Dean Winchester's Story

Dean Winchester

One duffel bag hanging from one limp hand, a map of London clutched tightly in his other, Dean smiled broadly as he glanced around the criss-crossing streets of this new country. The airplane...well, he wasn't about to think about that nightmare, the hours of sudden shakes and jerks leaving him exhausted. But the flight attendant was decent looking, offered drinks, a phone number. Dean hoped they would meet again. Not on a plane. Between sheets, yes, that's what he preferred.

"Pip-pip cherrio," Dean remarked as he nudged his Sasquatch of a brother. "Shall we grab some fish n chips?"

Sam rolled his eyes, smiling. "Please stop with the accent."

"Hey," Dean continued, not stopping the accent. "This is my vacation. I chose the location. I paid for the plane tickets."

"Which means you have the right to embarass me?" Sam inquired, shoulders turning inward a little as a group of done-up girls passed by, the tallest, because of her heels, giving both men a look of utter shock. As if their being there had to be some sort of prank or joke. Dean grinned and gave her a wave. Sam shook his head. "Look, I wanted to talk to you about..."

"Nope," Dean cut him off right away. He knew what that nerd had up his sleeve. "No work. All play."

With that he started down the street, adjusting his brown leather jacket and squinting down to the map in his hand. They had reservations at a hotel, which he couldn't locate on the map at all. He supposed it was because everything was backwards here. Well, at least the driving was. So, of course, everything must be. North is South. East is West. He wasn't sure how it worked, and wasn't about to care. He just needed a shower, wash off those too-many hours on that flying vehicle, then hit the bars. London Ladies...mmm.

"Dean I'm serious," Sam said, catching up and saying his brother's name with irritating annunciation. Scowling, the shorter brother rounded on him.

"We're not here to work," he said, for what seemed like the hundredth, if not the third, time. "What don't you understand about that?"

"But Dean..."

"How can you be thinking about hunting when...when Yellow Eyes was JUST put in the ground? His corpse is still warm and you're ready to gank another demon's ass?"

Sam grimaced. "He didn't have a corpse..."

"Shut up. You're not hunting, Sam." With that, he snatched Sam's handful of papers away and also grabbed John Winchester's book from inside his jacket.

"Hey!"

"No!" Dean pointed a finger at his nose like he was a misbehaving dog. "Sam, we've been chasing that thing for two years. You're exhausted. You look like a prune."

Sam glanced down himself.

"We're in a new country, with new babes and I'm not letting you waste away on another case."

"Waste away? Dean I just..."

Dean's jaw clenched and he reinforced his pointed finger. "No. Hunting. Repeat after me."

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean flicked his nose. "The hell?!"

"Repeat!"

The brothers shared a stare, a long one, during which all Dean could see in his mind's eyes, all he ever seemed to see nowadays, was Sam's cold body...lifeless...bloody and limp...He relived that day over and over, refusing to remember, but somehow unable to forget. How could he? He almost lost the one thing he had left in this world and he wasn't about to let Sam put himself in harm's way when it wasn't needed. The world didn't need them all the time.

Unspoken, both brothers thought the same thing, the deal. Dean's deal with the demon. To save Sam's life.

Sam sighed, nostrils flaring with anger. "Fine..." he huffed, shaking his head.

Dean cleared his throat. "I said...repeat."

A strange noise erupted from Sam's throat, annoyed. "No. Hunting."

"There we go," Dean cheered, giving his brother a half-hug and pasting on a smile. "Wasn't that hard."

He led the way down the streets, semi-navigating according to the map and following his own curiosity. Eventually, Sam took the reigns, and his papers, back. Dean didn't mind. He was sight-seeing, the buildings and their architecture...the babes and their...babe-ness. Grinning like a mad man and nudging his brother to do the same, he forced himself to think positively. How could he not?

He had less than one year to live.

Walking down the street, hands in his pockets and a broad smile on his face, the Doctor strolled along not looking for anything in particular. A woman wearing a bright pink, floral dress on the corner of the sidewalk caught his attention as he stopped at the crosswalk. "Oh that is lovely!" the Doctor exclaimed, leaning in to look at the matching pink broad-brimmed hat bedecked in plumes of multi-colored feathers perched upon her head. The lady took a step back from him, giving him a cursory glance and clutching her handbag to her chest. "Oh, hello," he smiled at her until she hurried away the minute the crossing light turned. "Oh- goodbye then!"

A bit later he noticed a cop car- signal lights blazing- rush down the street opposite him. "Ah trouble then! Yes!" The slender man exclaimed- startling a pigeon that had been strutting down the walk into flight- as he took off after the vehicle in a swirl of brown trench coat. The wailing sirens led him to a building already corded off and surrounded by a fleet of police vehicles. With no hesitation the Doctor slid under one of the yellow strands of tape and between a pair of uniformed officers, "Excuse me- yes that's right." The air exuded was so obviously one of belonging that noone thought to question the strange man in a suit and converse until he'd made it all the way up the stairs and into the flat from which officers were issuing.

