Work Text:
1. A Bit of a Mind Flip
Antlers Motel
Whitefish, Montana, Earth
27 January 1996
Dean was seventeen the first time he saw the strange blue box. Like most teenagers with a little worldly wisdom, Dean thought he knew everything. Boy, was he wrong.
He’d been in the bathroom, washing off some ghoul blood of his hands, when he thought he heard something over the running water. When he poked his head around the door frame, he’d expected to see Sam, grumpy over being banished to the library for the duration of the hunt, or maybe Dad, stumbling in smelling like cheap whiskey.
But a blue phone booth in the middle of their hotel room? Dean would never have expected that in a million years, much less the older dude in the black suit that popped out of it.
“The fuck?”
“Oh, hello there,” the dude said. There was something off about his voice, almost English, but not quite.
“What the fuck,” Dean said.
“You’ve said that already,” the guy said, looking around the motel room like it was something fascinating. Dean couldn’t relate. He’d seen more motels that he ever cared to see.
“Why is it that I always find you Winchesters in a motel room?” the man said, more to himself, but Dean still caught it. And—what?!
“Who the hell are you, and how do you know my family?” Dean barked out.
To his surprise, the guy turned around, grey eyebrows disappearing into his even greyer hairline. He actually looked…offended. Or maybe that was just his face, Dean mused. Dude seemed like the type to be grumpy all the time.
“What year is it?” the man asked with a frown. His harsh voice softened to a burr, and he sounded like he was trying to soften a blow. “You’re very young, aren’t you?”
“Too young for you, gramps,” Dean snapped.
The guy took half a step closer, a pitying look on his face, and Dean whipped his gun out from where it had still been tucked into his belt. (And Jesus, why hadn’t he thought to pull a gun on this weirdo earlier? Had the hunt fried his brain that much?)
“Easy, Dean,” the guy said, clearly trying to placate Dean, which—Nope.
“Don’t come any closer,” Dean said, ratcheting back the slide. “How the hell do you know my name?”
The man ran a hand through his shaggy mane of hair. “I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean to travel back so far.”
“Answer the question,” Dean demanded.
“Fine,” the stranger snapped. “I’m the Doctor, and I’m from the future, and clearly we haven’t met yet, so I’ll just be going now.”
“What?!”
“Goodbye for now, Dean,” the man said, and before Dean could think to react, the man had disappeared inside the giant blue box Dean had somehow forgotten about.
He rushed toward it, but then the box began to glow and fade simultaneously. It emitted a horrible whooshing sound, almost like the sound of someone trying to drive a car with the parking brake on, and then the box was gone.
“What the fuck?” Dean said, to the empty room. Nothing responded. And if that wasn’t a lesson that Dean didn’t actually know everything about the hunting life, he didn’t know what was.
2. Fantasy Free Me
Starlite Motel
Canton, Illinois, Earth
2 December 2007
When Sam first saw the strange blue box and the equally strange man, his first thought was that he was dreaming. If his visions hadn’t stopped when Yellow Eyes died, Sam might have blamed it on that. He supposed he could just be hallucinating, what with all the sleep he hadn’t been getting lately, but surely his brain would hallucinate something about Dean and Hell, right?
But no, one second the room had been empty, and the next, there was a blue phone-booth-looking box sandwiched between the beds. A man who looked to be a few years older than Dean popped out of the box, with a bowtie and a tweed jacket more British than Earl Grey tea. Sam ripped his earbuds out just in time to hear the strange man call his name.
“Ah, Sam, good. Where’s your brother, and his angel? I need all three of you—” The man paused, looking around the room with passive distaste. “Again, with the motels. You lot have an affinity for them, don’t you?”
Only then did the man with the bowtie appear to actually notice Sam’s expression.
“You’re staring at me. Why are you staring at me?” the man asked, and his wide, confused eyes made him look younger than he appeared.
“Who the hell are you?” Sam blurted out. Part of him thought he should really get his hands on a weapon—ideally, the Colt, but that was still in the Impala’s trunk.
“Oh dear. I went back too far. I’ll come back later. Just forget about me for now!” the stranger said. He spun on his heel and dashed back towards the blue box.
“But—” Sam started to protest. The man turned, one hand on the box, and the momentum made his lank brown hair fall partially in his face.
“Later!” he called, and with a flourish of his hand, he and the box disappeared. After a few moments, Sam realized that the man had seemed to know him from the future—and not just him, but Dean as well. And for the first time since Sam learned of Dean’s demon deal, he allowed himself to embrace a spark of hope.
