SUPERWHO BIG BANG - Part 7
Part Seven
Epilogue - Eleven Months Later.
In Dean Winchester's eyes, the Time Vortex had stolen his brother, twice. This time, he hadn't buried his grief and anger by throwing himself into his work, valiantly slaying any monster who was stupid enough to cross his path - in fact, he didn't bury his grief at all. It fully manifested in his elevated alcohol consumption, his screams at night when the nightmares tormented him and made him thrash about in bed...when he slept at all, that was. He was surly, cranky, and nose-diving into a cesspit of self destruction. A pit he'd been skirting around the edges of for pretty much his entire life; thus far, he'd managed to avoid plummeting into the abyss. But now? Now he welcomed it, swan-dived not-so-gracefully, not once looking back.
He didn't try and bring Sam back - there was no point. He'd never manage it. Sam could be lost in any one of billions of Universes. Even if Dean did find a way to locate him, he didn't have the means to contact him, let alone bring him home. As much as Dean hated it, as much as the burning loathing of the situation scorched him to his very core, pulsing a poison through his existence, Sammy was gone. And he wasn't coming back.
When he wasn't sleeping, which was a lot, Dean would stand in fields, screaming at the stars for the Doctor to get his ass back to Earth, contradicting himself when he added with a bellow that the timelord had better not ever dare show his face on the planet again unless he was bringing Sam with him.
Maybe that was why he never came.
And then he did. It was a rare night where Dean was sleeping for more than an hour - he'd been asleep long enough to enter REM - he was dreaming. His mind was haunted by the roar of the time vortex, the whoosh of the TARDIS. The sound was recorded permanently in his memory, constantly echoing in his ears, causing a burning ache in his chest. When he awoke, it wasn't unusual to still hear the whoosh still ringing in his ears.
It wasn't until Dean had rubbed his forehead and stared at the ceiling for a minute until he realised the echo hadn't died off, and he sat bolt upright, the tangled blankets getting shoved away.
He was already fully dressed. He slid off of the couch, taking his Colt 1911 with him. He was just raising it, preparing to check the Salvage Yard - hell, he could hear Bobby moving about upstairs (a small part of him registered how weird it was that Bobby was back on his feet again), probably doing the same. However, he never made it that far. The door opened, at The Doctor walked into the room, seeming to be muttering to himself, deep in thought, brow furrowed. In all honesty, he looked rather surprised to look up and see Dean stood there, gun still raised, face cast in absolute anger. No. More than that. Fury.
“...Dean.” The Doctor said, abandoning his apparent train of thought.
“Get out.” Dean snarled. “You can’t be here. I sure as Hell don’t want you here, and I will shoot you if I have to.”
“Ever heard that expression ‘Don’t shoot the messenger’?” The Doctor asked, sounding mildly offended. “Besides - I haven’t even given you the news, yet. You might like it. No, ah, shooting required.”
Dean didn’t lower his aim. “You cost me my brother, you son-of-a-bitch. Twice. You ain’t got nothing to say that I would rather hear than make you feel a little bit of my pain.”
“Charming of you, Dean, but I really am just here to deliver a message. To explain things. You don’t know...everything that went on, see.”
“You broke S-” Dean choked off, voice thick. It still hurt to say Sam’s name. “You broke my brother’s heart.” he continued, after taking a moment to compose himself. “And then you got him killed.
“Oh, for goodness sake, Dean!” The Doctor was getting exasperated, impatient. “Sam’s not dead!”
“He’s as good as! Floating around in some empty Universe, nobody but the devil for company...”
“Actually, he’s in the kitchen.”
There was a long, shocked silence. Dean stared at The Doctor, hard, unsure what to make of the claim. His gun was still aimed directly at...well. At what Dean would assume to be the heart on a normal human. One without two hearts. He was probably aiming between them, on the Time Lord, though.
Dean’s own heart was beating harder than he thought it ought to be. He was surprised that the black tshirt he’d been sleeping in wasn’t flapping as the muscle in his chest pounded against it. He took a deep breath.
“You’re lying.”
The Doctor shook his head. “Nope.”
Still skeptical, Dean narrowed his eyes. “I saw him jump out of your ship, fall into the vortex. I was there. How the hell would he have made it back? No. Whoever’s in the kitchen, it ain’t my brother.”