Once he stepped into the crime scene- sniffing the air and beaming at everyone about- a woman in a suit held a hand up and hurried across to him, "Umm wait- hold it, and who are you? What are you doing here?"

"Who me?" the Doctor responded- looking around himself as if there was someone else she could possibly be talking to. When she continued to stare at him as if the answer was obvious he began to search the inside of his trench coat frantically, "Hold on- one second..." With a loud exclamation he withdrew a plain-looking black, leather bill-fold and flipped it open to reveal a plain piece of paper, "I'm the Doctor."

The woman looked at the paper skeptically, before turning her eyes back to his face, "You're a consulting detective? And here I thought Sherlock Holmes was the only one of those we had to deal with..."

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The bustling streets of London seemed to part before Jack Harkness as he strode purposefully along the street, one hand shoved in the pocket of his great coat as the other held a what looked like a portable radio that clicked at seemingly random intervals. Paying little attention to what was going on around him, the man in the grey greatcoat shook the mechanism furiously before putting it up near his face, "Come on ya damn thing, work!" Unfortunately, Jack was occasionally beset by troubles with machinery- despite the proficiency and understanding he usually displayed when dealing with alien technology- and this seemed to be one of those times.

Stopping at an intersection to fiddle with the transmitter, the handsome man addressed it again, "Come on now! You were working earlier! He's got to be around here somewhere- just locate the alien technology, that's all you have to do!" A heavy sigh escaped him as his shoulders fell and leaned up against the grey-stone wall of the nearest establishment. Suddenly a pair of exceedingly tall strangers right in his line of view caught his attention. Despite the predicament he found himself in, Jack couldn't help but slide his gaze up and down the two attractive men that were obviously tourists. "Oh well, what could a short distraction hurt?" he thought to himself as he stuck the machine into the large pocket of his jacket and headed their direction.

Once he was within a foot of the two leather be-decked boys when he heard them speaking and realized they were American- which caused his smile to broaden. Lucky for him, he sounded American in his own way; flicking his hair out of his eyes he stepped up to them. "Hello boys, need a little help?" Catching the eyes of the pretty, shorter man he offered him his trademark smile and said, "Hello I'm Captain Jack Harkness. And you are?"

Sam Winchester

Dean insisted on stopping at a shop before reaching the hotel. For once, it seemed he wanted to be cultured, something that the younger brother of the pair just couldn't ignore. Same watched closely as his brother entered the knick knack place, green eyes filled with a strange excitement. The man behind the counter bristled his gray mustache at the pair, eyebrows pulled together like caterpillars over beetle black eyes. It mattered little though. Sam knew they were American and were acting...American. Especially Dean. He was almost too American.

And what he brought back to the door with him, grin giddy and bright, only emphasized this.

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "Postcards."

"Postcards." Dean's toothy grin was nearly infectious, but Sam managed to shake his head amid a small chuckle.

"For our multitude of friends back home," he remarked, noting the stack of at least ten separate rectangles in his brother's hands.

Dean frowned slightly, but shook it off as he lightly punched Sam's arm. "Shut up."

With those purchased, satisfying Dean's child-like spasm of curiosity, Sam insisted they go into the hotel and rest a bit before gallivanting off. The only reason Dean finally agreed, eyes busy with soaking in the sights, was because he started yawning like a lazy cat. "Okay, okay," he decided, stuffing the postcards in the interior of his leather jacket. "But then food because..."

"Hello boys, need a little help?"

Both brothers skidded.

Before them, a grinning chap (chap being the first word to pop into Sam's mind) stood with a slightly puffed chest and a confident aura that Sam recognized. He couldn't quite put his finger on it straightaway, not until the man's eyes switched to Dean. "Hello I'm Captain Jack Harkness. And you are?"

Sam stifled a snort, grinning madly. Dean sent him a glance, obviously not catching anything. He offered his hand with a smile. "Dean Winchester," he replied. "And...what are you the Captain of...exactly?"

Sam had wondered the same thing, but didn't ask, far too interested to see how long it would take his slow brother to realize that he was being hit on. "I'm Sam," he introduced, offering his hand as well, grin grateful to this strange man to exact this small revenge on his shorter brother.

Several things happened very quickly then, and the Doctor observed silently as another new arrival attempted to slide between him and the non-human-humanoid he'd been assessing before being forced aside by said man. Then without warning his face was slammed against a wall, his spiky hair flattened between his skin and the plaster. "Oh am I being arrested?" he inquired blithely, although the words were muffled by the wall, turning them into a series of barely audible gibberish. "Oh, suppose I am," he affirmed for himself when a pair of silver cuffs seemed to materialize on his wrists, almost causing him to drop the screwdriver he still clutched tightly in his hand.

