SUPERWHO BIG BANG - PART FOUR.
Part Four
Dean Winchester was good with cars. And that was an understatement. His undying passion for his ‘67 Chevrolet Impala had meant he’d never written her off, even when everyone had warned him she’d never feel the blacktop beneath her tires again. This had happened more than once. That, combined with the fact that, well, the car was old. Driving was Dean’s only means of transport - she had thousands and thousands of miles on the clock. A car that old needed a lot of maintenance. Along the way, Dean had become very, very good with cars.
However, when it came to the blue Police Box that was standing in Bobby’s scrapyard, even Dean wouldn’t have had a clue where to begin. He didn’t know where the engine was, for a start. Or if it even had an engine. He just couldn’t picture how Sam had spent three years or so travelling in that thing. Even the younger version of Sam wasn’t exactly what you’d call small, and the box...looked cramped, to say the least.
It was late. Dark outside, grey clouds sometimes allowing parts of the moon to be visible for a while before whisping over it again. Dean rarely slept all through the night, and he’d walked from the couch he was crashing on to the kitchen, blearily taking a beer from the fridge, looking out of the kitchen window as he popped the cap with the ring on his right hand.
His brows furrowed, and he took a long drink of the icy cold beverage, eyes locked on the Police Box, suspiciously. There was a light inside, and every now and then, the Doctor would come out, stare up at the box, hands on his hips, shake his head and go back to work inside, as if he could tell by looking that things weren’t quite right.
“It’s bigger on the inside.”
Even though Sam’s voice was familiar, Dean hadn’t been expecting it, and having just woke up from yet another nightmare, he almost dropped his bottle. Rubbing his chest, he turned to face Sam.
“Jesus, Sam, you trying to give me a heart attack?!”
“No, the cheeseburgers will get there long before I do.” Sam gave a half-grin in response, taking a seat at the old, scrubbed wooden table. Dean rolled his eyes.
“What are you doing up?” he asked, leaning against the counter.
“Couldn’t sleep.” Sam shrugged. Dean opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again when the Doctor opened the door and stuck his head in.
“Sam! You’re awake. Good. You know, this is really a two-person job, and...”
“Sammy, fixing spaceships, yet when I ask you to tune up my carburetter, you get the shakes?” Dean asked, incredulous. It was Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. He didn’t want to help the Doctor. Didn’t want to be anywhere near him. He didn’t reply. Dean took the opportunity.
“How’s, uh, Fringey Sam doing, anyways?”
“Ah.” The Doctor said, taking a dishcloth from the side and polishing a bizarre metal-looking type of cog he had in his hands. “I checked on him about an hour or so ago, and...honestly? Not good.”
“What do you mean, ‘not good’?” Dean’s tone was sharp. Concerned.
“I mean, Dean,” the Doctor looked right at Dean, making eye contact, which took Dean a little aback and made him just a little uncomfortable. “That he’s not well. Pale. Got the shakes. Possibly hallucinating a little.”
“Like when I was detoxing from the--” Sam cleared his throat, cutting off when Dean shot a glare at him. “Uh. Continue.”
“I fear that if we don’t get Younger Sam back to his own time, or at least away from you, Sam...” the Doctor’s eyes shifted to meet Sam’s, and Sam’s eyes looked hurt. Dean didn’t miss it. His spine stiffened slightly. “That his molecular structure may, well, split.”
“Split?”
“He means I’ll explode, Dean.” Sam explained.
Dean had seen enough time travel movies to understand what that meant. “But then you-you won’t exist, either, if younger-you dies.”
“Precisely. Which is why I’m requesting your assistance, Sam.” The Doctor explained, sounding grave. “I’m aware that you don’t wish to be in any kind of proximity of me, which I understand. I hurt you. I’m about to do so, by sending you back to your own time. In my timeline, it hasn’t happened yet. But trust me - the sooner we get the TARDIS fixed, the sooner we can get this all sorted out, save the world, and be back in time for tea!” his voice rose as he spoke, and he said the last few words with such conviction, Dean thought he must have forgot the severity of the situation. And that they didn’t drink tea.
“Whilst I don’t quite share his enthusiasm,” Dean jerked his head in the direction of the Doctor whilst maintaining eye contact with Sam. “He’s right. Kinda.”
Sam was amazed that Dean had agreed with something the Doctor had said, but wasn’t convinced.
“Oh, come on.” Dean wheedled. “If I can agree with him, you can sure as hell suck it up for a few hours. For your own sake, man.”
“ALRIGHT.” Sam threw his hands up. “I’ll help. This once. Then you go.”
