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He rested his head on the wall behind himself, the sun too bright in his eyes. He had one leg pulled to his chest, the other extended on the floor. The wall was cold and rough beneath him, his suit trousers the only comfort between him and the concrete. He had an arm up to shield his eyes from the sun, the other resting on his raised knee.
He must’ve had one hell of a night to end up like this, dressed in a suit unaware of his whereabouts. His brain felt like it had swollen in his head, ready to crash through his skull at any chance. He pondered banging his head against that wall just to put an end to it, fasten the process.
He stumbled to his feet, his hands on the wall to steady himself.
He took in the soulless place, a bit more than an apartment complex. All four sides had been donned with apartment after apartment, an empty concrete square standing in the middle like a prison yard. He took a couple steps forward, grabbing onto the railings. Another man stood a floor below him, looking up with furrowed brows.
“Cas?” He raised his hoarse voice, clearing his throat. “What the hell are you doing there?”
“I don’t know.” The man answered simply, his stare turning serious. “How did you get there?”
“Just stay there, I’m coming.”
Dean turned around, examining the little hallway for stairs. He found them at the very corner, his feet finally cooperating with the rest of his body as he made his way to and down them.
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
Dean asked the angel before so much as greeting him.
“Last thing?” Cas tilted his head to the side, taking a moment to think. “I don’t really… remember. I’m not sure how I got here. What about you?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty much the same.”
Dean nodded, looking around himself.
“God, this place gives me the creeps.” Dean mumbled, grimacing. “I’d bet a couple dollars we’re here to hunt something and it erased our memory.”
“I don’t think my memory can be erased, Dean.”
Cas’ brows knitted together, almost offended at being held to the same standard as humans.
“Maybe we’re up against something bigger than you, isn’t that fun?”
Dean did not look as if he was having any fun, he even let out a sigh.
“Come on, let’s do some investigating.”
He patted Cas on the shoulder, quickly heading for the closest door. He knocked, glancing back a bit to make sure Cas wasn’t doing anything extraordinary. Like always Cas was just standing there.
The man opened the door, wearing an ill fitting pair of jeans and a beige shirt that made his already red leaning complexion seem even more devilish. His hair consisted of thin streaks of mousy brown along an ungodly hairline, matched with almost invisible brows of the same hue. He scratched his belly with one hand, the other holding onto the leash of his french bulldog.
“Hi sir, we’re from the FBI.” Dean showed his badge, then tucked it back into his pocket. “We’re here investigating a case, and we want to know whether or not you’ve witnessed anything… out of the ordinary around here.”
The guy’s lips parted into a grin, revealing a row of jagged teeth.
“FBI, mate? In this fucking place? You really thought that’d work? Get outta here!”
The man laughed as he stepped back, his dog growling at the two as he shut the door in their faces.
“How did he know we were lying?”
Castiel turned to Dean, the hunter rubbed his face in frustration.
“Because, Cas, we’re in England.”
Cas remained silent, his face expressionless. Dean had known him long enough to know he was deep in thought, much like himself.
“We can’t have come all the way here for a case, that’s just… not right.”
“Perhaps we were sent here by someone, though I don’t really see any reason for erasing our memories.”
Dean’s brows furrowed as he reached his hand into Cas’ trench coat's pocket, taking the piece of paper that peeked out of the pocket.
“What is it?”
Cas asked as Dean examined the paper, checking the rest of his pockets.
“A note,” Dean explained briefly before reading the note. “Find the dolls and exterminate them.”
“Do you think they’re watching us?”
Cas looked around with utmost caution, his blue eyes narrowing.
“PS: If you fail your mission, you will die. But don’t let that kill your fun.”
Dean frowned at the paper in his hands, holding it up to the setting sun.
“Who’s this guy, the fucking riddler? Great! Our first piece of clue is that whoever kidnapped us hates dolls. We gotta get out of this place, come on.”
