Title: Four Times The Doctor Met Dean and the One Time He Saved Him

Author: Bianca Valdez

Pairings: None

Characters: The Doctor, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Death

Rating: K+

Spoilers: Encompassing all ten seasons of Supernatural from beginning to end, and following Doctors 9, 10, 11, and 12

Disclaimer: Rights belong to Eric Kripke and Co. for Supernatural, and to the BBC for Doctor Who

Dad is dead and it's all his fault, but he's fine.

He attacked Baby with a crowbar today, but he's fine.

Sam pushed him to talk it out, and Dean almost punched him in the face, but he's fine.

He's so fine that he's at a bar, drinking himself into oblivion, ignoring the phone that's vibrating on the counter in front of him.

The barstool next to him squeaks as a stranger sits down, and for one painful moment, Dean thinks it's Dad.

But a half-turn and a glance reveal that the leather jacket is worn by someone else.

The stranger gestures to the shot he's nursing. "Rough day?" he asks, his voice laden with a British accent.

Dean laughs bitterly. "You could say that."

The stranger waves the bartender over and slaps down a few bills. "I'll cover for my friend here."

"Thanks."

"No problem." The stranger sighs loudly. "You ever feel like the world is out to get you?"

Dean closes his eyes. "Oh, you have no idea."

"Hm."

The two sit in silence for a while, the noise of the bar around them of no consequence. Then there is a vibration in the wood, and two pairs of eyes watch Dean's phone dance with a call.

"You going to get that?"

Dean shrugs noncommittally.

"You should. Who knows what could be waiting on the other end?"

"Sure. A chick-flick moment waiting to happen."

The stranger turns in his chair and contemplates Dean sadly. "You shouldn't be in here, you know," he says calmly. "A young man like you? You should be out and about. Adventuring."

Dean takes a swig of alcohol. "I've had plenty of that, thanks."

"Sometimes you're going to just want to give up, but you never should. If you push through, there is so much to see. Whole galaxies to explore."

Deans rounds on him, suddenly angry at the man's nerve. "Hey, you wanna leave me alone?" he growls.

The stranger gets up slowly. "Hold on to your loved ones, Dean. They'll keep you strong."

And then he's gone.

It isn't until the next day's sobriety that Dean realizes he never told the stranger his name.

Now Sammy's gone.

Dean doesn't know what to do. His one mission in life was to keep his brother safe, and now he's failed and he's all alone.

He's staying with Lisa, and part of him is happy. But there's a great hole inside him and he knows what's supposed to fill it, and that something is Sam, and Sam is in Hell.

He's been there for a week. Alone. With the Devil.

Dean hates himself.

Castiel isn't any comfort. After healing Dean and Bobby and imparting a few words of angel wisdom ("It's time to let go now, Dean."), he fluttered off to who knows where.

Dean has Lisa and Ben. He loves them and they love him, but Sammy's gone and that's inexcusable.

It's time to let go, Dean. It's time to forget. It's time to move on.

He can't. He can't because it feels like a part of him followed Sam down into the pit.

Dean is sitting on the hood of the Impala, watching the stars. Lisa had been worried when he'd taken off, but he'd promised to come back. He just needed some time alone, he'd said. So now he's alone in a field, the celestial performance twinkling above him, and it hurts like Hell.

He used to do this with Sam. His annoying little brother would point out the different constellations ("—and that's Cassiopeia." "I don't care, you nerd."), before eventually going quiet. Silence would fill the space between them, but it was a warm, comfortable silence.

That was gone now. Gone down that hole with Michael and Lucifer. Gone with Adam.

Gone with Sam.

Footsteps patter softly into Dean's hearing. Painfully he tears his gaze downwards.

A man stands beside him, hands in his pockets, watching the sky.

The man is tall and thin, with scruffy brown hair. He wears a suit and a trench coat and somehow seems too old for his face.

He isn't Cas, but Deans thinks maybe this man and the angel have something in common.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" says the man, nodding upwards.

