A/N: Updates and side-stories featured on .com. Really, only uploading here so that my Tumblr followers can read on their kindles. If you want to contact me, do so on my tumblr. The ideas aren't mine, but the storyline, original characters, etc, are mine and are my intellectual property. PLEASE if you want to draw art, write story spin-offs, etc; CONTACT ME FIRST. I'm usually really good at getting back and giving permission, just give me a heads up.

ENJOY!

Dean flopped onto the sofa, kicked his feet onto the small motel coffee table and began rummaging in the white paper bag for one of the four "super deluxe bacon cheeseburgers with extra sauce" he'd picked up from a place up the street. He was about to take a bite when he looked up to see Sam staring at him from over the top of his laptop. "What?"

"Forgetting something?" Sam asked.

Dean paused a moment. He looked down at the bag in his lap, the burger in his hand, the bag on the table, then back at the burger. "Oh! Right." He set down the burger, hurried across the room to the mini-fridge and grabbed himself a beer. He leaned over to the table Sam was working with and popped the lid off. At the look on Sam's face, Dean frowned. "What? You want one?"

"You're such a loser," Sam muttered, pushing off the desk and letting the wheels of the chair take him to the coffee table where he picked up the bag with his share of the food.

Dean took a swig. "That's a no then?"

"No drinking during work hours, Dean. And unlike you," Sam said, wheeling back to the table. "I've been working a case."

"Hey," Dean said. "I've been working it, too, okay?"

Sam gave him a look. "Going to the bar and sizing up chicks is not working a case." He unfolded a napkin then dumped his fries on it. "And I don't think Cas would appreciate it."

"I didn't size up anyone," Dean said, already two bites in. "I looked into that alleyway we followed it down, checked the side streets, the sewers—"

"Did you find anything?"

Dean shook his head. "Clean as a whistle," he said around a mouthful of burger. He took a moment to chew and swallow, then added, "What the hell kind of shifter changes, but doesn't leave anything to show for it?"

"Yeah, still trying to figure that out," Sam sighed. "So far, the list of what it's not is longer than what it could be."

"So what isn't it?"

Sam clicked up another window. "Well, there's no leftovers when it changes, and no lens flare on the security footage I picked up, so it's not a shifter. It ran out of that burning building like it was a morning stroll, so it's not a changling."

"Ghoul?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. "It's not eating its kills."

"Maybe it's saving them for later."

"Then why kill at all?" Sam asked. "I mean, it just doesn't make any sense."

"But we can't rule it out, right?" Dean asked. "So next time we see it, bam. Shotgun to the head, machete to the neck for good measure." He moved to take another bite, then hesitated. "Hey… do you think maybe this is a new thing? Like something we haven't encountered yet, or—"

Sam didn't so much as look up from his computer. "We are not letting you name another species."

"Oh come on!" Dean groaned. "Jefferson Starships? That was a perfect name!"

"Doesn't exactly roll off the tongue," Sam muttered. "Besides, with Eve dead, the chances of us running into something that no hunter has ever run across are more than slim."

Dean nodded to himself. "Yeah, okay. You call Bobby on this one?"

"Yeah, he put some feelers out but he hasn't… hasn't heard any… anything back fr…" Sam was staring out at the parking look. "Dude… come look at this."

Dean sighed. "Sam. I'm trying to enjoy a burger—"

"I know, I know, just…" He gestured out the window as Dean came over and stood next to him. "You seeing what I'm seeing?"

There was a tall slender man in a well-cut suit and a brown trench coat wandering the parking lot and turning from room to room. Every now and again, he would pull an item from his pocket and wave it at the doors. It would glow, he would glance at it, and then he would go back to wandering. He scratched the underside of his chin and turned in a circle before starting in the other direction in some strange mix of a skip and foxtrot. He came to a sudden stop, licked his finger and held it up to the wind.

Sam chuckled. "The hell is that all about?"

"Meth addict with a blue glowstick," Dean muttered. "Town this lame, and you're surprised?" The man suddenly shouted something and took off running. Dean leaned and watched him dart around the corner. "Yup, there he goes." He reached up and pulled the blinds shut, glanced down at Sam. "I'll have some of whatever he's having, am I right?"

"You've already got three more of what you're having," Sam said, giving Dean a little shove. "So finish it up so we can check out the warehouse."

"Warehouse, what warehouse?"

Sam gestured. "Outside of town. It's been abandoned for years, but one of the tenants from the apartment building says there are lights going on in there." Sam smirked. "There's no power running to the building anymore."

"You think it's our guy," Dean said.

Sam shrugged. "Everyone needs a place to crash, right?"

"Right, right," Dean muttered. "Okay, let me finish off these bad boys, and we'll hit the road."

Sam shut his laptop and began packing his things. "I'll start loading up the car."

Dean watched his brother ready things in silence. Sam reached for the door and Dean snapped his fingers. "Hey!" He waited for Sam to look at him. "Don't take any candy or glowsticks from strangers or meth addicts, okay? I don't need you getting any more derpy."

Sam snorted, "ass."

"Assbutt," Dean corrected, but Sam had already closed the door.

