leaving
September 2012
1 post
August 2012
6 posts
In A Broken Dream
It wasn’t like Sam knew how time ran in dreams, but it felt as if he’d been waiting hours for Lucifer to show up. You’d think if it was your own dream, you’d be able to control those devils who only wanted to sulk in a corner. Sam broadcast this thought, wondering if Lucifer would even be able to hear it.
Now he was just sick and tired of waiting for the pouty angel to show his face. Sam sighed, “Great,” stood up from the picnic blanket and looked around. “Guess I’ll just have to go looking for you,” he muttered. He started walking away from the picnic setup, but then looked back to check if the devil was anywhere nearby. No sign of Lucifer, but the picnic had vanished. “Look what you’ve done,” he said, then shouted to his surroundings. “You’ve ruined a perfectly good meal. Hope you’re happy.” Sam shook his head in exaggerated disappointment, just in case the devil was spying on him.
He couldn’t ever really say he was experienced with devil hide and seek. Lucifer could be cheating; he might be turning invisible, or disguising himself as a tree. So looking for him might take a while. Luckily, it seemed that, in his dreams, at least, he had some sort of Lucifer-radar. He’d start in the forest; that was where the ‘signal’ felt the strongest.
“Well, ready or not, here I come.”
Lucifer skulked, his bad mood deepening as he wondered if Sam knew what he’d done for him. What he’d given up. He wanted him to know, but he could barely even bring himself to think about it, let alone broach the topic with another.
At least in the dream world Lucifer could no longer feel the effects of Michael’s ‘punishment’ for his behaviour that day. The physical effects, anyway. He still suffered the mental scars. From breaking down under Michael’s emotional manipulation. From torturing Sam.
Lucifer scowled as he felt Sam getting closer, and hid behind a tree.
Sam really wished he could read Lucifer’s mind right now. Even though it was his dream; he couldn’t control it properly. And even though it was his manifestation of Lucifer, he still couldn’t read the sulky devil. But if he could, maybe it would help him to know why the dumb bastard was hiding behind trees. Because Sam had found him now; it hadn’t been difficult, what with his inner radar growing stronger as he got closer to him.
“Are you really that much of a child?”
221B Baker Street. Universe in Peril. Come for tea.
“So,” The Doctor began, hands clasped behind his back, as he paced in front of Sherlock’s small fireplace mantle. He had an audience—hopefully an attentive one. “Now that we—well, I—have gathered you all here, how about some tea? John’s great at making tea.”
He looked over Sam and Dean Winchester—hard to miss. The only ones who could challenge their height were Sherlock Holmes and The Doctor himself.
Then he glanced over Sherlock and John, hoping John wasn’t too upset about making tea for everyone, but hot tea was really what he needed to get his synapses firing for a problem like this.
And finally, Amy and Rory. He didn’t want to drag them into this, but he knew it would take all their efforts to figure out what exactly was going on and how to stop it. Demons, angels, all of time falling apart, dragons maybe? Who really knew what would happen next and they needed to be prepared, because it wasn’t just Earth that was in danger. It was everything.
And of course River was there. She would always be there when he needed her. Well, except for that one time with the baby but he couldn’t really blame her. She was there after all, just… well, she was a baby. He would ask her for anything, but he couldn’t ask her to cross her own time stream for him. And he wouldn’t ask her to break a fixed point and ruin the universe. But he would ask her to shoot him, of everyone in this room, because he knew she wouldn’t miss.
He’d probably also ask John though, having been in the army and all.
And those Winchester boys looked pretty knowledgeable about their guns when they were pointed on him in that motel room.
But judging by the poorly aimed bullet holes in Sherlock’s wall, he would never ask Sherlock to shoot him. Might miss and hit Rory. Well, that would be alright, The Doctor supposed. Rory managed to come back every time. He was almost as good at evading death as a timelord. Almost. Or maybe better, since they were all gone.
But not the point. Not now. Too much to do.
All of those thoughts crossed The Doctor’s mind in a matter of seconds as he quickly surveyed his audience and waited patiently—well, he thought he was being patient but the way he continued pacing suggested anything but patience—for a cup of tea.
John was already on the matter of making tea. With both Winchesters, Sherlock, the Ponds, and the Doctor, 221B was incredibly crowded. When the Doctor called out for him, he came out with a tray full of cups. Black tea, since it was simplest and quickest, but he had sugar and milk to go with it. He handed Sherlock’s to him (two sugars) so he wouldn’t get it mixed up with other cups and handed one to the Doctor next.
“Right… Why have you gathered everyone here, in this flat?”
Sherlock sat in his chair, hands together resting under his chin. There was just barely enough room for everyone in the flat among the various papers strategically laid around the place. However, he also wasn’t inclined to move to let anyone else have his seat. Sherlock took his tea from John and set it on the arm of the chair to cool. The doctor seemed to have gathered a very eclectic group in the flat and Sherlock took particular note of men, brothers, in the room.
“As good as your tea may be John, I don’t think the Doctor has hauled Americans all the way to England just to taste it. No, he needs our help.”
River had moved from her place at the window to perch on an arm of the sofa, next to Amy and Rory. Now that everyone was here, she figured it was inappropriate to keep ignoring the conversation. As she accepted a fresh cup of tea from John, River studied the newcomers - Sam and Dean Winchester. American, young, attractive… But they looked battle-hardened, closed off, and she could tell there was no small amount of pain hidden there.
She sipped at her scalding hot tea carefully and wondered if the Doctor had a plan yet.
The letter had come as a surprise. But then again, it had actually been a pretty good method for gathering people together before. Though, there were a lot of people gathered for this one. And Amy was fairly certain that there was a lot more to this problem than she had noticed. Problems around The Doctor tended to work that way; always so much bigger than you see at first.Amy took her tea carefully and sat back against the sofa just as River sat down on the arm. Then she remembered that she needed to put sugar in the tea so Amy leaned back up so she could get at the sugar. After that, she leaned back again and absently stirred as she looked around the room.
Sitting there was Sherlock Holmes. Of course Amy was a bit excited to be meeting the famous detective, but she was hiding it well. Or, well enough for Amy at least. Well, it’s not everyday you meet a famous detective is it? Then of course John Watson was there. And then two Americans. What part they had to play was yet to be revealed, but Amy was sure they were here for a reason. Otherwise the Doctor would not have trusted them enough to invite them. And River was here. So that was good. River being around was generally a good thing.
Before she knew what had happened, Amy’s hand slipped and her tea went pouring right into Rory’s lap. “Oh I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed. Well that was a perfect way to impress people wasn’t it?
Rory accepted the offered tea with a small smile and took a sip, studying everyone. He had suspected nothing good would come from the Doctor’s letter, and if the number of people currently present was any indication, he had been right. There was that detective whose name he’d heard so frequently the past few days - Sherlock - and Dr. Watson (which was only to be expected, what with it being their flat and everything), as well as the American he’d met the day before, Sam, and another man that was probably the brother he’d mentioned. And then, of course, the Doctor and Amy and River, who was never far behind the Doctor.
His musings were interrupted by a lapful of rather hot tea. Rory jumped, startled, and winced. Amy was clearly distracted. Probably the Doctor. Or the detective. He hoped so, anyway. He had enough to deal with, he thought, without his wife gaining a new interest in young American lawyers, or whatever it was they were. “Um” he stood up, careful not to drip tea on the furniture or floor, “I’m just going to -” He gestured to the kitchen he’d just seen Dr. Watson emerge from and hurried to it. He wanted to clean up and get back quickly so that he didn’t miss anything important.
Although, maybe not too quickly. Rory couldn’t deny he was uncomfortable. Sherlock said that the Doctor needed help, and while the Doctor had not yet confirmed this, Rory had to assume that Sherlock was right based solely on his reputation. Well, that and the fact that the last time he’d seen a blue envelope, he’d also seen the Doctor die.
Rory reminded himself it was best to deal with one thing at a time, and focused on wringing the tea out of his shirt.
Well this was something.
The faces in the room, all of them strangers minus one John Watson and one blue box wielding alien, made Dean so fucking tense he didn’t know what the hell he was doing here. From the looks of everyone, the only one that could be counted as tourists were him and Sam, standing out like a sore thumb in a sea if brits. Sam appeared to know the young guy who had gotten tea spilled over him by the ginger chick, giving her a good look over. Apparently Britain had babes and this was one of them, followed by the curly haired woman who was just as silent as the rest of them.
It definitely wasn’t a freak show. These people didn’t look like hunters but they definitely didn’t give off the air of normal people. The lanky man seated in the chair set Dean’s memory off as he recalled a brief meeting with him outside of a bakery when he had first arrived. Seeing John again and the Doctor was definitely not a coincidence and he glanced at Sam as if he has some sort of answer, crossing his arms.
Well this was cozy…
“So roll call. Who the hell are you people?” Dean asks, motioning to the room with a raised eyebrow. “And why would the Doc need our help?”
Sam shifted on his feet, trying not to knock anything over in the process. This flat wasn’t exactly big, and under normal circumstances, he woulds till probably feel like a bull in a china shop. But these weren’t exactly normal circumstances, were they? He was crowded next to Dean, trying to slouch a little, to make his height less noticeable. He couldn’t say it was working. Dean and he were a bit hard to miss and people tended to glance their way more often.
He took a look around the room himself. Eight people were gathered in the flat, including himself and Dean. Sam didn’t know why Rory was here, though. Wasn’t he just a nurse? But, then again, he’d told Rory that he and Dean were lawyers, so maybe the guy had done some fibbing of his own. The red-headed girl sitting next to him suddenly spilled tea into his lap, and Sam winced in sympathy.
Sam directed his focus to the Doctor, the man - or whatever he was, they hadn’t yet figured it out - who had called them together. Was this meeting about the weeping angels he’d spoken of back at the hotel? Or something completely different? Apparently Dean wasn’t going to wait around to find out. Sam could understand his impatience; he shared it, and if he wasn’t mistaken, so did the curly-haired lanky guy. He thought it might be John’s flatmate, Sherlock Holmes, judging by the way he was seated familiarly in his chair, but he could be wrong.
Sam shifted another time, less carefully, and his elbow caught something on the mantel. Luckily, he grabbed it before it fell, but it was fair to say that he was a little surprised to see what it was. He didn’t usually deal with skeletons unless they were still in their graves. Sam smiled sheepishly, muttered “Sorry,” and replaced the skull, wondering who it belonged to. It seemed John’s flatmate was a little crazier than he’d originally thought.
(Noise)
Seb takes another slow drag before dropping his cigarette and grinding it out beneath the heel of his boot. He grins. They think they’re going to kick his arse, they’ve got another fucking thing coming. The three of them might have had a shot, provided they came at him together and he was unarmed. But Sebastian is never unarmed, and they aren’t that smart. He holds his hands up, palm out, purposefully mirroring the gestures of the other two.
“I didn’t come here to cause any trouble.” It’s a blatant lie if there ever was one, and he smiles. “No need get yourselves all fuckin worked up. Can leave, if you like. I’ve got places to be, as it is.” Part of him is itching for one of them (probably Dean, since he’s the only one of them who looks fucking stupid enough to try it) to make an attempt at fighting him anyway. He’s bored and it’s been too long since he’s had a good excuse to tear into someone.John snorted at Moran’s words. Somewhat thankful that Dean and Sam weren’t backing him up, but still not in any position to help any of them.
Well, outside of saving them from a brawl in the middle of the street. Christ, Dean looked almost ready to actually try something. That was stirring trouble right there. Part of him also wanted to tackle Moran to the ground, keep him from returning to his boss. But now wasn’t the time. Bastard would be armed, and he didn’t want to drag others into his fight.
“If you hadn’t come here to cause trouble, I would be sincerely and completely surprised. That much hasn’t changed about you, I know.” His eyes flicked over to Sam, then Dean. “Don’t bother. He’s armed, and he’s got no problems with shooting people in a crowd.”
Dean cracks a smirk, taking a step forward but he catches Sam’s face and realizes he’s being a bit weird. It wasn’t ever damn day a potential friend came along and Dean didn’t want to lose the opportunity to have one in this strange ass place.
“Well come on back with us John, I want to talk to you anyway.” he places his hands in his pockets, completely ignoring Seb and motioning for the soldier to follow. He’ll mind his manners for now but the chance to show off and show John that he’s not someone to be messed with is boiling in his blood, realizing that the last talk he had with him must have really made him feel a bit relieved if he was willing to jump a stranger for him. “We need to talk about what we are going to do about your little problem?” he doesn’t want to say what and simply raises an eyebrow, wanting John to take the hint and just go with them.
Sam really didn’t care for all this hostility. People walking by were starting to look at them. A group of tough looking guys tensing for battle was a bit hard to miss, and he didn’t want to be noticed by the cops next. But he didn’t know why the animosity was hanging between Sebastian and John, so there wasn’t much he felt he could do about it. He decided to let Dean take the reigns on this one; at least he knew John. And by the looks of it, he was trying to make friends with him. That certainly wasn’t something Sam was going to get in the way of. Dean needed more friends.
Free Time
“Nice to meet you, Rory.” The cashier returned with his food, and Sam smiled gratefully. “Are you sure? It’d make me feel better.” He chuckled lightly, but he still felt a little bad. He picked the bag of food off the counter and continued, “Well, if you won’t let me pay for your food, why don’t you join me?” He could certainly use a normal conversation right about now.