He directed the last three words to the Doctor, who just gave a grin, and as he left the kitchen replied;
“Oh, ho! And how do you expect to throw Lucifer into another dimension without me?”
*
The days passed, and Sam was spending more and more time in the TARDIS with The Doctor. Dean sometimes twitched the curtains in the kitchen, glaring out towards the blue box that appeared to be mocking him from the yard, only retreating with an eye roll when he heard a laugh from within, or when Bobby wheeled into the room and caught him.
“You just gotta leave ‘em be.” the old hunter had told him, repeatedly. “You know just as well as I do that this Doctor don’t stick around for anybody, including your brother. Soon he’ll be gone, we’ll have saved the planet-”
Dean had grunted a laugh, and stuck in with a “Yeah, right,” but Bobby had pressed on, firmly.
“And then everything will be back to normal. Maybe he’s got some space-age legs lying around he feels like donating.”
Dean popped a beer open, and as he took a long drink, he moved the curtain again, intending to fix his eyes on the call box. The glass bottle clashed with his teeth as he jumped, however, finding Sam and The Doctor standing right outside the window, staring in at him.
“Jesus--” Dean cursed to himself, wiping spilled beer from his shirt, and shaking the droplets off of his hand. Bobby didn’t seem to care.
“No, just me.” The Doctor grinned, looking euphoric. “And Sammy.” his voice was muffled through the single pane of glass.
“Only I get to call him that.” Dean muttered, as his brother and his...friend walked into the room.
“It’s done!” The Doctor declared, looking cheery. Sam gave a reluctant smile - Dean supposed he was pleased that the ship was fixed, but dreading what his younger self was about to go through. Usually, an alien lands from space, has a space ship and took people travelling in it? Dean would have been all over that. Until that alien stole his brother. However, if Sam had managed to forgive him enough to work with him, Dean might have been prepared to let bygones be...stored away until he needed to use them as ammo in a verbal sparring session. However, now he knew that same alien had broken his brother’s heart, and was about to do so again, right in front of him? He wasn’t so prepared to let that one go, even if he was still trying to come to terms with it. No matter what Sam said.
“Great, bye then.” Dean replied, refusing to look impressed.
“Dean.” Bobby hissed.
“You, ah, do remember I’m coming back, right?” The Doctor asked, his eyes still smiling, despite Dean’s icy tone.
“Breaking the habit of a lifetime.” Dean retorted, taking another drink. The room was silent. The Doctor turned to Sam.
“Do you want to be there for the-_”
“No.” Sam interrupted. “I went through that goodbye scene with you once before - I kinda don’t wanna have to hit rewind and replay it all again.” he spoke quickly, avoiding the Doctor’s gaze. The Timelord, however, seemed to understand.
“Yes. Well. Quite.” he nodded. “In that case...Dean?”
“What?”
“Would you help me get your younger - um. Younger younger brother to the TARDIS? He’s just rather large and...not quite able to walk right now.”
Dean rolled his eyes again. He supposed not all aliens were super strong.
“I don’t know why you have to take him back, anyways. Why can’t Cas do it?”
“Because, Dean.” came a voice from behind him, making him jump, and spin round, before taking a step back, away from the angel who had seemingly just appeared from nowhere. He rubbed his chest, over his heart, deciding to refrain from making a comment about Castiel’s inability to grasp the concept of personal space. He’d tried many, many times before and didn’t see why it would sink in now when it hadn’t before. “Younger Sam is damaged as a result of being in too much contact with the older version of himself. This is a result of unnatural travel through time - using technology as an aid. If I were to help him, he would never heal.”
“The TARDIS is natural.” The Doctor scowled. “She harnesses the time vortex and--”
“It is within my own abilities to travel through time.” Castiel conceded. “I do not need a stolen ship,”
“Borrowed.” muttered The Doctor.
“Box to harness any other source of power other than that which resides inside me.”
Dean couldn’t tell whether Castiel had rehearsed his lines or not. They seemed to come out rather rushed and tetchy.
“Basically,” the Doctor said, seeming to understand that Dean didn’t understand, “it would be like trying to treat a virus with antibiotics. It just wouldn’t work.”
Dean seemed to finally accept it, because he nodded.
“Alright, then. Let’s get this show on the road.” he rolled his shoulders to loosen them, and rolled his sleeves up, marching down towards the panic room.
It was dark on the way down, and the wooden steps that led down to the basement needed replacing. Through the years, changing seasons and temperature had led to them warping out of shape and place, and damp had caused a little rot. One of these days, Dean was going to shove his foot right through on of them.