Sam and Dean parked the Impala on the far side of the building. They tossed a bag of equipment (two sawed-off shotguns, two machetes, an extra box of shells , and a can of salt and a Dasani bottle of now-holy water—just in case) over the fence, then after clipping back the barbed wire, climbed over themselves.

Dean was already handing Sam one of the shotguns and shouldering the bag when the younger man dropped down off the fence. He kept his voice low as he pulled the mini maglight from the side pocket of the dufflebag. "Okay, so where's the door to this place?"

"East side," Sam said, checking the rounds in the gun before snapping it back closed.

Dean nodded. "On it."

They walked as softly as possible over the loose gravel, only stopping once as something rustled on the other side of the fence. Sam had it in his sights before Dean had even turned the flashlight in its direction. The glow caught the rabbit's eyes, turning them vibrant purple, yellow, green all in an instant, and then the creature was gone.

Dean let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Damn animals," he muttered.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Okay, look, door just around the corner here, so keep—"

Both brothers stopped as Dean shone his light at the door; and at the tall, slender man in a well-cut suit and a brown trench coat crouched down in front of the door and pointing his blue glowstick at the doorknob. He glanced at them once, then a second time before rising to his full height—taller than Dean, but not as tall as Sam. He beamed at them, blue eyes lighting up. "Oh! Locals! I love locals! Hello locals, fine evening, innet?"

Dean's eyebrows went up as he turned to look at Sam. "Dude, check it," he muttered through his teeth. "Meth addict is British."

Sam stared at the man. "Um… we're not locals."

"Oh, me neither," the man said.

Dean gave the man a deadpan smirk. "Clearly."

"Oh, look at that," the man said, his smile fading. "You brought guns."

Sam seemed to remember the shotgun he was still holding at the ready position and dropped it to his side. "Oh, yeah, we're—"

"FBI," Dean said without missing a beat. "Following up on a lead with a, uh… drug case. So if you don't mind—"

"Haaaaaate guns," the man said, not looking away from Sam's firearm.

"Yeah, well, considering we're on official business, I'm going to have to ask you to step aside."

The man's blue eyes flicked up to Dean, and he looked between the two brothers. "Oh, that's… not going to be necessary, as I… am…" He began digging through his inner pockets, finally pulling out a worn leather case and flashing his badge to them. "Also here on the same case."

Sam and Dean both blinked. After a moment, Dean looked up. "You're an agent?"

The man glanced at the badge, then looked at the two and nodded. "Yup. Well, more of an investigator. Well, maybe not investigator so much as chatty-fellow who talks people down from stupid action and that sort of thing, yeah."

Dean's mouth kept opening and closing without making sound. Sam gave a little laugh. "Sorry, we just, uh… weren't informed there were other agents on the case. Look, why don't we just… give your superior a quick call, let them know that—"

"We've got this one," Dean said.

The man shook his head. "Nope."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Nope?"

"No time," the man said, glancing over his shoulder at the door. He continued talking, though it was almost more to himself at that point. "My superior is… very busy. No time to talk. On vacation actually. Somewhere nice. Sunny." He frowned. "Americans like sunny, right? Yeah, sunny."

Dean's mouth twitched into a tense grin. "Look, uh… Agent Whatsyername. We got it this one. So…" He clapped a hand on the taller man's shoulder, which he looked at with some degree of confusion as Dean continued. "Why not hit the showers, catch the game, grab a beer at the bar, and we'll meet up with you and debrief after we clean up here. How's that sound t—?"

A deafening sound that was like metal on metal tore through the air, and suddenly green light shot from every window of the empty warehouse, lighting up the surrounding field and the night sky beyond. Just as suddenly as it came, the sound stopped. The light did not.

The thin man turned, taking what was clearly not a glowstick out of his pocket and pointing it at the doorknob. "Counter-offer," he said. "Go back to your car and drive as far away as you can."

"Excuse me?" Dean snarled.

"Or come in, stay behind me, and don't make any sudden movements." He glanced at Sam. "And don't go waving that thing around in there, you'll startle it."

Sam frowned. "Startle what—?"

"Oh, so you and your fancy glow have this thing covered?" Dean asked.

The knob to the warehouse suddenly clicked. The man flicked his wrist and the device slid shut as he opened the door.

Dean blinked. "That didn't do that." He looked at Sam. "Tell me that didn't do th—"

"Who the hell are you?" Sam asked.

The man smirked at him, giving a little bounce in his red converse sneakers. "I'm the Doctor," he said, then disappeared into the warehouse.

Dean stared at the door, pointed after the now-gone man. "The Doctor? No. That dude is a weirdo. Oh, no. No, Sammy, no," he grumbled as Sam grabbed for the door, held it open. "Tell me we are not following that guy in there."

Sam shrugged. "Like we haven't gotten out of weirder scrapes?"

"Yeah, but not with baggage attached!"

"Like we have a choice?"

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Shit goes down, it's on your head," he grumbled, then snatched the shotgun out of Sam's hands, shoved the bag at him. "I want the gun," he said.

Sam sighed. "Just… don't be trigger happy, okay? Play it cool?"

"I'm always cool. I'm a motherfucking cucumber, that's how cool I am… sexy-ass cucumber being led to his death by a crazy weirdo in a suit and a trench coat who wants to save us with a glowstick."

"You gonna bitch all night or we actually going in there?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm going. I'm going." And with that, Dean ducked inside the building.