But maybe that wasn’t in the cards, because apparently Rory worked at the hospital. It seemed like every Brit he’d met so far had something to do with the medical profession. “Do you work at St. Bart’s?” With luck, he was also working on the case that both John and Molly were. “I was there the other day, and yeah, everybody looked really busy.” He knew there were a lot of different positions in a hospital; he’d already met a doctor and a pathologist. But Sam also knew that some doctors were really touchy when asked prying questions about their job, so he phrased his question more carefully this time. “What do you do there?”
“Alright,” Rory said, nodding. He hadn’t planned on sticking around to eat, had actually thought about going home for a quick nap, but this was probably better. He preferred company, didn’t mind talking, and Sam seemed earnest enough. He lead the way to the few tables that sat outside the café and claimed the closest chair.
“Yeah, I work at Barts,” he confirmed, “I’m a nurse. We actually have been really busy lately. Loads of new patients.” He paused. Sam seemed to ask a lot of questions, which, honestly, made him a little uneasy. There was quite a bit that he couldn’t easily talk about - the adventures he and Amy had with the Doctor, for example - which made conversations sometimes difficult. But it seemed like Sam was harmless enough, so Rory decided that, for now, sticking with the most basic facts would be enough. “Um, why? Have you been by or something?” Sam seemed healthy, but it was always possible - actually, far more probable, because American - that he had been visiting friends or family.
Sam followed Rory to the table and took a seat. “A nurse? That’s cool.” He wasn’t entirely sure what to say about Rory’s profession, because it was the man’s patients he was interested in. But since Sam was used to this sort of thing, he could tell that the man’s suspicions were rising. “Yeah, I’ve been by.”
But as a patient, or a visiting doctor? If he pretended that he had been a patient, he’d have no reason to ask the questions he planned on asking. Though, he wasn’t sure how well he could pass as a doctor. He knew a little about medical practice, but Rory could decide to ask him some obscure question, and then he’d be screwed. Best to stay in somewhat familiar territory.
Sam picked the wrapper off of his sandwich and spoke, “I’m here with my brother. We’re lawyers, investigating some client’s claims.” Plausible enough, and since Sam had been studying to be a lawyer, he could likely answer any forthcoming questions with ease. And anyway, he could probably pass it off that at least one of his clients was one of the demon-possessed patients.
He snorted to keep up the charade, “Our firm decided to send us overseas to take care of it. Trying to scare off the newbies, I guess. It’s been hectic.” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “These clients are nuts, really.” Maybe that would get Rory to ask a question of his own. If not, he’d have to go about this in a different way.
In A Broken Dream
Sam slid into bed and stowed his gun under his pillow. Dean was out at a local pub, no doubt getting shit-faced and trying to pick up British girls. He’d probably end up finding somebody to go home with. And if not, Sam would hopefully be fast asleep when he stumbled in the room. He flicked off the lamp-light and lay in the dark for a few minutes before turning on his sided and falling asleep.
This time, when he entered dream-land, he knew it wasn’t real. It had the same feeling as the certain one he’d had the other night. And that really only meant one thing. Lucifer.
He looked at his surroundings, noting that it was the same hill as before, only with a few changes. A few feet away, a picnic was laid out. Checkered blanket, straw basket, the works. It didn’t seem like it belonged to anybody, and as it was his dream, Sam shrugged and walked over to the set-up. He sat down, stretching out his long legs and called, “I know you’re here. Why don’t you stop hiding and come enjoy this lovely picnic with me?”
And then he waited.
Lucifer was lurking in a far corner of Sam’s dream-space when he felt the hunter return. He narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, but otherwise didn’t move. ”How about I make you wait,” he muttered bitterly.
Lucifer had been here for some time. Fleeing from Sam in a rage, it had only taken Luci a moment to calm down and come to his senses. He had been about to return when he felt Sam leave the dream. And now, irrational as it was, Lucifer was pissed at being abandoned.
It had given him time to think things over though. He thought eventually that Sam was probably right not to believe him. He thought that maybe he was right in general. Could he really blame it all on Michael? He thought then about his brother - about how he did truly love him, and about how he resented their Father for pitting them against each other… How he resented their Father for a lot of things.
Goddammit, Lucifer thought, rolling his eyes at his own joke. I hate having time to think.
Lucifer wondered then if Sam knew the truth. If he knew what really happened the day they fell together into the pit. Would he have felt the change? Or did it go unnoticed?
It wasn’t like Sam knew how time ran in dreams, but it felt as if he’d been waiting hours for Lucifer to show up. You’d think if it was your own dream, you’d be able to control those devils who only wanted to sulk in a corner. Sam broadcast this thought, wondering if Lucifer would even be able to hear it.
Now he was just sick and tired of waiting for the pouty angel to show his face. Sam sighed, “Great,” stood up from the picnic blanket and looked around. “Guess I’ll just have to go looking for you,” he muttered. He started walking away from the picnic setup, but then looked back to check if the devil was anywhere nearby. No sign of Lucifer, but the picnic had vanished. “Look what you’ve done,” he said, then shouted to his surroundings. “You’ve ruined a perfectly good meal. Hope you’re happy.” Sam shook his head in exaggerated disappointment, just in case the devil was spying on him.
He couldn’t ever really say he was experienced with devil hide and seek. Lucifer could be cheating; he might be turning invisible, or disguising himself as a tree. So looking for him might take a while. Luckily, it seemed that, in his dreams, at least, he had some sort of Lucifer-radar. He’d start in the forest; that was where the ‘signal’ felt the strongest.
“Well, ready or not, here I come.”
July 2012
15 posts
Another Library
Sam chuckled at the incredulous look on Molly’s face. It was refreshing to find somebody who didn’t only accept his story as truth, but found it fascinating. Though, if Molly had to face some of the things he had, she may not think hunting was such a cool job.
“Yeah, I’ve got some great stories; but I doubt anybody would take me seriously.” Except other hunters, of course, but Sam wouldn’t say he was close to many of them.
Molly’s next question made him pause, though. Should he tell her? “It’s sort of the family business. Our mother was a hunter, but she gave up that life. But later, our dad got into it.” He shrugged, “We just came into the job.” Maybe he wasn’t telling the entire truth, but he wasn’t lying, either. He didn’t know Molly well, and even though she seemed very nice and trustworthy, he’d been tricked enough times to be wary when meeting new people.
Molly blushed a little bit when he started laughing. She knew how she must look right now, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She just wanted to keep talking to him. It wasn’t that often that she had someone this interesting to talk to. Well, Sherlock was always interesting but he didn’t really talk to her. More at her. And Jim had seemed like he was interested, but…nevermind. She wasn’t going to go there anymore. Not even in her own mind.
When she heard how vague his answer was, Molly immediately decided not to ask anymore questions. She could tell that whatever had actually happened was painful, and not the type of thing you share with someone you just met. Maybe they would become friends and she could learn more about him, but now certainly wasn’t the right time.
“Well, I’d love to hear some of those stories if you have any that you want to share. Although, I understand if you don’t. I mean, you don’t know me very well at all and I just keep asking you questions about your life. Thank you for being so patient with me.” What about him made her want to babble a little bit every time she opened her mouth? She really needed to work on this. At least that hadn’t been as bad as the previous times.
Sam shook his head at Molly’s thanks. “It’s no trouble, really. It’s been a long time since I’ve just sat and talked about all this.” In fact, he should be the one thanking her. He missed having conversations like these. Dean wasn’t really available for them anymore.
“I’d love to tell you some stories,” he said, smiling. But the grin dropped from his face when he felt one of his phones buzz. Dean was the only one with the number, and if he was calling that phone, it must be important. He didn’t answer the call, but instead sent a text: On my way. – Sam Dean would know that there were others around and he couldn’t talk openly right now. Sure, Molly now knew of the hunting business, but Sam felt that he should keep their current case under wraps until they knew exactly what they were dealing with.
Sam looked at Molly, noting her young appearance, and wondered if it would be best for him to just leave her out of all this. Let her forget she even met him. But he couldn’t. There was something about the girl that seemed different. She’d be able to handle this, though it might be hard for her to adjust.
He sighed, and faintly smiled. “Sorry that was my brother. I’ve got to go, but I’d like to see you again. This was nice.” He grabbed a nearby piece of paper that the library had supplied for note-taking and scribbled one of his phone numbers on it. Sam slid the paper across to her and stood up. “Call me sometime,” he said, knowing he sounded rather cliché. “I’ll see you later, Molly.” And with that, he left, waving goodbye over his shoulder.
Free Time
The guy looked a little surprised to see him. Apparently his height didn’t only weird out Americans. Sam smiled at the suggestion the man gave. “Well, then, I guess that’s what I’ll have.” Odd name for a sandwich, though. “You mind if I order ahead of you?” It was more of a statement than a question, really, and he ordered his food and water, still curious about the name. He asked the man taking his order, “Why’s it called a Sherlock wrap?”
The cashier answered cheerfully, “After the detective, of course. The great Sherlock Holmes. He’s the reason Speedy’s is so successful. Helped us out of a tight spot once. He lives next door, actually.” Sam raised an eyebrow and handed the man money for his food, “Keep the change. Next door? You mean 221B?” The cashier nodded, “With his flatmate, Doctor Watson. They’re famous at solving crimes together.” The man took the money and went to fetch Sam’s meal.
Dr. Watson? Must be John. Didn’t that Sebastian mention his annoying flatmate? That must be Sherlock, then. And now Dean and Sam had been invited to the place via a mysterious blue letter. This was an interesting development, though. He’d have to text Dean later.
Sam turned around to see the same customer waiting behind him. He frowned, realizing he had been a jerk about cutting in front of him. “I’m sorry, that was rude.” He shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “I haven’t eaten today.” Maybe this guy hadn’t either, though; so that didn’t really excuse Sam’s dick move. “Sorry again. Name’s Sam. Look, why don’t I pay for your food to make up for that?”
Rory’s smile slipped away and he started to politely protest, but the other man ignored him and stepped ahead of him anyway. So, rude and not entirely unlike the other Americans he’d met. Great. He sighed (no point in arguing) and waited for his turn, taking the opportunity to listen in on the American’s conversation. He was not only ordering the meal Rory had suggested, but also asking questions about that Sherlock person. It occurred to Rory, as the server answered, where he had heard the name before: Dr. Watson’s blog. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten that. Then again, Amy tended to keep up with it more than he did, updating him as new cases and entries were posted.
The other thing that stood out to Rory was the very specific address the American mentioned. The Doctor had sent a letter to him - well, and Amy, too, of course - instructing him - them - to go there, to 221B. Amy would be thrilled to meet Sherlock, probably. He thought it would maybe not be so much fun meeting a man that could figure out everything about you just by looking, but, then, he’d been wrong before. Anyway, he had a feeling that the Doctor had come (was coming) for the strange patients at Barts. It seemed his sort of thing, and it would be a relief to finally know how to treat them.
Rory’s thoughts were interrupted by the American and any ill will he might have felt toward the man - Sam, apparently - for his behaviour mostly dissipated with the apology. “I’m Rory,” he said, introducing himself, “and it’s fine, really. I’m in no hurry.” He gave Sam a small smile and ordered his food. “I know what that’s like,” he added. He was used to missing meals on a semi-regular basis. “I work at a hospital and the shifts can be rough, especially when they’re close together.”
“Nice to meet you, Rory.” The cashier returned with his food, and Sam smiled gratefully. “Are you sure? It’d make me feel better.” He chuckled lightly, but he still felt a little bad. He picked the bag of food off the counter and continued, “Well, if you won’t let me pay for your food, why don’t you join me?” He could certainly use a normal conversation right about now.
But maybe that wasn’t in the cards, because apparently Rory worked at the hospital. It seemed like every Brit he’d met so far had something to do with the medical profession. “Do you work at St. Bart’s?” With luck, he was also working on the case that both John and Molly were. “I was there the other day, and yeah, everybody looked really busy.” He knew there were a lot of different positions in a hospital; he’d already met a doctor and a pathologist. But Sam also knew that some doctors were really touchy when asked prying questions about their job, so he phrased his question more carefully this time. “What do you do there?”
Another Library
Sam made a face at the notes Molly was jotting down. Maybe he should stop her from writing, what if somebody found it? Then again, if anybody ever did find it; they probably wouldn’t take it seriously. Besides, he wasn’t telling her anything incriminating. Most people, if they did some research, could find this information in a Bible or some old books. So he let her write.
“No, it’s fine, that’s not too personal. I work with my brother. Our hunting isn’t the same as usual hunting. We don’t go out in the woods, shoot bucks, get drunk and drive around in our pick-ups.” Sam snorted at the thought of him and Dean doing that. He was sure there were some Brits that had the preconceived notion that all Americans were rednecks, but he didn’t think Molly would be one of them. “We hunt the supernatural. Demons, ghosts, a few vampires and werewolves here and there. That stuff really exists; and somebody has to take care of all that. That’s what we hunters do. And it isn’t just Dean and I that do it.”
Molly had one of those kind faces that made you want to trust in her and tell her your entire life story. She was obviously a sweet girl and that was why Sam didn’t really want to trouble her with all of this. But she was the one asking the questions, so it apparently didn’t matter to her.
As she listened she slowly stopped taking, too fascinated by what he was talking about to focus on writing. The fact that ghosts, vampires, and other fantasy creatures were real was amazing. She had survived her childhood by reading stories about the creatures that inhabited ‘another world’, and she had always loved the dark hope buried in all of them. Every time he spoke, thousands more questions tumbled into her mind. But she didn’t want to seem like she was prying too much. Telling her this much had been a huge act of trust.
She couldn’t suppress the “Wow” that she breathed out. She leaned a little closer. “Working with your brother on something like that…you must have incredible stories. And obviously you are pretty good since you are here. How did you get involved?”
