Chapter Text
“DOCTOR!” Crowley shouts, before running after him.
But The Doctor just stood there, in the middle of the hallway. Hands down, glancing around like it was as he expected it to be.
Crowley skid to a stop in front of him, curved swords out, defensive.
The ruckus stopped. There was nobody there.
“Come on,” The Doctor complained loudly, speaking to the walls and ceiling. “Really, I’m old enough to know what empty noise sounds like!”
Aziraphale walked cautiously out of the room, looking behind him. Students were starting to peek out, braver now that the clattering ceased.
“A rouse…”
Crowley was impressed, or he would be if he weren’t tense.
“We have what’s ours,” the Demon announced, “and we’re leaving with him. We no longer require your facilities.”
“That’s the deal you made?” The Doctor sounded surprised, if a little bit flattered. He casually put his other hand in his pocket and grinned at Aziraphale.
“Let’s go, please.” Aziraphale gently linked arms with him as they started out for the lawn.
Almost everyone within hearing distance got a shocked eyeful of them as they passed. Or, at least, a raised eyebrow. They all knew about the crazy old man, who they called The Grey Lord, going on about time and muttering in front of a fire with a pocket watch or a journal, keeping himself in the same room for decades. They were mystified by him, until he became a solid part of daily life. Like ancient lore, and an unofficial mascot of sorts.
The door was in sight, but nobody could breathe with relief— the white-clad Headmistress stood resolutely in front of it.
“Where do you think you’re going?” She smiled cruelly.
“This man is our family. We came for him specifically.” Aziraphale held a little tighter to The Doctor.
Students had gathered within throwing distance, watching, mostly perplexed.
“First, that is no ‘man’,” She said. “Second, he’s as much a part of the school as anyone in residence, and therefore belongs to us. Ask them. You, Faeling, do you remember a time without The Grey Lord, hm?”
Struck by sudden involvement, a young Fair One nonetheless gazed at the three beings before the Headmistress. They spoke to The Doctor directly.
“Do you belong here, Grey Lord?”
The Doctor smiled, grateful for their phrasing. He stepped out of Aziraphale’s arm, and faced the Headmistress. From out of his pocket, he held the crushed pocket watch high. Then he answered the student.
“Not anymore.”
The Headmistress scowled.
“What is this you have?”
A laugh. “My freedom.” The Doctor dropped the pocket watch. He clasped his hands in front of him. “Kindly move.”
Her scowl only deepened, the air around her becoming heavy. The company felt a primal sense of lightning building up, ready to lash out. The students felt it as well.
The Doctor’s head dipped as he breathed out a moment. Then he regained his posture. “Please.”
“You think I win wars by compassion? That I made Heaven a ruin because I’ve said ‘please’?”
“Well it never hurts to try.”
Crowley slowly passed Aziraphale one of his swords. They came to stand, behind The Doctor, side by side. A choreography well versed.
Aziraphale looked around at the students, inching closer, as did her partner.
She whispered, almost inaudibly, “Do you see it?”
“Yeah,” he said. “War-torn.”
“YOU WILL NOT LEAVE.”
The Headmistress was growing more nebulous and threatening by the second.
“Mhm, and why’s that?”
“YOU AND THAT BOX ARE OUR WEAPON.”
“Ohhh. Well there’s your problem! You see, that box is actually kind of my ride… as well as my home. It’s not really a weapon. You want it, you can’t have it. See you’ve actually taken two things from me in the last century, so in fact, you need to return them to me! Right now… Please.”
Silence.
Then, blinding rage, with light in tow. The sound knocked them off their feet. Plasma bolted around, but it didn’t hit The Doctor, or Aziraphale, or Crowley. It was being guided away by the students, many of them taking burns for their effort. Soon, though, they grounded the energy way out in the field around them. It was like turning soil for a field of crops.
Several forms of magic encircled the tempest, trying to tame and capture it. A few students were yelling out attack plans they’d learned and adapted from fighting classes and casual sports. Others were healing the wounded. Nobody was holding back.
Low on the ground, The Doctor turned to Crowley and Aziraphale.
“I really thought that would work!”
“We need to get you to the TARDIS, Doctor!” Aziraphale willed her sword to form a bangle around her wrist.
“It’s not here!” he answered. “That’s why I asked!”
“Well where the heaven is it then?!” Crowley collapsed his sword as well, clearly ready to move.
“It’s in a vault!”
“What?!”
The Doctor didn’t have time to continue, as he and his companions were being pulled out from under fire.