3. Madness Takes Its Toll
Parc Naturel Régional des Boucles de la Seine Normande
France, Earth
15 May 2012
“You’re not human,” was the first thing the man said to Castiel.
“Neither are you,” he said, not taking his eyes off the bumblebees dancing among the wildflowers. Castiel could tell just by the man’s presence that despite his lack of humanity, he was no threat to him. And the bees were so innocently delightful.
“Very good,” the man mused, almost to himself. There was the sound of fabric rustling as the man pulled something from within a pocket of his tan coat. It wasn’t identical to Castiel’s, it was heavier and a little darker, and lacking the residue of lake water and blood. But the coats could have been cousins, they were so alike.
A faint whirring interrupted the pleasant buzzing of the bees, and Castiel finally turned his head towards the stranger. The man had a wand-like object out, with a blue light glowing on the end. It wasn’t as brilliant blue as the flare of Castiel’s grace, nor was the device as powerful, but was clear from the way the man regarded it that he held it in high esteem.
“This shouldn’t be possible,” the man said, peering at Castiel over his black, square-rimmed glasses. Cas didn’t prompt him, he just waited for the man to explain himself. “According to this, you’re millions of years old, should be a multi-dimensional wavelength, and be at least as tall as—what's a good comparison?—as the Chrysler Building—yet you’ve jammed all that power into a human body.”
“This is a vessel,” Castiel explained. “His name was Jimmy Novak.”
“Was?” the man asked, one eyebrow raised.
“His soul is at peace, now. He was with me—willingly—for a time, but this vessel was destroyed and remade. It is mine now.”
Castiel didn’t know why he was explaining all of this, he just was. Something about the man felt like a kindred spirit, even though the man’s soul was several hundred years old, as opposed to Castiel’s millenia, and neither were the same species even if neither was human.
“Why’re you wearing that?” the man said, gesturing at Castiel’s scrubs. “Whatever happened to the suit, and the backwards tie?”
“We’ve met before?” Castiel asked, with mild surprise.
“Well, I’ve met you. Time travel,” the man said, shoving his hands into his pants pockets.
Castiel felt a smile tug at his lips, in such a subconscious, human way that it pulled at where Castiel’s heartstrings should be. He turned back to the flowers, and after a moment, the man sat down on the grass next to him. There were five-point stars on the ankles of his sneakers.
“So why, Castiel?” he asked again.
“Penance,” he answered, unbothered in the least that this man who wasn’t human knew his name, but yet Castiel didn’t know his in return. Strange how what was insanity to some offered such clarity to others.
The man didn’t push the subject. Castiel suspected that this man who had led a dozen lives related to him all to well. He could feel the loneliness buried deep within the man, almost as profound as Castiel’s own guilt.
“So, I never really got the chance to ask, before. What are you, exactly? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I don’t mind. I am—or was—depending on how you look at it—an angel.”
The man sucked in a sharp breath.
“Do not be afraid. I am not like the rest of my brethren, nor as I once was. I don’t fight anymore. Now, I watch the bees.”
“Forgive me,” the man said, and his body relaxed just slightly. “The angels I know of are called the Weeping Angels. They’re...deadly, to say the least.”
“I have never wept,” Castiel said. He idly wondered if he were capable of tears.
“You’re not the same species, I don’t think,” the man pondered aloud.
The pair sat in silence for a moment, until Castiel felt someone calling out to the man beside him.
“She’s waiting for you,” he said.
“What?” the man asked, perplexed.
Castiel nodded towards the blue box.
“Her soul is calling to you. She’s waiting to take you on another adventure,” he explained.
Castiel didn’t know how he knew, or how a box could have sentience, but he did know that both statements were true. Whatever soul resided within the box was reaching out to her companion, just like when Dean used to pray to Castiel.
“Best not keep her waiting, then,” the man said, standing. “Would you like to come along?”
“I would like that very much…but something tells me that I am needed here,” Castiel said. It wouldn’t do him any good to escape, to run away from his problems. He had tried that before, and look where that had gotten him. No, Castiel would stay. Even if he would not fight, he would stay.
“Until next time, then,” the man said, turning away. Then he paused, and over his shoulder he said, “I’m the Doctor, by the way.”
But Castiel was only half-listening. There was another voice calling to him.