Sam chuckled at the incredulous look on Molly’s face. It was refreshing to find somebody who didn’t only accept his story as truth, but found it fascinating. Though, if Molly had to face some of the things he had, she may not think hunting was such a cool job.
“Yeah, I’ve got some great stories; but I doubt anybody would take me seriously.” Except other hunters, of course, but Sam wouldn’t say he was close to many of them.
Molly’s next question made him pause, though. Should he tell her? “It’s sort of the family business. Our mother was a hunter, but she gave up that life. But later, our dad got into it.” He shrugged, “We just came into the job.” Maybe he wasn’t telling the entire truth, but he wasn’t lying, either. He didn’t know Molly well, and even though she seemed very nice and trustworthy, he’d been tricked enough times to be wary when meeting new people.
Another Library
Molly certainly liked asking questions. With her attitude, she was probably very good at her job. Which was why this case seemed to be bothering her so much. “Well, demons don’t always have a reason to be around other than creating havoc. But so many in once place.. I think they’re gathering for something. Something big.” Sam was silent for a moment, wondering if this was Crowley’s doing, like so many things were. Then he realized Molly still had questions that needed answered.
“I’m not really sure. I’m not really experienced with medical side of this. We do the hunting, the exorcising, and the killing, but we try to leave the science to the professionals. My best guess, though? The demons are probably still riding their hosts, so that’s why the sulfur is still there.
“And demons? Demons were created by the ang- well, devil, actually, Lucifer after he was banished from heaven. They’re corrupted human souls after their torture in Hell; evil beings. Demons then go on torture and destroy things because they think it’s fun. Or otherwise, they want to avoid more torture for themselves. They only seek destruction.” And no matter what he thought before, there was no way they could be trusted.
Now Molly was sketching something out, and talking about something else that was in their blood. “A virus?” Sam moved his chair closer to Molly so he could get a better look at the drawing. He didn’t recognize it, but he probably couldn’t have identified a picture of the common cold, either. “Could be Croatoan.. But then it would be spreading faster. No, whatever this is, it seems to be more contained. I don’t know it, though.” Maybe he should call Dean. But he was busy with the weeping angels, and he had been too worried about Sam anyway. Dean needed a break from his younger brother’s delusions.
Molly listened carefully to his explanation, taking notes the whole time. So these demons are sort of like the ones from the church stories. She was sure that she had a Bible somewhere in her house, so tonight she would have to reread those sections of the Bible. She would probably want to check with him on what he learned, but Molly hated only having one source of information. Although he did say ‘we’. He must work with someone else.
She smiled a little when he finished. “I understand that you don’t know everything. I’m sure even something like demon hunting requires specialties like any other job. Who do you work with? And what exactly does hunting mean?” She paused a minute. “I’m sorry if those questions are too personal. This is just so new. I do really appreciate everything you’ve told me so far.”
He seemed so kind, although he was really guarded. That would make sense though, since he was expecting her to call him crazy and walk away when he gave her information. The story was too impossible to actually be false. No one traveled to another country just to make things up to strangers. At least she didn’t think so. Maybe some mean spirited person would, but he knew how serious this was for her. And he didn’t come across as that awful. Not that she necessarily completely trusted him, but he deserved a little of it.
Sam made a face at the notes Molly was jotting down. Maybe he should stop her from writing, what if somebody found it? Then again, if anybody ever did find it; they probably wouldn’t take it seriously. Besides, he wasn’t telling her anything incriminating. Most people, if they did some research, could find this information in a Bible or some old books. So he let her write.
“No, it’s fine, that’s not too personal. I work with my brother. Our hunting isn’t the same as usual hunting. We don’t go out in the woods, shoot bucks, get drunk and drive around in our pick-ups.” Sam snorted at the thought of him and Dean doing that. He was sure there were some Brits that had the preconceived notion that all Americans were rednecks, but he didn’t think Molly would be one of them. “We hunt the supernatural. Demons, ghosts, a few vampires and werewolves here and there. That stuff really exists; and somebody has to take care of all that. That’s what we hunters do. And it isn’t just Dean and I that do it.”
Molly had one of those kind faces that made you want to trust in her and tell her your entire life story. She was obviously a sweet girl and that was why Sam didn’t really want to trouble her with all of this. But she was the one asking the questions, so it apparently didn’t matter to her.
Free Time
He’d been sitting on the bench for a few hours now, and there’d been no real progress yet. An elderly lady – he’d heard one of her neighbors refer to her as Mrs. Hudson – had left and entered the flat during the past hour, but other than that, he hadn’t found out much about 221B Baker Street. And now he was starting to get hungry. The lovely smells wafting from the nearby café did nothing to help ease this hunger.
Sam knew it was unwise to leave for food during a stake-out, because the suspect always shows up once you’ve turned your back. But, they didn’t even have a suspect yet, and besides, Dean had only told Sam to keep an eye on the place for a couple of hours. The opening of the café door sent another wave of delicious smells his way, and Sam’s mind was made up.
He folded up his decoy newspaper, set it on the bench, and carefully crossed the busy street. It wouldn’t do to get run over by a care when he faced ghosts, demons, and a hallucinated devil on a daily basis. Sam entered Speedy’s Café with a small smile on his face. The food here was bound to be healthier than the crap Dean ate at diners all over America.
Because Sam wasn’t exactly familiar with everything on the menu, he walked up behind a customer who was standing in line. “What would you suggest for a healthy lunch?”
Rory turned around to answer and found himself looking at a chin. He blinked and looked up. The man standing behind him was quite tall. Actually, to be fair, he was generally rather large, Rory thought, and very American, if his accent was anything to go by. That was interesting. He hadn’t run into many Americans before. Unless that time in ‘69 counted, and he didn’t think it did, what with being wibbly-wobbly and all.
“Um, I’m not sure, sorry” he said. “I’ve not been in before. Personally, I think I might try the…” He glanced back at the menu, searching for the sandwich he’d been considering. “‘Sherlock’ wrap.” It took him a second to remember why that name sounded familiar, then he remembered. When he and Amy had done their bit of investigating in the hospital, they’d run into Molly who’d been talking with Dr. Watson about a Sherlock. Specifically, he remembered thinking that he’d have to ask Amy about it, because as unusual as the name was, it had to be the same man. He hadn’t, in the end, but he really would have to.
“Don’t know how healthy it really is,” Rory admitted, smiling amicably, “but it looks pretty good.”
The guy looked a little surprised to see him. Apparently his height didn’t only weird out Americans. Sam smiled at the suggestion the man gave. “Well, then, I guess that’s what I’ll have.” Odd name for a sandwich, though. “You mind if I order ahead of you?” It was more of a statement than a question, really, and he ordered his food and water, still curious about the name. He asked the man taking his order, “Why’s it called a Sherlock wrap?”
The cashier answered cheerfully, “After the detective, of course. The great Sherlock Holmes. He’s the reason Speedy’s is so successful. Helped us out of a tight spot once. He lives next door, actually.” Sam raised an eyebrow and handed the man money for his food, “Keep the change. Next door? You mean 221B?” The cashier nodded, “With his flatmate, Doctor Watson. They’re famous at solving crimes together.” The man took the money and went to fetch Sam’s meal.
Dr. Watson? Must be John. Didn’t that Sebastian mention his annoying flatmate? That must be Sherlock, then. And now Dean and Sam had been invited to the place via a mysterious blue letter. This was an interesting development, though. He’d have to text Dean later.
Sam turned around to see the same customer waiting behind him. He frowned, realizing he had been a jerk about cutting in front of him. “I’m sorry, that was rude.” He shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “I haven’t eaten today.” Maybe this guy hadn’t either, though; so that didn’t really excuse Sam’s dick move. “Sorry again. Name’s Sam. Look, why don’t I pay for your food to make up for that?”
Another Library
Sam couldn’t help the grin that formed on his face when he saw the bewildered look on Molly’s. Yeah, she definitely thought he was crazy. She excused herself, and he nodded, not actually expecting her to return, no matter what she promised. Maybe he could find out more about her patients through John; although, so far the doctor hadn’t been too cooperative when it came to volunteering information about hospital patients.
Sam was just pushing his chair out when Molly sat down again. Interesting. He’d misjudged her, apparently. He pulled his chair back in and leaned against the table, thinking about her new question carefully. “Well.. demons aren’t very picky about the people they choose. As ong a s they’re alive and able to move, they’re a candidate.” And sometimes they didn’t even take the healthy ones, he thought, recalling when Ruby had inhabited a coma patient.
“We think they just choose at random, really. Whoever happens to be around. It looks like your patients were all at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“But why would demons be here? Does the sulfur stay in the blood after the demon leaves? Why is the sulfur still visible even after the blood has gone through multiple tests? What exactly are demons?” Molly took a deep breath. She’d never believed that she knew everything about the world. But this was a lot more than she had guessed. She had never been very religious, but her parents had taken her to church a few times when she was a child. However, all the stories involving demons were really fuzzy in her mind. Anyway, she was pretty sure no one in the Bible did blood tests.
“Also, there is this other thing in their blood stream. Is that part of it?” Molly quickly sketched out the not virus. “It seems like they work together to affect each other, but they are so different. I’ve never seen sulfur in the blood, but I couldn’t tell you even what elements make up this second thing.”
Molly certainly liked asking questions. With her attitude, she was probably very good at her job. Which was why this case seemed to be bothering her so much. “Well, demons don’t always have a reason to be around other than creating havoc. But so many in once place.. I think they’re gathering for something. Something big.” Sam was silent for a moment, wondering if this was Crowley’s doing, like so many things were. Then he realized Molly still had questions that needed answered.
“I’m not really sure. I’m not really experienced with medical side of this. We do the hunting, the exorcising, and the killing, but we try to leave the science to the professionals. My best guess, though? The demons are probably still riding their hosts, so that’s why the sulfur is still there.
“And demons? Demons were created by the ang- well, devil, actually, Lucifer after he was banished from heaven. They’re corrupted human souls after their torture in Hell; evil beings. Demons then go on torture and destroy things because they think it’s fun. Or otherwise, they want to avoid more torture for themselves. They only seek destruction.” And no matter what he thought before, there was no way they could be trusted.
Now Molly was sketching something out, and talking about something else that was in their blood. “A virus?” Sam moved his chair closer to Molly so he could get a better look at the drawing. He didn’t recognize it, but he probably couldn’t have identified a picture of the common cold, either. “Could be Croatoan.. But then it would be spreading faster. No, whatever this is, it seems to be more contained. I don’t know it, though.” Maybe he should call Dean. But he was busy with the weeping angels, and he had been too worried about Sam anyway. Dean needed a break from his younger brother’s delusions.
Free Time
Rory stood outside of the hospital, stretching and yawning and watching the general activity of the city around him. Officially, it was his day off, and after dealing with the strange, not-quite-right patients at Barts his last two shifts, he was relieved to have a break. Even if he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the free time. The friends with whom he would ordinarily have spent his time were, for the most part, still working, and Amy was busy with whatever it was she got up to when she left the flat. He thought that he should perhaps go home and sleep - he’d been up for an interminably long time - but instead found himself going to Regent’s Park.
Which was fine too.
He liked Regent’s Park. It was bright and sunny and a very good place to play rugby, although he hadn’t played in at least two weeks, more preoccupied with the goings-on at work which he and Amy suspected were probably timey-wimey. He hoped, if they were right and this was the Doctor’s sort of thing, that he would soon show up and set things right. Rory hated being unable to help his patients, but there was nothing he could do without knowing the exact nature of the problem. It was maddening.
It took him nearly an hour to reach the park. By that time, he’d turned his thoughts to happier things. He had a decent job that afforded him the opportunity to help people. He was happily married to the girl of his dreams. They had a lovely flat. The skies were clear for the first time in days. Plenty of people strolled through the park and played and laughed around him.
It was easy to lose track of time and he did. When he felt his stomach growling at him, however, he remembered that he hadn’t eaten since he’d been on-call, and took it as a sign that it was time to leave.
Rory wandered down the street, peering into windows and store fronts with mild interest. He didn’t feel compelled to buy anything, really, but food would certainly not be amiss if he stumbled across something that looked good. A few blocks later, and an inviting little café not far from the park seemed to be exactly what he was looking for. He ducked inside, wrapped pleasantly in the scent of baking bread and fresh coffee, and glanced over the menu.
He’d been sitting on the bench for a few hours now, and there’d been no real progress yet. An elderly lady – he’d heard one of her neighbors refer to her as Mrs. Hudson – had left and entered the flat during the past hour, but other than that, he hadn’t found out much about 221B Baker Street. And now he was starting to get hungry. The lovely smells wafting from the nearby café did nothing to help ease this hunger.
Sam knew it was unwise to leave for food during a stake-out, because the suspect always shows up once you’ve turned your back. But, they didn’t even have a suspect yet, and besides, Dean had only told Sam to keep an eye on the place for a couple of hours. The opening of the café door sent another wave of delicious smells his way, and Sam’s mind was made up.
He folded up his decoy newspaper, set it on the bench, and carefully crossed the busy street. It wouldn’t do to get run over by a care when he faced ghosts, demons, and a hallucinated devil on a daily basis. Sam entered Speedy’s Café with a small smile on his face. The food here was bound to be healthier than the crap Dean ate at diners all over America.
Because Sam wasn’t exactly familiar with everything on the menu, he walked up behind a customer who was standing in line. “What would you suggest for a healthy lunch?”