Dean had taken three steps in when he stopped dead in his tracks. "Sam… What. The hell. Is that?"

Sam and Dean stared at… whatever it was at the center of the empty warehouse. At first glance, it seemed to be a tall, steel pillar with several coils shooting off and attaching to pylons of a sort that surrounded it. However, and quite impossibly, at the top of the pillar, there was a green, sparking orb. It lit up the entire bleak space, casting long dark shadows from the beams of the warehouse. Shadows, they were all too content to stay in.

"Do you see anything?" Sam asked.

"Man, I don't know what I'm seeing right now," Dean snapped. "And where the hell is the crazy Brit?"

"Oi!"

The two brothers stared as the man they'd only just met as he strode forward into the center of the warehouse. Dean's eyes widened. "What is he doing? What the hell is he doing? Is he crazy—?"

"We know you're here!" the (apparent) Doctor shouted up at the rafters, spinning in a circle. "The trail of bodies, the missing shipment of plutonium from two cities over, and you thought no one would find you?" He chuckled. "You really thought no one was watching?"

"Dude!" Sam hissed. "Doctor! Get back here!"

The Doctor flapped a hand at him. "It's fine. He's harmless, this is all just a big—"

A beam of red hit the ground at the Doctor's feet, scorching the ground and leaving the air smelling of electricity and ozone. The Doctor blinked, and looked up in the direction that the shot had come from. "Well, mostly harmless." Another shot, this time grazing his trenchcoat as the Doctor scrambled over toward the two brothers. "Get in cover! Get in cover!"

"What cover?" Sam shouted as a blast pinged off a metal girder near his head.

Dean looked around the warehouse, eyes settling on the abandoned office on the far end of the building. "We'll make a run for it! On the count of three!"

"What?" Sam gasped. "Are you seri—"

Dean let out a sharp breath. "You heard me! Ready? One—"

A blast pinged off the floor sending chunks of cement to embed in the wall behind them.

Dean blinked. "Fuck it. Three!"

And they ran.

It was like something out of Star Wars, Dean thought to himself. He was a regular Harrison Ford, and that stormtrooper couldn't hit the broadside of an AT-AT. That wasn't entirely true. He had to jump over a crater made by the gun in the floor once or twice. He felt bits of debris bouncing off his leather jacket and dust settling on his face. But overall, while the experience should have been terrifying, all he could really feel in the end, was that he was, without a doubt, a mother-fucking badass.

The three crouched down in the office as the glass from windows shattered around them, raining down over their heads.

Sam looked at the Doctor while Dean checked his gun. "I thought you said it was harmless!"

"Mostly harmless!" the Doctor shouted back over the firefight. "Oi! No, what are you doing!" he snapped, grabbing at Dean's arm.

"Busting a cap in this guy's ass!" Dean snapped, trying to shake the Doctor loose.

"Wait, wait! Hold up a tick!" the Doctor said, pulling Dean back down to crouch on the floor. "Don't shoot him! We need him!"

"Need him?" Dean asked. "What for?"

"Long story," the Doctor said. "Just… hang on…" He shifted at a strange angle and began digging in his pocket until he produced a cellphone. Sam squinted at screen as the Doctor opened a text message.

4420334789: Have recovered first part. Come round when you've found second. –SH

The Doctor settled back against the wall and began typing a response.

"Dude! Seriously?" Dean snapped. "You're texting during a firefight?"

"It's a plasma rifle," the Doctor said, matter-of-factly. "They're prone to overheat, especially if you forget to vent them every few shots. He hasn't vented once since we came in, which means, the rifle is going to shut itself down in about, oh…"

The warehouse went quiet, save the steady hum of the steel pillar and the green glow above it. There was a sound of grunting, someone hitting an open palm against an item before tossing it aside and cursing.

The Doctor looked at the two brothers and beamed. "Now." Before either could say another word, the Doctor was on his feet and on his way out.

"Dammit, I wish he would stop doing that," Dean muttered.

"Yes, hello!" The Doctor shouted up at the second story. "Now that we're all done with being all mad and shooty, how about you come down here and we have a little talk."

Nothing.

"Oh, come now, m'not gonna bite you. Just come out where I can see you."

From behind the shadows of the boxes, a figure appeared. A woman, the same woman who Sam and Dean had seen killed in the building fire not so much as a day earlier, stepped up to the edge of the floor, staring down at the Doctor.

Sam looked at his brother. "Dean are you—?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, but I don't believe it."

The Doctor smiled at the woman. "There. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

She just glared and folded her arms across her chest.

"Now," the Doctor said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Can we talk like rational beings for five minutes?"

The woman's face twisted in anger. In a voice that was deep, resonant, and distinctly non-feminine, she shouted, "vbrosh da skleet geh!"

"'What do we have to talk about'?" The Doctor chuckled. "What don't we have to talk about? But first, how about we talk about the reactor core you stole?"

"Torgash!"

"Oi, there's no need for that kind of language!" the Doctor snapped. "I mean, it's obvious you've got it here. How else would you be able to start building an engine like this?" He gestured at the steel pillar. "I mean, this… this is real craftsmanship. And I'm betting you did it all by hand. From Twenty-First Century human tech, no less. Very impressive." He held up a finger. "But… not impressive? Carving your way through a steel mill and five staff members to get supplies. And what? You thought if you moved your little project to America they wouldn't ever find you? That no one would care if you killed off a few humans? Is that it?"

