"Why do I ever wear this suit? Nothing good ever happens when I wear this suit!" The Doctor rushed into the TARDIS, tuxedo jacket smoking, trousers torn in the knees, and bowtie askew. He shut the door soundly behind him, mumbling all the while about, "that's the last time I'm accepting an invitation to a Kortheeri wedding, I can tell you that much."

The TARDIS hummed quietly as the Doctor scurried about, searching for his patched jacket and favorite red bowtie. It had been less than a week since the Weeping Angels had taken Amy and Rory, locking them away in Manhattan, forever out of the Doctor's reach. The Doctor had put on a brave face like he always did, but the TARDIS wasn't fooled. She knew when his eyes drifted to the empty seats in the console room, or when he purposefully avoided the latest in a long line of empty bedrooms when he walked her labyrinth halls. He still talked to himself; he wasn't used to not having an audience. She hummed and chirped and bellowed as loudly as she could, hoping that he would forget the silence.

The Doctor, of course, noticed none of this and continuing his prattling about the rather unfortunate tradition in the middle of the ceremony in which the couple exchanged fire-breathing predators as wedding gifts, "And nobody told me to dress flame-resistant and where is my bowtie?" The Doctor exclaimed.

"It's stuffed in your back pocket." A low, gravely voice interrupted the Doctor's ramblings.

"Ah, of course," The Doctor sighed as he leaned against the console and reached into his pocket for his bowtie, "Always the last place you l-gwhaaaa!" He turned and raced around the console toward the man standing near the front door. "Who are you and exactly how did you get in?"

"My name is C-" The stranger started.

"We're in a Time Vortex, for crying out loud! I mean, is there some sort of 'I'm a complicated, impenetrable time machine, please come in- and do bring a friend' sign on the door? NO. It should be a 'No Trespassing' sign. Yes, a definite, 'No Trespassing, No Hijacking, No Stowaways, No Loitering, No Eavesdropping, No Littering, No Left Turn, No G-"

The man closed his eyes briefly, and then produced a sound of great and terrible ferocity that shook the TARDIS to her smallest gear and pulley. The Doctor flailed against the console, clinging to switches and levers in a desperate attempt to keep to his feet.

"What was that? What language was that?" The Doctor gasped, trying to regain his composure as the power of the sound reverberated through him, "It didn't translate. Nothing doesn't translate…"

"That was a whisper in Enochian. Do not make me raise my voice, I do not think you would like it." The man stood, unassuming, but very much in control.

"Enochian? No. Nononono. What- how could you possib-"

"My name is Castiel; I am an angel of the Lord."

The Doctor, uncharacteristically at a loss for words, took in the strange creature. By all outward appearances he seemed to be a human male of no spectacular physical quality. He had dark hair, pale skin, and was of average height and build, although his eyes were astonishingly blue by human standards. "… Angels speak with American accents?" The Doctor challenged.

"Angels come in many forms for many tasks."

"Right," The Doctor was quickly tiring of his uninvited guest, "well I've just about had enough of Angels at this point," The Doctor spoke through gritted teeth, "so you can pack up your wings and be on your way." He turned on his heel to the TARDIS console, trying to find a way to eject his unwanted company.

"Gears have been set in motion which, if allowed to continue, could lead to the end of this Universe." The angel's low voice seemed to echo through the console room as the TARDIS' gentle hum seemed suddenly absent.

"Oh, is it Tuesday again?" The Doctor remained unmoved.

Castiel ignored the Doctor's quip and continued, "Almost one year ago, Lucifer was freed from Hell, possessed a human Host, and nearly succeeded in bringing the Earth to an apocalyptic end."

"Near-Apocalypse? How come I didn't hear about it? Usually I at least get an E-Vite to these sorts of things." The Doctor asked, his interest suddenly piqued.

"The destruction, though tragic, was small-scale. Through the efforts of Dean and Sam Winchester, the Apocalypse was prevented and Lucifer was sealed once again in his cage, though not without a price. It is that which brings me here today. When Lucifer was banished back to Hell, his human host was trapped with him. It is of paramount importance that-"

"Wait, where do I know that name… Winchester… Sammy Winchester?" The Doctor interrupted, recognition dawning, "the little boy who wanted to run away? I-have-an-overprotective-brother-and-my-limbs-are-too-long-for-my-body Sammy?"