(Noise)
Seb raises the cigarette to his lips, still smirking, and inhales slowly. “Perfectly fuckin calm.” He looks back to John. “Now, Johnny. That’s no way to greet an old friend. Thought it’d be nice if we had a chance to catch up. For old time’s sake.” Johnny’s so tense he looks like his spine might snap if you bend him the wrong way, and Seb is having entirely too much fun just standing here. So much better than the shit he’d had planned for today.
He can feel the Winchesters trying to size him up, attempting to guess what kind of trouble they’ve accidentally invited in. He turns himself so that he can see all three of them clearly, but keeps his posture deliberately relaxed and open. “You haven’t even introduced me to your friend.” He looks at the bulk of the man standing next to John. “Name’s Sebastian. Johnny and I were in the service together.”“Old friends are the kind you call up for a drink or two after not seeing them for a bit. We didn’t exactly part on amicable terms last we met.” John shook his head. He didn’t know who to glare at more, at the moment, so he kept his gaze on Moran. “The hell are you playing at?”
His habit of closing his hands into fists was acting up. This situation wasn’t exactly the best. Understatement, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit how bad he felt the day was going. He couldn’t leave without turning his back on any of them.
“Alright, look.”
Dean wasn’t going to have this end in trouble and he was in no position to want to lose a new friend. he would never admit it out loud, but John had a spunk in him he admired and he was starting to realize that the lack of relationships he had back in America had soley been because Dean was too afraid to form any. Now that he was in Europe, he was starting to realize just how much he craved them.
John knew trouble within seconds of it’s arrival— he wasn’t a fool. He was a soldier with a heart.
This Sebastian guy was a problem.
“John,” he wanted to distract him, to get his mind away from any type of suspicion, holding his hands out at his sides for John to see. he had no weapon, nothing harmful. He just wanted to get this done with fast. “I just ran in to him. If you want us to kick his ass, we can. He’s nothing compared to what Sam and I deal with.” Dean threw in, wanting to relate back to the night he had spent in the pub. He knew how this looked and he didn’t blame John one bit for being suspicious…
These two had some bad history between them, that much was clear. Seeing as John was the angrier one, Sam would guess that it was Sebastian who had caused the original damage. He didn’t much like the looks of the guy, anyway. Plus, he smoked.
So they were in the army together. And obviously some crap had happened.
At Dean’s offer to kick the new guy’s ass, Sam raised an eyebrow. That was unusual. It wasn’t really in their nature to go around beating up people just because some guy they barely knew hated him. And they tried to fight humans as little as possible; preferring to focus their energy on those supernatural nuisances.
Since he didn’t really have much to contribute to this conversation, Sam just let his arms hang against his, and held his palms face out like Dean. Hopefully they could allay some suspicions this doctor had apparently formed of them.
Another Library
Sam liked this girl. She was curious, no matter whether he was a crazy person or not. At his next words, though, she may be more inclined to run off and leave him to his insanity. He nodded and spoke, “Sulfur in the blood is something I deal with somewhat regularly in my line of work.” Hunting, but he didn’t say it yet. First he had to see whether she’d stay for the entire explanation.
“Sulfur always means demons are involved.”
Sam took a breath and waited for her reaction. Maybe she’d think he was some sort of religious fanatic.
“Demons?” Molly looked at Sam for a second. “Give me a minute. I’ll be back I promise.” She wasn’t sure what the expression on his face meant, but she decided to ignore it. She walked into the nearest row and began to pace. As she walked, she argued with herself about what she heard.
‘He doesn’t look that crazy. I can’t find anything about this in the medical journals and I said that I was willing to hear a crazy explanation. But demons? I know in my old church classes they said something about fire and brimstone and hell and demons which usually means sulfur but I didn’t know that was real. I suppose it doesn’t hurt to hear everything else he has to say though. I really do need help. And it would be nice to have someone else to talk to about this. Fine.’
She walked back over to where he was sitting. “Ok, demons. Why would they be involved with my patients?”
Sam couldn’t help the grin that formed on his face when he saw the bewildered look on Molly’s. Yeah, she definitely thought he was crazy. She excused herself, and he nodded, not actually expecting her to return, no matter what she promised. Maybe he could find out more about her patients through John; although, so far the doctor hadn’t been too cooperative when it came to volunteering information about hospital patients.
Sam was just pushing his chair out when Molly sat down again. Interesting. He’d misjudged her, apparently. He pulled his chair back in and leaned against the table, thinking about her new question carefully. “Well.. demons aren’t very picky about the people they choose. As ong a s they’re alive and able to move, they’re a candidate.” And sometimes they didn’t even take the healthy ones, he thought, recalling when Ruby had inhabited a coma patient.
“We think they just choose at random, really. Whoever happens to be around. It looks like your patients were all at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Another Trip to Luci-Land
Sam slid into bed and stowed his gun under his pillow. Dean was out at a local pub, no doubt getting shit-faced and trying to pick up British girls. He’d probably end up finding somebody to go home with. And if not, Sam would hopefully be fast asleep when he stumbled in the room. He flicked off the lamp-light and lay in the dark for a few minutes before turning on his sided and falling asleep.
This time, when he entered dream-land, he knew it wasn’t real. It had the same feeling as the certain one he’d had the other night. And that really only meant one thing. Lucifer.
He looked at his surroundings, noting that it was the same hill as before, only with a few changes. A few feet away, a picnic was laid out. Checkered blanket, straw basket, the works. It didn’t seem like it belonged to anybody, and as it was his dream, Sam shrugged and walked over to the set-up. He sat down, stretching out his long legs and called, “I know you’re here. Why don’t you stop hiding and come enjoy this lovely picnic with me?”
And then he waited.
(Noise)
“I don’t see how you could know.” John sighed. It’d been far too interesting of a week. “But tell me what you think you know, then. If you already know what’s…” Dean had walked up at that point. Sam turned around to greet him, but John was going to back away cautiously. Of all the times for him not to have his gun on him.
Of all the times for Sebastian Moran to show up, rather. Were they working together? John couldn’t help but be suspicious. He crossed his arms, and braced himself for whatever might happen next. He damn well wasn’t going to get kidnapped again this week. Hell no.
Seb sees Johnny standing with a tall bloke who’s yelling something at Dean. He smirks, shark-like, and jogs across the street, hand holding the cigarette raised in greeting. He ignores both Winchesters in favor of focusing on John. “Johnny!” His smirk grows wider and he stops in front of John, a scant meter away. He takes a drag from his cigarette. “Been looking fucking everywhere for you. Was going to drop by your flat, check on you and your mad detective, but.” He pauses to let that sink in. He’d had no real plans to drop by Baker Street, but it’d likely piss John off to think that he did. “…Lucky for me, I ran into fuckin Dean, here. He was able to tell me right where you were.”
“Lucky’s one way to word it.” John glared up at Sebastian. “What the hell do you want, Moran.” He mentally locked up. He wouldn’t let any of them get any more information out of him. There was no way he was helping Moriarty, even marginally, in getting information.
“This here is ah, Sebastian.” Dean raised his eyebrows with a smile, giving Sam a small nod. Explaining that he had met the guy on the street was a bit uncommon for Dean, not really set on picking people up in strange lands. Still, he gave a nod of greeting to John, smirking a bit as he recalled their last meeting. The time at the pub had been memorable— anyone who had been kidnapped by Crowley was destined to show up in his life again. Dean wasn’t even surprised at this point. But before he could even blink, his new companion had jogged across the street, suddenly putting the hunters nerves on edge.
“Hey, whoah!”
Dean caught up with them, looking from John’s face to Seb’s catching half the conversation. Apparently this wasn’t a joyful meeting…
“He ran in to me,” Dean pointed at Seb, looking to Sam for backup. “Almost broke my damn cell phone… said he knew you so I saved him the trouble of having to fight it out.” a smirk slid on to his lips, holding his head slightly higher. John had his full trust after one night of drinks, he wasn’t going to back out on him if this guy was actually trouble.
If John was defensive when Sam was questioning him, it was nothing compared to how he reacted when Dean’s new companion – Sebastian, apparently – showed up. John seemed to know him; but he didn’t appear to be on friendly terms with the guy. Sebastian appeared to think otherwise, and greeted him like an old friend. Also, he swore a lot.
Sam looked at the two, and judging by the tension hanging between them – emanating largely from the doctor – a fight might break out. They couldn’t let that happen on a busy London street. Well, this day had turned into a major mess.
Sam came over to stand behind Dean. He gestured at John and this Sebastian guy, “Okay, I don’t know what’s going on here, because I just met you. But I think we need to calm down.” He still wasn’t entirely sure how to handle the situation; but he should at least try to stop anybody from getting hurt.
Dream Walking
And now Lucifer needed to talk to him about something else. Something.. sensitive? The angel seemed rather uncertain about himself, which was more than odd, it was downright disconcerting. This was the devil. He didn’t get unsure about things. Sam raised an eyebrow, willing Lucifer to continue. He needed to hear whatever it was he wanted to say.
And while he needed to hear it, he didn’t care for what was said. So that’s how it was? Sam was sure Lucifer was lying. Although he didn’t remember any of his time in the Cage, the angel before him couldn’t possibly be telling the truth. Sam gritted his teeth, trying to remain calm, or at least maintain a semblance of calmness. “What you’re saying is, Michael made you do it? You realize that sounds like a load of crap, right?”
Sure, Michael and Lucifer were brothers. Sam could understand that. He had a brother, and he and Dean didn’t always agree on things. But when one was in the wrong, the other always made his opinion on the matter clear. They wouldn’t let their brother go through with it, or if there was nothing they could do, they did their best to stop them. Apparently that wasn’t how the angel’s relationship worked. The one brother bossed the other one around.
“Do you really expect me to believe that you didn’t want to hurt me, but because your brother told you to, you went ahead and did it anyway? That’s not how it works. If you really don’t want to hurt somebody, you do your best not to.”
Sam didn’t really understand why he was so angered. It wasn’t as if he could remember the tortures he had no doubt been put through. And yet.. there was something about Lucifer’s apology that personally riled his emotions.
Lucifer’s expression changed in a split second to anger. He should’ve known Sam wouldn’t understand. Wouldn’t even bother to try. This was why he didn’t apologize. Nobody listened to apologies from the Devil.
“I’m telling the truth,” he snarled. “If you don’t want to believe it, that’s your problem.”
Lucifer could no longer concentrate through the hot anger welling up inside him. It was such a contrast to his usual cold. Sam was just sitting there, and his presence became increasingly claustrophobic. As an indefinable weight pressed in on him, Lucifer snapped. He needed to get out of there.
He threw one last angry look at Sam, and disappeared.
Sam was a little surprised by how quickly Lucifer’s emotions shifted from nervous anxiety to that of anger. Maybe getting the devil worked up wasn’t such a great idea. Who knew what he could do to him, even locked up in the pit? Remember, you’re just dreaming. But he could still probably cause some disturbing images in his head. Though, Lucifer’s next words weren’t what Sam was expecting. He had taken on a defensive edge, and he looked like he was regretting his earlier words. Sam opened his mouth to utter what would probably be a lame retort, but Lucifer chose that moment to disappear.
Sam was left there, mouth agape. He snapped his jaw shut and fumed silently for a moment. Fine. If he wants to go off and sulk like the big baby devil he is..
Though, truth be told, Sam felt a little guilty. I shouldn’t feel guilty. He tried to destroy the world. He tortured me in the pit. And then he thinks he can get off on saying sorry, like that will solve everything? And yet.
Sam sighed, and shut his eyes. When he opened them, he was lying in his bed, wide awake, and heart unfathomably sore. Dean’s snoring filled the room.
(Noise)
John was considering what to do for dinner tonight, but his way was blocked by Sam. Again, he realized just how short he was in comparison, and he crossed his arms as Sam tried to plead his case. Though his eyebrow quirked up when he was finished.
“Help out? D’you know something that I don’t? Even though you’re a tourist, and this has been going on for longer than you’ve been here? Who the hell are you two?”
Winchester… The fuckin American that Sherlock was seen with. Good. Things are getting more interesting all the time. “What brings you to London, Dean? Playing the fuckin tourist game?” With any luck the stupid fuck will tell him something useful, though it’s unlikely. Seb continues to move quickly, dodging between the other pedestrians. He’s eager to get the hospital and see this thing through. Without pausing, he plucks a cigarette from the case in his pocket and lights it, savoring the inhale. He looks back at Dean with a smirk and holds the case out in invitation. “Want one?”
Dean’s walking as fast as he can, keeping up with the mans strides. Something about him makes it easy for Dean to talk, not quite feeling like a complete foreigner. The british accent with the swearing has Dean smirking but he decides not to make a note of it, placing his hands casually in to his pockets. “More like playing the same game I played in America, just here.” it’s his own little joke and he smiles in to it, raising an eyebrow at the cigarette offer. “No thanks, man. I’m doing the same damage those are doing with alcohol.” he smirks, pulling his flask from his back pocket. “Figured by the end of this trip I’d have drank enough to become a legal citizen.”
Sam gave a tight smile at John’s questions. He felt like he was being interrogated by this shorter man. “I’m sure I know a lot about this that you don’t. Unless I’m wrong, it doesn’t seem like it would be your area of expertise.” He sighed, trying to think up a response that wouldn’t give too much away. “We’re not tourists, that’s for sure. We’re here to stop bad things from happening.” Didn’t always work, but they tried their best.
Sam gave a quick glance around and saw his brother approaching from across the street. He waved at Dean, signaling his presence; then noticed the man he was walking with. Sam looked back at John to make sure he wasn’t going to run off, and turned back to Dean. “Who’s your friend?” he asked.
