Fic: Not If You're Blonde - DW/SPN
Title: Not If You're Blonde
Fandom: Doctor Who/Supernatural
Rating: PG
Pairing: none
Word Count: 2311
Spoilers: LotTL for Who, none for SPN
Disclaimer: Do I look like I own any of this? Because, sadly, I don't.
Warnings: none
Summary: Even after Fitz has been left behind he still finds strange things, and new friends.
Fitz slouched on his bar stool, hands protectively wrapped around his mug of beer. It had been two months since the Doctor had dropped him off somewhere that definitely wasn't London and definitely wasn't anywhere close to when he'd left, no matter what the Doctor had said, and Fitz was finally beginning to accept the fact that the Doctor wouldn't be coming back.
There had been a quiet but rather insistent voice in the back of his head that had been telling him that the Doctor wouldn't be back ever since he'd been dropped off, though he'd done his best to ignore it. After everything they had been through he thought that the Doctor deserved the benefit of the doubt, even as he kept replaying the almost guilty expression on the Doctor's face as he'd walked back into the TARDIS alone.
Oh, he'd known that things weren't looking good back on Gallifrey, in spite of the way that the Doctor had tried to keep it from him. He'd managed to put the pieces together, had seen the big picture, and he knew in his heart that the Doctor had left him behind to keep him safe. That the Doctor had every expectation of dying at the plunger of the Daleks and hadn't wanted the same fate for Fitz. Fitz understood that, would feel the same way if their positions had been reversed.
But what Fitz wasn't sure he could forgive was the fact that the Doctor hadn't given him a choice. For all that the Doctor was big on free will and making your own choices in life, when push came to shove he was perfectly happy to make decisions for others so long as he felt those choices were in that someone's best interest.
And, oh, how Fitz hated that.
Sure, Fitz was alive, and that was great since he rather liked being alive, but he was also stranded somewhere in the United States at least forty years after his native time with virtually no money, no friends, and no real hope of ever getting back to either his own time or the TARDIS. He was completely and utterly alone.
That part wasn't so great.
He glanced up from his beer when two slightly younger men slid onto the empty stools next to him, and his eyes narrowed when he noticed something not quite right about them. He couldn't put his finger on just what it was, but it was setting off all of his internal alarms.
It only took a moment for Fitz to realize that part of what had caught his attention was the fact that the two men were armed. It wasn't obvious, in fact he was more than likely the only person in the bar who even had a clue, but he'd been on enough adventures with the Doctor to be able to sniff out hidden weapons almost automatically. And these two were definitely carrying, and more than just guns unless Fitz missed his guess.
The other thing that had sparked his interest was just how wary and alert the two men seemed. Oh, they were putting on a good front of being completely relaxed, but Fitz could see right through it. After traveling with the Doctor for as long as he had, Fitz could see through just about anyone or anything. He didn't always know what someone was hiding, but he could usually tell that they were hiding something. And now that he was stranded it was a very handy skill to have.
Plus, it made his occasional poker games a lot more profitable.
The two had only been sitting there for a few minutes when all hell broke loose. A very large alien that Fitz thought looked somewhat familiar came barreling through the bar from somewhere in the back, flinging both chairs and people into the walls and screaming at the top of its lungs. The men he'd been watching rose to their feet and pulled their guns as smoothly as any career soldier Fitz had ever seen and began firing right at the alien, something that seemed to only make it even more irritated.
For his part, Fitz grabbed his beer and ducked around behind the bar, out of the way of both the rampaging alien and the flying bullets. He winced when the shorter man slammed into the wall, and hissed sympathy when the alien wrapped one long-fingered hand around the taller one's throat and lifted him off his feet. He ducked back down when the alien flung the tall one towards the bar, groaning when he finally recognized one of the phrases the alien was bellowing.
He sighed, absently wondering just what a Krash-nak was doing in a bar on Earth and what the odds were for it choosing to go crazy in the bar he had been drinking in. Then he took a quick gulp of his beer, sat his mug safely to the side, and reached for the soda water hose at the edge of the bar. He pushed himself up just far enough to get a good shot and then turned the hose on the alien.
Five minutes later the bar was practically empty, the two men were picking themselves up and the Krash-nak was a puddle of rather disgusting goo on the floor.
Fitz grimaced and reached back for his beer. "I really hate it when they do that."
