After:
It isn't actually possible to drive from Canada to England. It's just much easier to get through customs coming from Nova Scotia than it is from New York.
After Dean and Sam crawled out of the containment building, and Bobby checked them both for possession as a matter of reflex ("I don't care how many Seals you had on the walls, Sam, I was always gonna make sure.") the combination of relief and disbelief left them in need of some down time. Plus, Agent Hendricks had been checking up on them a little more carefully over the last month, so a road trip to the Great White North seemed called for.
Occasionally Sam would look at Dean in the driver's seat and wonder if the whole thing had been just another dream; or if he hadn't woken up yet from some long-ass hallucination as the Tick-tocks cut him to pieces. Dean waking up from nightmares every night served to dispel that possibility pretty quickly.
He wouldn't talk about Hell. Sam tried to get his brother to tell him about it, but Dean's absolute silence defeated him after only couple tries. He hoped that would change later. Instead, they spent a lot of time comparing memories of the Year That Wasn't, trying to figure exactly what happened, filling in the gaps for each other. Sam's memories were patchier; Dean had a full eleven months of being part of some underground resistance, but he wasn't there for a couple crucial conversations Sam had, or for the final month.
"I still can't believe the entire British population was that stupid. Or that it's still not public. His wife shot him, and they still haven't explained it. Freakin' tea-drinkers."
"The British? C'mon, Dean, it was the whole world." Sam closed his eyes, enjoying the sun through the car's windshield. "Everyone who should've asked questions didn't, and he had nearly everyone intimidated into complying with his agenda. You can't blame the British for what happened."
"I can if I want to."
"Then you have to give credit where it's due, too." Sam slid a glance sideways, and saw Dean's mouth tighten as he beat out the bass line to Runaway on the steering wheel. "We didn't save the world. Someone else did."
"Yeah." Dean's eyes stayed resolutely on the road in front of him. "I told her not to call you, you know. If the world changed."
"You asshole. Why?"
Dean shrugged, gave a minute shake of his head. "Dunno. Thought it was too much, she had so many people grabbing at her, and it was still so far down the line..." He pursed his lips. "Didn't want anyone else sucked into our mess, maybe. It made sense at the time."
"You can apologize for that, too." Sam squinted into the horizon, then grinned. "Hey. You owe me a beer. Remember?"
Dean rolled his eyes, then smirked. "I'll buy both of you beers." He slid the rental into a parking space, and looked around. "Looks like we're here."
'Here' being the Wales Millennium Centre. Martha Jones, as it turned out, had a MySpace page. Three weeks of wondering how to find her, and Sam finally did an internet search that turned up a 25-year-old doctor who moonlighted in Wales sometimes, and talked about having lunch on the plaza in Cardiff when she was there.
Sam figured they'd take a shot at running into her here before stalking her at home. Some things had to be said in person, though.
"You see her?" Dean asked as he slid on a pair of shades, looking around the open mall and checking out two women heading into a local pizza place.
"No, but..." Sam looked around, then pointed out. "Look. Tourist bureau. We can ask where the local clinics are, and figure out where she's working from there."
"Cool."
"Tourist alert." Tosh was typing away on her computer, and checking the CCTV feed, then paused to add, "Dishy ones, too. Can I switch jobs with Ianto some morning?"
"You'd never let them leave," Jack said, then leaned over her shoulder. "Although Ianto looks like he's enjoying himself."
"...sorry, no, the nearest Clinic is three miles away. St. Helena's. Are you in need of medical assistance?" Ianto was asking, sounding official and officious.
"We were looking for a friend of ours, Martha Jones? She hangs out on the plaza at lunch time when she's in town, and she's supposed to be here this week," responded an American voice, and Martha froze in her examination of the latest set of biological samples. "I don't suppose she comes in here, though. She's a doctor?"
"Sorry, can't say as I know her--"
Ianto hadn't even finished speaking before Martha was rushing to put her samples away, and grabbing her purse before running for the lift to the surface.
"Martha!"
"Got to go! Old friends in town! They're taking me out for a drink!" Martha called over her shoulder to Jack as she hit the controls for the lift.
The entrance to the mall opened up above her, and it was all she could do to keep from hauling herself up on the edges to get on the surface faster.
"Dude, this is a waste of time. I say we check out the clinics, then put out an ad in the newspaper," said a familiar voice to her left.
"Maybe. Let's give it another hour, though, maybe she's eating lunch late..." Sam Winchester turned, and stared at her. Belatedly, Martha remembered the perception filter. Except, wait. He was looking right at her...
"Martha?"
"Sammy, who're you-- Hell-o." Dean took a step back to keep from being bowled over as Martha ploughed into Sam, laughing and crying.
"Martha!" Sam was laughing too, and spinning her around. She'd forgotten how absolutely huge he was, got dizzy with vertigo as he spun her, arms tight around her as he whispered, "Thank you. Thanks so much."
When he finally put her down Martha realized she'd been babbling the entire time.
"You did it you did it it worked oh my god, I tried to call again and your phone was out of service..." She paused in her glee to take a breath. "How did you find me? How did you remember?"
"Long, long, long story," Dean said, smiling just like she remembered. Well, maybe not just like. Maybe a little more serious, but--
And then he was hugging her too, and giving her one smasher of a kiss. Lots of attention to detail. Total absorption. Some part of her brain retained enough presence of mind to hand Sam her purse, and then return her full focus on Dean's lips, and all the relief she felt. Plus, damnit, hand-kissing was all very well, but she'd always wondered.
"I owe you a beer." Dean broke the kiss, still beaming at her.
"We can explain at the pub," Sam added, dropping one arm over her shoulders. "While you tell us how you've been this year."
Martha hugged his side and grabbed Dean's hand, swinging it. "Goes both ways, boys. Lead on, you're buying."
Fin
Author's Notes:
First, to misquote Douglas Adams, timelines are an illusion. Multiple timelines, dreamscapes, and memories? Doubly so. If this story doesn't look like events should match up between Season 3 Doctor Who and Season 3 Supernatural, it's probably not your imagination, since British and American TV are on different cycles. If you're confused, drop me a line in the review section, and I'll explain anything that's bewildering you. Second, any mistakes made are solely my own, whether in British-izing the speech of Martha or details of either show. Last, thanks to all those who commented along the way.