Dean took off in pursuit of a staircase leading down, Cas right behind him.
“If we can’t find a way out, will we have to murder toys somehow?”
“We could just torch the whole building and stand in the middle, or simply stab everyone.”
Dean thought out loud, Castiel’s steps slowing to a stop.
“I don’t think either will be necessary.”
Cas pushed the button, the elevator doors opening with a chiming sound. He walked into the elevator, catching Dean’s eyes as the man hesitated.
“Come on, Dean.”
Dean stepped into the elevator with uncertain feet, taking a deep breath as the doors closed.
“You know, you could just use your angel pow-”
Of course, the elevator fell. Dean tried holding onto the walls as the small cubicle shook, screaming at the top of his lungs in the dark cramped place though he’d never admit to it.
Castiel watched him in surprise, unmoving except for the flapping of his coattails.
***
Castiel opened his eyes to darkness, sitting up from his laying position on what was presumably the floor.
“Dean?”
He called out into the dark, just staring off as if he could see.
“I’m here, Cas.” Dean sat up as well, blinking to try and get his sight accustomed. “What the fuck just happened?”
With his eyes proving fruitless, Cas searched the ground with his hands. The ground was flawlessly smooth, the texture felt like that of varnished wood.
“Do you need me to heal your leg?”
Cas’ brows furrowed, he held onto Dean.
“Cas!” Dean pushed his hand away. “That’s not my leg!”
Cas pulled away, his head tilting in question.
“Jesus,” Dean rose to his feet, wiping away the dust on his jeans. “Are we back at the motel?”
“I don’t think so.”
Cas stood up as well, looking in the direction of Dean’s voice. Dean looked up, narrowing his eyes.,
“Then what? Did we fall here through the elevator? Or did that freak erase our memory again?”
Dean found the wall by means of just walking in one direction until he crashed against it, following it until he felt something out of the ordinary. He let out a sigh, his fingers grasped the doorknob.
“Dean,” Cas called out from the middle of the room. “Where are you?”
His tone sounded more commanding than concerned, but Dean couldn’t help but notice his stress.
“Here, Cas.” Dean opened the door, letting a bit of light in. “Let’s go.”
Cas followed him into the dimly lit corridor wordlessly, walking right behind him on their narrow road.
“It’s a house,” Dean commented as he watched the flower patterned tiles, the vintage looking light fixtures offering warm dying light. “It’s a damn old one at that.”
Dean pushed open the door at the end of the corridor, a mighty wood door much taller than him. They walked in, windows to their left letting a bit of light in at last.
The kitchen was a bland one, with counters to one side and a large table in the middle. A cauldron sat on ashes on the opposite side of the room, iron fences set before in the name of protection.
Cas walked over to the counters, taking the small lantern that rested on the countertop into his hands. It was a peculiar little thing, with a large version of an electric tealight instead of an actual candle. He turned it around in his hands, finding a switch at the bottom and flipping it.
“It’s like…”
Dean watched the kitchen with furrowed brows as Cas pulled open a drawer. Dean gasped at the sight of an enormous eye looking back at them from within the drawer, almost as blue as Cas’ eyes. Cas reached forward and trailed his fingers along the eye, Dean watching over the angel’s shoulder.
“Dude, what’s wrong with you? Don’t touch everything you see!”
“It’s glass.”
Cas announced, the light of his lantern flicking.
“Stop it, seriously.”
Dean furrowed at the lantern, the light switching on and off again and again.
“I’m not doing anything, believe me.”
Cas answered as the light returned to normal, Dean shrugged.
“I think that elevator took us down all the way to hell.”
“I would’ve noticed if that was the case.”
“That’s good news,” Dean’s brows raised. “Let’s find a way out of this place, it gives me the creeps.”
On his way to the door, he grabbed the pan on the table.
“What are you doing?”
Cas asked, watching Dean examine the brass pan with narrow eyes.