Silence.

"Now, your record wasn't squeaky clean to begin with," the Doctor continued, reaching into his coat and pulling out a pad of paper. "Petty theft, robbery, robbery with a weapon—"

"Strabo yov adtka."

The Doctor's face softened and he looked up at the woman. "I know. And there are thousands on that world, also starving. But they didn't pick up guns and threaten other starving families for food, did they? You did. And then you got caught. And now you have to make things right. Besides, where did they pick you up?" The Doctor shrugged. "Talosi Region in Sector Four? That sentence is a slap on the wrist. Not even a year, and you'd be back home. But this?" The Doctor said, gesturing at the floor. "You kill two guards getting off that crashed shuttle, kill four humans in a British Steel Mill, and then you kill three more humans when you get to America?" The Doctor shook his head, mouth gone thin. "That's murder. That's lifetime if you're lucky. Now…"

The Doctor crossed to the metal pillar, tugging at a spherical object and pointing the "blue glowstick" at it, buzzing until it popped loose. He tucked it under his arm. "I'm escorting you out of here. Now. You're going to return what you took, you're going to get back on that shuttle, and you're going to answer for what you've done here. And if you don't come quietly, well…" His face was a blank, eyes suddenly ages older than what his body suggested. He lifted his chin. "I'm the Doctor. Think about that a moment."

The woman's jaw worked in a slow circle. Slowly, she reached up and put her hands behind her head.

The Doctor nodded. "I thought you might say that." He looked back at the office. "Oh, and um… I've got two associates with me, so don't even think about trying to make another run for it." He pointed two fingers at his eyes, then pointed them back at the woman above them before walking back toward the office. He stuck his head through the now-empty window pane, and smiled at the two brothers. "Crisis averted," he said. "Go round him up. Oh!" He pulled out a set of not-quite handcuffs from one of his pocket and handed them to Sam. "You'll need these."

Sam held them up in front of his face. "How do they, uh…?"

"Just press the little buttons on the side," Doctor said. "Opens and closes them unless they detect their around the limbs of any lifeform, in which case they'll require the master key to get them open again. So… don't try 'em on."

Sam's brow was creased with worry as he stared at the cuffs. He gave a weak shrug. "Yeah. Yeah, okay." He pushed himself to his feet and stared toward the stairs.

Dean started to rise when the Doctor flicked him on the nose. Dean fell back to the floor, startled and blinking. He rubbed at his face with his forearm, shouted, "What the hell was that for?"

"No guns," the Doctor said. "Just… set it down for a moment. You can have it back later." Dean's jaw set. He took a deep breath and set the gun down on the floor, glaring at the Doctor. The Doctor smiled and gave him a wink. "Thanks much."

Dean made a face and pulled himself up off the floor. "Dick." He dusted himself off and walked out of the office to find Sam leading the woman down from the upper floor.

The Doctor stepped in front of her, picking up the amber-colored amulet from her necklace and turning it in his fingers. "I suppose we won't need this, anymore. Will we?" He gave the necklace a sharp tug, snapping the silver chain and pocketing the amulet.

No sooner had the chain broken than the woman before them turned into a blue-skinned… thing. It was partly human, save for the dog-like teeth and the four extra eyes. That didn't stop the two brothers from staring.

The Doctor looked between them. "What? Never seen a Talosarion before?" When neither of them responded, the Doctor went to checking their prisoner's bonds. "Talosarion, from the far moons of the Fourth Sector of the planet Tal'o? No? What exactly did you think you were chasing?"

"We were hoping for a ghoul," Sam murmured, still looking a little shaken.

"Ooh, ghoul," the Doctor chuckled. "Never met one of those." He leaned back. "Alright, cuffs all secure. About time for me to get this one back where he belongs, innet?"

The creature merely grunted, eyes narrowed and teeth bared.

"Aw, don't mind him," The Doctor said, shrugging. "So, how about it?"

Sam frowned. "How about what?"

The Doctor shoved his hands into the pockets of his trenchcoat, swinging from side to side. "Taking this one back in, you maybe wanna… tag along? See where he's off to?"

"Man, who are you?" Sam asked, unable to stop the smile on his face.

"I told you. I'm the Doctor—"

"No, I mean…" Sam chuckled. "Like, are you a Hunter? M16, Men in Black, what?"

The Doctor shrugged, then smirked. "Wanna find out?"

"What, Rocket Man?" Dean asked. "You just parked your spaceship in the field?"

The Doctor made a face. "Oh, heavens no." He pointed. "Parked it at the door."

"You parked your spaceship at the door?" Sam repeated. "Like… the door we came in? What is it, like… invisible, or…?"

The Doctor smiled. "Oh, humans. Love humans. Brilliant, you lot. A little thick, sometimes, but absolutely brilliant." The Doctor nodded. "Come on, off we go."

"Whoa, wait," Dean said. "Who says we're going?"

The Doctor pursed his lips. He gestured at Sam. "Incredibly curious and massively intrigued," then at Dean, "brother, I bet, you'd follow him to hell and back to protect him, yeah… you're both coming along." He practically ran toward the door, stopping halfway to call back. "Oh! And bring him along!"

