Chapter Five

Sam

“More tea Samuel?”

Sam smiled at the blond woman that Donna had introduced (albeit somewhat reluctantly) as her mother. He sat at the small kitchen with cooled cup of weak tea in one hand and a plate of…well, he wasn’t sure what placed in front of him. On first glance it looked like toast with some knarly looking sauce on top, but he couldn’t be sure. The woman had mentioned brown sauce actually, but that couldn’t be it, there to be something else right?

Were those beans?

“I’m good Ms. Noble, but thank you.”

“Silvia. Just Silva.” She smiled brightly, and moved back toward the stove where several pots were simmering.

“Who does your hair?”

Sam looked across the table to find Donna staring at him, her blue eyes slightly narrowed as she eyed his borderline shaggy haircut.

“I do.” Sam said, resisting the urge to touch his hair. “I mean…why, is there something wrong with it?”

“No, no, it becomes you actually. Looks a bit rugged, like you just got out of bed or something. Nice image, that.”

Sam’s mouth opened, but no sound came out as his face began to flush. He cleared his throat, and began to look around the room frantically.

“So um…where is he? The Doctor I mean.”

“Oh, he’s over in the living room, brooding again. I swear, that man will fixate on the strangest things, he just keeps starin’ at that screwdriver like it’s gonna talk to him any second. I’ve been traipsing around for quite a bit now, and the other one never said a word. Not sure why he thinks this one will be any different.”

Sam gaped at her.

“Wait, there’s more than one of those things?”

Donna leaned back in the chair and rolled her eyes.

“You mean he hasn’t pulled it out yet? That’s rich, he usually can’t wait to show new ones his favorite toy. Sonic screwdriver, ridiculous that is. I mean, you travel around the universe, fighting aliens and the lot, and pick a screwdriver to fend them off?”

Sam shrugged, sliding the tea cup back an forth on the table.

“I don’t know, from what you told me he’s pretty big on fixing things. You know, stuff that goes wrong with people and….aliens. Kinda makes sense when you think about it.”

A large smile formed on her face, and he shifted uncomfortably.

“What?”

“I can see why he likes you.” Donna said. “You think like him.”

“I do not.” Sam said. “I mean, he’s cool and everything, but.” He leaned in a bit, and Donna did the same. “Sometimes, I think he might, I mean with every thing that goes on around him, he just seems like…”

“Barney?” she said. Sam’s eyebrow rose in confusion.

“Like the kid’s show?”

“No.” Donna sighed. “Look I know he’s a bit off at times, but he knows what he’s doing. Well, maybe not right now, I’ve never seen his hair quite that spikey before, that’s never a good sign. But The Doctor will figure things out, he always does. We’ll find Martha again.”

“Yeah.” Sam said. “So he cares about her, Martha I mean.”

Donna nodded, and looked back towards the living room.

“More than he realizes.” She said. “Martha knows him, I mean really knows him. And they just…you should see them together, minds always working, figuring things out. He thinks she’s brilliant and he’s right. She is.”

“So you’ve met her?”

“Oh, yeah. We traveled a bit in the old TARDIS.” Donna said. “Saved lives together, heroes and all that. I was very brave.”

“You were?” Sam said, smiling in spite of himself.

“Oh, yes.” Donna said. “I’m quite an impressive person as well Sam”

She leaned over, and placed a hand to the corner of his mouth.

“You just got a little something, right there…”

Sam stared at her as she slowly brushed some unknown crumb off his face. Unknown in part because he’d yet to eat anything. Her fingers brushed over his lips, lingered on his chin, before pulling away.

“There we go, all better.” She said finally.

“Thanks.”

“Happy to help.”

Martha

For a moment, she thought she was home.

She smelled some kind of bread baking and breathed in deeply, shifting her body under the covers. Her eyes opened slowly, taking in the blast of sunlight that filled the room.

And then she remembered.

Martha sat up in bed, eyes landing on the peeling, unfamiliar furniture littered throughout the room. Her stomach clenched slightly as the previous night’s events unfurled in her mind.

“Not a dream then.” She said to the empty room.