Under the anger, his voice channelled the deepest sadness known to man - you could almost picture the stitches it was taking to hold him together. As if his sanity and heart and been clumsily pinned and duct-tapped into place. It wouldn’t hold forever - it was barely holding now.
A broken man, the complete opposite of the Doctor, who was beaming and looking very pleased with himself.
“The Council wishes to extend their thanks to both you and Sam for your assistance in capturing and holding Michael and Lucifer in custody.” he said, passing on the compliments as if he was delivering them from Her Majesty The Queen, personally.
“The verdict is in, the trial is over, the witnesses are no longer needed. Sam’s free now, and he’s in the kitchen.”
Dean felt like he was missing something.
“I feel like I’m missing something.” he said, frowning. “Trial? What the f-”
The Doctor seemed to remember that Dean wasn’t a space and time traveller, because a look of realisation passed over his face.
“Apologies, Dean!” he exclaimed. “Lucifer and Michael were found guilty of breaking at least two - very serious - articles and conventions...ah, I never know the difference...of the Shadow Proclamation.”
Dean didn’t even bother asking. He just kept his face blank, eyebrows raised, waiting until the Doctor realised he still didn’t get it.
It took a few seconds, but he finally did.
“Convention 15 of the Shadow Proclamation...” he stated, “is refusing to cease hostile action in order to parlay.”
Dean still looked blank.
“Lucifer and Michael didn’t want to talk about things, they just wanted to jump right into the big fight without even trying to mediate.” The Doctor simplified. “And that goes against galactic law.”
“...right.” Dean nodded, slowly, trying to process that there was a court system governing the freakin’ Universe. “And what’s the other one?”
“Article 57.” The Doctor replied. “Destruction of a level five world, when no laws have been broken. Not galactic ones, anyway. Last time a species tried that - The Atraxi, they’re called - they checked who it is protecting this planet, and they ran in terror. Clever things, the Atraxi. Very clever. Lucifer and Michael, it seems, were stupid. No. Arrogant. However, their fight would have destroyed this world - which is well on it’s way to becoming a Level Six.”
“Level Six, wait...what?” Dean asked, but shook his head, the importance fading as he got back to the original point. “So...Michael and Lucifer...an archangel and the devil...what did they get, a hundred and fifty hours community service? Or is it more of a twenty-five-to-life kinda deal?”
Now, The Doctor looked serious. He shook his head, gravely.
“Lucifer was going to be threw backwards through time and space, into a deep, dark pit on a planet that’s set to orbit a black hole. If he ever tried to escape, the black-hole collapses in on itself, taking the planet with it. It’s the standard punishment for his kind. Only...they did the same thing with The Beast - shoved him in a hole on Krop Tor. But the Proclamation couldn’t trust anybody not to go poking at this one in years to come.”
“By anybody, do you mean ‘you’?” Dean asked, unable to help himself.
“Perhaps. Alright. Yes.” The Doctor admitted.
“...” Dean shook his head, wondering just how many of the near-misses the world had had were down to The Doctor. “So, what did they do to him?”
The Doctor grinned, pleased Dean had asked.
“I’m pleased you asked.” he replied. “You can be proud of yourself for this one, Dean.”
Dean raised one eyebrow.
“They took your idea - yours and Sam’s. About erasing the devil from existence?”
The prompt was enough for Dean to figure out the rest. He was surprised - and relieved - to hear that Lucifer no longer even existed in their Universe. He’d once heard someone say that the greatest trick the devil ever played was convincing the world that he didn’t exist. Well, screw him - now he didn’t. And never would do again.
“...and Michael?” he asked, tentatively.
“...until very recently...” The Doctor said, quietly, looking a lot more serious than Dean had ever seen him, which was admittedly not a lot, but it was still a chilling sight. “I didn’t know where the Weeping Angels had come from. Now, I have a suspicion. Or, at least, from where they seeded.”
“...what?” Dean asked, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. “What are weeping angels? Don’t tell me they locked him in a room to watch The Notebook on repeat forever?”
“No.” The Doctor replied, distracted. “They sent him back - way, way back. Before anything else existed. Ever. And far away. Very, very far away. To live out the rest of his days, wasting the potential he had. Paradoxically.”
