Author's Note:

My second crossover. Yes, I said I'd never do another one after 'Case For The Defence', but my wee sister asked. Blame her. Or just buy her cookies.

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One

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Sam lifted the shotgun, staring down the sights as he shuffled along the corridor. He paused at the heavy wooden door to risk a look to his right. He checked to see if his older brother was similarly parked. Needless to say, Dean was. His favourite nickel plated Colt handgun in his left hand, Dean's right stretched out towards the handle of the door. Sam shuffled closer, shotgun up along his eyeline, his finger taking up the pressure on the trigger.

Dean began to turn the door handle. Something arrested Sam's attention. His eyes shots to the floorboards and the curious blue light pulsing from underneath the closed door. He put his right hand out, grasping the jacket over Dean's shoulder. Dean looked at him quickly before letting go of the handle. Both brothers Winchester turned to look at the ex-tree of an obstruction as a strange vworp vworp sound began to flood the corridor. The light that sent blue and green tendrils across the floor by their boots faded, as did the noise. As if rehearsed, both boys looked first at the door and then at each other in trepidation.

Sam nodded. Dean's hand went back to the door handle. He turned it as quietly as he could, which, due to his years of sneaking in and out of places he should not have been - even counting places that did not include midnight trysts - meant that this happened nearly silently. He was about to push the door open when it was sucked in from the other side.

Both brothers took hasty steps back. Sam brought the shotgun to bear. Dean lifted his handgun, hissing at his younger brother from the side of his mouth. "If this is the werewolf, shoot it - and I don't care if it's right in the face!"

But the head that appeared around the side of the door was anything but feral. The brown mass of hair that rather looked like it was trying to describe an explosion in a pipe cleaner factory topped off a thin, omnipotent face that housed a pair of large brown eyes. They ran up and down the two Winchesters in voracious curiosity, the accompanying eyebrows squeezed together in some kind of sympathy for the amount of work the brain must have been going through.

"This isn't Cardiff," the tall, thin man before the two brothers stated in a voice that suggested this fact was either cosmically unjust or just extremely rude. He took a step to his right, pulling the door further open to aid his inspection of the two men. It revealed a dark brown, rather dapper suit, with faint blue impossibly narrow stripes that reached all the way down to a pair of battered white Converse. The man's hands sailed into his trouser pockets in apparent consternation as he found the face of first Sam and then Dean. "No," he said thoughtfully. "Definitely not Cardiff. For one thing, they don't point weapons at people for simply opening a door."

Sam took his finger from the trigger hastily, letting the shotgun drop to his side. He put his right hand up in surrender. "Sorry!" he blurted. "We didn't mean to scare you. We were looking for someone else."

The man in the brown suit simply stared at him, and Sam suddenly had a very bad feeling that whoever this man was, he was capable of raking over his very soul and extracting his true intentions from it with nothing more than a wrinkle of his eyebrow. Sam's own brows realised, for the first time, that they were spectacularly outclassed. Not only were the man's eyebrows scarier than his in their ability to wring emotions from anyone they challenged, but they also guarded huge brown pools of never-ending wisdom and urgency, which abruptly went from Sam to Dean.

Dean stared back at the man, a look of affront and indignation more than enough to bolster the elder Winchester's sense of security. "What are you doing in here anyway?" he demanded. "This building is supposed to be empty."

"Which begs the question, what are you doing in here?" the man asked politely. His rather stern expression began to slide sideways, as if the world had suddenly tilted to exert the force of gravity inversely. Sam and Dean watched as his face morphed into a sly smile, managing to make them believe very firmly that he knew a vast array of things that they did not. "Judging by those big guns you have, and the mud on your boots, I'd say you've been tracking some kind of animal," he added.

"Sir, you really shouldn't be in here," said Sam. "We are tracking an animal, and it's somewhere in this building. Now what you need to do is leave so we can get on and find it."

"So who are you two then, hmm? The police?" the man asked, his bottom lip disappearing into his mouth by virtue of his teeth, as he looked from one to the other in complete innocence.

Dean put his hand into his jacket, withdrawing the black foldover wallet. He flicked it open to brandish the badge inside. "Department of Fish and Wildlife," he said confidently. "We'll have this animal bagged and tagged if you'll just get out of our way, sir."

The man rocked on his heels, grinning from ear to ear as he bounced slightly. "Oh! You two are American! How quaint!" he cried, in a way that explained to both US citizens just how excited the man appeared to be. "So this is America? Home of apple pie, green money, hot dogs, very large cars and pink oranges? Always liked pink oranges, me. Much more fun than orange oranges."

The two brothers shared a glance that communicated how surprised and wary they were of this newcomer's ability to gabble. Dean looked back at him. "Yeah," he said slowly, "this is America. Manchester, New York, same as the street outside."

The man bounced on his toes again even more ebulliently than before. "Manchester!" he gushed. "Another one of those places that you immigrants named after the places you left!"

"Excuse me?" Dean demanded with outrage.

"Oh you know, when all those free-range-loving white people left England to steal land from the locals out here in the big ol' wild frontier," the man said with a knowing grin.

Dean's eyebrows, never ones to let a good fight go, gathered together in anger. "Look, pal-"

The man whipped his left hand out of his pocket in surrender. "That's okay, that's not my department," he said quickly, drowning Dean out. "And anyway, you're not the first people to have done it. You should see the beaches on Meta Sigma Folia. Funny thing is, all of them are named after the places people couldn't wait to get away from on Meta Sigma Prime. So you see, humans are humans all over the known universe."