Before he could say another word he was being hauled unceremoniously by the shorter man across the room and toward the stairs. Without sparing a glance or a word for the gawking room of onlookers, the Doctor called over his shoulder to his arresting officer, "Oh don't be so gruff- it's perfectly normal not to be normal. Take me for instance, I'm not human either and I don't get angry with people for pointing it out," the words he spoke he didn't bother to whisper and chose instead to speak them loud enough to distract the man as he slid the sonic screwdriver up to point at the silver handcuffs until it began to emit a low buzzing noise.

The Doctor continued to speak as he was dragged down the stairs by the detective, "So what are you exactly, eh? A Zygon? No no no, can't be that... Perhaps you're from Klom? Eh, been a while since I met someone from there.... but no, that doesn't seem right either..." The babble spewed forth from his mouth the second a thought came into his mind and didn't seem to have an end, nor did it seem he expected to be listened to. That was until he turned his head, a wide, open-mouth smile on his face, "So, which is it hmm?"

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"Oh, well that's just my rank, but you can call me Jack or anything else you'd like...," the flashing, white smile was back- turned on full force as he met the other man's eyes with his, "It's a pleasure to meet you Dean." Jack's attention was broken when the taller man introduced himself as well. Releasing the hand he had been shaking, he took Sam's in his and offered him the same smile, "And you as well Sam." Although the shorter of the two was more his usual style, Jack had never been known to be picky or to loose an opportunity to flirt with anyone he found attractive on some level.

"So, what are you two boys doing here in London? On vacation? Or a... honeymoon perhaps?" He offered with a bright knowing smile and a little wiggle of his eyebrows. Two handsome men, obviously foreign to London and- judging from the postcards he'd seen- on some sort of vacation could mean many things, but Jack was hoping his instincts- or wishful thinking- was right on target. It had been quiet a while since he'd been with a married couple, much less two handsome men such as these, and he was looking forward to doing it again. Of course, he'd settle for just the shorter one if it turned out the two weren't what he hoped.

Dean Winchester

Catching on wasn't something he did quickly, sometimes not at all, but this "Captain" Jack character flashed a smile, eyebrows wiggling just right and Dean recognized the signs. He did the same thing. To girls.

"Whoa, whoa," he said, backing up a step with hands up. "We're not...I mean...Why does everyone think we're gay?!" he exclaimed to his brother, shoving his arm as if it was his fault. It probably was. With that long hair and stupid puppy dog expression, he could swing for either team it seemed. Dean's eyes closed with frustration before facing Jack again. "Look...Thanks for the uh..." he wasn't sure what to say "...interest? But..."

That's when he noticed the cop cars over Jack's broad shoulder.

"Is he okay?" he questioned, pointing. An officer with some lanky, crazy haired culprit had been taking out his handcuffs, when he suddenly collapsed. Dean's previous discomfort with Jack vanished as he stuffed the postcards in his jacket. Something wasn't right. Perhaps it was only a heart attack that caused the mess, but Dean needed a reason to step away from the "Captain" as soon as possible.

"'Cuse us," he said with false politeness and dragged Sam into the street.

"What'd you see?" his taller brother asked, already in gear as well. He glanced over, seeing Sam graze his thumb over the handle of his dagger beneath his jacket.

"Cop collapsed," Dean explained.

"So?" Sam stopped in step when they reached the opposite sidewalk. "Not exactly our deal..."

"Could be," Dean simply replied, sending a look back over to Jack. A wary look.

Sam laughed. "Nervous butterflies?"

"Shut it."

With that, they started over to the police cars, watching as different officers started heading in to help their collapsed comrade. The man who was about to be cuffed, lay on top of him as the officer mumbled something that Dean couldn't hear or read on his trembling lips.

"What do you think?" Dean asked.

Sam was still grinning, hands going to his pockets, fully relaxed. "I think Captain Jack likes you."

"Would you stop it?"

The taller brother could only laugh.

"Down we go!" he called as the trembling man dragged him down so that he landed on-top of him, not a comfortable position to be sure. By this time he'd luckily been able to free himself with use of the sonic screwdriver from one side of the handcuffs, leaving his hands free to soften the blow a bit as he dropped to the ground. However-unluckily- the other man was still gripping tightly to the cuff fastened to his left wrist, meaning that he could only maneuver himself so he was lying to where he could his captor's sweat-encrusted face a little better rather than sit up.