“This is wood,” Dean announced, knocking on the pan. “Whoever the fuck lives or lived here has a wooden pan painted to look like brass, you can’t make this shit up.”
Cas only stared at Dean with his head tilted to the side, Dean gave him a big grin.
“I’ll take it with me for self defense, like Rapunzel.”
“Alright.”
Cas mumbled as he walked past Dean and opened the door they had come through, waiting until Dean had caught up to him to step out. The thin corridor led them to a grand opening, with the feeling of more than a pair of eyes on him making the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stand up. He thanked the heavens when he saw the front door, although excluding Cas for the angel hadn’t been much help. He ran to the door, hands frantically searching for what his eyes could not see.
“Cas,” He shouted as he shook the door in the lack of anything better to do. “There’s no doorknob!”
“And this clock,” Cas stood before the grandfather clock, fingertips trailing upon the numbers. “I believe the hands are usually made to move, this is painted on.”
“What?”
Dean frowned as he stepped towards Cas, halting to a stop at the sound of a far off chuckle.
“I have a feeling we’re not the only ones here.”
He whispered to Cas, the angel looking around for the source of the sound. Dean took a deep breath, taking a step in the direction of the noise.
“Dean,” Cas grabbed his arm, Dean turned his head to face him. “This could be dangerous.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got a pan.”
Dean flashed a proud smile, holding up his pan.
“Of course, a pan, how reassuring.”
Cas said, deadpan. Dean continued his pursuit, Cas’ fingers still wrapped around his arm.
The chuckle, however, seemed to cease when they stood in the hallway in front of a flight of stairs leading up.
***
The second floor of the house was lavish, one could almost enjoy it if there was a bit more invested in the way of lighting. The corridors ran long and complicated as if they were a maze, doors led to uninviting dark rooms that left much to be desired. Where the first floor had bestown windows and a lantern upon them, the second only offered disembodied chuckles they never could seem to find the source of.
“Dean,” Cas’ voice was low as he spoke, passing a threshold into yet another lifeless corridor. “Read that note again.”
Dean paused for a moment, taking the small paper out of his pocket and reading it aloud. Cas did not seem to have reached any revelations, Dean frowned.
“Find the dolls and exterminate them. But what dolls, how are we supposed to understand any of this?”
A man with a stained off white shirt about the same complexion as his skin and thin gingerish hair ran down the corridor towards them, Dean’s brows raised as he recognized the man they’d tried interviewing a short while ago. Not that he knew how long he’d spent in that hellscape, perhaps the second floor was dark simply because it had turned to night.
“Help me!” The man screamed as he fell to his knees, scrambling to get back up. “These things, they’re after-”
A staggering creature, with porcelain skin and features way too small for its disproportionate head, appeared behind him. Its hair was long and rugged, falling below its waist in auburn locks. The sage dress seemed vaguely historic, its skirts flapping as the creature hooked a rigid arm around the man’s shoulders and turned them away from Dean and Cas.
An army of these things, dressed in different historic clothing yet sporting the same empty look watched on as the creature held the man.
The man’s fingers grew longer first, turning wood just like the creature’s. He shook, the two unable to tell if it was from pain or fear. Much or less the same, Dean figured.
His head inflated like a balloon, his already pale skin turning an uncanny white. His hair grew at an inhuman rate, mirroring the creature’s as they stood side by side. His clothes had turned to a beige dress resembling the creature’s before Dean could blink, his skin replaced by porcelain.
It turned its head, looking at them with the same hollow eyes its creator inhabited. Its lips were an uneasy thin snarl carved into its features, its brows a thin black line raised in question.
“Guess that answers our question.”
Dean turned to Cas, his jaw tight.
When it stood, it was even taller than its creator. It marched alongside the other, chasing after Dean and Cas. The men started running the endless corridors, taking any turn they found to keep themselves from running into a dead end.
“Don’t run away,” The doll giggled in its childlike voice. “We want to play!”
