Fic: Spn/DrWho crossover - Enter the Doctor (1/?)
Title: Enter the Doctor - Part 1
Author: ravengrimm
Beta: fledge
Pairing/Characters: Castiel/Dean, Ten
Genre: Crossover - Supernatural/Doctor who, Pre-slash, and a little crack
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2889
Warnings: None
Spoiler: Spn - S4
Summary: A quiet walk in the park turns out to be much more trouble than it's worth
Note: This takes place between S4 and S5 - Supernatural, before 'The End of Time' - Doctor Who
Sorry if this isn’t very good, I tried :/
Comments much appreciated. Here's hoping you like it.
It’s late evening and the faint glow of streetlamps turns the snow a pale blue. It stopped falling hours ago, but thickly blankets everything in sight from the shop roofs to the gently swaying swings caught in the winter breeze. It’s not yet time for Christmas, but already the signs are there. Brightly coloured lights decorate almost every tree in sight, while miles of tinsel drape the shop fronts. There are banners suspended across the roads, offering festive greetings and there’s the ever-familiar sound of Christmas songs filtering out into the street.
The crisp snow crunches under their feet and Dean can’t help but admire the look of wonder on Castiel’s face as he takes each slow, deliberate step, gazing at his feet and the frozen water beneath them. The angel looks mesmerized by this simple creation of nature, and judging by the look on his face, Dean doubts Castiel has ever walked on snow before.
“This is new to you, isn’t it?” Dean asks and Castiel glances up at him, catching his eyes for a second before turning back to the blanket of white that surrounds them. The look Dean catches in those clear blue eyes is so longing that it actually makes his heart twinge.
“To me, almost everything is,” Castiel sighs. “I have seen snow.” He reaches down to scoop some into his hand. “But never had a vessel to touch it with, until now.” He crunches the snow in his un-gloved hand, crushing it between his fingers. It makes Dean shiver just to see Castiel fondle the frozen water against his bare skin even though he knows the angel doesn’t feel the cold like a human would. Dean’s hand, as if working from its own inner chick flick script, reaches out and takes Castiel’s into it, brushing the snow from his fingers and warming them at the same time.
Dean catches himself and coughs to hide his embarrassment and the blush he can feel rising in his cheeks. He slides his hand free, avoiding Castiel’s eyes, as he knows they’re trained on him, and Dean can clearly visualize the frown that will be creasing his brow.
“We should head back, Sam will be wondering where I am,” he says, trying to edge their conversation away from anything embarrassing that may spring from Castiel’s mouth.
“You want me to come back with you?”
“Uh, yeah… If you want to,” Dean says in a quiet voice and turns to leave, pretending as though he wouldn’t mind if Castiel decided not to. He makes a move to continue back to the motel but stops when Castiel doesn’t follow his lead.
“So you coming then?” he asks, turning back around to face Castiel and finds the angel’s attention strangely fixed on something up the path ahead. He follows Castiel’s gaze, half expecting to find an angel or a demon and currently not sure which would be worse. He quirks an eyebrow at what he does find; a tall blue box positioned between the slide and the teeter-totter. The surprising thing being that Dean is almost certain it wasn’t there when the two of them had walked through here earlier, and it appears pretty unmoveable. What is more surprising is that it should be holding Castiel’s attention so fixedly, and that is a little unnerving.
“That’s weird,” Dean says, trying to quiet a worm of worry wriggling in his stomach. He opens his mouth to speak again but Castiel strides off without a word. Dean jogs a few steps to reach him and he looks Castiel over curiously as he walks at his side. The angel’s attention is so fixed on this inconsequential blue box that it puts Dean on edge and he has to restrain himself from reaching for the gun shoved down the back of his pants.
Castiel stops and stares hard at the box, his head tilted to one side, a frown knitting his brows together. Dean examines it as well but keeps an eye on Castiel. The thing appears barely larger than a shower cubical and signs around the top declare it to be a ‘Police Box’, whatever that is.
“Cas, you wanna tell me what’s wrong?” Dean asks, following Castiel around the side of the box to stand in front of a pair of doors. He looks sideways at Castiel and straightens up. “No demons or monsters are gonna jump out at me, are they?” he asks and the lack of response makes Dean reach for his gun again.
Like something out of a bad B-movie, the doors burst open making Dean start, and a curtain of smoke escapes the box. Dean’s gun is in his hand now and squarely pointed into the veil. As the smoke clears a head protrudes from the doorway, a wide grin plastered across its face.
“Hello, I’m the Doctor,” the head states, cheerfully. The head belongs to a man and he steps out of the box, wafting tendrils of smoke and closing the doors sharply behind him. Dean frowns, squinting at the box; he could swear it looked bigger on the inside than is actually possible. He shakes the thought from his mind, turning his attention back to the man.
He is roughly the same height as Dean but quite thin. He’s dressed in a striped brown suit with comfortable shoes and a long, light brown trench coat left to hang open. He leans his back against the police box’s doors, seemingly oblivious to the gun pointed at his head, and takes in the snowy scene. He jerks forward suddenly and stares wide eyed at Castiel, inches from his face, and for the second time Dean jumps.