"Yes. Although he is now an adult, many of your descriptions remain accurate. I did not realize you were acquainted."

"An adult? I just saw him in the woods three days ago, just a gangly little kid!"

"Three days ago for you, lifetimes for him. Sam Winchester is…" The Angel struggled to say it.

"No," the Doctor's face fell and his eyes went hollow as shame and terror crept into his heart, "Don't tell me that little Sammy…"

"Is the Host of Lucifer," Castiel conceded, "currently sealed away in Lucifer's Cage, as he has been for the last year, with no possibility of rescue or redemption without your assistance. Not only that, but if Sam is allowed to remain in Hell, Lucifer will undoubtedly find another way to break free from his cage and walk the Earth in Sam's body, and when he does, no power in any Universe will be able to stop him."

"You stopped him last time, what would keep you from stopping him again?"

"Our triumph over Satan was nothing short of a miracle of human will," Castiel paused briefly and cleared his throat, a human foible he had grown accustomed to, and the only physical tell that the angel was overcome with grief, "Sam Winchester regained control of his body for a single instant, long enough to sacrifice himself and cast his body into the abyss, sealing Lucifer away once more. He has been trapped, chained at the foot of Lucifer's throne for over a year. No human, no matter how righteous, would be able to maintain his will after that. No. When Lucifer rises again, Sam will be his Host, he will destroy the world in the form of a good and just man, and there will be no way to stop it."

The Doctor's face was grim with despair as he locked eyes with the angel, horror creeping into his voice in a slight quaver, "So, what do you propose I do? Just pop the TARDIS in for a quick cup of tea with Earth's most powerful evil entity and say, 'yes, good chat, love what you've done with the place, by the way, mind if I take Sam with me? No? Lovely, cheers!' Well, much as I'd love to, I can't. I don't know who sent you to find me, but there's nothing I can do!" The reality of his inability to do the slightest thing to protect those innocents he cared for was tearing the Doctor's twin hearts. "What your religion describes as Hell? I know of it. I know it's on a different plane of existence. Time and Relative Dimension In Space has absolutely no ability to cross into pockets of the Universe that do not live in Time or Space. Hell is off-limits. So, no, there's nothing I can do."

The two stared for a moment, each unsure of what to say, each struggling with the idea of saying anything, each struggling to maintain a stoic façade rather than despair over how neither could save a dear friend from incalculable torment.

"I know that you would not be able to enter Hell's gates as such," Castiel began haltingly, "but that is not your purpose."

"Purpose?" The Doctor smiled wearily, "What could you possibly know about my purpose?"

"I was sent to collect you by a man much wiser and more powerful than I. The Prophet Chuck."

"'The Prophet Chuck'? Doesn't have much of a ring to it, does it. No, not epic at all, doesn't lend much credibility, I'm afraid." The Doctor tried to regain some of his composure as he hid behind his weak humor.

"Regardless of your appreciation of the aesthetics of his name, the Prophet has a direct connection to God Himself. The Prophet tasked me with uniting a band capable of stopping Lucifer, saving Sam, preventing the Apocalypse and the consequent destruction of the entire Universe."

"Okay," Enough was enough. The Doctor walked towards the angel, turning him by the arm and escorting him toward the door, "as much as I get a laugh out of 'Fellowship of the Prophet Chuck' business, you've got the wrong Doctor. I don't do teams anymore… They never work out in the end. So, thanks for dropping by, lovely chat, do it again sometime, ta-ta." The Doctor deposited Castiel firmly at the front door, turned on his heel, and returned to his console, trying to settle the despair he felt rattling in his hearts. He liked Sammy Winchester, he really did, but he could do nothing to save him, and he'd just get everyone in more trouble and cause more pain if he tried. 'And where would I be?' he thought, 'stuck in a graveyard again, with Earth's Apocalypse reigning down around my shoulders.'

Castiel stood before the blue door, Jaw clenched in frustration at the coward who refused to help his friend because he was shackled by his own self-pity. "I know we have never met, Doctor, but we Angels have heard of your heroic efforts. I know how many times the Earth had been saved from destruction through your work. You have saved the world, what, dozens of times? Hundreds? And you only failed to save it once. I hope that tally brings comfort to you."