Dream Walking
Sam shook his head and sighed. “Maybe. I don’t know. I wanted him to get away from all this crap.” But it wasn’t really Dean who had wanted the normal life; it had always been him. And yet, the normal life didn’t even work out for Sam. Destiny wasn’t really something he’d ever believed in, but it seemed that their lives had been shaped out for them. As much had been said by the angels Zachariah and Gabriel.
They were further into the town now, and Sam stopped, looking around. There was the bar Jessica and he had been at for that last Halloween party. The college was just around the corner, then. But he didn’t feel like seeing it; even if this was his mind. Sam walked to nearby bench and sat down, expecting Lucifer to follow.
He was still confused as to why the angel wasn’t trying to cause him any problems. Lucifer was actually being rather civil, and that was just odd. Sam looked at the angel, trying to see if he could figure him out. Easier said than done, however.
Lucifer watched Sam as he sat down on a bench. He didn’t follow, content to stand. ”Sam. There’s something else I need to talk to you about. It’s… sensitive. So please just listen.”
Getting no reaction from Sam, he continued.
“I- In the cage.” He stopped, and frowned slightly. “The things Michael and I put you through. It wasn’t - it wasn’t what I wanted. You know I’d never hurt you willingly. You are my vessel, after all. But Michael… You must understand, he’s my brother. Though we may not see eye to eye,” - Lucifer chuckled slightly at the understatement - “he is still my brother.”
Lucifer stared at Sam, willing him to understand. ”I said I’d never hurt you. I meant it, but I failed you. I’m sorry.”
Lucifer looked down at the ground then, embarrassed. Why did he say those things? It was something Lucifer had been thinking about for a while. Worrying about, even. But he hadn’t meant to confront Sam about it, not really. He was the Devil. He didn’t apologise to anyone.
And now Lucifer needed to talk to him about something else. Something.. sensitive? The angel seemed rather uncertain about himself, which was more than odd, it was downright disconcerting. This was the devil. He didn’t get unsure about things. Sam raised an eyebrow, willing Lucifer to continue. He needed to hear whatever it was he wanted to say.
And while he needed to hear it, he didn’t care for what was said. So that’s how it was? Sam was sure Lucifer was lying. Although he didn’t remember any of his time in the Cage, the angel before him couldn’t possibly be telling the truth. Sam gritted his teeth, trying to remain calm, or at least maintain a semblance of calmness. “What you’re saying is, Michael made you do it? You realize that sounds like a load of crap, right?”
Sure, Michael and Lucifer were brothers. Sam could understand that. He had a brother, and he and Dean didn’t always agree on things. But when one was in the wrong, the other always made his opinion on the matter clear. They wouldn’t let their brother go through with it, or if there was nothing they could do, they did their best to stop them. Apparently that wasn’t how the angel’s relationship worked. The one brother bossed the other one around.
“Do you really expect me to believe that you didn’t want to hurt me, but because your brother told you to, you went ahead and did it anyway? That’s not how it works. If you really don’t want to hurt somebody, you do your best not to.”
Sam didn’t really understand why he was so angered. It wasn’t as if he could remember the tortures he had no doubt been put through. And yet.. there was something about Lucifer’s apology that personally riled his emotions.
Forming Strategies
Sam nodded; he definitely wanted to look at the place. If it was a demon or something equally malicious, it wasn’t really a practical way of getting their attention. Why bother inviting them, when it could just jump them at the hotel? It looked like whatever it was could get in easily enough. “I say we go with both. We can check out the place later today, and if it looks promising, then we go on Monday. Armed and ready.”
Maybe they could find out what was happening around here. With the Weeping Angels and the patients at the hospital, obviously something was brewing. Sam looked up at Dean’s last comment. “You think it was John?” Though he couldn’t understand why the good doctor hadn’t just called them, if it was, indeed, him.
“I don’t know at this point— could be a trap. Hell, could be Crowley.” Dean frowned, looking down at the paper and tapping his finger against the table, thinking. There were so many possibilities but Dean knew one thing: there was no way they were not not going to show up. It was a perfect lead for their case and might even lead to something deeper, something that they could really mingle in.
Dean was getting restless.
This vacation was nothing but a need for some scenery- Europe had the juicy stuff. America was second rate.
“Crowley and John had a meet up. I still don’t understand why but apparently it had to do with his flatmate…”
Sam didn’t really think it was Crowley; usually the king of hell was a bit less subtle than this. Sending brief nondescript letters did not seem to be his style. But maybe he was changing up the game. And if it was Crowley, then no matter whether it was a trap; they had to go and see what he was up to.
Sam sharply turned his head at Dean’s words. “Wait, what? Crowley met with John? What’s so important about his flatmate?” Sam couldn’t remember if John had mentioned this flatmate of his. If he had, it had only been in passing, and what could Crowley possibly want with him. Sam narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Did John make any deals with him? For his flatmate’s protection, or something?” Because normal citizens didn’t recognize the true danger of making any sort of deal with the demon. What if the doctor had sold his soul to Crowley? Dean didn’t seem to be worried, though, so Sam figured this wasn’t the case.
June 2012
37 posts
Another Library
A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, “Yeah, is that so surprising? Americans can enjoy books just as much as you Brits.” Though, he had to admit, most Americans, no matter how much they loved reading, probably wouldn’t visit a library on a vacation.
This girl was very curious; as soon as he had dealt with something similar, she was shooting off questions quicker than he could process them. “It’s very nice to meet you, Molly. And to answer your questions. Where? Various places. When? I’ve done this sort of thing almost my whole life. And yes, there are books that mention sulfur in the blood, but they’re pretty rare and hard to find. Luckily for you, I’ve read them all.” Sam paused slightly, allowing her to digest the information, not really giving her a chance to speak before he asked a question of his own. “Do you want to hear what I have to say? It might seem crazy, but I swear to you, all of it is true.” Well, he might have to throw in a few lies; because he couldn’t tell her everything about what he did. Especially not that he and Dean were fugitives back in America. That would get pretty hard to explain.
Molly listened as he responded to her questions. She had to smile a little since he addressed them exactly as she had asked them. As she listened, she became very curious and intrigued, and she wanted to ask for more details. ’Various places’ didn’t make any sense because she was sure that there would be more information then. And why did he have to be so vague? He didn’t seem like a doctor, so why would he have dealt with blood so often? There were so many details and they weren’t matching. She knew she should be more suspicious of him, but she just wanted to know more.
When she opened her mouth to ask another question, she found herself cut off by his. Her first inclination was to say yes instantly. But she forced herself to think about it for a moment. “Yes, I do want to hear it. The whole situation is crazy and I am fine with a crazy solution as long as it works.”
Sam liked this girl. She was curious, no matter whether he was a crazy person or not. At his next words, though, she may be more inclined to run off and leave him to his insanity. He nodded and spoke, “Sulfur in the blood is something I deal with somewhat regularly in my line of work.” Hunting, but he didn’t say it yet. First he had to see whether she’d stay for the entire explanation.
“Sulfur always means demons are involved.”
Sam took a breath and waited for her reaction. Maybe she’d think he was some sort of religious fanatic.
Forming Strategies
Go to 221B Baker Street 3:00PM Monday June 18th.
“It could be a trap.”
Sam shook the dark blue envelope to see if there was anything else accompanying the odd letter. Nothing. He tossed the envelope and letter down on his bed and stared at them. It was addressed to Dean Winchester and Samuel Winchester. They’d found it on the side table between their beds, propped up against a lamp. It didn’t have the sender’s name on it. So it was understandable why they would be suspicious. He turned to his brother and shrugged, “What d’you want to do, Dean? Scope out the place first? Or just don’t show up at all?”
Sam wanted to drop by and see what this was all about. His curiosity was certainly piqued by the mysterious letter. But he decided he’d leave this one up to Dean.
The letter was something alright- receiving a message like this was definitely new and mot likely a trap, but it was almost too easy. Everything about it was simple, to the point, hardly cryptic. I child could have written it and Dean wouldn’t have doubted it.
“Worth a shot, right? We could go look or we could just go and bring enough weapons to supply a small army,” he suggested, looking over the piece of paper. “Either way, it’s something new. Maybe John left it, who knows?”
Sam nodded; he definitely wanted to look at the place. If it was a demon or something equally malicious, it wasn’t really a practical way of getting their attention. Why bother inviting them, when it could just jump them at the hotel? It looked like whatever it was could get in easily enough. “I say we go with both. We can check out the place later today, and if it looks promising, then we go on Monday. Armed and ready.”
Maybe they could find out what was happening around here. With the Weeping Angels and the patients at the hospital, obviously something was brewing. Sam looked up at Dean’s last comment. “You think it was John?” Though he couldn’t understand why the good doctor hadn’t just called them, if it was, indeed, him.
Dream Walking
Sam found himself confused by Lucifer’s question. He couldn’t understand why the angel cared. It didn’t seem like he had any hidden agenda, so why was he bothering?
“Yeah, sometimes. But then I come back to reality and realize it could never work.” Even if he left Dean and the life they had, it would always manage to find him again. “Did you know Dean tried to have a family? Before I got stuck in the pit, I told him to go live some normal apple-pie life; and he actually listened to me. He managed it for a year, but then I came back. Without my soul, though, so I don’t know what happened, exactly.”
Sam sighed, and rubbed his left temple – not that he needed to, since he didn’t have a headache, but it was a habit. “Basically, he had a girl, and a boy who was like his son, and I took him away from that. I can’t begin to understand how much that must hurt. I don’t want to go back to a normal life and then get attached to people. Eventually, they’d end up getting hurt or killed.”
Sam realized then who he was with. Great. Now he’d shown a weak side to Lucifer. He wondered how the angel would use it against him.
Lucifer watched as Sam talked. He seemed so tired, and Lucifer wondered what could be happening in the waking world to cause him such stress. That was the worst thing about being stuck in the Cage again. Since being thrown back inside, he’d had no idea of what was going on out there. After his brief glimpse into life on Earth, and the current situation in Heaven, Lucifer desperately wanted to know more.
Sam’s words reminded Lucifer how similar they were. He sometimes thought about what it would be like to go back. To be accepted back into Heaven. …then I come back to reality and realize it could never work. No, there were alternatives to spending the rest of eternity in the Cage, but Heaven was not one of them.
Lucifer sighed. They had walked some way into the town by now.
“Sam… Dean was never cut out for that kind of life either, you know. I assure you, no matter what paradise you think you tore him away from - it wasn’t what he wanted. Not deep down.”
Sam shook his head and sighed. “Maybe. I don’t know. I wanted him to get away from all this crap.” But it wasn’t really Dean who had wanted the normal life; it had always been him. And yet, the normal life didn’t even work out for Sam. Destiny wasn’t really something he’d ever believed in, but it seemed that their lives had been shaped out for them. As much had been said by the angels Zachariah and Gabriel.
They were further into the town now, and Sam stopped, looking around. There was the bar Jessica and he had been at for that last Halloween party. The college was just around the corner, then. But he didn’t feel like seeing it; even if this was his mind. Sam walked to nearby bench and sat down, expecting Lucifer to follow.
He was still confused as to why the angel wasn’t trying to cause him any problems. Lucifer was actually being rather civil, and that was just odd. Sam looked at the angel, trying to see if he could figure him out. Easier said than done, however.
Another Library
Sam grinned slightly at the flustered girl’s words. She seemed to be completely overwhelmed by whatever this thing was. It sounded like demon possessions, but also a mix of something else. Croatoan virus, maybe? But Croatoan spread much faster, and Sam was sure he’d have heard of it before now, even if he couldn’t navigate London’s current events as well as he hoped. As the young woman continued, Sam waited for his chance to speak. He took it when she finished talking about her worry over her job.
“Hey, why don’t we sit down and talk? I think I can help you out.” He waved her over to nearby table and gestured to a seat. Since this girl seemed to be in a genuine mess over her case, Sam figured he could let slip some knowledge of a few supernatural things. And hey, if she thought he was crazy, he could be on his merry way. Though, of course, he’d still have to go and investigate her patients. Maybe John would be able to help him with that. “My name’s Sam Winchester. I’ve dealt with stuff similar to this before. But I don’t think a book about folklore is going to solve your problem.” Of course, books about folklore could solve a lot of problems, just not this one. They’d need an exorcism spell from a much different book, this time. Then again, he probably wouldn’t, seeing as he had all of the exorcisms committed to memory.
Molly blinked a little when he introduced himself. “You’re American? And you’re in a library? Well, obviously you are because I met you here. Well, umm, that sounds nice.” Nice? Honestly? She just happened to run into someone who is willing to help her with an impossible problem and all she can say is nice? One of these days she would be able to sound as intelligent when she talked as she did in her head. “Thank you.” She quickly walked over to the seat he had pointed out and sat down. She waited before he seated himself before she said anything else.
“I know the folklore book was a weird idea. But you said you had dealt with something similar before? Where? When? Is there anything written about it?” She paused to take a breath. “I should let you actually answer one of my questions before I ask more. I’m Molly Hooper by the way.” She felt a little nervous although she wasn’t sure why. Well, she did know. People usually didn’t talk to her when she was in a library, and finding someone who might be able to answer her question was just too wonderful a coincidence to be trusted. Things that seemed perfect were usually the most hurtful things, and there were too many people depending on her at this point.
A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, “Yeah, is that so surprising? Americans can enjoy books just as much as you Brits.” Though, he had to admit, most Americans, no matter how much they loved reading, probably wouldn’t visit a library on a vacation.