The two brothers looked at the blue-skinned creature. Dean scoffed. "I'm not touching it," he grumbled, and stalked off after the Doctor.

"So, explain it to me again…"

"It's a TARDIS," The Doctor said, skipping from panel to panel around the centerpiece of what was, apparently as the two American brothers were learning, their companion's space ship. "Time and Relative Dimension in Space."

"So it's another dimension," Sam said, still looking around the main room in awe. "Gods, I mean… I've read scifi before, but this… this is some seriously mind-bending stuff. And you can go, what…. Anywhere in the world? Just like that?"

The Doctor beamed at Sam and flipped a lever. "Anywhere in the world. And space. And time."

Sam pointed at his feet. "This is a time machine? We… we're standing in a time machine?"

"Mm-hm," the Doctor said, fiddling with what appeared to be a whack-a-mole game. "Time machine, space machine, anything-chine. I'd ask where you boys wanted to go, buuuut I have an obligation with this lug here," he said, nodding at the prisoner.

The Talosarian's six eyes narrowed to slits, and the same rumbly voice spoke in short, angry tones. "I will grind your bones and eat the heads of your children—"

"Yeah, good luck with that from behind seventeen types of energy barricades," the Doctor muttered, typing a few numbers into some kind of computer.

Sam frowned, pointing at the alien. "You speak English?"

"No," the Doctor said as he continued to type. "You speak Talosarian."

Sam shook his head. "Um, pretty sure I don't."

"You do now," the Doctor said, giving Sam a smile. He gestured at the ceiling with a pencil. "TARDIS, it translates every language. He's hearing our conversation in his tongue, you're hearing it in yours and…" The Doctor pointed at the far end of the room. "Is he quite alright?"

Sam looked over where the Doctor had pointed and let out a sigh. Dean was sprawled against the wall at an impossible angle; one knee on the ground, the other arched to help him keep balance, and both hands gripping onto the metal pieces of the wall behind him. He was breathing shallow and his normally tan skin was now pasty gray.

Sam rubbed his hands together. "Oh… yeah, um… takeoff might have startled him. He doesn't do well with flying."

The Doctor made a face. "Ah, well… yes, that would do it. On the up and up, however…" He began pulling at the organ stoppers, grinning. "We… are…" He slammed a hand down on the toy piano and turned back to Sam. "Here." He bounced down the steps to the door below. "Mind grabbing the luggage?"

The Talosarian pulled away from Sam, snarled, "I shall rend the limbs from your body and eat the skin off your eyes—!"

"You're not the first guy to say that," Sam muttered, grabbing for the Talosarian's cuffs. "Come on. Up."

The Doctor waved a hand in front of Dean's face. "Hullo? You still with us?" Dean's mouth moved wordlessly as the Doctor patted his cheek. "Ah, there we are. Up an' at 'em, right? Can you move?"

Dean nodded, but when the Doctor pulled his arm from the wall, he collapsed to the floor, face-first. He groaned. "I don't feel so good."

"Let's get you some fresh air then, come on," the Doctor said. He pulled Dean's arm around his shoulders and helped the man to his feet. "Attaboy, just a few more steps."

Dean blinked at the all-too bright light. This night had been too much so far. He felt like he had a hangover, but he hadn't had a drop since the hotel. "Where the hell are we?" he asked as the Doctor propped him up against a crate.

"Baker's Street," the Doctor said with a sigh. "Well, right now we're in an alley-way, but the alleyway of Baker's Street. But where we are going is there," he said, pointing up, "221B. Nice place. Quaint, messy, but understandably so, considering." He pointed at the other end of the alleyway. "Fire escape there."

"It's morning," Dean muttered, still trying to wrap his brain around everything that had just happened in the last hour.

The Doctor nodded, smiling.

"It was night. Like, late night. Like midnight."

The Doctor kept smiling. "Not in England."

"Is it a good idea to be just… chilling here? In public?" Sam asked, looking around. "With, uh… this?" He shook the Talosarian's cuffs.

The Doctor pursed his lips. "Ah, no problem, no problem. I just…" He began patting down his pockets. "Hang on…" He finally pulled out a cell phone and began texting. "Let me just… get someone on it." He snapped the keyboard back into the phone and smiled. "There."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What, you phone Captain Kirk to beam us up?"

The Doctor snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. I texted John to lower the fire escape."

"John?" Sam asked.

"Watson," Doctor said. "Brilliant, that one. Tiny, but brilliant. Sincere, honest, hard-working, and surprisingly unphased by everything that's happened so far."

"Everything that's happened so far?" Sam repeated slowly. "What does that mean? Everything that has happened so far?"

"Did you find it?"

The three looked up at the blonde man shouting down at them. The Doctor bounced onto his feet. "Yes!" he said as John kicked down the fire escape. "Yes, it was there. We found it right, ooh, hold on a moment…" He reached into his pocket, then refastened the amulet back around the Talosarian's neck. "Just to be safe," he muttered, then started up the fire escape, shouting, "yes! Right where he said it should be, so well done all around."

"So where is it?" John asked. "A-and who are they?"