When she rose from the bed, her eyes caught sight of her clothes laid out on a chair in the corner. They were freshly washed and pressed, not a wrinkle in sight. She picked up her shirt, and smiled softly.

Bobby, she thought.

Martha showered and changed quickly, never being one to feel completely comfortable in a strange place. Being naked in someone else’s house was just odd, she couldn’t explain it really. It was why she’d always insist that Tom spend the night at her flat, she couldn’t sleep in his, let alone linger on morning beauty rituals.

Maybe she’s been too rigid about those things, she thought as she made her way downstairs. Perhaps the blond who replaced her didn’t have quite as many hang-ups. Just one more thing she’d probably never know.

“Good morning sunshine!” Bobby bellowed as she entered the kitchen. He held a pan of what appeared to be scones in a mitt covered hand, a wore a bright smile on his face.

Dean sat at the table, cup of coffee in hand, his acknowledgement of her presence limited to a brief nod. She sat at the table, and inhaled deeply.

“Oh, that smells heavenly.” She said.

“Taste fucking good too, if you pardon my French.” Bobby said. Dean took a drink from his mug, scowl fixed on his face.

“Fucking morning people.” Dean said. “Assholes, every single one.”

“I take it you didn’t sleep well, then?” she said. Dean’s eyes fell on hers, and she felt a light flutter in her stomach.

Where the hell had that come from?

“Not really.” He said, sliding his eyes toward Bobby. “Since my room was right next to fucking Shamu, I had to listen to his whale calls all night.”

“I don’t snore.” Bobby said.

“Yes, you do goddammit, and you denying it don’t make it any less true. Get some damn strips or something, man.”

“Strips?” Bobby placed a plate in front of Martha and began to load her up with scones.

“Yeah, those little things you put on your nose…and why the fuck am I telling you this? Just go to a damn pharmacy.”

Martha picked up a piece of bread.

“I didn’t peg you for scones Bobby, these look…”

”I’m sorry, what did you say?” Bobby said. Dean smiled to himself and took another sip of coffee.

“I…just…these are scones aren’t they?”

The smile faded from Bobby’s face as he looked down at the tray.

“These are my momma’s biscuits, what the hell are scones?”

Dean leaned back in his chair.

“Some fruity British muffin they serve at Starbucks. Sam likes that shit, gets them all a time. Me, I like manly pastries. Biscotti all the fucking way, I love dipping those things in coffee, boy…and the chocolate ones..”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Bobby said. He pointed to Martha’s plate.

“Those are buttermilk biscuits young lady, not…scones. I’m sure Dean can go get you some if you…

“Nope.” Dean said, rising from the table. “Got work to do, no time for a mocha run, sorry.”

“What kind of work?” Martha said as she bit into the biscuit. Her eyes drifted shut as the bread seemed to melt in her mouth, filled with the taste of butter. She couldn’t stop the small moan that escaped her lips.

When she opened her eyes, Dean was staring at her, his body frozen in place.

“Sorry, I….it was really good.” She said sheepishly. Her hand reached up to wipe a bit of crust from her lips.

“What did you mean before, what sort of work?”

“Huh?”

“You said you had work to do this morning. What kind, does it have something to do with your brother?”

“Who?”

“Fucking scones.” Bobby grumbled behind them, tossing the pan back on the counter.

The Doctor

“Maybe it’s a message, from that friend of yours. What was her name again?”

“River Song.” The Doctor replied distractedly, eyeing the screwdriver through his reading glasses.

Wilfred Mott’s light blue eyes slid back and forth between The Doctor sitting on the couch, his lean body hunched over, and the sonic screwdriver on the coffee table. The Doctor was well aware of the man’s confusion over his actions, as well as his desire to help in the situation. He liked Wilfred, he’d proven to be quite brilliant on a number of occasions. But how to explain something that he couldn’t quite yet grasp himself?

“She used it before, didn’t she? I mean you said…”

“She left me a message, something that helped me save her. In a sense that is, she did die, only not completely…sort of kept her echo—you’re not understanding a world of this are you?”

Wilfred smiled as his head shook side to side.