This girl was very curious; as soon as he had dealt with something similar, she was shooting off questions quicker than he could process them. “It’s very nice to meet you, Molly. And to answer your questions. Where? Various places. When? I’ve done this sort of thing almost my whole life. And yes, there are books that mention sulfur in the blood, but they’re pretty rare and hard to find. Luckily for you, I’ve read them all.” Sam paused slightly, allowing her to digest the information, not really giving her a chance to speak before he asked a question of his own. “Do you want to hear what I have to say? It might seem crazy, but I swear to you, all of it is true.” Well, he might have to throw in a few lies; because he couldn’t tell her everything about what he did. Especially not that he and Dean were fugitives back in America. That would get pretty hard to explain.
(Noise)
Sam realized that this tactic was not going to work. John Watson already had his guard up about his patients, and it didn’t look like he’d be breaching the doctor-patient confidentiality rule any time soon. Sam wished that he and Dean had thought up some sort of official identity for London; this would be going a lot faster if the doctor thought he were an FBI agent investigating strange happenings overseas. But it didn’t seem like things were going to work out so easily for him.
“Right. I mean.. weird, as in.. definitely something you’ve never seen or heard of before.” Sam couldn’t be sure if Dean had talked to him about the supernatural; so he didn’t want to jump right into it. “My brother is on his way here now. Do you have time to talk with us?” He’d rather do this with Dean around. His brother already knew this man, so it’d make things a lot easier for the both of them.
“I’ve seen a few things I’ve never heard of before.” John crossed his arms. Sam definitely knew something about his patients, and that was outright concerning, on top of Crowley watching his and Sherlock’s moves.
“You know,” he began, “Dean asked me about strange places in London. You two like the strange, don’t you?” He shook his head. “But I can’t reveal anything to civilians. I’m not going to start a panic, and I’m not supposed to reveal information about my patients to non-relatives. Good evening.” With a polite nod, he started continuing his walk back home.
Obviously he had gone about this the wrong way. John had his guard up completely, and it didn’t look like it would be coming down, unless Sam could prove himself as a person to trust. Not that Sam actually thought he was a great first choice when you wanted a trustworthy person. The doctor was rightly suspicious of Sam, but he needed to figure out what was wrong with the man’s patients. John started walking off, and Sam swore under his breath, “Dammit.” He quickly followed the guy and his long strides got him in front of the doctor quickly.
“Look, the last thing I want is to cause a panic. I’m trying to help out.” He had to at least keep John hanging around until Dean arrived. Sure, maybe they wouldn’t be the best of friends, but they could hopefully hold a civil conversation. “I don’t want anybody else getting hurt.” Hoping to placate the man, he spoke again, “I’m sorry for asking personal questions about your patients. I realize that was inappropriate.” Dean, hurry the fuck up, dude, this is getting uncomfortable fast. Maybe if he thought hard enough, his brother would hear him.
Forming Strategies
Go to 221B Baker Street 3:00PM Monday June 18th.
“It could be a trap.”
Sam shook the dark blue envelope to see if there was anything else accompanying the odd letter. Nothing. He tossed the envelope and letter down on his bed and stared at them. It was addressed to Dean Winchester and Samuel Winchester. They’d found it on the side table between their beds, propped up against a lamp. It didn’t have the sender’s name on it. So it was understandable why they would be suspicious. He turned to his brother and shrugged, “What d’you what to do, Dean? Scope out the place first? Or just don’t show up at all?”
Sam wanted to drop by and see what this was all about. His curiosity was certainly piqued by the mysterious letter. But he decided he’d leave this one up to Dean.
(Noise)
Sam lightly frowned. He wasn’t really that tall. But that didn’t matter right now. “Yeah, that’s Dean, alright.” Though, just because this man knew his brother didn’t mean he wasn’t a threat of some kind. His phone buzzed again, and he checked the screen briefly. After reading the words, he relaxed. Dean was on his way, and if this man wasn’t the John Watson his brother thought he was, they could take care of it together. He thumbed out a response.
No kidding. Hurry up. - Sam
He could take care of it himself, but it was best to have back-up in this unfamiliar place. “You’re a doctor here, right?” Sam had assumed so. “Has anything.. weird been happening with the patients?” Hmm, he could have phrased himself in a better way; bit late for that, though.
John shrugged, and looked up at Sam. “I am a doctor, yes. And there have been odd patients from time to time. You’d have to be more specific.” This was Dean’s brother, and apparently he was also interested in the strange. Granted, it probably got a lot stranger than sulfur in the blood and an odd not-virus, but apparently that’s what this one was interested in.
He’d wait a bit, see if he could trust Sam before revealing crucial information about his patients.
Sam realized that this tactic was not going to work. John Watson already had his guard up about his patients, and it didn’t look like he’d be breaching the doctor-patient confidentiality rule any time soon. Sam wished that he and Dean had thought up some sort of official identity for London; this would be going a lot faster if the doctor thought he were an FBI agent investigating strange happenings overseas. But it didn’t seem like things were going to work out so easily for him.
“Right. I mean.. weird, as in.. definitely something you’ve never seen or heard of before.” Sam couldn’t be sure if Dean had talked to him about the supernatural; so he didn’t want to jump right into it. “My brother is on his way here now. Do you have time to talk with us?” He’d rather do this with Dean around. His brother already knew this man, so it’d make things a lot easier for the both of them.
(Noise)
Sam blinked. The second he heard his brother’s name, he was immediately on his guard. It was too much of a coincidence that this man had met both Dean and Sam during their short time in London. In Sam’s experience, coincidences didn’t usually happen. So, while his voice remained calm, Sam was ready to fight at a moment’s notice. “Yeah, I do. He’s my brother. How do you know Dean?” Until he could determine whether this man was a demon, or just a human, he’d tread carefully with his questions. Sam pulled his phone out and texted a quick message to Dean, cautious not to let the man see the words.
Met a man at St. Bart’s hospital. Says he knows you. Short, of stocky build. Late thirties. A doctor. Safe?
He pocketed his phone again and grinned apologetically, “Sorry about that. Am I keeping you from anything?”
Coincidence, indeed. John knew it sounded rather suspicious, but his life was full of odd and rather terrible coincidences like that. He smiled a bit at the memory of being mistaken for Sherlock, that once before their pictures were posted all over the news. Before he could answer, he saw the man pull his phone out and start a quick message. Definitely suspicious of him, then. They were both soldier-like. If he had to guess, Sam was texting Dean about him.
“I met him wandering around the other day. Tall, not as tall as you. Leather jacket. Almost hilariously American, and I helped him find a good pub.” John wasn’t worried, not this time. There were no guns (or crossbows) threatening him, and his story was the truth.
Sam lightly frowned. He wasn’t really that tall. But that didn’t matter right now. “Yeah, that’s Dean, alright.” Though, just because this man knew his brother didn’t mean he wasn’t a threat of some kind. His phone buzzed again, and he checked the screen briefly. After reading the words, he relaxed. Dean was on his way, and if this man wasn’t the John Watson his brother thought he was, they could take care of it together. He thumbed out a response.
No kidding. Hurry up. - Sam
He could take care of it himself, but it was best to have back-up in this unfamiliar place. “You’re a doctor here, right?” Sam had assumed so. “Has anything.. weird been happening with the patients?” Hmm, he could have phrased himself in a better way; bit late for that, though.
Dream Walking
Sam raised an eyebrow at Lucifer’s statement. He found this doubtful; Lucifer always had some sort of ulterior motive. But, as he was dreaming, Sam discovered that talking with the angel was easier. “This place? Well, I used to live here.” He sighed and pointed to the right of the town. “I went to college there. Studied to be a lawyer. Then Dean came along and pulled me back into the life I had tried so hard to escape.”
Sam didn’t suppose Lucifer would really care about all this, but he continued to speak. “This was the first real home I had. I had a girlfriend, friends – even though I found out my closest friend was possessed by a demon the entire time I knew him.” Sam frowned at the thought. “Anyway, I was normal – for a time – and I liked it. But Jessica died, and I couldn’t live that life anymore.” That life hadn’t even been the right one for him.
Lucifer frowned as Sam talked. He realised there was so much he didn’t know about Sam’s life - so much he hadn’t bothered to find out while occupying the vessel. He hadn’t cared then. He didn’t know why he cared now. But things weren’t quite so cut and dry anymore. His time out of the Cage, on Earth, had changed him.
For the first time in his long life, Lucifer felt uncertain. His existence since falling from Heaven had revolved wholly, obsessively and single-mindedly around escaping the Cage and wreaking his revenge on humanity. But what he had found outside of the Cage was a very different world. His Father nowhere to be found, his brothers abandoned, lost and fighting amongst themselves, and… Sam Winchester. A human he almost respected. A human he actually found himself begrudgingly fond of.
Lucifer stirred from him thoughts and turned to Sam. “Do you ever wish you could go back? Back to that life?”
Sam found himself confused by Lucifer’s question. He couldn’t understand why the angel cared. It didn’t seem like he had any hidden agenda, so why was he bothering? “Yeah, sometimes. But then I come back to reality and realize it could never work.” Even if he left Dean and the life they had, it would always manage to find him again. “Did you know Dean tried to have a family? Before I got stuck in the pit, I told him to go live some normal apple-pie life; and he actually listened to me. He managed it for a year, but then I came back. Without my soul, though, so I don’t know what happened, exactly.” Sam sighed, and rubbed his left temple – not that he needed to, since he didn’t have a headache, but it was a habit. “Basically, he had a girl, and a boy who was like his son, and I took him away from that. I can’t begin to understand how much that must hurt. I don’t want to go back to a normal life and then get attached to people. Eventually, they’d end up getting hurt or killed.”
Sam realized then who he was with. Great. Now he’d shown a weak side to Lucifer. He wondered how the angel would use it against him.
Another Library
Molly turned around when she heard the voice behind her. Then she looked up. Oh my God that man was tall. He was even taller than Sherlock. She shook her head a little bit and focused on his question. “Oh yes. I-this is going to sound silly.” She took a deep breath. “I suppose since you asked, I-” On just get on with it Molly. If he thinks you’re crazy then oh well. You have only just met him. “I work at Barts hospital in the morgue. But this doesn’t have anything to do with that really. I also work as a pathologist and we have this odd case at the hospital. The patients have this mix of sulfur and something else in their blood, but I couldn’t find anything in the medical library. So I-I thought I might find something here. I mean there has to be something written somewhere.”
She stopped and looked up at the man again. It didn’t seem like he thought she was crazy. Although trying to explain why she was looking for answers to a medical problem in the folklore section was not something she had not expected to be doing. But then, nothing about these past few days had been usual. “I just-I’m not sure how to help them or even how to start getting rid of everything. And there have been a lot of folk medicines that worked really well so maybe there was something that could give me a clue of where else to look. I don’t want to be replaced by another pathologist so I thought if I found another clue then I could keep working on it even though it isn’t my regular job. And you didn’t need to know all that.”
Why did she ramble so much when she was nervous? He did seem very trust-worthy. But she wasn’t necessarily the best judge of that. He wasn’t trying to back slowly away so maybe he was actually interested. And if he was in the folklore section he might have read something that related. She was willing to receive any help she could get.
Sam grinned slightly at the flustered girl’s words. She seemed to be completely overwhelmed by whatever this thing was. It sounded like demon possessions, but also a mix of something else. Croatoan virus, maybe? But Croatoan spread much faster, and Sam was sure he’d have heard of it before now, even if he couldn’t navigate London’s current events as well as he hoped. As the young woman continued, Sam waited for his chance to speak. He took it when she finished talking about her worry over her job.
“Hey, why don’t we sit down and talk? I think I can help you out.” He waved her over to nearby table and gestured to a seat. Since this girl seemed to be in a genuine mess over her case, Sam figured he could let slip some knowledge of a few supernatural things. And hey, if she thought he was crazy, he could be on his merry way. Though, of course, he’d still have to go and investigate her patients. Maybe John would be able to help him with that. “My name’s Sam Winchester. I’ve dealt with stuff similar to this before. But I don’t think a book about folklore is going to solve your problem.” Of course, books about folklore could solve a lot of problems, just not this one. They’d need an exorcism spell from a much different book, this time. Then again, he probably wouldn’t, seeing as he had all of the exorcisms committed to memory.
(Noise)
Sam was pretty damn sure he was lost. This was the first time he’d left the motel without Dean, and so far, it wasn’t going that well. London was like no place he’d been in America. The streets were constantly busy, and Sam had no idea how to flag down a passing taxi. There seemed to be some sort of art to it; but he had given up within five minutes and decided to walk. Where he was walking to, though, he had no clue. He just knew that he had split up with his brother to go looking for angels. And not the type of angels they were used to. Stone statue angels.
He still wasn’t quite clear on what they looked like, because the Doctor had ripped up the only picture they’d obtained of them. But he knew what they did; and it wasn’t good. So Sam and Dean had to take care of it before anybody else got hurt. Problem was, there were so many statues in London; it was hard to tell which were the evil ones, and which were just made of granite.
Sam’s phone buzzed in his pocket; he stopped in front of a building and he pulled it out. A text from Dean. He opened it, and sighed, typing up a response.
We’re looking for angels. I don’t know, Dean, this stuff is as foreign to me as it is to you. Just keep and eye out for any randomly disappearing statues, I guess.
-SWHe knew he wasn’t being much help at the moment; but he was as clueless as Dean was in this instance. Sam pocketed his cell again, and looked around. It seemed the building he’d stopped in front of was the hospital. Hmm. Maybe he could ask somebody if there had been any strange injuries recently. It wasn’t like he was going to get too far with this angel thing, at least, not yet.
He spotted a man leaving the building, and while he looked like he could be busy with something, Sam jogged over to him, and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hello, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” He wondered if he should ask direct questions about the patients, but decided against it. Patient-confidentiality was always an issue; and because he didn’t have any fake identities in England, he couldn’t acquire the info under the guise of a cop or a medical official. Sam presented his hand to the man. “Sam Winchester.”