"Sure," says Dean desolately. He should be wary of a strange man approaching him in a field in the middle of the night, but honestly he's too tired to care.

"I'm truly sorry."

This surprises Dean. He looks over, suspicious. "What for?"

"About Sam. I know you miss him, but trust me when I say it gets better."

Dean whirls to grab his gun, but by the time he's raised it, the man is gone.

Dean is alone beneath the stars again.

He lies back against the Impala's window with a sigh, part of him hoping that the man will turn out to be a monster so he can kill it, but the man doesn't reappear.

Dean soon learns, though, that the man was right. It does get better.

For a while.

He'd lost Mom. Dad. Ellen. Jo. Rufus. Lisa. Ben. Cas.

He'd lost Sam several times. Hell, he'd even lost himself.

But now Bobby? Bobby, the unshakeable rock in their lives, the root that kept them grounded, who raised them when Dad couldn't and took over when he was gone?

Dean can't do it any more. He just can't.

Sam's gone out for food, and Dean's alone in the cabin. Dick Roman smirks up at him from news article after news article, channel after channel on the TV.

Dean is going to kill him.

And afterwards? He doesn't know, but he's past the point of caring.

Which, of course, means the sudden and unexpected appearance of an unfamiliar visitor.

The man is younger this time, dressed in a tweed jacket and a bow tie with a flop of hair to rival Sam's. He looks nothing like the man from the field, the man from the bar, but something in his eyes shows Dean that he's the same person.

"Leave me alone or I'll shoot you."

The man sighs and gently switches off the television, Roman's leer fading into black.

"I think you've probably figured out by now that I've been the same person all along."

Dean coolly loads his gun. "Yep. Now get out."

"Dean…"

"I don't know whether you're a shifter, or an angel, or a demon, but it doesn't matter. I'm just as eager to put a bullet in you anyway."

The man ignores this, saying, "I've lost people too."

Dean closes his eyes briefly in annoyance, then levels the barrel of his weapon on the man. "I won't say it again."

The man looks at him beseechingly. "Just give me five minutes. I can help you. I want to help you."

With a sigh, Dean lowers the gun. "You get three minutes."

The man smiles sadly. "We're a lot alike, you know. I used to be young and full of energy, and I had friends. So, so many friends. Just like you."

Dean puts his head back against the couch. "I don't care."

"And then I lost them," the man plows on. "Like you, I lost them all. And I didn't want to go on. But you know what?"

Dean doesn't reply.

"I went on anyway. And I found new friends and a new home. I found the universe."

The man sighs and fixes his bow tie. "You're lucky. You don't realize it, but you are. You still have Sam. He'll hold you up, if you let him. And you'll hold him up in return. If you two could just learn to lean on each other, everything could be so much better."

Dean has had enough. "Ok, you're done. Leave."

The man puts a hand on his shoulder and looks intently into his eyes. "Stay strong, Dean Winchester," he says softly. He stands and is halfway out the door, before stopping and speaking one more time. "Remember what I said, about you and Sam supporting each other. It's how you'll survive."

Dean looks away, because, this time, what the man tells him is something he already knows.

But maybe he needs the reminder.

They're in a bunker warded against evil and Kevin is translating himself into insanity and the world is going to end, but isn't it always?

And they're happy. They won't admit it, but this is the closest thing they've ever had to a home.

The Doctor runs a hand through his gray hair and watches them. The TARDIS is hidden; he's put her on invisible so he can watch the boys at peace. The door is open a crack so that he can just barely see, the golden glow from inside leaving a minuscule trail across the ground before her.

They're happy. For the first time in a very long while, they're happy.

Sam says something to Dean and leaves the room, dragging Kevin behind him. Dean sits up and stretches, and his green eyes meet the Doctor's gaze.

There is a question of his face, but he doesn't speak it aloud. Just stares.

The Doctor steps out of the TARDIS and joins Dean at the table.

"Quite the place you've got here," he opens, letting his eyes wander across the shelves and shelves of books.