“What?!” Dean yelled. “What if he changes the past, stops this - any of this - from happening?!”
“Not possible.” The Doctor informed him. “No life exists for him to interact with. By the time the first lifeforms do show up in his lonely corner of the Universe - which won’t be for billions of years from now, by the way - he’ll be long gone. Dust. But just in case...if anyone so much as looks at Michael, he freezes. To rock. Literally.”
The significance passed over Dean’s head, and he heard the sound of the coffee machine starting up in the kitchen, and his eyes fixated on the door, wide.
“So!” the Doctor smiled, cheery again, pushing his worry aside. “The council are very grateful for Sam’s assistance, and you can have your brother back now. He’s in the kitchen.”
“Sam knew about all of this?” Dean checked. “He knew your plan? That he wasn’t going to die?”
“Well. We hoped he wouldn’t. We didn’t exactly, um...know for definite. But he was aware of the plan, yes.”
“THIS was your plan?!”
“Um...no. I didn’t really have a plan. We came up with it when we were fixing my ship.” The Doctor grinned. “We make quite the team, your brother and me.”
He paused, and laughed at Dean’s glare. “Just not quite the team you both make.”
And then the door opened. Before the smell of the fresh coffee even got a chance to get into the room, before Sam’s shadow had as much as finished crossing the threshold of the room, Dean had appeared to have rugby-tackled his brother. It looked like they were fighting, but if you looked closely, after a few seconds, it was a hug. A relieved, emotional, over-the-moon and tears of happiness hug, where neither of the brothers were prepared to give first.
“Sammy.” Dean whispered, voice hoarse, heavy.
“It’s Sam.” Sam replied. But he didn’t loosen his grip.
“Why do you pretend not to care?” came a low voice, from beside The Doctor. The Doctor smiled, and didn’t turn.
“Hello, Castiel.” he replied, not answering the question that the angel, who had almost silently appeared beside him, had asked. Castiel, in turn, did not return the greeting. He continued with his point.
“You watch them, pretend not to care, that their reunion means nothing to you. You act amused by it. As if it’s merely a spectacle to observe. Why?”
The Doctor’s smile grew wider.
“Of course I care, Castiel.” his voice was soft, eyes not leaving Sam’s face, and even though Sam didn’t notice, that didn’t bother The Doctor.
Not really.
Well.
Not much.
“Don’t you know how many hearts I have?” his smile turned into a satisfied smirk, and he turned his head, just a fraction, in Castiel’s direction. Enough to see that Castiel’s eyes were fixated on Dean. And that they were relieved - relieved that the elder Winchester’s path to a messy self-destruction was over now Sam was back.
“Besides.” The Doctor added, smiling a little wider, noting this.
“Besides?” Castiel prompted, when nothing more was said. The Doctor still didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The look in his eyes said it all for him.
I know you care, too, the look said.
“Shut up.” Castiel said, a phrase he’d picked up from Dean, which wasn’t actually a denial.
They watched as Dean fussed over Sam, patting him down - half to check he was real, half to make sure there were no major injuries, and ushered him into the kitchen for food, beer, and to give him the third degree. Probably. Which was just fine with the Doctor. He was just the messenger. He’d delivered the goods, and now it was time for him to go.
He pulled the TARDIS key from his pocket; a Yale key on an old piece of string. He held it up, and as the key turned, it caught the light.
“I have some angels to take care of.” he said, to nobody in particular. But as Castiel was in the room, it might as well have been to him. He looked round, caught Castiel’s stare. “You’re welcome to tag along. It could be interesting. I mean, it might not, but it usually is, with me.”
Castiel’s glare remained cold. “I am not like you. I don’t abandon my friends.” he said the word with such conviction, it was like he now believed it. “Especially not without a goodbye.”
Although he and The Doctor both knew that they could leave, the both of them, and neither Winchester brother would mind. Not really. Not right then. Not for a while. They had each other. Brother to brother. They were going to be okay.
“Bosh.” The Doctor waved away the accusatory tone he’d not missed. “I’m a time traveller. You could be back in a matter of minutes, they’d never know you’d been gone.”