Before opening the heavy, iron door to the panic room, he moved the cover of the eye-hole, looking in. Sam was on his cot, laid on his side. He was pale, disheveled and not moving. For a heart-stopping second, Dean thought he’d died. But then he coughed.
Relief flooded Dean, and he unlocked the door, stepping inside.
“Hey Sam.” he said, voice gruff, low, quiet. “How’re you feeling?”
Sam opened one eye, blearily. “Like I’m a Raxacoricofallapatorian and someone has just doused me with vinegar.”
Dean stared. Sam shook his head a little, neck evidently a little stiff. “Never mind.” he groaned, running a hand through his almost-greasy hair. “What’s going on?”
“It’s, uh...” it hurt Dean to see his little brother like this. “Time for you to click your heels together and go home.”
“They fixed the TARDIS?” he asked, looking surprised.
“Apparently so. C’mon-” he put an arm around Sam, and helped him to his feet. “You’re gonna have to work with me on this one, okay? One foot in front of the other. Let’s go.”
It was in that awkward fashion that they managed to get up the stairs (with a little scuffle in the door frame) and out into the yard, where everyone had gathered by the TARDIS door. Everyone except older Sam.
“I’ll see you again, Sam.” Castiel told the man Dean was supporting.
“Don’t tell him that, idgit.” Bobby complained. “He ain’t supposed to know.”
“...of course. Apologies.” Castiel bowed his head, and stepped back.
Dean held Sam upright, and looked right at him. It was weird, knowing that, for Sam at least, they were about to go back to being brothers. Proper brothers. No distrust and sting of betrayal. He was sorely tempted to plead with Sam to stay away from Ruby, to warn him to empty the Colt into her face, but he’d seen Back to the Future enough times to know he couldn’t risk messing with the space-time continuum like that. He cleared his throat.
“I’ll...see you in a week or two, okay? Take care of yourself, Sammy.”
Sam didn’t reply, but he allowed himself to be hugged tightly by the older, larger version of his brother. Eventually, Dean let go, and glared at the Doctor. “You’d better explain to him.” he warned, before stepping back to join the others. The Doctor didn’t reply to Dean - just used a Yale key to unlock the door, and lead Sam inside.
*
The inside of the TARDIS looked exactly as it had when Sam had last seen it - his vision was blurred, but he could still make out the shapes on the walls, the stairs, the lights, wires...and the central console. He collapsed into a couch that seemed to be a recent addition for his benefit - it still had the price tag hanging off of the side.
“I didn’t want you travelling back on the floor, not in your condition.” the Doctor told him, a hint of pride touching his voice at the fact he;d considered this. Sam didn’t reply.
“...right.” The Doctor said. “I suppose we ought to be going, then. Can I get you any refreshments? Tea? Scones? Crumpets? Coffee? Custard?”
Sam managed to shake his head, but still didn’t reply. The Doctor couldn’t stall any more - he waled silently up the stairs, to the console. He looked up at the slowly falling-apart Sam, and pulled down the lever that was to take him home.
*
The TARDIS eventually stopped shaking and spinning, landing not-so-smoothly on what was to be assumed as home for Sam. The readers told the Doctor that they were in California - the state, not the planet, and that it was the beginning of September, 2005. He didn’t move. Neither did Sam.
“Where are we?” Sam asked, hoarsely, managing to sit up, rubbing his head. Although being away from his other self was like being given a pain-relief shot. He already felt marginally better.
“California.” The Doctor replied, slowly walking back down the stairs, adjusting his bow tie. He wasn’t wearing his fez - the mood was too sombre.
“The planet? No way!” Sam exclaimed, excitement evident in his voice. “This is going to be awesome!” And before the Doctor could stop him, he’d pushed himself up, rushing out of the TARDIS, his face alight.
The Doctor followed, slowly, watching the confusion spread over Sam’s face. He took a deep breath, and shook his head, eyes suddenly showing his age.
“No, Sam. Not the planet. California, the state.”
“...we’re in America?” Sam asked. “Why? There’s nothing really to see. I’ve seen it all. It gets pretty boring.”
“Oh, I don’t know. The largest ball of twine looks like it might be fun...” The Doctor was cut off by a glare from Sam.
“Okay...when are we?” he asked, still genuinely not understanding what the Doctor was doing, what was about to happen. “Civil War? Old West? World Wars?”
“September 6th, 2005.” the Doctor replied, quietly, waiting for Sam to work it out. There was a few long, tense seconds. Then, Sam seemed to realise.