Dean nods slowly. "How'd you get in?"

The Doctor frowns. "It's very complicated. Your pudding brain wouldn't understand it."

"You're rude this time."

"And you've been rude the last three times, I think maybe it my turn."

Dean nods again, conceding the point. "Why are you here?"

"Watching."

"Why?"

The Doctor springs up and starts back towards his ship. "Does it matter?" he cries. "You ask too many questions!"

"Okay," says Dean, following him. "Just one more. Who are you?"

The Doctor turns to face him one step in front of the TARDIS. He raises one hand—snaps—and his ship materializes. The doors swing open to reveal her glowing innards, and the Doctor grins at the look on Dean's face.

"I'm the Doctor."

The next few years are hard for Dean. Hard because he keeps losing people, hard because he dies, hard because he's beginning to think the world doesn't want to be saved. Hard because there's something on his arm that seems dead-set on turning him into a monster.

He doesn't see the Doctor again. He thinks maybe he now knows why that strange man was watching him that day. Back then, they were relatively safe, and relatively content. Maybe the Doctor knew what was to come. Maybe he wanted to see them in the calm before the storm.

Dean never tells Sam about the Doctor, partially because he thinks the man may be imaginary, partially because if he's not, then he's an angel or a demon or something worse. He thinks maybe he'll get around to it eventually, let Sam know that they have a real guardian angel who may or may not be God.

Now it's too late.

They're in an abandoned Mexican restaurant, skeletons dancing morbidly across the peeling wallpaper. Death stands at his back, thin and calm and filled with absolute certainty of what has to happen.

Dean can feel the cool wood in his hands, the weight of the blade at the scythe's end. The Mark pumps adrenaline through his veins, whispering in a too-loud voice that he must go through with it. Do it, Dean. Prove that you're a monster. You have to do it. It's the only way to save the world.

He's going to kill Sam.

There are tears on his brother's face. He's on his knees, watching Dean, his hazel eyes filled with sadness and despair and fear.

Sammy is afraid.

And the worst part is that he's afraid of Dean.

"Close your eyes, Sammy," Dean pleads with him.

Sam obeys.

Then he opens them again, calls for Dean to stop, and takes out a collection of pictures.

They are of him and Dean. They are of Mom and Dad. They are snapshots to happier days.

Dean wants to stop. Every cell in his body screams at him not to do what he's about to do, but he can't see any other way out. He has to kill Sammy.

He pulls back the scythe. Prepares to strike.

A noise fills his ears, and he thinks maybe he's the only one to hear it. It's a wheezing, whirring sound, and Dean realizes that he's heard it before.

Outside that bar. In that field. Outside Rufus' cabin. In the Bunker.

"Sometimes you're going to just want to give up, but you never should. Hold on to your loved ones, Dean. They'll keep you strong."

"I'm truly sorry. About Sam. But trust me, it gets better."

"Remember what I said, about you and Sam supporting each other. It's how you'll survive."

"Why are you here?"

"Watching."

"Why?"

"Does it matter?"

And Dean sees the way out.

He's killed Death. The Darkness is coming and they're stuck in a pothole, and they're probably going to die. But he hears Sam's voice crying his name and he knows he did the right thing.

He sends out a silent word of thanks to the Doctor as they are consumed by the cloud of dust that precedes the Darkness.

And then everything is filled with black. His last thought is, surprisingly, a happy one.

They're going to die and the world is going to be destroyed, but he has Sam riding shotgun and that's all that matters.

Yeah. So this happened last night when I should have been sleeping. I haven't written in my others stories because I have no idea what to write, and this pops into my head. Woohoo. It's nighttime and I'm exhausted and I just finished watching Men in Black and I need my sleep, and instead I'm sitting there scribbling in a notebook until 12:30.

And then I went to sleep.

And it's now 11:45 AM and I'm still in my pajamas because I spent the whole morning typing this down.

My muse is a cruel being.

Anyway, I hope you liked it! Drop me a review and tell me what you think!