Dean pushed the first door he found, pulling Cas in with him before closing the door after them. They stood with their backs to the door, their feet steady on the ground.
The dolls’ shadows stood menacingly in the glimmer of light coming from under the door, Dean looked down as he tried to shove their chuckles out of his mind. He was heaving for breath, pressing his hands against the hardwood door just to keep them from shaking. Cas remained beside him calmly.
As their bodies stood barricade, Dean looked around the room they had walked into.
The dining room had been finely furnished, the walls ornate with gilded frames and a large fireplace. In the center of the attention stood the wooden table, with its matching chair that Dean couldn’t bring himself to count in the moment. A red tablecloth laid atop the table, the table had been set. It looked a bit too medieval to calm his frayed nerves, chalices and candelabras accompanying bowls of fruit that did not look real in the slightest bit.
A man laid on the floor, his stature lanky and his limbs too long. He had a bit of a ridiculous outfit going on, but Dean decided he was better off not judging people’s looks as long as they looked like people. The man sat up abruptly, the back of his dark blond hair standing up.
“Who the hell are you?”
Dean asked as the man rose to his feet, fixing his bowtie.
“I’m The Doctor. Now, who are you?”
“The doctor, of course.” Dean leaned his head against the door, closing his eyes for a moment. “God, I hate the English.”
The Doctor looked around, prodding at the contents of the dinner table.
“This is a dollhouse.”
Cas explained, the Doctor blew a raspberry and waved his hand up in the air.
“I know that, the real question is how we get out of here.”
“Dollhouse?”
Dean watched the two of them in confusion, seemingly speaking an entire different language of their own.
“Oh, you’re the slow one.” The Doctor smiled at Dean. “There’s always a slow one, yes.”
“Big words coming from the guy that walks around in a bowtie.”
Dean rolled his eyes, the Doctor stepped in front of him.
“I don’t like you.”
“We tried all the doors we could find,” Cas chimed in. “I don’t think there’s a way out of here.”
The Doctor’s smile returned to his face as he took a step back, turning his attention to Castiel.
“There’s always a way out, handsome.”
Dean couldn’t help but frown, his lips turning up in disdain.
“More importantly,” He drew their eyes back to himself, a handsome smile on his face. “Those freaky dolls just turned a man into one of them.”
The Doctor’s eyes opened large, his lips pursed in thought.
“Now, that’s concerning.” He nodded. “But we can fix this, I’m sure. George is a powerful enough kid to send me here, without even realising what he was doing. His mother couldn’t have children but there he is! He came here and became their son, a creature that responds to people’s needs. Think, Doctor, think!”
The Doctor slapped his palm against his forehead, then winced. He held his hand up, looking at it with furrowed brows as if it had acted by itself.
“A kid called George sent us here?”
Dean questioned, watching the guy pace around the room.
“Yeah, yeah. Aliens and monsters are real. Pick your chin up the floor, will you? We haven’t got time for this.” The Doctor paused, looking around the room with narrow eyes. “Now, what’s that sound?”
Cas looked down, finding the strip of light undisturbed as it kept shining from beneath the door. The dolls were gone, he stepped away from the door as Dean watched him as if he’d lost his head.
“The dolls.”
He explained briefly, Dean looked down as well.
“We gotta get out of here.” Dean ran his hands across his face, walking away from the door. “Come on, I’ve got a plan.”
“No, that’s my thing!” The Doctor did genuinely seem devastated. “Alright then, what’s your plan?”
***
Dean had a heavy wooden chair in his arms, the legs pointed up and out. The Doctor followed pursuit with his hands wrapped around the sweeping end of a broom, Castiel followed them with a slightly judging look in his eyes.
They charged for the stairs, Dean face to face with the horrid creatures as he pushed them away one by one. He couldn’t afford to look over his shoulder, but he heard the wooden of the broomstick clashing against the doll’s porcelain again and again.
There weren’t many dolls, but there were more than enough to outnumber the three of them.