"It being the item is in the TARDIS, and them as in they are…." The Doctor stopped where he stood, across from John, glancing at the two men on the fire escape below him. He made a face. "Y'know, I'm not sure. Agents, yeah? FBI?"

John blinked. "FB—you brought FBI agents into this?"

Sam was shaking his head. "Wh-whoa, hey, we're really not FBI agents."

"See, they aren't FBI agents," The Doctor said.

"Clearly," came a voice from the flat above.

Dean looked up. "Who is—?"

"I'm Sam Winchester," Sam said. "And this is my brother Dean."

Watson stuck out his hand, shaking Sam's firmly and giving him a small smile. "Doctor John Watson, at your service. And, um…" He gestured upwards. "Don't mind Sherlock, he's in one of his moods."

The Doctor pulled a face. "Another?"

Watson shrugged. "I don't know, I really don't. The whole time you've been gone he's just been playing that damn violin, didn't get a wink of sleep last night, and…" He looked at Sam and sighed. "I'm sorry, you're probably… just… here…" He started up the fire escape. "Here, we're keeping it on the roof."

"Keeping what on the roof?" Sam asked.

The Doctor grinned. "Oh, you're gonna love this."

The Doctor skipped over to the far end of the roof, grabbed hold of the blue tarp and gave it a tug. It went fluttering as the Doctor crumpled it into a ball and tossed it off to one side. "Ta-da!"

The Winchesters stared. "Wh…" Sam turned his head to the side. "Um, what is it?"

"A spaceship," John responded.

Dean sighed. "Well. Obviously. Just… why are we bringing the lone blue man group member to the spaceship? We're just letting him fly away?"

"Oh, goodness no," the Doctor said. "I said we were bringing him to justice, remember?" He smiled, hands on his hips as he looked over the ship. "This? This is a Justicarn."

"Justicarn?" Sam echoed.

"Yes!" The Doctor said. "Justicarn! Portable prison, typical of the Talosarian Region, millions of inmates, four entrances, all of them onboard just such Justicarns."

"It's tiny," Dean said. "It's not even the size of a hippie van, how is that a prison?"

"Have you seen his police box?" John asked, smirking.

"Yeah."

"Basically the same thing." At the look Sam and Dean were giving him, he shrugged. "I've… already been through this once before, it… yeah."

"So it's another TARDIS?" Dean asked.

The Doctor clicked his tongue. "Not the same thing. Same idea, yes, but different implementation. You see, the TARDIS is an individual dimension, a nonplace in space-and-time, whereas the doorway in the Justicarn is a set door to a set place in a set time; no variation, no variables, just…" He turned to see the three humans and one alien all staring at him with rather vacant expressions. He cleared his throat. "Right. Yes. Justicarns."

He walked a circle around the small metal shuttle. "So, inside this ship is a door. A door to a prison millions of billions of light years from here. The prison holds all the prisoners of the National Talosarian Security Task Force, the NTSTF, nice acronym, very 'clicky.' Anyway, the Talosarian Region is plagued with gangs and mobs and the like, so they build a megaprison. The trouble is, you build a megaprison, you're just painting a bigger target on your back, telling people exactly where to come to bust out your biggest drug lord, or rackets fixer, so on and so on. So instead, you build these doorways."

The Doctor set a hand on the back end of the spaceship. "Four doorways. On four ships. Always on the move. Only landing to refuel, change the guard, and/or to take on new prisoners. Brilliant system. These Justicarns are untrackable, untraceable, and the prison itself is staffed with the best of the best of the best of the best. There's only one problem." The Doctor turned to face the others. "They weren't expecting a break-in… from the inside."

John gestured to Sam. "Here, let me just drop him back off inside." He took the Talosarion from the American man, and started dragging him to the inside of the ship.

Sam watched John a moment, then turned to the Doctor. "Wait, if they broke out, how is putting them back in going to help?"

"Security is on the doorway now, twenty-four hour patrol—well, seventy-nine hour patrol, full day span for Talosarian. We escort them back in, the prison guards take care of the rest, but it's just a temporary problem. The gate, this gate isn't secure until we get back the other pieces of the dimensional transponder and—"

Dean held up a hand. "Hold up, hold up… all this? All these problems, aliens, time-travel, people dying… all this is just some intergalactic prison break?"

"Not just a prison break, the prison break," the Doctor said, eyes lighting up. "Prison break of the century. Unbreakable, totally secure locale, three major crime lords, gone. Sure there are a few… stragglers and missing bits, like the one we just picked up, but… still." The Doctor sighed, cocking his head. "Three of the most dangerous people in the universe… stuck here."

"Here?" Sam echoed as John walked out of the ship and grabbed the tarp off of the ground. "Where here?"

"Where not?" the Doctor said with a shrug. "Shuttle crashes here, we round up one of the minor bits, another of their boys ends up in your backyard, who knows where the next one will be. That's the trouble… they could be anywhere—"

"Or they could be right here in London."

The Wincesters turned to see a man walking toward them, dark curls framing a thin, angular face and blue eyes. His lips were thin and his expression unreadable, but his eyes, hauntingly pale, were fixed on the two men. They flickered over each of the brothers, eyes never resting until they returned back to Dean's. He stuck out his hand. "Rough flight?"