The angel opened the TARDIS door and walked out into the swirling snow of the Kortheeri Mountains, leaving the Doctor alone again with nothing but the hum of the console. Castiel had gone perhaps a hundred feet when the TARDIS doors creaked open and the Doctor popped his head out.

"Suppose for a moment that curiosity got the best of me, how exactly does a planet-wide Apocalypse lead to the destruction of the Universe?"

Castiel turned and yelled back over the shrill mountain wind, "I was told that Lucifer has made powerful allies since his return to hell, chief among them a new and powerful demon whom we have never before encountered, and a creature not of Heaven, Hell or Earth. He is called, 'The Master,' and Chuck warned me of his great and dark purpose."

To Castiel's supreme surprise, the Doctor came charging out of the TARDIS and straight for the dumfounded angel. The alien grabbed Castiel by the sleeve of his overcoat and dragged him roughly back into the TARDIS. "Give me the exact time and coordinates of our next destination. We've got a gangly kid, a planet, and a Universe to save, and we haven't a moment to spare." The Doctor rambled all in one breath as he slammed the door shut behind them and immediately began flipping switches and levers at the console.

"Then you agree to help our cause?" Castiel asked in astonishment.

The Doctor gave a wild grin, grabbed one final lever and said, "Geronimo."

SWL

The hotel room left much to be desired. The shower was cold, the sheets scratchy and the TV only got three channels. But the mini bar was stocked. Dean Winchester sat at the foot of the bed, a cooking show on in the background for the sake of white noise, and eleven tiny bottles strewn around his feet. He didn't have to look up, but, after years of experience, he knew he wasn't alone.

"I'd offer you a bottle of tequila, Cas, but I'm all out." He turned to fix a bleary gaze on the Angel who had materialized behind him.

"I appreciate your offer, but such a small amount of alcohol would have little effect on me." The angel replied.

"Alright, well, you here on official business, or just come to chat? 'Cause I appreciate the sentiment, but I'd rather be alone right now if it's all the same to you." The hunter set his jaw and turned back to the cooking show, searching for another bottle to down.

Castiel's brows knit together for a moment before he sighed and replied, "My thoughts were not on condolences, Dean, but I do offer them now that I see that they are appropriate. I understand that anniversaries hold great importance, even those marking tragic events such as Sam's-." Dean's sharp glare silenced the angel for a moment. "… Since Lucifer was resealed. My purpose here relates more to what you would call 'official business.'"

"Well, as you can probably tell, I've had just about enough official business for one lifetime, so, unless you want to head down to the Ben's Liquor Shack and pick up some more tequila, you can see yourself out." Dean didn't turn from the TV.

Castiel smiled a moment, "I believe this is 'official business' that will interest you immensely."

"Ha, yeah, sure Cas." Dean found a bottle of vodka yet unopened and set to popping the top off with his teeth.

"I believe we have a chance at pulling Sam out of the Cage."

The vodka bottle fell to Dean's feet, spilling its contents over the mottled carpet as he turned sharply to face the angel and grabbed him by the lapels.

"Cas, if you're messing around, so help me I will pour Holy Oil down your throat and light you like a Cas-o-Lantern."

Castiel calmly removed Dean's hand from his coat and led the hunter back a few steps.

Dean was about to push the angel away when all of a sudden there was a sound; a sound he seemed to have forgotten from some half-remembered dream. The room shook and the windows shuddered as an impossible blue box appeared in the corner of the hotel room where he had stood a moment ago.

"Cas, what the Unholy Hell is that?" Dean stepped back, this time of his own volition, trying to reach whichever of his guns was closest at hand.

At that point the box opened, a skinny brunette fellow popped his head out, smiled like a madman and yelled, "Step lightly, fellas, we've got places to be!"

SWL

AN: Thank you all for reading and reviewing. I'm always happy to answer any questions, concerns, or comments. Feel free to PM me or review! (Also, to anyone interested, I went back and tweaked chapter two a bit. I didn't quite like the original back and forth, hopefully this will flow better.)