Castiel tilted his head, listening to the animated chatter of the Winchester brothers in the kitchen, the pop and hiss of a couple of beers being cracked open peppering the conversation. He looked back to The Doctor, curiously.
“Why do the angels weep?” he asked.
The Doctor’s face split into a wide grin. “Because they know I’m coming for them. Come on - I’ll show you.”
*
Sam was listening to Dean talk at at least twice his usual speed, trying to fill him in on everything he’d missed whilst trapped holding Lucifer in custody, when he heard the fading echo of the TARDIS leaving. He half-smiled, raised his beer to his lips, and didn’t run outside after it. He didn’t want to. Not any more.
“Dude.” Dean complained, hands frozen, mid-gesture. “Are you even listening?”
“Absolutely.” Sam nodded, smiling again, and taking a long drink of his beer. “Uh. What were you saying?”
“Forget it.” Dean shook his head. “Besides - I got a question for you. This huge trial thing...what was that even like, man? I mean - Lucifer, on trial?!”
Sam laughed, shook his head. “I don’t know. I was kinda...I guess kept in the dark for a lot of it. I am but a lowly human from a planet that’s only a Level Five, after all.” he laughed. “I only saw bits.”
Dean was silent whilst he processed this, and then nodded. “Okay, whatever. Well, it was still nice of the, uh, Proclamation, to send you home again.”
“Oh, that was just courtesy. The real reward was letting me name the case.” Sam replied, off-handedly, drinking some more of his beer.
“You better not have called it something lame.” Dean groaned.
“Nope.” Sam grinned, and silently counted in his head. Three...two...one...
“Alright!!” Dean exclaimed. “C’mon - you gotta tell me. Epic space battle, aliens versus angels - what did you call it?!”
Sam took another drink, and looked right at his brother and said, “Fallen: A New Hope.” he snickered.
“You’re such a geek!” Dean laughed, draining the rest of his bottle, and going to get another.
The fall of Troy. Humans terraforming and settling on Mars. The birth of the Universe. He’d seen it all. And yet, Sam was finally in the most remarkable place of all - somewhere he’d found he would always come back to, and always want to. Home.
With his brother.
Where he belonged.
Epilogue - Eleven Months Later.
In Dean Winchester's eyes, the Time Vortex had stolen his brother, twice. This time, he hadn't buried his grief and anger by throwing himself into his work, valiantly slaying any monster who was stupid enough to cross his path - in fact, he didn't bury his grief at all. It fully manifested in his elevated alcohol consumption, his screams at night when the nightmares tormented him and made him thrash about in bed...when he slept at all, that was. He was surly, cranky, and nose-diving into a cesspit of self destruction. A pit he'd been skirting around the edges of for pretty much his entire life; thus far, he'd managed to avoid plummeting into the abyss. But now? Now he welcomed it, swan-dived not-so-gracefully, not once looking back.
He didn't try and bring Sam back - there was no point. He'd never manage it. Sam could be lost in any one of billions of Universes. Even if Dean did find a way to locate him, he didn't have the means to contact him, let alone bring him home. As much as Dean hated it, as much as the burning loathing of the situation scorched him to his very core, pulsing a poison through his existence, Sammy was gone. And he wasn't coming back.
When he wasn't sleeping, which was a lot, Dean would stand in fields, screaming at the stars for the Doctor to get his ass back to Earth, contradicting himself when he added with a bellow that the timelord had better not ever dare show his face on the planet again unless he was bringing Sam with him.
Maybe that was why he never came.
And then he did. It was a rare night where Dean was sleeping for more than an hour - he'd been asleep long enough to enter REM - he was dreaming. His mind was haunted by the roar of the time vortex, the whoosh of the TARDIS. The sound was recorded permanently in his memory, constantly echoing in his ears, causing a burning ache in his chest. When he awoke, it wasn't unusual to still hear the whoosh still ringing in his ears.
It wasn't until Dean had rubbed his forehead and stared at the ceiling for a minute until he realised the echo hadn't died off, and he sat bolt upright, the tangled blankets getting shoved away.