The shorter man looked between Fitz and the puddle of goo for a minute before breaking into a wide grin and thumping Fitz on the shoulder. "Thanks for the save, man. That was seriously cool."
The taller one nodded, rubbing his already-bruising throat. "Yeah. What was that thing anyway? And how'd you know how to kill it?"
Fitz just shrugged, trying to decide if he should grab a refill for his beer. "It was a Krash-nak, though I don't have a clue how it got here. They're not exactly native to the area since they kind of melt if you toss water on them."
The shorter one blinked, then shook his head and turned to the other. "Sam, did he say these things melt if they get wet? Like the Wicked Witch, melt?"
The taller one nodded slowly. "That's what it sounded like, Dean. And it's not like it's the strangest thing we've ever heard."
Fitz proceeded to ignore their continuing debate as he went in search of more beer. But he was forced to pay attention to them again when the taller one, the one he thought had been called Sam, tapped him on the shoulder and flashed him the kind of earnest expression he hadn't seen since the Doctor left him.
"Hey, my brother and I were wondering if you'd be willing to come with us and tell us what you know about the Krash-nak, or anything else like it you've come across."
Fitz was all ready to tell him no, even in the face of his blatant puppy eyes, when the other one spoke up.
"We'll even pay for the beer."
Well, that changed everything. He'd been running seriously low on cash, and who knew? Maybe it'd be nice to talk to someone about all the weird stuff he'd been through the past however many years.
And if nothing else he'd get some free beer.
* * *
For the first time in longer than he wanted to consider the Doctor was completely and utterly alone. The Master had chosen permanent death, Jack had gone back to Cardiff and his team at Torchwood Three, Martha had very understandably stayed in London with her traumatized family, and the TARDIS was silent and empty. And echoing through the Doctor's head was something Martha had said once at the end of the universe, in a voice stinging with hurt:
'Is that what happens though, seriously? Do you just get bored of us one day and disappear?'
While it hadn't turned out to be true for Martha, he was painfully reminded of one soul for whom it essentially was. Oh, he hadn't gotten bored of Fitz Kreiner, and probably never would have, but he'd still left him behind without even an explanation. Fitz hadn't even realized what was happening until it was far too late.
Oh, he'd told himself that he was only doing it to keep Fitz safe, that leaving him was in Fitz's best interest, but now he could finally admit that at least some of his motivation had been selfish. He had been preparing to sacrifice his entire race, and he hadn't wanted any more blood on his hands than was absolutely necessary. And so long as Fitz wasn't with him, he could believe that he was alive somewhere.
Now, though, he had an almost overwhelming urge to find Fitz again. His regeneration would throw Fitz for a loop, of course, but Fitz had always had an incredible talent for rolling with the punches. After some explanations the Doctor was certain that Fitz would jump at the chance to go traveling with him again. After all, while Fitz traveled with him he'd had several opportunities to leave, and he never had.
Filled with anticipation and a new energy, the Doctor dashed around the TARDIS console twisting knobs and flipping switches. He'd have to find Fitz as close to the time that he'd left him as possible, but he didn't really think that would be a problem. The TARDIS had loved Fitz too, and he knew that she would do her best to land at just the right time.
Ten minutes later he was bounding out of the TARDIS, coat tails flapping around his legs as he looked around. His excited grin faded, eventually morphing into a frown when he realized that he was outside of a rather noisy dance club somewhere in America in the early twenty-first century.
If it wasn't for the TARDIS promising him that Fitz was inside, the Doctor would have turned around and left again. He had been so sure that he had left Fitz just outside of London in his own time, but it was starting to look like perhaps Sarah Jane wasn't the only companion that he hadn't quite managed to get back to where and when they belonged.
He slipped inside the club and began looking for Fitz, eyes automatically adjusting to the dim lighting and trying to ignore the pulsing music. After only a few moments the Doctor found him; in the middle of the dance floor, eyes closed and head tilted back with a younger man in a battered leather jacket practically plastered against his chest.
The Doctor wasn't sure just what he had been expecting to find, but he was certain that this definitely wasn't it. Fitz looked, not necessarily happy, but content, a state that the Doctor had only seen him in occasionally while they'd been traveling. And seeing him like that now sent a surge of something cold through the Doctor's hearts.