Sam grabbed his brother's shoulder and pulled him back slightly. "I think we should just move on," he said slowly, gesturing to the man with his eyes.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "I don't think this guy's boat's got all its paddles in the water."

"No, actually she hasn't. I need to pick up a few things to repair - oh, okay, let's be honest - cobble together a few engine parts, and then I can be out of here," the man interrupted.

Sam put his hand up again in a gesture that made the man stop talking. "That's great, sir. Now we are going to have to ask you to leave the building while we find this animal."

"You two aren't from Fish and Wildlife," the man scoffed, making the two Winchesters pin him with almost identical looks of annoyance. "See? Now why don't you two run along and find this little lost kitten, or whatever it is you're looking for, and I'll go my own way to find my engine parts."

"You don't understand, Stan Laurel," Dean accused rather shortly. "This animal is dangerous and we're here to shoot it. Now you need to get out of this building-"

"Did someone say there's going to be shooting?" came a new voice - this one definitely American.

The strange man in the doorway turned to his right to look over his shoulder. "Oh don't get excited Jack," he sighed dismissively. "These two over-armed gentlemen think they've lost a kitten."

"A kitten?" came the voice, before a new head, this one with rakish dark brown hair almost obscuring one eye, appeared over the man's right shoulder. "Oh, hello boys!" the face grinned enthusiastically.

"Jack," the tall man admonished, and the two brothers had the distinct feeling he had said that in exactly that tone of voice many times before.

Dean opened his mouth, ready to inject some of his typical brand of gruff outrage into the situation. But before he could get the word out, a strange low growling noise snatched everybody's attention very neatly. The tall man and the newcomer, apparently called Jack, stared straight ahead, their eyes going very round and very large. Sam and Dean looked at them rather than turn around.

"It's behind us, isn't it?" Dean havered.

"If you mean the really big shaggy lupovariform that looks really pissed, then I think you're right!" Jack blurted.

"Blimey!" the taller man cried, but when Sam looked at him he realised he was grinning even more widely than before - if such a thing were possible. "She's a real beauty!" the man gasped.

"Sam!" Dean ordered, and they spun on the spot, weapons ready.

"I think," the man said suddenly, "under the circumstances, we should all just run."

"I think you and your screwy friend should get back behind that door so we can shoot the friggin' thing," Dean bit out.

"You know what, Doctor?" Jack said quickly. "I think this guy's right."

Sam and Dean lifted their guns. The werewolf began to bound toward them.

"Wait!" the man shouted suddenly. His hands clamped on both shoulders of the two boys. They found themselves dragged backwards and it was all they could do to stagger and keep their balance as they were hauled inside the door. It slammed in front of their faces, barely half a second before the wild animal on the other side pounded into it in fury.

Dean turned and pushed the man off him roughly. "What the Hell do you think you're doing, man!" he raged. "Two more seconds and we would have shot the bitch!"

"You might have," the man accused, and now his face was a picture of something that represented the kind of warning Dean had only seen before in Hell, on the faces of souls railing against the unfairness of this situation. "But what about the other one?"

A huge bang walloped into the door before it all went quiet.

"What other one?" Sam demanded quickly. "We tracked a single werewolf to this place - there is no other one."

The man took a step back, looking Sam up and down as if he expected him to produce a leaflet of instructions on how to operate him. The man he had called Jack folded his arms over a blue shirt slowly, as he also appraised the two Winchesters.

"You tracked a single lupovariform to this building," the man in the brown suit said, "and yet you never thought to ask why she was coming here?"

"Because this is her lair?" Dean put in sarcastically.

"Because she knows another lupovariform lives here," the man said simply. He looked over his shoulder at the man called Jack. "For a pair of werewolf hunters, they're not particularly bright, are they?"

"Well if you're so friggin' smart," Dean said sweetly, "why don't you tell us where this other werewolf is?"

The man sniffed to himself, as if it were all beneath him. He lifted his right hand and it went into the deep recesses of his brown suit jacket. He fished around for some moments before producing a long slender silver item with a curious blue end. He pressed a button and a strange noise came from the item, as well as a rather soothing blue light.

He flicked the tool off again with a whimsical smile. "It is approximately ninety feet north-west and about forty-five degrees down." He shoved the item back in his inside pocket. "Which probably means it's on the floor beneath us in the far corner room."

Sam and Dean looked at each other. Just looked.

"Would you like some help locating that room?" Jack asked with a sly grin. "I could help you two with that."

"Jack," the man chided again.

Sam put his hand up in a halting gesture. "Let's just back up here," he said slowly. "You two call that werewolf a lupovariform, and you don't seem the least bit worried about it nearly getting in this room." He took a deep breath. "Are you two hunters or something? Who are you?"

The man rocked on his heels, looking at his feet for a moment before he let his eyes wander back up over the faces of the two men watching him with complete and utter mystification.

"This is Captain Jack Harkness," he said cheerfully. "He's currently taking a little holiday away from Torchwood - don't ask. I'm the Doctor."

"The Doctor?" Sam asked, before sharing a curious look with his brother.

"Doctor who?" they both chorused.

Jack chuckled to himself rather wickedly. "I love it when people do that," he grinned.

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Next update possibly around 14th September 2010 - I'm flying to Dragon*Con in about 6 hours!