“No, but it sounds fantastic!”

The Doctor smiled in spite of himself.

“You figure that thing out yet?” Donna said as she entered the room. Sam walked in behind her, his eyes instantly locking on the screwdriver.

“No..” The Doctor said.

He removed his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. “We know the TARDIS was drawn to that planet, drawn to this.” He picked up the screwdriver, holding it up to the light. “And then brought us here, for what? For you?” He said, nodding toward Donna. She smiled and tossed her red hair behind her shoulders.

“Maybe it missed me.” She said. She frowned as The Doctor shook his head.

“No, that can’t be it.” He said. “This all started when Martha disappeared. No wait, hold on...” He rose from the couch. “That wasn’t it…no,…Martha did something, she fixed it, the communicator. That’s when everything started.”

“And you’ve lost me.” Donna said.

“I think he’s lost us all sweetheart.” Wilfred volunteered.

“No, but that makes no sense, it’s just an interface system, like a mobile phone—her mobile! “ The Doctor ran to the side of the room, his fingers fumbling with the phone receiver. Donna hurried to his side, jerking the phone away from his hands.

“Let me!” she said. “You’ll break the bloody thing. What’s her number?”

The Doctor’s back straightened and he looked around the room, all eyes focused expectantly on him. Donna sighed heavily, and replaced the receiver, back in its cradle.

“You don’t know her phone number.”

“She always called me!” The Doctor said. “It never came up actually.”

“Figures.” Donna said, slamming the phone on the table. “Two hearts or no, you lot are all the same.”

“Hey guys.” Sam said. They all turned to see him staring at the screwdriver on the table. “I think I might….Donna, you said that The Doctor has one of these too?”

“That’s right.” The Doctor said, pulling his from his jacket pocket. “Works a bit like that one, only a bit less…complicated.”

“Right.” Sam said. “So, whose was this again? Before your friend had it?”

“It was Jack’s.”

“Before that?” Sam said. “Was there anyone else…”

“Well, never quite got the chance to…ask...” The Doctor’s face grew darker, his eyes clouding over. Donna shook her head, stepping back a few paces.

“I know that look.” She said. Sam looked at her, then back at the Doctor.

“What look.” He said. “What, did he think of something?”

“Doctor?” Donna said. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

“I think I know why I’m here.” He said quietly. “And if I’m right…if I’m right this entire scenario just became a bit worse.”

They were all silent as his words hung in the air around them.

“Sounds dangerous.” Wilfred said, standing to his feet. “I better get my good hat.”

The Doctor lifted his eyebrow at Donna, who shook her head.

“Don’t ask.”

“Aright then.”


 

Dean

“Perhaps it’s the accent that’s causing a bit of confusion. My “Brit speak”, as you like to call it, or a tin ear perhaps. I’m not sure how many different ways I can express that I don’t like guns. I won’t use them.”

Dean lifted the sawed off shotgun from the table and checked the barrel for ammo. He’d replaced the live rounds with blanks earlier this morning, but he always double checked before shooting, just to be sure.

His dad had taught him that.

“This is insane, I’m a doctor. I heal people, not…pop caps in their asses.”

Dean smiled.

“Been watching Bad Boys II?” he said.

“Please. Pulp Fiction. I do have standards.”

“Oh, no doubt. Travolta screams high brow. ” He pushed the gun towards her and she cross her arms across her chest, her mouth set in a firm line.

“Take the gun.” He said.

“No.”

“Martha.” Dean swung the gun down to his side, his brows furrowed as he stared at her. “I’m not sure you get exactly what happened last night.”

“Is this about the demons? I get it, I do. Demons are real, at least…they are here. And they’re very scary, and dangerous, and smell rancid. You don’t have to explain it to me.”

He moved closer to her, and she shifted uncomfortably.

“I think I do. Those things are after you for some reason, who the hell knows why. But they’re not gonna stop, not even if you hop your round little ass on a plane and fly home to the mother country. They’re not just here, they’re everywhere. And they want you.”

Martha looked away for a moment, then looked back.

“I know that.’ She said. “I…I do.”