He was already fully dressed. He slid off of the couch, taking his Colt 1911 with him. He was just raising it, preparing to check the Salvage Yard - hell, he could hear Bobby moving about upstairs (a small part of him registered how weird it was that Bobby was back on his feet again), probably doing the same. However, he never made it that far. The door opened, at The Doctor walked into the room, seeming to be muttering to himself, deep in thought, brow furrowed. In all honesty, he looked rather surprised to look up and see Dean stood there, gun still raised, face cast in absolute anger. No. More than that. Fury.
“...Dean.” The Doctor said, abandoning his apparent train of thought.
“Get out.” Dean snarled. “You can’t be here. I sure as Hell don’t want you here, and I will shoot you if I have to.”
“Ever heard that expression ‘Don’t shoot the messenger’?” The Doctor asked, sounding mildly offended. “Besides - I haven’t even given you the news, yet. You might like it. No, ah, shooting required.”
Dean didn’t lower his aim. “You cost me my brother, you son-of-a-bitch. Twice. You ain’t got nothing to say that I would rather hear than make you feel a little bit of my pain.”
“Charming of you, Dean, but I really am just here to deliver a message. To explain things. You don’t know...everything that went on, see.”
“You broke S-” Dean choked off, voice thick. It still hurt to say Sam’s name. “You broke my brother’s heart.” he continued, after taking a moment to compose himself. “And then you got him killed.
“Oh, for goodness sake, Dean!” The Doctor was getting exasperated, impatient. “Sam’s not dead!”
“He’s as good as! Floating around in some empty Universe, nobody but the devil for company...”
“Actually, he’s in the kitchen.”
There was a long, shocked silence. Dean stared at The Doctor, hard, unsure what to make of the claim. His gun was still aimed directly at...well. At what Dean would assume to be the heart on a normal human. One without two hearts. He was probably aiming between them, on the Time Lord, though.
Dean’s own heart was beating harder than he thought it ought to be. He was surprised that the black tshirt he’d been sleeping in wasn’t flapping as the muscle in his chest pounded against it. He took a deep breath.
“You’re lying.”
The Doctor shook his head. “Nope.”
Still skeptical, Dean narrowed his eyes. “I saw him jump out of your ship, fall into the vortex. I was there. How the hell would he have made it back? No. Whoever’s in the kitchen, it ain’t my brother.”
Under the anger, his voice channelled the deepest sadness known to man - you could almost picture the stitches it was taking to hold him together. As if his sanity and heart and been clumsily pinned and duct-tapped into place. It wouldn’t hold forever - it was barely holding now.
A broken man, the complete opposite of the Doctor, who was beaming and looking very pleased with himself.
“The Council wishes to extend their thanks to both you and Sam for your assistance in capturing and holding Michael and Lucifer in custody.” he said, passing on the compliments as if he was delivering them from Her Majesty The Queen, personally.
“The verdict is in, the trial is over, the witnesses are no longer needed. Sam’s free now, and he’s in the kitchen.”
Dean felt like he was missing something.
“I feel like I’m missing something.” he said, frowning. “Trial? What the f-”
The Doctor seemed to remember that Dean wasn’t a space and time traveller, because a look of realisation passed over his face.
“Apologies, Dean!” he exclaimed. “Lucifer and Michael were found guilty of breaking at least two - very serious - articles and conventions...ah, I never know the difference...of the Shadow Proclamation.”
Dean didn’t even bother asking. He just kept his face blank, eyebrows raised, waiting until the Doctor realised he still didn’t get it.
It took a few seconds, but he finally did.
“Convention 15 of the Shadow Proclamation...” he stated, “is refusing to cease hostile action in order to parlay.”
Dean still looked blank.
“Lucifer and Michael didn’t want to talk about things, they just wanted to jump right into the big fight without even trying to mediate.” The Doctor simplified. “And that goes against galactic law.”
“...right.” Dean nodded, slowly, trying to process that there was a court system governing the freakin’ Universe. “And what’s the other one?”
“Article 57.” The Doctor replied. “Destruction of a level five world, when no laws have been broken. Not galactic ones, anyway. Last time a species tried that - The Atraxi, they’re called - they checked who it is protecting this planet, and they ran in terror. Clever things, the Atraxi. Very clever. Lucifer and Michael, it seems, were stupid. No. Arrogant. However, their fight would have destroyed this world - which is well on it’s way to becoming a Level Six.”