He hated looking these things in the eye, being just about their height. Their faces differed just as much as their clothing, but the strength needed to shove them away did not. Their wooden hands did not reach for them as the three pushed their way through, seemingly too surprised that they had opened the door so suddenly and with somewhat weapons in their hands.
Dean found they were not as hostile as most other creatures he’d come across, their aim to multiply rather than kill. But Dean had watched the guy turn into one of them right in front of his eyes, and he would think death a more honorable end than that.
He turned around once he’d stepped on the staircase, allowing himself time to look back as he pushed captain douchebag down the stairs.
Cas looked utterly confused, a strained look on his face as he furrowed his brows. His eyes were glued to the floor, the dolls surrounding him. He looked up just as the doll wrapped an arm around his body, Dean seeing fear in the angel’s eyes for the first time.
“Cas!”
He screamed, bashing the chair harder against the dolls before him as he stepped back and up the stairs.
Cas did not respond, standing on his knees on the floor with his back to him. He held his shaking hand up, watching it turn wood. The porcelain was just as white as his skin, only less flexible despite his head growing. The pressure rang in his ears, his eyes closing never to open again. Though he couldn’t see, he could tell where Dean was. He knew Dean was watching him, Cas imagined it must be in horror rather than the usual sly smile his friend sported.
Dean eyed the crowd of unmoving dolls, taking a deep breath before diving in. Something held him back from his shoulders, pulling him back. Dean thought it must be a doll, ready to turn him just the same as Cas.
“Don’t,” The Doctor whispered, his grasp firm on Dean’s arms now. “It’s too late, he’s gone.”
Cas’ scalp burned as his hair grew longer, a thousand needles pricking against his skin at once. He felt his body stiffen, unable to grimace against the pain. His trenchcoat had turned into a dress of the same color, baby blue bows decorating him.
Dean grabbed the chair tighter as The Doctor searched the inner pocket of his jacket, pulling out something cylindrical and metal.
“Hope that’s the detonator to a bomb planted under this house.”
He said, unwilling to turn to look at him.
“It’s not a weapon,” The Doctor’s brows furrowed, the thing making a whizzing sound as it lit up in his hands. “It’s a sonic screwdriver.”
“A sonic what, now?”
“I’ve gotta add a setting for wood, it’s embarrassing!”
The Doctor hit the screwdriver against his palm, backing away from the dolls as they stirred to life and continued their ascend up the stairs.
“Not to be the bearer of bad news but we’re kinda backed into a corner here, Doc.”
“Yes, I’m working on it.”
Dean checked the pocket inside his jacket, his flask and his lighter sitting neatly.
“It’s his wardrobe, they put the things here that he’s scared of. Oh, silly doctor!” He slapped his hand against his forehead, lighting up with a smile. “A Stenza, of course! Millions of years drifting through space, incubated and isolated. A nestling Stenza will learn and adhere to its worldly parent’s needs, without even knowing.”
Dean looked back to see whether The Doctor was speaking to him, but the man seemed content just voicing whatever string of words came out of his mouth.
“But something scared this kid, scared it so much that he’s created this whole place subconsciously. We have to find a way of letting him know, and his dad. They can stop this, George can stop this.”
Dean let the last drops from his flask meet the rest on the wooden chair, lighting his lighter and letting the flames swallow the bottom of it whole. He pressed it against the doll closest to him, watching its red shirt catch on fire. He pushed the doll down the stairs to meet the others, the flames catching just as fast as it usually did with linen and wood. He threw the chair down for good measure, watching the fire grow.
“That’s an option too, of course.” The Doctor did not sound happy, the flames reflecting on his green eyes. “A merciless one.”
“Who’s slow now?”
Dean looked back at the man, unable to stop his voice from coming out harsh instead of playful. He watched the flock of dolls as they burned, baby blue catching his eye.
“I hope you’re not feeling this, buddy.”