“Good.” He moved backwards a bit. “Now, Bobby’s making calls, looking shit up trying to figure this out. While he’s doing that...” he lifted the shotgun again, cocking it for emphasis.

“We’re gonna do this.”

“Dean...”

“You got to protect yourself baby, and that quick mind of yours is handy, but not in a fist fight.”

“Did you just call me baby?”

“Just take the fucking gun, my arm’s tired.”

She reached for it attentively, her slim fingers wrapping around the barrel. He watched her stare at the weapon distastefully, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

‘There’s the target, over there.”

She found the wood posts not ten feet away.

“That’s a bit close.”

“Demons don’t attack from a safe distance.” He said. She lifted the gun to her shoulder, aiming the weapon awkwardly.

“Did you say you were in the military?”

“I’m not...I don’t carry a sidearm, and we didn’t train with…these things.” She said.

He blew out a deep breath and reached for her hand, placing her fingers around the trigger. Dean moved his body behind her, and reached for her other hand, wrapping it around the hilt of the gun.

“Keep a tight grip, the kickback’s a bitch.” He said, her small height causing him to bend down significantly. She was tense, too tense to shoot worth a damn, but he didn’t move.

“Relax.” He said.

“Never happen.” She said, but she followed his instructions, her shoulders slumping slightly. He let go of her hands, but stayed close, his voice lowering slightly as he spoke to her.

“Now, focus on the post, just above where you want to shoot.”

She smelled like that soap again. What the hell was that, Zest?

“Good.” He said.” Keep you body towards the target.” Her hips shifted, and he felt the curve of her ass brush against his groin.

“Okay, now breathe...” he said, lowering his lips only inches from her ear. “And squeeze the trigger, don’t pull.”

The report startled her, and he felt her jump a bit. There was a haze of smoke and he heard the wood of the post splinter as the bullet found its target.”

“I did it.” Martha said, slightly amazed. She turned her head, a bright smile on her lips. “I hit it on my first try! That’s just brilliant, go me!”

His gaze locked on her mouth.

“Yeah, that’s…that’s umm…shit, fuck it.” He said before crushing his lips to hers.

Martha

His mouth was slightly bitter, most likely from the coffee he’d drank this morning. And as the moist heat of his tongue pushed past her lips, she thought perhaps she could start drinking coffee after all. At the moment, it was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted.

Martha dropped the gun to the ground, her hands lifting to his hair, becoming buried in the thick cropped tresses. His arms moved around her waist, and lifted her slightly, before pressing her back against the wood panels of the house.

Martha met his probing tongue with her own, stroking softly inside the warmth of his mouth. His hand slid down to cup her ass, and he pressed her against him, his thigh moving to settle between her legs. She felt her nipples harden as they pressed against his chest, and aching warmth formed between her thighs. Martha moaned into his mouth, arching her spine as his hand slid beneath the hem of her shirt, gently rubbing the skin at the small of her back.

“Dean! Martha! Where the fuck are you guys!”

They broke apart instantly, as if someone had shot a gun in the air. Martha straightened her shirt as she turned away from Dean, saying a small prayer of thanks for her blush proof skin tone.

Bobby ran behind the house, his own face flushed bright read, two large guns in hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a hacking cough left his throat, causing him to bend over a bit.

“Slow down Bobby.” Dean said, as Martha hurried to his side. She placed a hand to Bobby’s wrist and began to take his pulse.

“They’re coming.” Bobby gasped. “Shit, I saw them…when I was down the road...”

She saw Dean’s body instantly tense, his eyes narrow.

“Who’s coming.” He said.

“All of them.” Bobby said, gently disentangling himself from Martha’s grasp. He tossed one of the shotguns to Dean, who caught it easily.

“What do you mean...”

“I mean fucking all of them!” Bobby said. “Demons, vamps, you name it. I never seen anything like this shit, it…fuck, it’s insane. Goddamn We are the Hell Demon World out there.”

“It’s me.” Martha said, and they both looked down at her.

“They’re coming after me—what the bloody hell is going on!”

Sam

“What the hell is going on!” Sam yelled.