His trail of thought was abruptly when a very tall man came forward and started asking if he could ask questions and oh, by the way his name was Sam Winchester. The outstretched hand was even more of a surprise, and he shook hands with Sam before he was really thinking about it. His brain managed to catch up, and the name was familiar.
“Winchester? D’you know a Dean Winchester?” This was most likely his brother. After all, what were the chances that there was another American tourist with the name Winchester who was completely unrelated to Dean and his brother in any way?
Sam blinked. The second he heard his brother’s name, he was immediately on his guard. It was too much of a coincidence that this man had met both Dean and Sam during their short time in London. In Sam’s experience, coincidences didn’t usually happen. So, while his voice remained calm, Sam was ready to fight at a moment’s notice. “Yeah, I do. He’s my brother. How do you know Dean?” Until he could determine whether this man was a demon, or just a human, he’d tread carefully with his questions. Sam pulled his phone out and texted a quick message to Dean, cautious not to let the man see the words.
Met a man at St. Bart’s hospital. Says he knows you. Short, of stocky build. Late thirties. A doctor. Safe?
He pocketed his phone again and grinned apologetically, “Sorry about that. Am I keeping you from anything?”
Hotel Grazing
“But we can get them to look at each other,” Dean interjected seriously. This man had a point- no life deserved to be taken, not in any situation. This is what Sam and him did- they saved people from paranormal crap like this.
“Listen, we don’t want anyone to die- not grandma, not grandpa, no kiddies crossing the street, no tourists, we just want them gone or stopped.” he explained to the rather warped man, voice serious. “So if all we can do is get them to look at each other, at least that’s something.”
Castiel simply listened, knowing Dean and Sam would never be satisfied with the notion that something they were hunting could not possibly be killed, but the angel’s interest was certainly piqued. The Doctor did, after all, say they were assassins. What exactly did that mean? His gaze fell distractedly, mulling over possibilities in his head and slowly he turned away.
“… I must be going now.” He said after a heavy but brief length of silence, glancing upward. “I leave this in your… capable hands, for now. You know how to reach me.” With that, the angel vanished.
The Doctor stared at the spot Cas had left. “Doesn’t like to stick around much, does he?” He was a little irritated with Cas disappearing so abruptly—twice. The Doctor wanted to get to know this new species he’d encountered but Castiel wasn’t going to give him that chance.
“I’ll work on a plan to get rid of the Weeping Angels. For now, just be careful. No pictures, no smashing, no acid—Don’t try to stop them. Just don’t blink, and run. But don’t turn your back. They’re much faster. If that’s all you need from me, then I need to go… consulting.”
Sam frowned when Cas disappeared. He never really did give reasons for his abrupt exits, but he still wondered where the angel had gone off to. He was rather busy, though; so Sam couldn’t really blame him for leaving.
He turned back to the Doctor and nodded. “Alright then. How can we get a hold of you if any of the angels show up? Will you just appear again?” Sam didn’t know how time travel worked, so he couldn’t be sure if they’d be able to contact him again. As he waited for a response, Sam gave Dean a look. A look that said: we’re going hunting, brother. They’d have to find the angels before they found anybody else; even if they didn’t have a plan of action.
Hotel Grazing
“It’s not us I’m worried about- we don’t need kids being zapped away by damn statues. It’s too easy- no one would suspect it.” Sam’s comment hit him had but Dean tried not to show it, stepping a bit closer to his brother, his stance protective. “We can’t have something like this running around, Doc.”
Doc- he could call him that right? Hell, it didn’t matter. They had something to do- they had a cas! Something new, something… unique.
“So,” he looked around, smiling brightly. “How do we kill the sons of bitches?”
Castiel stared in fascination as the Doctor explained— this was certainly no creature of God, or even of Earth for that matter. Powerful, practically indestructible, inconspicuous, incredibly lethal. What happens to all of the energy they absorb from their victims? Where does it go? Perhaps it gets stored somewhere.. ? What if…
He stopped himself from verbalizing any of these questions, however. But he did commit everything the Doctor told them to memory, lips pursing in thought as he stood quietly between the two brothers, eyes glazed in thought as he silently waited to hear more. He needed to know everything about these self-proclaimed ‘angels’.
The Doctor looked at Sam with surprised and sad eyes. What a horrible thing for a person to say. “But everyone has potential in front of them. There is always the ‘not yet.’ That can’t go anywhere—well, except to a Weeping Angel.” The Doctor cleared his throat, blinked twice, and wiped his hand over his face.
“So,” he began in a different tone and included Dean and Castiel in his glances around the room, “you can’t do anything about them. Except get them to look at each other, but there’s always the danger someone will move them. You can’t kill a Weeping Angel.”
Sam frowned at the Doctor’s sadness. He wasn’t sure why this man was more affected by his words than Dean seemed to be – though, Dean had gone a bit tense. Sam just shrugged, not wanting to get into any sort of deep conversation with this stranger. He didn’t know about their life; just as Sam didn’t know about his. They couldn’t talk as if they knew what the other was going through.
But at his words on the weeping angels, Sam couldn’t be silent. “You mean, there’s absolutely nothing we can do? They’ll just keep taking kids, and that’s it? We can’t stop them?” Dammit, there had to be a way. Sam wouldn’t be able to sit still until they could figure something out; and knowing Dean, he’d feel the same way.
Another Library
Molly rushed down the street. After she had left John, Rory, and Amy, she had spent the evening in the Barts medical library. It had been either that or spending the evening at home and she was so intrigued with this puzzle. She had looked through all of the shelves and skimmed through any ones that seemed likely. Unfortunately, she hadn’t found anything about sulfur in the blood. She’d found even less about the not-virus. She wasn’t even able to find something that might be constructed in a similar way. She had finally left sometime around midnight when the words had started to run together. She smiled a little. She was reminded of her days at school when she had done the same thing.
She walked inside the London Library. She breathed in the comforting smell of books and absorbed the silence. She may not have been able to find anything in the Medical Library, but there must be something. Even if it was just an old story, it might be able to give her an idea. She started wandering through the shelves. She had all morning so she didn’t want to rush too much.
Finally she ended up in the folklore section. If she was going to find a story, this might be the place to begin. She picked a random book from the shelf and started to mutter, “Sulfur in the blood. Sulfur in the blood. Where does it talk about sulfur in the blood?” She closed the book and looked for another one.
Well, this week had been a busier week than Sam had any right to expect. First, the meeting with the Doctor which had led to finding out about the weeping angels which, in turn, had led to Dean and him searching for the statues, which had then led to Sam’s meeting with a Doctor John Watson, who had told him some odd stuff about his patients, and all ending in their meet-up with Dean and Sebastian Moran. Then there were the dreams with Lucifer. And this trip to London was meant to be a vacation. Sam shook his head as he finally found the London Library; only with help from his phone’s GPS – the taxis here had been largely uncooperative.
And here he was in the biggest library he had ever seen, trying to see if he could find any books that mentioned weeping angels. The Doctor had told them that weeping angels couldn’t be killed, but there had to be some way to stop them from kidnapping people. And maybe, if he couldn’t find anything on the angels, he could set aside some time for some research on the symptoms John had described.
Sam ambled through the library, stopping to ask directions only twice, and made his way to the folklore. He started with the ‘A’s. There were quite a few books on angels, but they were largely unhelpful. Sam placed the fourth book back on the shelf when he heard a voice mention something about sulfur. He glanced around to see a woman scanning through some books.
“Excuse me, miss? Did I hear you say something about sulfur in blood?” Sulfur usually meant demons, and now that he thought about it, John’s patients had been exhibiting symptoms of demon possession. Since he hadn’t been getting anywhere on the weeping angels, maybe he could focus on this.
Dream Walking
Sam winced at Lucifer’s words. He’d been trying to deny it, but he knew the angel was telling the truth. There was a reason why he was Lucifer’s only true vessel, and it wasn’t because he had muscles. He remembered the angel Gabriel telling Dean and Sam that they were born for it, and he had been right; even though they had managed to avoid the all-out war.
Sam sighed and followed Lucifer. “Sure, why not.” He glanced at Lucifer, wondering what he wanted. He didn’t seem to be looking for anything specific, but it was best not to trust the devil. They walked nearer to the town; the town Sam recalled living in when he went to Stanford. He didn’t know why he was dreaming of this place; he hadn’t been back in years. Then again, it was the only place Sam ever stayed in for over a month. Maybe it was the only place he could remember completely.
“So.. what do you want?”
Lucifer pondered Sam’s question. What did he want? A way to get out of his cage, that’s for sure. But he doubted Sam would be willing to help with that any time soon. So, first, he just wanted Sam’s attention. Yes, some company would be nice, he thought.
As they got closer to the town, recollection stirred in Lucifer. He started to remember glimpses of this place, memories that he knew didn’t belong to him. He looked over at Sam. Yes, definitely recognition there. Interesting. He wondered what other memories of Sam’s may have been passed to him.
Lucifer realised Sam was still waiting on an answer. He cleared his throat. “Merely the pleasure of your company, Sam. Now, tell me, what is this place to you?”
Sam raised an eyebrow at Lucifer’s statement. He found this doubtful; Lucifer always had some sort of ulterior motive. But, as he was dreaming, Sam discovered that talking with the angel was easier. “This place? Well, I used to live here.” He sighed and pointed to the right of the town. “I went to college there. Studied to be a lawyer. Then Dean came along and pulled me back into the life I had tried so hard to escape.”
Sam didn’t suppose Lucifer would really care about all this, but he continued to speak. “This was the first real home I had. I had a girlfriend, friends – even though I found out my closest friend was possessed by a demon the entire time I knew him.” Sam frowned at the thought. “Anyway, I was normal – for a time – and I liked it. But Jessica died, and I couldn’t live that life anymore.” That life hadn’t even been the right one for him.
(Noise)
When his shift at Bart’s was over, John sighed a bit in relief. He loved his job, to be sure, but he hated when he couldn’t help his patients. Right now, especially, he had no way of helping those in his care.
What could you do when you didn’t understand what was ailing them?
He walked out of the building and shrugged his coat on. It wasn’t much for heavy weather, but it was comfortable and kept him warm. The sun was almost completely set, so he didn’t linger. Sherlock would probably be at the flat by now, arguing with an imaginary John about the facts and theories of their latest mystery.
If nothing else, it was amusing to see how completely Sherlock got lost in his own mind.
John was still chuckling as he walked up the pavement.
Sam was pretty damn sure he was lost. This was the first time he’d left the motel without Dean, and so far, it wasn’t going that well. London was like no place he’d been in America. The streets were constantly busy, and Sam had no idea how to flag down a passing taxi. There seemed to be some sort of art to it; but he had given up within five minutes and decided to walk. Where he was walking to, though, he had no clue. He just knew that he had split up with his brother to go looking for angels. And not the type of angels they were used to. Stone statue angels.
He still wasn’t quite clear on what they looked like, because the Doctor had ripped up the only picture they’d obtained of them. But he knew what they did; and it wasn’t good. So Sam and Dean had to take care of it before anybody else got hurt. Problem was, there were so many statues in London; it was hard to tell which were the evil ones, and which were just made of granite.
Sam’s phone buzzed in his pocket; he stopped in front of a building and he pulled it out. A text from Dean. He opened it, and sighed, typing up a response.
We’re looking for angels. I don’t know, Dean, this stuff is as foreign to me as it is to you. Just keep and eye out for any randomly disappearing statues, I guess.
-SW
He knew he wasn’t being much help at the moment; but he was as clueless as Dean was in this instance. Sam pocketed his cell again, and looked around. It seemed the building he’d stopped in front of was the hospital. Hmm. Maybe he could ask somebody if there had been any strange injuries recently. It wasn’t like he was going to get too far with this angel thing, at least, not yet.
He spotted a man leaving the building, and while he looked like he could be busy with something, Sam jogged over to him, and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hello, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” He wondered if he should ask direct questions about the patients, but decided against it. Patient-confidentiality was always an issue; and because he didn’t have any fake identities in England, he couldn’t acquire the info under the guise of a cop or a medical official. Sam presented his hand to the man. “Sam Winchester.”
Dream Walking
Oh, well, that made more sense. Of course he was dreaming; Lucifer wouldn’t be able to get out so quickly. This was just a consequence of his time in the pit; a few things were leaking past the wall in his head. None of this was real. But, this did nothing to help Sam relax. Even in his dream, he had his defenses up. No matter whether Lucifer was just part of his dream, or actually calling to him from the Cage; he was not about to let himself get manipulated again so easily.
“What could you possibly have to talk to me about? I’m just your vessel; you only needed my body.” ‘Course, Lucifer loved to play mind games, so maybe he was about to fuck with his head again. Fun.
“It’s not just about your body Sam. A vessel, a true vessel, is about the matching of energies. It’s probably not what you want to hear, but you and I have more in common than we do in conflict.” Maybe the hard truth wasn’t the best tactic, but Lucifer had always felt the need to be truthful with Sam.
“Look, just… come with me?”
Lucifer gestured towards the town spread out below them. Presumably it was a place familiar to Sam - maybe it would put him at ease. Lucifer started walking.
Sam winced at Lucifer’s words. He’d been trying to deny it, but he knew the angel was telling the truth. There was a reason why he was Lucifer’s only true vessel, and it wasn’t because he had muscles. He remembered the angel Gabriel telling Dean and Sam that they were born for it, and he had been right; even though they had managed to avoid the all-out war.