"What?"

The man's expression remained unchanged. "Nothing."

Dean's eyes narrowed and he glanced down at Sherlock's hand before taking it and shaking it. He pointed at him with his free hand, smirking. "You must be the one with the moods."

The man's mouth twitched into something of a toothless sneer, and he turned to Sam, held out his hand again. "Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective."

The taller brother took his hand. "Sam. Winchester, um…" Sam gestured. "This is my brother Dean."

"Older brother, yes?" Sherlock asked, or rather stated.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Yeah." He looked at the Doctor. "I take it you all know each other?"

The Doctor nodded, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Oh yeah, good mates, we three. Well, good mates as of two days ago. Well, not mates so much as—"

"Colleagues," Sherlock said, still not having moved.

"Exactly," the Doctor said. "Colleagues. Bumped into each other much the same way. They were tracking one of the inmates, same as you two, we ran into each other aaaaand… he got me out of something of a scrape—"

"Scrape, yes," Sherlock said, then turned and walked toward the Doctor. "That's what I was going to text you. The scraping. Plasma scorching all over the floors, dust disturbed on the outside windows, crates moved around, some broken open. Went back this morning around three and nothing. Everything cleaned up, scrubbed down. They're on the move, but they're still looking for it."

Dean was shaking his head. "I'm sorry, did I miss something?"

Sherlock held up a hand at Dean, eyes still on the Doctor. "Stop talking. They're here. The others, the scavengers, I've got notes on them on the laptop—"

"—he means I took notes on the laptop while he talked," John murmured.

"—but they are not important. The three, the big three, they are still here. Here. In London. And they are planning something. Something awful and big."

"What?" the Doctor asked.

Sherlock let out a long sigh. "That… would seem to be the question."

Sam cleared his throat. "Excuse me, but… um… what's going on?"

"Weren't you listening?" Sherlock asked. "Prison break, big three get out, and now they're planning something. And if we don't get to work on this and fast… we're going to lose them."

"Sounds like you guys might need a hand," Sam said with a shrug.

John smiled a little, surprised. "You offering?"

"Yeah," Sam said with a shrug. "I mean, it's not just a… British problem, it's a human problem, right?"

"Buuut as much as we'd love to help out," Dean said, throwing an arm around Sam's shoulders. "We do have our own set of troubles back home. Y'know, just because you stop one apocalypse, doesn't mean you saved the world, right? So if it's not going to be any trouble, we'll just take our one-way ticket home. In the blue box. Now."

The Doctor's mouth went small. "You sure?" he asked, rocking back on his heels. "I mean… mystery, mayhem, the end of the world… and you don't want in?"

"We've got our own problems right now, thanks," Dean said, as Sam pulled him back.

Sam lowered his voice, turned his back on the others. "Dean… Dean, wait and let's just… think about this a second."

"Think about what?" Dean hissed. "Sam, this is none of our business, okay? Not our problem—"

"Why, because they didn't land in the backyard of some farmer in Montana? Come on, Dean."

"We've got our own problems," Dean growled. "Tracking Crowley, remember? The bastard that's apparently not dead? End of the world, plan to open purgatory, become the new Pit Boss, remember? That's what we need to be focusing on."

Sam ran a hand over his face with a sigh. "Okay… okay, look, so…" He shrugged. "We have no leads right now, right? Bobby's working that—"

"Yeah, so?"

"So?" Sam echoed. "Dean, this is a job. What do we do while Bobby works at finding us leads?"

Dean sighed. "We do jobs—"

"We do jobs," Sam repeated. "So… my suggestion? Until we hear from Bobby… we work this job. We need to get home in a flash? The Doctor takes us home, right?"

Dean looked a little green at the thought. He gave Sam a sidelong look. "You sure we can trust these guys?"

Sam shrugged. "So far, no reason not to.

Dean stared at him a long moment before beginning to rub his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Fine. Fine, we'll stick around. But the second Bobby calls us—"

"We're in!" Sam exclaimed, turning to the others.

John gave a little shout, smiling as the Doctor clapped his hands, bouncing into the air and dancing in a circle before running over to the two, grabbing each of the brother's faces in turn. "The Winchester Brothers, brilliant. Absolutely brilliant!" He spun around. "Look at us! The Winchester Brothers, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, and the Doctor. No." He stopped frozen. "No, that's not catchy, we need something catchy."

"You're giving us a team name?" Dean asked. "Are you serious?"

"Well, Wincholmstontor doesn't exactly roll off one's tongue, now does it?" the Doctor asked. "No. No, rather sounds like a badly stated fanship." He waved both hands at the group. "Think, what's a good name?"

"Well, what about something we all have in common?" John said. "I mean, we're all detectives… in a sense, I mean. After a sort."

"I'd hardly call them detectives," Sherlock murmured, examining the ground.

Dean stepped forward. "Excuse me?"

"No, he's right," the Doctor said, pointing at Sherlock. "Detective is a little too… exclusive. Not exactly what most of us do, more like what Sherlock does—"

"Thank you," Sherlock muttered.

"No, we're a bit bigger than that," the Doctor continued as if he hadn't heard. "Broader talents, broader abilities, ways of getting things done. There's got to be something. Something we all have in common."

"None of us particularly belong together," Sherlock said.