They all stopped instantly and turned around, The Doctor, Donna, and her grandfather all in a row, and all looking at him like …well, like some crazy American.

“Where are we going?” Sam said. “I mean, you all just run out the door, don’t say a word, and start walking. Which by the way, why are we walking? Don’t any of you have cars?”

Donna gave a quick laugh.

“Oi, what is it with you Americans, always wanting to drive when you can bloody well walk. What got you caught up in all that Mid-East nonsense, yeah?”

Sam lowered his head, raising his hands in surrender.

“Okay, you’re right. I should walk more, it’s good for the heart and—where the hell are we going?”

Donna looked around.

“Oh, well I don’t know.” She said. Sam looked at her father, who shrugged as well. They all turned toward The Doctor, who looked slightly startled at the sudden onslaught of attention.

“Oh, me. Right, we’re headed just over that hill. Not much farther really. Off we go.”

“Over the hill.” Sam mumbled to himself as he resumed his trek. He was irritated, no…he was mad. He was sick of being left out of the loop, feeling two steps behind. He was the one who mentioned the screwdrivers, which was why they were out here in the first place. Yet the man couldn’t be bothered to explain what exactly what they were doing, why they were going over the fucking hill.

Because he wasn’t her.

….you should see them together, minds always working, figuring things out. He thinks she’s brilliant and he’s right. She is.”

I can be brilliant too, he thought. Or at least…kinda clever.

“Here we are.” The Doctor exclaimed. Sam looked around, his eyes bright with confusion.

“A salvage yard?” he said.

“Oh, yes. One man’s trash and all that.” The Doctor pulled out his screwdriver, the tip glowing with a bright blue color.

“That’s it...” The Doctor said softly, staring at the screw driver. “That….that’s it!’ He rushed into the yard, at once, leaping and sidestepping mounds of garbage.

“I’ll wait here.” Donna said, her nose wrinkling a bit. “He’ll come back this way; the TARDIS is at the house. Can’t resist showing what he found anyway.”

“Well, I’m going.” Wilfred said. Donna grabbed hold of his arm.

“No, you are not. Sam will go, won’t you Sam?”

He looked at the trash then back at them, noting their expectant smiles.

“Is this like a test or something?”

“If that helps, yes it is. Go on now, I’m sure The Doctor could use some help. Or at least a willing audience.”

Sam climbed through the aisles of garbage, trying not to think of all the airborne diseases that could be floating around the place. He’d only gone a few feet before he found him, shifting through a heap of rusted metal.

“What are you...”

“It’s here, I know it is.” The Doctor said. Sam looked down at his surroundings, his eyes resting on a torn campaign poster.

“Who’s Harold Saxon?” he said.

The Doctor sat up suddenly, a triumphant smile on his face.

“Ha!” He turned to Sam, and shook dirt from his hand, wiping the found object on his clothes. Sam squinted as what The Doctor held became clear.

“Is that…”

“A sonic screwdriver.” The Doctor finished. “Lost in the rubble when the ship went down. Lying here for ages, this thing. So powerful and yet, forgotten. Even by me.”

Sam placed a hand to his head.

‘So there are three of those things?”

The Doctor nodded.

“And the TARDIS is searching for each them through time and space. The question is why?”

“I think a better question is when the hell are you gonna give mine back. I paid a shitload of money for that thing. Even made out with Slitheen. Not my proudest moment. ”

Their eyes lifted and Sam saw a man stalking toward them, wearing a long duster coat that swished dramatically at his back. Clear blue eyes locked on the screwdriver in The Doctor’s hand, and dimples formed at his cheeks as smiled.

“Doctor, how the hell are you?” the man said. Sam watched The Doctor place his find in his coat pocket, his intense expression breaking into a smile of his own. The man’s eyes turned to Sam, and brightened with interest.

“And who’s this?”

The Doctor cleared his throat a bit.

“Sam Winchester, meet Captain Jack Harkness. Stay away from him.” The Doctor said.

“Oh, now. I don’t bite. Not unless you want me to.”

“Jack.”

“Kidding. Sort of.”