“...when you said you were bringing me home, you...you didn’t just mean out of the wrong time, did you?” he asked, voice hurt. “You’re leaving me here.”
There was no point in lying about it. The Doctor gave one, sharp nod.
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
The silence grew heavy - Sam’s heart twisted, in a way he’d never experienced before. He’d taken some pretty heavy blows in his time, but no punch had ever weighed him down like this. He found his breathing was coming jagged, difficult, and there was a hot pain in his chest, which was weird, because he felt icy all over.
“All--” he tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. He took a second, breathed in deep through his nose, waited for his lower lip to stop trembling. He tried again. “All those things you said we’d do, places we’d go, and see...” he had to trail off again - his voice was getting thick. He coughed, hoping that would help. It didn’t. “And now you’re just calling it a day? Are you even gonna tell me why?”
The Doctor’s face was cold and impassive. He’d dealt with many a goodbye in his time - his very long time - travelling with humans, and it never got any easier, never got harder. It was just an unavoidable fact of life. Something unpleasant that had to be done, like Tuesday afternoons, maths homework, and public transport.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” he told Sam, uncomfortably. “Nothing lasts forever, Sam, and you’ve travelled with me longer than most. It’s just time.”
“So...that’s it?” Sam asked, distraught. “I left everything to come with you. I walked out on my family, chose you over them.”
“Yes, and you’ve seen your future. You know you and Dean make up.” he tried to dismiss it. “And you see me again. So don’t act like this is goodbye.”
Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times, feeling like he’d been slapped.
“Doctor...I can’t go back. There’s still so much to see, to do...Earth is so...restricting.”
The Doctor knew the feeling, he understood what Sam was saying. But there were rules. Fixed points in time that needed to happen, and never would if he allowed Sam to stay with him any longer, and the Universe would collapse. He shook his head.
“Hey.” he said, smiling. “We had a good run, didn’t we? Had a good time, had some...some laughs along the way.” he nudged Sam with his elbow, trying to lighten the mood, not understanding why Sam was gazing at him like he’d just stabbed him in the heart. Whatever he was looking at him like that for, The Doctor wished he would stop. He didn’t like feeling guilty.
“Come on, now, Sammy. You’ve got plenty of other adventures to look forwards to, people to save...pretty girls to kiss.” he offered Sam a grin, but Sam didn’t take it. In fact, his face screwed up with pain. It was then that The Doctor realised, but he ignored it - like he always did. Sam Winchester wasn’t the first person to...and he wouldn’t be the last.
“I need you.”
Sam’s eyes were actually shining, as if he might actually cry. The Doctor shook his head.
“No, what you need is chicken soup, orange juice and plenty of rest. Trust me, I’m a Doctor.” he masked his face with a smile, although it was clear he was starting to feel sad. He started to turn away. “I’ll see you in a few years, Sammy. Or rather - you’ll see me in a few years. Have fun, and look out for sharks and barronites.”
“You never explained what a barronite was.” Sam managed, choking back a sob.
The Doctor turned on his heel, looked back. “Honestly? I have no idea. I made it up to sound impressive. I might have dreamed about them, once.”
Sam breathed a laugh, but then his face looked anguished again. He couldn’t lose this - the closest he’d ever been to happy. No. Scratch that. He was happy.
“Don’t leave.”
“See you later, Sam.” The Doctor said, not meeting Sam’s eyes, raising a hand in an awkward sort of wave, before walking back into the TARDIS, closing the door behind him.
Sam had never seen the ship disappear from the outside before. He’d seen it materialise, but to be on the other side of the wall filled up his airways in such a way that he couldn’t breathe, could barely stand to watch. The sound of the engines firing up seemed deafening to him, a hundred times louder than they should have been.
The blue was getting paler - it was with a jolt Sam realised that it was fading away.
“No...” he murmured, reaching out. But he couldn’t stop it - The Doctor was already tumbling through the time vortex. All Sam was seeing was the echoed visual imprint of the ship, the disguise it was locked in forever, the chameleon circuits forever fried to oblivion. Less than a minute passed, although it seemed to be so much longer to Sam. And then it was gone. Sam was left alone, standing with hunched shoulders on a sunny California street, two and a half blocks from the main faculty building of Stanford University. He took a deep shuddering breath, trying to bury the pain. He straightened himself up, and looked around, before he started walking. To find a motel, or something. To wait for Dean to find him, so he could start waiting off the next five years until he saw The Doctor again. They say time heals everything. Only, in Sam’s case, it was time that had broken his heart.
PART FIVE