“Cas? You got your ears on?”
4. Time is Fleeting
Big Red Motel
Bentonville, Arkansas, Earth
21 November 2012
“Son of a bitch!”
It didn’t matter that the motel room’s door was open. Sam could’ve heard Dean’s angry shout in the next town over.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! Not this joker again,” Dean said, pacing back and forth in front of a blue telephone box...that had magically appeared not two inches from the Impala’s rear bumper.
“Dean?” called Sam, but his older brother appeared not to notice.
“This is just perfect,” Dean grumbled, as he aimed a kick at a stray beer can. It skittered across the parking lot just as the strange blue box opened.
“Sam! Dean!” the man said, excitedly, like he was greeting a pair of old friends.
Both Winchester brothers blinked in surprise. Sam knew, without a doubt, that this was the same blue box he’d seen all those years ago, but this couldn’t be the same man. This one’s nose was sharper, his hair was shorter and artfully tousled, and he looked to be maybe an inch or two taller than the other one. But somehow, despite being unfamiliar to the Winchesters, this man knew the two of them.
“A motel? Really? What happened to your super-secret lair?” the man asked, completely oblivious to the fact that Dean had drawn his gun. (Even if, thankfully, he hadn’t actually aimed it at the stranger. Dean had been a little…twitchy ever since Purgatory, and getting Castiel back hadn’t helped as much as Sam thought it would have. And speaking of…)
“Cas, get your feathery ass back here, pronto!”
The man turned, long coat flaring out behind him, to stare at Dean with a contemplative look.
“Does he actually have feathers?” he asked, like he knew exactly who Dean had prayed to just then. Castiel arrived with a faint whoosh of wings, like a sudden gust of wind.
“Hello again.”
“Cas, you know this guy?” Sam asked, startled out of silence.
“Yes, he's the Doctor.”
“Wait wait wait, the Doctor?” Dean practically shouted. “I thought the other guy was the Doctor.”
“What other guy?” Sam asked, completely baffled. Had Dean seen the bowtie man as well?
“I believe the Doctor has multiple appearances—not unlike vessels, except that they are each his own, without any form of possession,” Cas mused aloud, head titled. “And each form is remarkably humanoid—except of course for the binary cardiovascular system.”
“What?” Sam and Dean said, simultaneously. They looked from each other, to Castiel, and then to the stranger in quick succession. The man—the Doctor, apparently—actually looked amused at the entire situation.
“Who the fucking hell are you?” Dean demanded.
“Ah, see, that’s the problem with time travel. Sometimes people don’t quite meet in the right order,” the Doctor said, as he reached inside his coat and began to search for something. “But I can prove that we know each other, look…”
The Doctor held up some kind of paper, folded in half and carefully placed in a leather case not unlike one of the Winchesters’ many fake IDs. Before Sam could get a good look at the writing, though, Castiel spoke.
“That paper is blank,” he said, gravelly voice flatly unsurprised and also totally unconcerned.
“You know what, I’ll just come back when your timeline has caught up to mine a bit more,” the Doctor said, hastily shoving the paper back inside his coat.
“No, wait—” Sam called, but the Doctor had already disappeared within his blue box.
5. Voyeuristic (Un)Intention
Men of Letters Bunker
Lebanon, Kansas, Earth
22 October 2014
Previously, Dean had believed that there was no greater cock block than his interrupting moose of a brother. He was wrong. The biggest cock block to ever exist wore bow ties, had a British accent, and traversed the galaxy in a flying blue phone booth.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” the Doctor kept saying, hand still clamped over his eyes, even though no one had been naked for a good five minutes now.
“It’s alright, Doctor. Next time you’ll know to knock,” Cas said, patting the man awkwardly on the shoulder.
“I really should have learned my lesson with Amy and Rory,” the Doctor said, as Cas guided him gently into one of the library’s chairs. “Or Jack. I thought he and Ianto could get into really—what’s the word—kinky, yes, kinky things, but that…oh dear...”
Dean rolled his eyes, even as he felt the faint burn of embarrassment beginning to color his cheeks. The Doctor had interrupted a damn good moment, but the dude had seen nothing compared to what he might’ve if Dean had still been a demon. The thought alone made Dean almost shudder, half from desire and half from shame.
“If it troubles you that much, I can erase your memory of it,” Cas offered, already holding out two fingers.