Instead of confronting him, the Doctor faded into the background where he could watch Fitz without being seen. Not that it would have mattered since it seemed like Fitz wasn't paying the least amount of attention to his surroundings. Then two songs later Fitz's dance partner started pulling him towards what the Doctor assumed was the back entrance to the club, still plastered up against him.
The Doctor followed them at a discrete distance, trying to ignore the sickening feeling in his stomach. He wasn't even sure why he was following them, especially if they were going to be doing what it rather looked like they were going to be doing. But when they stumbled out into the alley, the Doctor slipped out the door behind them anyway, lurking in the shadows.
The other man had Fitz pressed back against the wall, hands fisted in Fitz's shirt and mouth suspiciously close to Fitz's neck. They seemed to be rather enjoying themselves, and the Doctor had almost convinced himself to just walk away and forget what he'd seen when a shape melted out of the shadows and leapt towards Fitz and his friend.
Just as the Doctor was reaching into his pocket for the sonic screwdriver Fitz's friend turned, and the Doctor blinked when he saw the gun in his hand. The blink turned into complete jaw-dropping shock when he saw the matching gun in Fitz's hand.
They both fired almost instantaneously, and the not quite human figure jerked backwards as the bullets struck its chest. A moment later another man entered the alley and began pouring what looked like a type of salt onto the body, which then began smoking and sizzling.
"You two okay, Dean?"
The man with Fitz nodded, grinning as he dropped his free hand on Fitz's shoulder and began leading him out of the alley. "We're great, Sammy. Fitz here is a natural, though you might wanna ease up on the tongue next time."
Fitz arched an eyebrow. "Next time? Are you trying to tell me something here?"
Dean flashed him a glare. "Yeah, I'm telling you that the next time we're the bait for a sex demon like this one you shouldn't stick your tongue in my mouth like that. It's distracting." The glare instantly morphed into a bright grin. "Now what do you say we head over to that bar a couple of blocks back and hustle some poor saps at pool?"
Fitz chuckled as Sam sighed and shook his head, and the sound had the Doctor closing his eyes in pain and slipping silently back into the club. Fitz had done what he had always wanted his companions to be able to do. Fitz had moved on and was living a fantastic, if somewhat strange, life. A fantastic life that had no place in it for the Doctor.
And he couldn't understand why the idea hurt so much.
Fandom: Doctor Who/Supernatural
Rating: PG
Pairing: none
Word Count: 2311
Spoilers: LotTL for Who, none for SPN
Disclaimer: Do I look like I own any of this? Because, sadly, I don't.
Warnings: none
Summary: Even after Fitz has been left behind he still finds strange things, and new friends.
Fitz slouched on his bar stool, hands protectively wrapped around his mug of beer. It had been two months since the Doctor had dropped him off somewhere that definitely wasn't London and definitely wasn't anywhere close to when he'd left, no matter what the Doctor had said, and Fitz was finally beginning to accept the fact that the Doctor wouldn't be coming back.
There had been a quiet but rather insistent voice in the back of his head that had been telling him that the Doctor wouldn't be back ever since he'd been dropped off, though he'd done his best to ignore it. After everything they had been through he thought that the Doctor deserved the benefit of the doubt, even as he kept replaying the almost guilty expression on the Doctor's face as he'd walked back into the TARDIS alone.
Oh, he'd known that things weren't looking good back on Gallifrey, in spite of the way that the Doctor had tried to keep it from him. He'd managed to put the pieces together, had seen the big picture, and he knew in his heart that the Doctor had left him behind to keep him safe. That the Doctor had every expectation of dying at the plunger of the Daleks and hadn't wanted the same fate for Fitz. Fitz understood that, would feel the same way if their positions had been reversed.
But what Fitz wasn't sure he could forgive was the fact that the Doctor hadn't given him a choice. For all that the Doctor was big on free will and making your own choices in life, when push came to shove he was perfectly happy to make decisions for others so long as he felt those choices were in that someone's best interest.
And, oh, how Fitz hated that.
Sure, Fitz was alive, and that was great since he rather liked being alive, but he was also stranded somewhere in the United States at least forty years after his native time with virtually no money, no friends, and no real hope of ever getting back to either his own time or the TARDIS. He was completely and utterly alone.
That part wasn't so great.
He glanced up from his beer when two slightly younger men slid onto the empty stools next to him, and his eyes narrowed when he noticed something not quite right about them. He couldn't put his finger on just what it was, but it was setting off all of his internal alarms.