John sighed. "Sherlock."

"What?" Sherlock asked, frowning. "We're not exactly the usual suspects, are we?"

Sam's head turned to the side. "So… we're the unusual suspects."

There was a moment of silence as all eyes turned on him.

John repeated it slowly. "The Unusual Suspects." A slow smile spread over his face as he nodded.

Sherlock's mouth twitched. "Not a bad name. Not bad at all."

"The Unusual Suspects it is," the Doctor said, smiling at Sam. He clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Welcome to the club, Winchesters."

"Just until something comes up," Dean said, holding up a finger.

"Right, right, sure," the Doctor said, nodded. "Naturally."

"Well, if they are going to be a part of this unit," Sherlock said, hands in his pockets and walking quickly toward the door to the flat, "which I might argue is becoming far too large to work efficiently, then it would be best to brief him on the case so far. Or cases, rather, as we have at least three other inmates beyond the kingpins who've gone missing."

The Doctor frowned. "Two."

"Three," Sherlock repeated.

The Doctor shook his head. "No, two—"

"Three," Sherlock snapped, turning sharply to face the others. "It's obvious, just look at it."

They all glanced back at the ship, now re-covered with the tarp. John was the first to speak, brow furrowed with confusion. "Sorry, look at what?"

Sherlock let out a long sigh. "God, it's like I'm the only one here with a working brain. I've got the samples downstairs in on the table. There was a set of markings that matches the ones we saw on the side of the…" His voiced faded away as he swept down the stairs to the flat.

Dean's jaw worked a moment. "Is it just me, or is that guy a massive dick?"

The Doctor sighed. "He's brilliant is what he is… Not particularly nice, and not particularly patient, but… he's brilliant."

John gave the two brother's a small smile. "It gets better. Not much, but… you'll start to grow on him." He sighed, looking at the door to the flat. "It doesn't mean he'll get any nicer, mind you, but… you'll grow on him."

"Yeah, looking forward to that," Dean grumbled, and started down to the room.

Sam sighed, watching his brother disappear into the flat below. He looked at John and the Doctor, gave them a tired smile. "You'll grow on Dean, too. And… he might actually get nicer."

The Doctor smiled. "Good to have you along, Sam Winchester."

"Good to be along," Sam said with a grin.

John held open the door, nodded at the stairs. "Come on. I'll ask Mrs. Hudson to put a pot on and round up some biscuits."

A set of metal pliers clanged into a bowl of water. Red curled off of the metal in arcs, staining the liquid with blood. Latex gloves snapped as they were pulled from a pair of hands and set next to the bowl. Next to the bowl, and next to the gloves, a cellphone was ringing.

The cellphone was answered. "This had better be bloody important. I'm in the middle of something." A pause. "Found what?" Hands gripped the tray closest to him. "Found what?"

He turned, snatching up a short blade from the tray and holding it up to the light. "Well, why are you calling me if you don't… know… what the hell it is you've found?" The blade caught the florescent glow, reflected it across medical-white walls. After a moment, the man speaking dropped it to his side. "New? New how? … Really? Well… London's a little far for this operation to go tracking down something that may or may not be what we're looking for… You sure? You are absolutely certain? Because if you're not… so help me, I will—"

A pause. "Really? You have it, then? …Well then yes, absolutely! Why are we even discussing this? Send somebody down there right—no… no, you know what? Don't send anyone. … no, no, I said, don't send anyone! Are you bloody deaf?" He sighed. "No, no, I'll pick it up myself. I'll take it there myself. Send some of the boys on ahead, see if they can't get their hands on one of these… whatever they are. As for harvesting, well… I'll take care of that myself. Oh, and tell them if any of them fucks this up in any way, I won't just have their heads. I will end them. I will burn them. And then I'll fix them up and do it again, got it?"

There was a pause. The man smirked. "Glad to hear it." He turned the blade over in his hand. "No. No, that will be all for now. I'll be round in…" He checked his watch. "Twenty minutes. Have it ready?"

The man snapped the cellphone shut, began gnawing on the inside of his cheek. He pocketed the cell and gestured at the female strapped down to the medical table with the knife, smiling. "Lucky, lucky you, Missy," he cooed. "You get to go back to your cell and think about what we've talked about here today."

The woman shook her head. "Please…" Her voice was thin and raspy, lips chapped and caked in blood. "Please, I don't know where it is…"

He smirked. "Better change your tune by the time I get back, sugarcake… or we'll have to take it from the top again. And…" He pressed the knife against the skin of her collarbone, pressed until red seeped up from the mark. The woman began to scream as he continued, his voice as soft and level as ever. "If you don't manage to remember how to get into Purgatory by the time I'm back… I won't be nearly so gentle."

Crowley stabbed the knife into the woman's thigh with a little sigh. "Boys, grab my coat. Daddy's going on a business trip."

They were there almost on his word; demons unstrapping the woman and dragging her off, two others to clear the equipment, and one handing him his coat. "You need anything else, boss?"

"Have someone bring a car around, the Bentley, please…"

"Where you going? Vacation?"

Crowley sighed. "No time for Holidays in my line of work. No, this is a business trip."

"Where to, sir?"

Crowley smiled, shrugging on his coat. "England."

— End of Episode One