“Level Six, wait...what?” Dean asked, but shook his head, the importance fading as he got back to the original point. “So...Michael and Lucifer...an archangel and the devil...what did they get, a hundred and fifty hours community service? Or is it more of a twenty-five-to-life kinda deal?”
Now, The Doctor looked serious. He shook his head, gravely.
“Lucifer was going to be threw backwards through time and space, into a deep, dark pit on a planet that’s set to orbit a black hole. If he ever tried to escape, the black-hole collapses in on itself, taking the planet with it. It’s the standard punishment for his kind. Only...they did the same thing with The Beast - shoved him in a hole on Krop Tor. But the Proclamation couldn’t trust anybody not to go poking at this one in years to come.”
“By anybody, do you mean ‘you’?” Dean asked, unable to help himself.
“Perhaps. Alright. Yes.” The Doctor admitted.
“...” Dean shook his head, wondering just how many of the near-misses the world had had were down to The Doctor. “So, what did they do to him?”
The Doctor grinned, pleased Dean had asked.
“I’m pleased you asked.” he replied. “You can be proud of yourself for this one, Dean.”
Dean raised one eyebrow.
“They took your idea - yours and Sam’s. About erasing the devil from existence?”
The prompt was enough for Dean to figure out the rest. He was surprised - and relieved - to hear that Lucifer no longer even existed in their Universe. He’d once heard someone say that the greatest trick the devil ever played was convincing the world that he didn’t exist. Well, screw him - now he didn’t. And never would do again.
“...and Michael?” he asked, tentatively.
“...until very recently...” The Doctor said, quietly, looking a lot more serious than Dean had ever seen him, which was admittedly not a lot, but it was still a chilling sight. “I didn’t know where the Weeping Angels had come from. Now, I have a suspicion. Or, at least, from where they seeded.”
“...what?” Dean asked, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. “What are weeping angels? Don’t tell me they locked him in a room to watch The Notebook on repeat forever?”
“No.” The Doctor replied, distracted. “They sent him back - way, way back. Before anything else existed. Ever. And far away. Very, very far away. To live out the rest of his days, wasting the potential he had. Paradoxically.”
“What?!” Dean yelled. “What if he changes the past, stops this - any of this - from happening?!”
“Not possible.” The Doctor informed him. “No life exists for him to interact with. By the time the first lifeforms do show up in his lonely corner of the Universe - which won’t be for billions of years from now, by the way - he’ll be long gone. Dust. But just in case...if anyone so much as looks at Michael, he freezes. To rock. Literally.”
The significance passed over Dean’s head, and he heard the sound of the coffee machine starting up in the kitchen, and his eyes fixated on the door, wide.
“So!” the Doctor smiled, cheery again, pushing his worry aside. “The council are very grateful for Sam’s assistance, and you can have your brother back now. He’s in the kitchen.”
“Sam knew about all of this?” Dean checked. “He knew your plan? That he wasn’t going to die?”
“Well. We hoped he wouldn’t. We didn’t exactly, um...know for definite. But he was aware of the plan, yes.”
“THIS was your plan?!”
“Um...no. I didn’t really have a plan. We came up with it when we were fixing my ship.” The Doctor grinned. “We make quite the team, your brother and me.”
He paused, and laughed at Dean’s glare. “Just not quite the team you both make.”
And then the door opened. Before the smell of the fresh coffee even got a chance to get into the room, before Sam’s shadow had as much as finished crossing the threshold of the room, Dean had appeared to have rugby-tackled his brother. It looked like they were fighting, but if you looked closely, after a few seconds, it was a hug. A relieved, emotional, over-the-moon and tears of happiness hug, where neither of the brothers were prepared to give first.
“Sammy.” Dean whispered, voice hoarse, heavy.
“It’s Sam.” Sam replied. But he didn’t loosen his grip.
“Why do you pretend not to care?” came a low voice, from beside The Doctor. The Doctor smiled, and didn’t turn.
“Hello, Castiel.” he replied, not answering the question that the angel, who had almost silently appeared beside him, had asked. Castiel, in turn, did not return the greeting. He continued with his point.
“You watch them, pretend not to care, that their reunion means nothing to you. You act amused by it. As if it’s merely a spectacle to observe. Why?”