Sam sighed and followed Lucifer. “Sure, why not.” He glanced at Lucifer, wondering what he wanted. He didn’t seem to be looking for anything specific, but it was best not to trust the devil. They walked nearer to the town; the town Sam recalled living in when he went to Stanford. He didn’t know why he was dreaming of this place; he hadn’t been back in years. Then again, it was the only place Sam ever stayed in for over a month. Maybe it was the only place he could remember completely.
“So.. what do you want?”
Hotel Grazing
“… Did you enjoy your meal?” Dean asked with a raised eyebrow after the man before him had thoroughly devoured the piece of paper in his hand. He had not further questions- Sam was doing all the work for him and god, did he miss hearing the others voice.
Sam was back to his usal self- almost. The visions were one thing… but having a soul was another.
Hell, part of him was almost getting a high off of this. Everything was so odd, so… different.
This man had answers and Dean could feel more questions itching to be asked.
“If you want desert, I have tissue paper in the back for you bow tie.”
The angel’s head cocked even further to the side as he watched the Doctor ingest the paper, perplexed by this strange behavior and his reluctance to explain what exactly this ‘weeping angel’ thing was— because it certainly was not an angel. Perhaps this is why the Doctor had been so cautious when Castiel had told him he was.
Dean’s comment only confused him more, but he quickly deemed it irrelevant and shook it off, straightening himself up. “This is getting redundant. Just tell us what these things are. What do they do? Why are they so dangerous?”
“I don’t make a habit of ingesting paper—not your paper, anyway. But the nice thin papers of the Ortesz people from their patien plants? Those are a delicacy.” The Doctor tried to shake the saliva-coated fragment of paper from his fingers. It wouldn’t come off. He scrunched his face up in a combination of disgust and frustration.
“Weeping angels are the world’s most benevolent and unforgiving assassins in the universe and live on the ‘not yet.’ They feed on all the life you could have, your potential life, the life you haven’t had yet and if they so much as touch you—the life you won’t ever have. When you see them, they’re just statues, and as long as you look at them they are statues. But the moment you look away—the moment you so much as blink—they move, lightning fast, and they will transport you back in time to live out a different life and die before your life ever starts.”
The Doctor rubbed the piece of paper between his fingers, trying to get rid of the picture of the angels eyes. “‘An image of the angel becomes the angel itself.’ So, no pictures of them. Don’t even hold a mirror up to it and make it stare itself out. You’ll just have double the assassins on your tail.”
Sam grinned at Dean’s quips; at least he wasn’t completely down in the dumps like he had been before. As Cas got straight to the point with his questions, Sam came to stand next to his brother. Being close to the Doctor made him feel too weird, and Dean always made him feel normal. Or, their equivalent of normal, at any rate.
“These weeping angels sound like pretty bad news. But I don’t know how they’d be much of a threat to Dean and me. I’m not sure we have much of a life ahead of us.” Sam realised what he had just said might provoke Dean into an argument, so he continued quickly. “Is there any way to get rid of them?” Because if that angel they’d taken a picture of was still on the loose, they needed to stop it. Maybe the angel explained all the disappearing children; children that hadn’t even started their lives.
Hotel Grazing
Dean was busy thinking, taking Cas’ explanation in to consideration along with his brothers words. This thing.. this TARDIS… it was bad news, but possibly helpful. But the moment the man ripped the news clipping off the wall his eyes narrowed, tossing his gun on to the bed.
“Either you ripped that up cause it’s already been taken care of or you want us to stay away from it,” Dean snapped, annoyance rising. “We have those up there for a reason, Doc. We’re trying to help people and these are the cases that need to be solved.”
He reached down and picked up an unharmed slip of paper, looking from Cas to the Doctor and his brother, holding up the tattered shred of paper- the stone face of an angel looked back at them, the dark grey eyes visible.
“So what can you tell us about this?”
Castiel watched as the Doctor destroyed the little piece of paper with such vigor and animosity that he couldn’t help but wonder what could possibly have set him off in such a way, especially when the man had displayed nothing but pleasantries so far. The deep blue eyes met Sam’s questioning gaze for a moment and he tilted his head, trying to discern an image from the torn up fragments.
It wasn’t until Dean held up the small scrap of paper with the image of a stone face that he vaguely recognized what humans might refer to as an ‘angel’, turning to look at the Doctor again and watching him expectantly.
The Doctor looked up at their confused faces.
“It was an angel—A weeping angel; you can’t just have a picture of a weeping angel on your wall, it will kill you.” He snatched the fragments of the angels eyes out of Dean’s hand and stuffed it into his mouth. After a few chews, he realized that was probably a bad idea—he didn’t need fragments of a weeping angel inside him where he couldn’t see it, so he took out the slimy piece of paper.
“Don’t go around taking pictures of stone statues when you don’t know what you’re doing,” he scolded.
Sam remembered the picture as soon as the Doctor named it. “A weeping angel?” He’d never heard of an angel crying before. Sure, Cas would get sad sometimes, but cry? That didn’t sound right. Sam watched with wide eyes as the Doctor stole the piece from Dean and started eating it. “What the-?” He couldn’t believe this guy.
“Okay, but how can a picture of a statue kill a person?” Sam assumed it wasn’t really a statue; or the Doctor wouldn’t be freaking out so much.
Dream Walking
Sam looked down at the ground as he climbed to the top of the hill; which was why he wasn’t aware of Lucifer until he spoke. Sam’s head snapped up, and there was the angel standing before him. He tensed, preparing for a fight - not that he’d be able to do much if it came to that; he didn’t have his gun, and if he wanted to, Lucifer could take him as a vessel again. He had already given his permission; and it didn’t have to be given twice.
But what the hell was he doing here?
“Lucifer. I thought I left you in the Cage.”
It was yet to register that this was only a dream; and that he wasn’t in any real physical danger. Not at the moment, anyway. The presence of mental danger, however, was always a possiblity.
“Yes, and thank you for that. It’s a right old party down here.” Lucifer stopped himself from rolling his eyes. ”You’re dreaming, Sam. I’m all in your head. Well, mostly.”
Lucifer paused. He would have to tread carefully here. Sam was jumpy, and looked about ready to flee. But he needed his help. And… there was something else. Lucifer wasn’t exactly optimistic about gaining Sam’s trust, but it was all he could think about. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something drew him to Sam’s side. It always had. Probably just because he’s my vessel, he thought.
“Why don’t we take a walk? I need to talk to you.”
Oh, well, that made more sense. Of course he was dreaming; Lucifer wouldn’t be able to get out so quickly. This was just a consequence of his time in the pit; a few things were leaking past the wall in his head. None of this was real. But, this did nothing to help Sam relax. Even in his dream, he had his defenses up. No matter whether Lucifer was just part of his dream, or actually calling to him from the Cage; he was not about to let himself get manipulated again so easily.
“What could you possibly have to talk to me about? I’m just your vessel; you only needed my body.” ‘Course, Lucifer loved to play mind games, so maybe he was about to fuck with his head again. Fun.
Hotel Grazing
Dean couldn’t believe what he was hearing- the moment Sam lowered his gun, he suddenly went tense, looking from Cas to his brother and back to the funny man with wide eyes.
“Oh come on don’t tell me you’re going to trust this nutcase? I smell Crowleys work!” Dean rounded on Cas, giving him a sharp look. “Do you really know nothing about this? I have seen some things in my life and believe me, I’ve been to hell and back and I’ve never seen anything like you before…”
“Yes, it is very difficult for me. But I think this box is some sort of power source— a vehicle, if you will.” Castiel tried to explain although he wasn’t clear about all the details himself, and all the while he slowly approached the large phone box, examining it more closely. It certainly did not look like a vehicle, and it must be terribly cramped inside…
“Dean.” The angel said firmly, turning away from the blue box and shaking his head. “If he were working for Crowley, we would know by now. And no, I was completely unaware of his existence prior to our meeting three days ago.” Castiel sighed tensely, taking a step closer to the elder Winchester. “Look, I’m not saying we should trust him yet, I’m only saying that he is not a threat. He may even be of help to us.”
“She’s a time machine. That makes sense, doesn’t it?” The Doctor kept musing over the scattered news clippings on the wall. So many strange occurrences in London. He didn’t like it one bit. Too many too much too close together. Sure, his life was like that, but boring days were important—for humans anyway. There didn’t seem to be enough space happening here.
Then The Doctor came to the end of the wall. He knew those stone faces. Quickly, he ripped the image down and tore it to shreds. He tossed the fragments onto the floor and jumped up and down on top of them, scuffing up even the tiny pieces of the picture as best as he could.
“Dean, calm down. If Cas doesn’t think he’s a threat, we don’t need to worry.” Even if he was a threat, he doubted a simple gun would do much damage to a non-human entity. Besides, Cas could protect them from most things.
Just then, the Doctor ripped one of the photos from the wall and started tearing it to pieces. “Hey, what the hell are you doing?!” Sam jumped forward and grabbed the man’s arm, as he scuffed the pieces up on the floor, but the picture had been completely destroyed. He couldn’t even make out what it had been before. “What’d you do that for?” Sam asked, staring in complete disbelief. What was on the picture that had made the man freak out so much? Sam realised he was still holding the Doctor’s arm, and he released it, shooting looks at Dean and Cas. This man was a real nutjob. Maybe travelling in time did that to a person.
Dream Walking
Lucifer looked around. Well, this was interesting. Being in Sam’s dreamspace offered him certain… insights into the hunter’s mind. Gaining entry had been easy – the human psyche was pathetically weak.Now came the hard part: convincing Sam to talk to him.
Lucifer was standing at the top of a hill, looking out over some kind of dense forest, trees as far as the eye could see. The air was chilly, but still. Silent and peaceful. Lucifer wondered if Sam came here as an escape from life on the road.
He could feel a hint of Sam’s presence still lingering in the landscape. He’d been here recently. Lucifer wondered idly when he’d be back.
Sam yawned deeply before crashing into his bed. Today had been a long day and full of many surprises. Meeting the Doctor had been an odd experience, to say the least. And all he wanted right now was to go to bed and sleep it all off. He mumbled a quick ‘G’night’ to Dean, and slipped into the land of unconciousness.
His dream - though, of course, he’d forgotten it was a dream already - started out the same as last night’s. He was wandering in a forest; strangely unarmed - he didn’t usually enter forests unless there was something to be hunted. But Sam didn’t question anything - people don’t often question dreams until they wake up.
Sam took a deep breath and held his arms outstretched; the weather was nice, no demons had to be captured, and Dean, for once, wasn’t around and bothering him. He was alone. When he was alone in the real world, it was mainly because something had happened, either to Dean or him. But this time, everything was alright.
He continued walking until he reached the edge of the trees. Before him was a hill, and without a thought as to why he was doing so, Sam began to trudge up it.
Lucifer grumbled to himself. He’d been waiting a good few hours now, and he was not known for his patience. But he couldn’t risk leaving and missing Sam completely. This was too important. He’d had enough of twiddling his thumbs in the Cage.
Pacing back and forth on the hill, Lucifer inspected more of his surroundings. The forest in front of him went on seemingly forever, while the other side of the hill sloped gently down towards a small town. It seemed familiar, but Lucifer couldn’t quite place it. He would have to look into it some other time.
At last, Lucifer felt something in the dream-space change. Sam’s presence was at once apparent to him, and he could sense the hunter getting closer before he saw him. Lucifer wondered if this connection was an aftereffect of inhabiting Sam as his vessel.
Watching as Sam trudged up the hill, apparently oblivious to his presence, Lucifer smiled wryly.
“Well, hello Sam. Long time, no spooning.”
Sam looked down at the ground as he climbed to the top of the hill; which was why he wasn’t aware of Lucifer until he spoke. Sam’s head snapped up, and there was the angel standing before him. He tensed, preparing for a fight - not that he’d be able to do much if it came to that; he didn’t have his gun, and if he wanted to, Lucifer could take him as a vessel again. He had already given his permission; and it didn’t have to be given twice.
But what the hell was he doing here?
“Lucifer. I thought I left you in the Cage.”
It was yet to register that this was only a dream; and that he wasn’t in any real physical danger. Not at the moment, anyway. The presence of mental danger, however, was always a possiblity.
Hotel Grazing
The Doctor frowned. A few days had already passed? Well, he did like to skip the boring parts. “Well, Dean, Sammy, and Castiel, now that we’re acquainted, let’s talk about these mysterious things. I think it’s why I’m here.” He nods and glances back over the news clippings. “And maybe now we can put the guns away too? I’ve been shot at enough in my life intentionally and I don’t want to die because of an accident now, eh?”
Sam just shrugged at Dean’s interjection. Yeah, Cas did protect the both of them, but he sure seemed to like Dean better. That didn’t matter to him, though; Sam wasn’t the jealous type. He started at Castiel’s words. “He’s a time-traveller? Didn’t you say manipulating time was really difficult? Last time you did it, you were running low on power, and it nearly killed you. But this guy can do it with his box?” What the hell? And he wasn’t human either, which was something Sam wasn’t at all surprised by.
Sam frowned in annoyance at the Doctor’s continued usage of his nickname, but refrained himself from commenting. The Doctor requested they put their guns away, and Sam finally complied. He switched the safety off and tucked the gun into his pants, flicking the back of his shirt over the butt of it. He walked over to the Doctor and peered at the news papers. “So what does this stuff have to do with you? Are they some sort of aliens, like you think, or are they the supernatural beings that Dean and I are used to?” Because if they weren’t aliens - which he still didn’t really believe in (but then again, he didn’t used to believe in demons or ghosts) - he couldn’t understand why this Doctor fellow would have to get involved.