It only took a moment for Fitz to realize that part of what had caught his attention was the fact that the two men were armed. It wasn't obvious, in fact he was more than likely the only person in the bar who even had a clue, but he'd been on enough adventures with the Doctor to be able to sniff out hidden weapons almost automatically. And these two were definitely carrying, and more than just guns unless Fitz missed his guess.
The other thing that had sparked his interest was just how wary and alert the two men seemed. Oh, they were putting on a good front of being completely relaxed, but Fitz could see right through it. After traveling with the Doctor for as long as he had, Fitz could see through just about anyone or anything. He didn't always know what someone was hiding, but he could usually tell that they were hiding something. And now that he was stranded it was a very handy skill to have.
Plus, it made his occasional poker games a lot more profitable.
The two had only been sitting there for a few minutes when all hell broke loose. A very large alien that Fitz thought looked somewhat familiar came barreling through the bar from somewhere in the back, flinging both chairs and people into the walls and screaming at the top of its lungs. The men he'd been watching rose to their feet and pulled their guns as smoothly as any career soldier Fitz had ever seen and began firing right at the alien, something that seemed to only make it even more irritated.
For his part, Fitz grabbed his beer and ducked around behind the bar, out of the way of both the rampaging alien and the flying bullets. He winced when the shorter man slammed into the wall, and hissed sympathy when the alien wrapped one long-fingered hand around the taller one's throat and lifted him off his feet. He ducked back down when the alien flung the tall one towards the bar, groaning when he finally recognized one of the phrases the alien was bellowing.
He sighed, absently wondering just what a Krash-nak was doing in a bar on Earth and what the odds were for it choosing to go crazy in the bar he had been drinking in. Then he took a quick gulp of his beer, sat his mug safely to the side, and reached for the soda water hose at the edge of the bar. He pushed himself up just far enough to get a good shot and then turned the hose on the alien.
Five minutes later the bar was practically empty, the two men were picking themselves up and the Krash-nak was a puddle of rather disgusting goo on the floor.
Fitz grimaced and reached back for his beer. "I really hate it when they do that."
The shorter man looked between Fitz and the puddle of goo for a minute before breaking into a wide grin and thumping Fitz on the shoulder. "Thanks for the save, man. That was seriously cool."
The taller one nodded, rubbing his already-bruising throat. "Yeah. What was that thing anyway? And how'd you know how to kill it?"
Fitz just shrugged, trying to decide if he should grab a refill for his beer. "It was a Krash-nak, though I don't have a clue how it got here. They're not exactly native to the area since they kind of melt if you toss water on them."
The shorter one blinked, then shook his head and turned to the other. "Sam, did he say these things melt if they get wet? Like the Wicked Witch, melt?"
The taller one nodded slowly. "That's what it sounded like, Dean. And it's not like it's the strangest thing we've ever heard."
Fitz proceeded to ignore their continuing debate as he went in search of more beer. But he was forced to pay attention to them again when the taller one, the one he thought had been called Sam, tapped him on the shoulder and flashed him the kind of earnest expression he hadn't seen since the Doctor left him.
"Hey, my brother and I were wondering if you'd be willing to come with us and tell us what you know about the Krash-nak, or anything else like it you've come across."
Fitz was all ready to tell him no, even in the face of his blatant puppy eyes, when the other one spoke up.
"We'll even pay for the beer."
Well, that changed everything. He'd been running seriously low on cash, and who knew? Maybe it'd be nice to talk to someone about all the weird stuff he'd been through the past however many years.
And if nothing else he'd get some free beer.
* * *
For the first time in longer than he wanted to consider the Doctor was completely and utterly alone. The Master had chosen permanent death, Jack had gone back to Cardiff and his team at Torchwood Three, Martha had very understandably stayed in London with her traumatized family, and the TARDIS was silent and empty. And echoing through the Doctor's head was something Martha had said once at the end of the universe, in a voice stinging with hurt:
'Is that what happens though, seriously? Do you just get bored of us one day and disappear?'
While it hadn't turned out to be true for Martha, he was painfully reminded of one soul for whom it essentially was. Oh, he hadn't gotten bored of Fitz Kreiner, and probably never would have, but he'd still left him behind without even an explanation. Fitz hadn't even realized what was happening until it was far too late.