"We-Werewolf..." the panted word made the Doctor's eyebrows shoot up and a smile spread quickly across his thin face. "Oh my, it's been quiet a while since I dealt with anything Lupine in origin! Couldn't be a real werewolf could you, eh?" As he chattered away, the Doctor shifted his screwdriver so that it was in front of his face and that his free hand could manipulate it a little. A few moments later he pointed it directly into the face of the man he was lying upon as he continued, "There was that one time in Scotland, but eh- turned out to just be lycan-esque, not a real werewolf unfortunately... and that other time awhile back with the woman who seemed to be a werewolf, but alas she wasn't exactly human to begin with..." Finally the tiny machine seemed to have rendered its final diagnosis and he yanked it up quickly so he could look at it.

"Oh huh, what's this? No-no-no-no-no... Yessss.... A real, really, real case of werewolf-ism! Brilliant!!!" Whirling back to the man underneath him he grinned broadly, but let it slowly fade as he realized what that meant, "Unfortunately... I have no knowledge of how to help you..." Slowly he placed the hand still wielding the screwdriver on the police officer's shoulder, his face deadly serious, "But I will think of something."


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"We're not...I mean...Why does everyone think we're gay?!" The pretty one exclaimed to the tall one, seemingly very angry at the implication. Despite the quick rebuttal and denial, Jack wasn't dissuaded; he'd met many supposedly "straight" men before that were willing to give themselves to him with only a little bit of cajoling- and besides, he quite enjoyed the chase on occasion. It was especially gratifying when he managed to convert two at a time, which may be the case if he tried this time. However, before he could pursue the cause any further the two were excusing themselves and hurrying toward something on the other side of the street behind him.

Jack pivoted on his heel slowly- the dark grey greatcoat he wore swirling in a circle behind him- to turn and watch the other men leave. Suddenly what they had been watching caught his eye, and as he leaned around their receding backs he caught sight of a familiar coat lying atop a person on the ground. "Couldn't be..." he mumbled to himself- brow furrowing. Then the person in the coat sat up and he caught sight of floppy hair and an unmistakable, glowing screwdriver. "DOCTOR!!!" He shouted with a smile and raced across the street- veering around the two men from earlier as he slid under the police tape.

Heedless of the situation he hurried over to his friend and the man he was lying atop, "Oh Doctor, I had not idea you were like that... and in the street of all places!"

She scanned the crowed of people for the doctor. Was he even here? A woman approached her.
"Who are you, what are you doing here?" The woman asked.
Amy didn't bother to answer her question instead she asked another."Have any weird people came through here?"
" yes, but why should I tell you?" The woman asked.
Damn this woman was stubborn. "I'm the strange man's... Assistant" she had hesitated before saying assistant. That was probably the best thing to say.
After the woman had pointed out where the man was she strolled towards that area.
As she got there there was no sign of the doctor. Just strange men. Maybe one of them knew him. The doctor did get around a lot.
She walked over. "Hello" she said casually,"do any of you know a weird man called the doctor."
She didn't bother being polite she would have liked to find the doctor as soon as possible."

Leaning down to hear the strained protestations of the man lying below him, the Doctor nodded seriously to the instructions he was given. Of course he wasn't entirely sure where this 'Hackney' place was nor what exactly one would do in a 'cellar' especially if one were turning into a werewolf, certainly the werewolf-man had to be at least a little reliable on the matter of his own well-being. Just as he was in the process of responding- his mouth even open to begin the statement- a great group of people spontaneously appeared around him, led by none-other than his acquaintance the ineffable Jack Harkness. Jaw snapping shut at the ridiculous banter directed toward him by the Captain, the Doctor turned his gaze to take in the growing group of individuals.

"This man says he needs to get to this 'cellar'," the man supplied in answer to the shorter of the two men that had followed his friend from somewhere, not bothering to acknowledge Jack or even introduce himself as he was in currently preoccupied with overcoming the crisis of the moment. Before he could inquire as to whither or not any of the three new arrivals had any knowledge of where this 'Hackney' was, another human strolled into their midst. This time it was a fiery-haired woman, who demanded-with a short greeting-in a no-nonsense tone, "Hello, do any of you know a weird man called the Doctor?"

Had he been in any other mood he would have immediately jumped on this new development- how did this woman know him? Had he met her before, and if he had- how did he not remember such stunningly, brilliant hair? And didn't she know not to call people weird no matter how amazingly different they were?- but as it was, there was a man lying on the ground clutching at his hand (well, really his handcuffs) and begging for help. So, the Doctor replied with a quick, broad-smile and a waving hand, "Yes, yoo-hooo. That would be me. The Doctor here. But all that can be sorted out later, yea? Now this man needs help. A cellar on Hackney he says. Which one of you can get us there, hmm?" His dark eyes darted between the lot of them as he began to help the man as quickly as possible to his feet. "Tick-tock, tick-tock," he intoned with a sarcastic air.