“What the hell, man!” Dean snaps, repositioning his gun and glaring at the man, who completely ignores him.
The man stares into Castiel’s eyes, frowning, his lips parted in disbelief. “What?!” he exclaims, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinizes Castiel’s face; which, Dean notes, looks worryingly alarmed. “But…what?!” the man exclaims again and cocks his head to the side. “What?!!”
“What?!” Dean demands, feeling exasperated, but he is once more ignored.
The man blinks hard and shakes his head, a smile slowly creeping back onto his lips. “That’s brilliant!” he remarks, standing back. “Now I have seen everything!”
He throws his arms wide, his eyes sparkling with an understanding that Dean can’t begin to grasp. The man raises an eyebrow at Castiel. “I have to admit, I was sceptical. I’ve seen people pretending to be angels, seen some dressed as them. I’ve even seen creatures that genuinely believe that they are angels, when they aren’t. But I’ve never before seen a real one. Remarkable! Not quite what I was expecting, mind you.” He frowns slightly, a smile still in his eyes. “Not really sure what I was expecting though.” A thought visibly flits across his features and he glances at something behind Castiel, the smile curving his lips up again. “Very impressive!”
Dean glances around furtively, checking they are still alone in the park. He steadies his aim as he moves a fraction closer to Castiel and the man so that he can put himself slightly between them, and says, “Dude, who the hell are you?”
At last the man acknowledges Dean and turns to face him. Dean gulps dryly under his scrutiny as the knowledge abruptly penetrates that this man knows what Castiel is, yet he doesn’t stink of demon and doesn’t act like any of the angels Dean has met. He fondles the trigger of his gun and rephrases the question. “What are you?”
The man’s expression is quizzical, the smile leaving his face momentarily, only to return with dazzling force. “I’m the Doctor,” he says again, as if that explains everything and he extends a hand for Dean to take. Dean refuses to let go of his gun and the man’s hand is retracted with a look of disappointment marring his handsome features.
“And I’m the hunter, so?” Dean responds.
Dean eyes this… Doctor warily, whose attention is flitting between Dean and Castiel, his hands stuffed into his pant pockets.
“What. Are. You?” Dean enunciates and the Doctor opens his mouth but Castiel speaks first.
“Dean, this man is… not from here,” he starts, frowning and Dean shifts uncomfortably at the dark tone of his voice.
“He sounds English,” Dean offers, trying to lighten the mood and ease his growing tension.
The Doctor moves, capturing Dean’s full attention again, but the man has only leant his back against the police box doors, looking much too relaxed for someone facing the wrong end of a gun.
“No. I mean-“ Castiel stops and looks hard at Dean. “I think you should put the gun away, Dean,” he suggests sternly, but Dean shakes his head.
“Not till I know what I’m dealing with here,” he says. “Keep talking.”
“Seriously, Dean, the gun is… unwise. There’s something, uh, this man, he’s…” Castiel’s brow creases as he raises his eyes to the sky as if searching for the answer there. Dean didn’t miss the tone Castiel used to say ‘unwise’ and he feels the worm turn violent circles in his stomach. The Doctor’s head is tilted back, but he glances down at Dean now and smiles, an eyebrow raised.
“I’m a traveller,” he explains, pulling his hands out of his pockets and lowering his head.
“And that means?” Dean questions.
“It mean’s he’s not human, Dean. It means he’s… not from Earth,“ Castiel says, seemingly having found the answer he was searching the stars for.
Dean chokes on something that isn’t really there. “Ri-ight,” he mutters, shaking his head. ”Gotcha. Alien then? ‘Cause that makes so much sense!”
“It’s true, Dean,” Castiel presses, laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I can sense it. He’s… different…” Castiel’s eyes narrow. “Something I’ve never encountered before…”
Dean stares at the angel, an eyebrow quirked. “You’re freaking me out here, Cas. What the hell is going on?!”
Castiel’s doesn’t answer. His expression is cryptic now, it might be worry, confusion or wonderment, Dean can’t tell.
“So-o, alien…” Dean scoffs, frowning at the Doctor. “Get loads of them round here, ‘cause there’s so frickin’ many of them!” Dean throws his arms in the air, momentarily aiming his gun at the sky. “What, we don’t have enough things to deal with, we gotta go fighting frickin’ aliens now too?” he shouts and it’s a question for God, fate and the frickin’ apocalypse that’s just around the corner. “This is goddamn ridiculous, Cas. Jesus!”
“Dean-“
“Wait a minute…” the Doctor interrupts. “Fighting?! I just came here to…” He pauses, apparently just taking in his location as he gazes around them. “Where exactly am I?” he asks.
Dean frowns at him, taking aim once more - he’s pretty sure aliens fall under the category of do not trust, and though Dean doesn’t know if he can believe that this guy is an alien, he still isn’t taking any chances. “You don’t know? How the hell did you get here if you don’t even know where you are?”
The Doctor points a distracted finger behind him, indicating the police box as he gazes at the snow covered teeter-totter. “I was aiming for Cardiff,” he tells them, scratching his temple. “Need to refuel.”