The Doctor’s smile grew wider.
“Of course I care, Castiel.” his voice was soft, eyes not leaving Sam’s face, and even though Sam didn’t notice, that didn’t bother The Doctor.
Not really.
Well.
Not much.
“Don’t you know how many hearts I have?” his smile turned into a satisfied smirk, and he turned his head, just a fraction, in Castiel’s direction. Enough to see that Castiel’s eyes were fixated on Dean. And that they were relieved - relieved that the elder Winchester’s path to a messy self-destruction was over now Sam was back.
“Besides.” The Doctor added, smiling a little wider, noting this.
“Besides?” Castiel prompted, when nothing more was said. The Doctor still didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The look in his eyes said it all for him.
I know you care, too, the look said.
“Shut up.” Castiel said, a phrase he’d picked up from Dean, which wasn’t actually a denial.
They watched as Dean fussed over Sam, patting him down - half to check he was real, half to make sure there were no major injuries, and ushered him into the kitchen for food, beer, and to give him the third degree. Probably. Which was just fine with the Doctor. He was just the messenger. He’d delivered the goods, and now it was time for him to go.
He pulled the TARDIS key from his pocket; a Yale key on an old piece of string. He held it up, and as the key turned, it caught the light.
“I have some angels to take care of.” he said, to nobody in particular. But as Castiel was in the room, it might as well have been to him. He looked round, caught Castiel’s stare. “You’re welcome to tag along. It could be interesting. I mean, it might not, but it usually is, with me.”
Castiel’s glare remained cold. “I am not like you. I don’t abandon my friends.” he said the word with such conviction, it was like he now believed it. “Especially not without a goodbye.”
Although he and The Doctor both knew that they could leave, the both of them, and neither Winchester brother would mind. Not really. Not right then. Not for a while. They had each other. Brother to brother. They were going to be okay.
“Bosh.” The Doctor waved away the accusatory tone he’d not missed. “I’m a time traveller. You could be back in a matter of minutes, they’d never know you’d been gone.”
Castiel tilted his head, listening to the animated chatter of the Winchester brothers in the kitchen, the pop and hiss of a couple of beers being cracked open peppering the conversation. He looked back to The Doctor, curiously.
“Why do the angels weep?” he asked.
The Doctor’s face split into a wide grin. “Because they know I’m coming for them. Come on - I’ll show you.”
*
Sam was listening to Dean talk at at least twice his usual speed, trying to fill him in on everything he’d missed whilst trapped holding Lucifer in custody, when he heard the fading echo of the TARDIS leaving. He half-smiled, raised his beer to his lips, and didn’t run outside after it. He didn’t want to. Not any more.
“Dude.” Dean complained, hands frozen, mid-gesture. “Are you even listening?”
“Absolutely.” Sam nodded, smiling again, and taking a long drink of his beer. “Uh. What were you saying?”
“Forget it.” Dean shook his head. “Besides - I got a question for you. This huge trial thing...what was that even like, man? I mean - Lucifer, on trial?!”
Sam laughed, shook his head. “I don’t know. I was kinda...I guess kept in the dark for a lot of it. I am but a lowly human from a planet that’s only a Level Five, after all.” he laughed. “I only saw bits.”
Dean was silent whilst he processed this, and then nodded. “Okay, whatever. Well, it was still nice of the, uh, Proclamation, to send you home again.”
“Oh, that was just courtesy. The real reward was letting me name the case.” Sam replied, off-handedly, drinking some more of his beer.
“You better not have called it something lame.” Dean groaned.
“Nope.” Sam grinned, and silently counted in his head. Three...two...one...
“Alright!!” Dean exclaimed. “C’mon - you gotta tell me. Epic space battle, aliens versus angels - what did you call it?!”
Sam took another drink, and looked right at his brother and said, “Fallen: A New Hope.” he snickered.
“You’re such a geek!” Dean laughed, draining the rest of his bottle, and going to get another.
The fall of Troy. Humans terraforming and settling on Mars. The birth of the Universe. He’d seen it all. And yet, Sam was finally in the most remarkable place of all - somewhere he’d found he would always come back to, and always want to. Home.
With his brother.
Where he belonged.