Oh, he'd told himself that he was only doing it to keep Fitz safe, that leaving him was in Fitz's best interest, but now he could finally admit that at least some of his motivation had been selfish. He had been preparing to sacrifice his entire race, and he hadn't wanted any more blood on his hands than was absolutely necessary. And so long as Fitz wasn't with him, he could believe that he was alive somewhere.
Now, though, he had an almost overwhelming urge to find Fitz again. His regeneration would throw Fitz for a loop, of course, but Fitz had always had an incredible talent for rolling with the punches. After some explanations the Doctor was certain that Fitz would jump at the chance to go traveling with him again. After all, while Fitz traveled with him he'd had several opportunities to leave, and he never had.
Filled with anticipation and a new energy, the Doctor dashed around the TARDIS console twisting knobs and flipping switches. He'd have to find Fitz as close to the time that he'd left him as possible, but he didn't really think that would be a problem. The TARDIS had loved Fitz too, and he knew that she would do her best to land at just the right time.
Ten minutes later he was bounding out of the TARDIS, coat tails flapping around his legs as he looked around. His excited grin faded, eventually morphing into a frown when he realized that he was outside of a rather noisy dance club somewhere in America in the early twenty-first century.
If it wasn't for the TARDIS promising him that Fitz was inside, the Doctor would have turned around and left again. He had been so sure that he had left Fitz just outside of London in his own time, but it was starting to look like perhaps Sarah Jane wasn't the only companion that he hadn't quite managed to get back to where and when they belonged.
He slipped inside the club and began looking for Fitz, eyes automatically adjusting to the dim lighting and trying to ignore the pulsing music. After only a few moments the Doctor found him; in the middle of the dance floor, eyes closed and head tilted back with a younger man in a battered leather jacket practically plastered against his chest.
The Doctor wasn't sure just what he had been expecting to find, but he was certain that this definitely wasn't it. Fitz looked, not necessarily happy, but content, a state that the Doctor had only seen him in occasionally while they'd been traveling. And seeing him like that now sent a surge of something cold through the Doctor's hearts.
Instead of confronting him, the Doctor faded into the background where he could watch Fitz without being seen. Not that it would have mattered since it seemed like Fitz wasn't paying the least amount of attention to his surroundings. Then two songs later Fitz's dance partner started pulling him towards what the Doctor assumed was the back entrance to the club, still plastered up against him.
The Doctor followed them at a discrete distance, trying to ignore the sickening feeling in his stomach. He wasn't even sure why he was following them, especially if they were going to be doing what it rather looked like they were going to be doing. But when they stumbled out into the alley, the Doctor slipped out the door behind them anyway, lurking in the shadows.
The other man had Fitz pressed back against the wall, hands fisted in Fitz's shirt and mouth suspiciously close to Fitz's neck. They seemed to be rather enjoying themselves, and the Doctor had almost convinced himself to just walk away and forget what he'd seen when a shape melted out of the shadows and leapt towards Fitz and his friend.
Just as the Doctor was reaching into his pocket for the sonic screwdriver Fitz's friend turned, and the Doctor blinked when he saw the gun in his hand. The blink turned into complete jaw-dropping shock when he saw the matching gun in Fitz's hand.
They both fired almost instantaneously, and the not quite human figure jerked backwards as the bullets struck its chest. A moment later another man entered the alley and began pouring what looked like a type of salt onto the body, which then began smoking and sizzling.
"You two okay, Dean?"
The man with Fitz nodded, grinning as he dropped his free hand on Fitz's shoulder and began leading him out of the alley. "We're great, Sammy. Fitz here is a natural, though you might wanna ease up on the tongue next time."
Fitz arched an eyebrow. "Next time? Are you trying to tell me something here?"
Dean flashed him a glare. "Yeah, I'm telling you that the next time we're the bait for a sex demon like this one you shouldn't stick your tongue in my mouth like that. It's distracting." The glare instantly morphed into a bright grin. "Now what do you say we head over to that bar a couple of blocks back and hustle some poor saps at pool?"
Fitz chuckled as Sam sighed and shook his head, and the sound had the Doctor closing his eyes in pain and slipping silently back into the club. Fitz had done what he had always wanted his companions to be able to do. Fitz had moved on and was living a fantastic, if somewhat strange, life. A fantastic life that had no place in it for the Doctor.
And he couldn't understand why the idea hurt so much.