“What? No, Cas. Don’t waste your grace on that,” Dean snapped, maybe a little harsher than necessary. But c’mon, the guy was hanging on to his angelic state by a thread. Why should he waste his mojo on brain bleach? Castiel’s deep blue gaze met his, and without a word Dean knew that he understood.
“Guys? Did you see that the—” Sam cut himself off just as he stepped into the library. “Doctor! I knew you were here somewhere—Are you okay?”
Sam’s eyes widened at the Doctor’s state, and okay, maybe the guy was a little bit pale-looking, but he was British. Weren’t they all pale? (Though to be fair, Dean didn’t know much. The only experience he’d really had was with Bela, or Crowley, and if that didn’t skew a guy’s perception of another country, nothing did.)
“Oh, hello Sam,” the Doctor said, brightening slightly.
“So, what’s why the surprise visit?” Dean asked, crossing his arms. He silently hoped that Sam would be too preoccupied to notice the giant hickey Dean just knew had to be on the side of his neck.
“I just dropped in on Sam—a bit too early, by accident—and I thought I’d come back at a…a better time. Apparently I was wrong,” the Doctor said. His porcelain skin somehow managed to pale further with his last sentence.
“What? Why?” Sam asked.
“What’s with the getup?” Dean said, hastily speaking over his brother. “Last time you were rocking a suit and Converse, and now you look like an overgrown school boy.”
“Bow ties are cool,” the Doctor said, looking up with puppy eyes melancholy enough to rival Sam’s.
“You know, I’ve seen you like this, before. Years ago. I think you just came from there,” Sam commented.
“Our timelines are getting closer to matching up, then,” the Doctor said, leaning forward with excitement. “What other regenerations of mine have you seen?”
“Just this, and the one with the long coat,” Sam said.
“Same for me,” Cas added. Everyone turned to Dean, waiting expectantly for his answer.
Dean sighed. “First time I saw you, you didn’t look like this, or the you with the long coat. You had—“
“A nose? And ears, big ears?” the Doctor interrupted.
“No, you were—”
“Wait!” the Doctor said, springing to his feet. “You said the first time you had seen me. You mean you, just you by yourself?”
“Yeah…”
“That hasn’t happened yet. For me, anyway. Wait, tell me—and this is very important—Was I ginger?” he asked, with way too serious of an expression on his face.
“What?”
“No, never mind. Don’t tell me. It’s dangerous to know one’s future. In fact, I’ve said too much already. I should get going,” the Doctor said, already striding off to wherever he’d parked that dumb box. By the time Sam, Dean, and Cas had caught up to him, the Doctor was gone again.
6. In Another Dimension
Men of Letters Bunker
Lebanon, Kansas, Earth
29 April 2018
The three men before him stared so intensely that the Doctor had to look down and see if he’d spilled something on himself. But no, his new leather jacket still gleamed liquid black under the artificial lights. He waited half a minute to see if any of the men would speak, and when they didn’t, the Doctor decided to go ahead and break the silence himself.
“Sorry—I was just on my way back from Cardiff, and my sensors picked up an energy rift between dimensions. Or universes, possibly. So I slipped through the gap and came to see what’s what,” he said, with what he hoped passed as a genuine smile. There was something back in London he really ought to check out, but that could wait for now.
“The rift opened a few months ago, Doctor,” said the one in the trench coat.
“You know me?” the Doctor asked. The three men traded significant glances.
“We do,” the tallest one said. “But…I don’t think you know us yet.”
“Fantastic!” the Doctor said, bouncing a little on his toes. This was shaping up to be an excellent adventure.
“Why wait all this time?” the surly one asked.
“Wait?” the Doctor repeated. “What d’you mean?”
“Like Cas said, the rift opened months ago. And it’s opened a couple more times since then,” he explained. “Why wait until now?”
“Oh, I didn’t wait. The TARDIS doesn’t always take me where I want to go, but where I should go,” the Doctor said, with a small shrug.
The longer-haired man and the one in the trench coat seemed satisfied with the Doctor’s reasoning, but the third man still looked skeptical. (Though maybe that was just a part of his personality?)
“Doctor, can the TARDIS travel between universes? Between dimensions?” said the longer-haired man.
“Well, it just did, it probably can again. Why do you ask?” he replied.
“We have family trapped in another universe, but we don’t have a way to get them back.”
Ah, there it was.
“Well, gentlemen,” the Doctor said, with his first genuine smile since Gallifrey fell. “I think this is your lucky day.”
THE END...?