be a step up from this one,” she says, regarding her current vessel with a look of mild disgust. “Not very pretty, at all.”
“Don’t!” Dean snaps, desperately trying to find an opening between the demons but failing as each time he moves minutely they mimic him, keeping themselves securely between Dean and the Doctor.
“Not… a good… idea…” the Doctor chokes out, struggling for breath, as he grasps vainly at his throat, trying to prise off a hand that isn’t actually in reach.
“Oh, we’ll see,” Lillith coos and throwing her head back, black smoke billows from the Sontaran’s mouth.
The Doctor is briefly released from Lillith’s hold as the Sontaran host slumps to the floor, but all he has time to do is take a gasp of much needed breath before the smoke pours down his throat. And the sound of Jack’s cried ‘No!’ echoes into an uneasy silence that fills the room…
*
Part 9