Dean shakes his head. “You’re trying to tell me you came here in that?” He points. “In a - a police box? What’s a police box anyway?”
The Doctor blinks at Dean then smiles. “America,” he surmises, answering his own question. “Not sure why she’d bring me here. Maybe she thought I’d like to see an angel, certainly do.” He smiles broadly. “I’ve not been here in such a long time. Lovely place. Interesting people. Dean, was it?” he asks, taking a step closer. “Nice to meet you,” he extends his hand again and this time, mildly dumbfounded, and feeling strangely coerced, Dean takes it. The man’s skin is cool like Castiel’s and he has a surprisingly firm grip for such a skinny guy.
The Doctor flashes Dean a cheeky grin then steps between him and Castiel to stand gazing up at a snow topped tree.
Dean shakes his head and looks in bewilderment at his gun that seems to hold no fear whatsoever for this man. The Doctor talks far too much for Dean’s liking, moving from one topic to the next in a way that makes Dean’s head spin as he fights to keep up. He recalls something from the man’s ramblings and tries to make sense of it.
“She?” he demands, struggling to keep afloat in the sea of confusion that surrounds the Doctor.
The Doctor turns to face him and indicates the blue box with his eyes. “The TARDIS,” he states, and because Dean’s expression says exactly what he thinks of that, the Doctor adds, “My ship.”
Dean sags. He closes his eyes, silently praying that when he opens them, the man will be gone, and Dean can go back to the good old days of only having to fight demons and vampires and zombies and werewolves and… He takes a calming breath and opens his eyes. The man isn’t there, but he hasn’t gone far; he’s sitting on one of the swings, now clear of snow and gently swaying back and forth.
Dean puts his gun away; resigned to the fact that it’s doing nothing to intimidate the man, and what does Dean know, it might have little or no effect on the Doctor anyway. He tugs Castiel aside by his coat, saying, “Cas, I can’t take much more of this. What is going on?”
“Nothing is going on, Dean. “ Castiel frowns, cupping his hand around the one of Dean’s still fisted in his coat.
“Aliens really exist? And they wanna visit Earth, of all places?” Dean snorts and Castiel chuckles faintly, easing Dean’s fingers free and caressing them tenderly.
“Apparently so.”
Dean relaxes slightly under Castiel’s warm gesture, but aware of the chick flick overtones and the proximity of the man on the swing, he slides his hand free and walks over to the Doctor.
“I need some answers,” Dean tells him, folding his arms across his chest.
“I’m all ears,” the Doctor says sweetly, planting his feet flat to stop the motion of the swing and staring up at Dean. “And then all mouth, I suppose.” He grins and Dean quirks an eyebrow at him.
“O-kay, so… What are you? Where did you come from? And what do you want with me?” Dean asks evenly.
The Doctor lowers his gaze momentarily, scuffing his shoe over the snow. “What I am is much too long a story and not one easily understood. Where I come from no longer exists and was over 250 million light years from Earth, so there’s no point in explaining that, really. And as for you…” He looks questioningly at Dean with a bemused look on his face. “Why do you think I want you?”
Dean would have replied ‘Why wouldn’t you?’ with a smug, cocky grin, but he’s still too busy getting his head around ‘250 million light years’ to think about his ego.
The Doctor takes advantage of the silence and twists in the swing so that he can look at Castiel and asks, “So is there, uh…” He points at the sky.
“Supposedly,” Dean remarks, eyeing Castiel doubtfully. “Though He’s never done me any favours.”
“Besides raising you from Hell,” Castiel points out, giving Dean a disparaging look.
“That was you, not Him,” Dean corrects, nudging Castiel with his elbow.
“Fascinating!” the Doctor remarks, and Dean notices that he’s now standing and watching him and Castiel as though they are characters in a television program. The Doctor opens his mouth again to speak, but Dean really doesn’t want to start answering questions about Hell and how he’s no longer in it, so he cuts him off saying, “So why are you, uh… on Earth?” He really can’t believe he’s asking this.
“The TARDIS needs refuelling. I was meant to land in Cardiff, in Wales so that I could make use of the rift, but the TARDIS apparently had other ideas,” the Doctor says, looking at his ship disapprovingly.
“So your ship…”Dean starts and laughs at his own words, that he could possibly believe that 1: aliens exist, 2: there’s one standing right in front of him, 3: he’s English and 4: that he’d be driving around in a blue box only just bigger than a coffin. “This ship of yours is broken then?” he concludes, feeling a piece of his sanity slip away.
“No, not broken, not as such; she’s just temperamental and has a mind of her own sometimes. Plus in desperate need of fuel,” the Doctor explains, a worried look flitting across his face.
“A mind of her own…” Dean repeats, another chunk of sanity abandoning ship to sink into the murky depths surrounding Dean’s sliver of an island known as reality. “Is that a metaphor or something?” Oh please let it be a metaphor.
The Doctor pays Dean an interesting look, as if it is Dean who is mad and speaking words of nonsense. “The TARDIS is alive,” he explains. “But enough about me. What year is this?” he asks, glancing at their surroundings again and something in Dean cracks - it might just be his brain.
Part 2