CHAPTER THIRTEEN

--

Reclined on the single bed, his hands clamped together behind his head, Dean stared at the white ceiling above him. He'd spent most of the past two hours in this position, thinking on not only the last day, but the last week, the last month, the last decade. Everything from November 2nd, 1983, until the point he'd returned to the TARDIS after seeing his mother.

Usually, he did whatever he could to avoid this. One of the good things about his life until recently was his job. It kept him distracted. When it didn't, he found other ways. Sam never understood that most of what he did wasn't to escape reality; no one could really do that. If they thought it was possible, they were lying to themselves. Reality always comes back.

Sam didn't have to worry about distraction. He'd left; he'd created another life for himself, one which had nothing to do with their screwed up childhood. If all their problems had ended in Wyoming, Sam had a real life to fall back on. He, on the other hand, was defined by a single role. Without it, who the hell was he? He didn't know, and he'd never thought about it because he'd avoided it. He couldn't anymore, thanks to the Doctor.

If he were honest, it wasn't that the guy had proved everything he'd ever believed in was wrong, it was the revelation took the meaning from the life he had remaining. If one thing had made him okay with his current mess, it was knowing he could still do the job. Without it, without Sam needing him around, what was he supposed to do? He had no purpose. Like the Japanese samurai in those Kurosawa flicks, the masterless guys who became ronin. At least those dudes could find work once in a while.

Releasing a frustrated breath, he sat up and tossed his legs over the side of the bed. Elbows rested on his knees, he wiped his hands over his face. What was the goddamn hold up? It shouldn't take that long to get back to 2007. He was no expert but even he knew as much. He definitely didn't want to ask the Doctor what the hell was taking so long, either.

His eyes narrowed. He hated the son of a bitch more than anyone else in the universe. That alien asshole knew exactly where they were going earlier, when he'd asked to visit Lawrence on that particular day. He'd never mentioned dates or specifics during his talk with Martha, she couldn't have said anything. Somehow, he knew. Maybe he'd read his mind. He'd said the Malus came after him first because of 'advanced telepathic abilities'.

One thing Dean did know – before he left, he'd punch the bastard square in his fucking face. It wouldn't change a thing, but he'd sure as hell feel better afterwards.

A knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Dean?"

Martha. No big shock there, of course it was her. She was the only one on the ship who gave a damn about somebody other than herself.

"Dean?" she called out again.

"Come in."

After the door opened, she poked her head into the room. "Are you all right?" She studied him, biting her lower lip. He'd an unusually intense expression on his face. Well, more so than any other he'd worn since she'd met him.

"Yeah," he lied as he sat up straight. He gestured for her to enter the room. Once she shut the door, she leaned against it. "So, I'm guessin' it's time to go?" He half-smiled. "Or did this piece of crap ship of his decide to take us to a galaxy far, far away again? Or are we in the Jurassic period or something?"

She shook her head, her lips pressed together in a thin line now. "No. We're in the Camelopardis Galaxy, roughly eight thousand years in our future." A pause. "The Doctor brought us here, for a specific purpose."

"What's that?"

"A star." She drummed her fingers, a bit nervously, against the wall as she looked away. "When it finally dies, he plans to use it on the Colt. Something about the magnitude of the energy blast ensuring complete destruction." She flicked her gaze back to him; he seemed unfazed by it. "You aren't still ..."

"Still what? Wanting it back?" When she nodded, he snorted as he waved a hand in a dismissive manner. "He can do whatever the hell he wants with it. I don't care anymore. At this point, I just want to go home."He shook his head. "The way this jackass drives, it'll be 2032 before I see Sam again."

Suddenly, her face brightened as she reached into her back jeans pocket. "Would you like to ring him?" she asked as she produced her mobile.

Dean eyed the phone in her hand before he settled his attention on her. "How? It's not like you get reception out here. I've already tried." He watched her take a seat next to him as she clicked a button on the cell. "Are you serious? You can get a signal with that?"

"The Doctor upgraded my service." She grinned. "With this, I'm able to ring any one, no matter when or where in space or time I may be." She offered it to him. After a hesitation, he accepted it. "It's excellent reception as well. I've phoned my mother several times."

His gaze dropped to the cell. He stared at the small Archangel Network icon as it rotated in the upper left hand corner of the screen. With this, he could actually talk to Sam, even though his brother was eight thousand years and who knew how many miles away? As much as he hated the guy, Dean had to admit the Doctor had impressive skills.

"Thanks," he quietly said then handed it back to her. "But it's better if I don't."

Her brow furrowed as she took it from him. "Why not?"

"If I'm gonna be back in my own timeline like I never left, what's the point?" He shrugged. "I don't want to get him worked up over a mysterious phone call." He glanced at the cell in her hand. "Still, I appreciate the offer. It was nice of you." He watched her slip it back into her jeans pocket. "Honestly, you're the only good thing to come out of this crap, Martha," he admitted.

She smiled. "I certainly empathize with your situation," she said. "Bein' far from home, away from everything familiar, not sure if you'll ever get back to it." She gently placed a hand on one of his, her smile warmer now. "Honestly, it's been rather ... fun, having you along. Someone like me – human." She looked away, the smile fading. "Some times, I wonder if the Doctor remembers I'm even here."

"Anyone who forgets you're around is a friggin' moron."

With a small laugh, she lifted her head, only to be surprised by Dean's lips touching hers. Light at first, then with more meaning. His hand left hers and slipped around her neck, just below her jawline. She didn't return the kiss but nor did she move away, either. It was strange; she couldn't decide if she wanted it. Not until she noticed his other hand creeping up the left side of her body did she make up her mind. Hands firmly planted on his shoulders, she pushed him back.

"What're you doin'?"

"Thought it was obvious enough," he answered with a grin. However, when he tried again, she slipped from his grasp and nearly jumped to her feet. She stood with her back pressed against the wall. With the look on her face, coupled with her sudden reaction, he felt stupid. "Sorry," he apologized. "Guess I read that wrong, huh?"

She nodded once. "I'd say you did!"

Slowly, he rose to his feet, an uneasy smile on his face. "Really, Martha, I'm sorry," he repeated. "It's just, uh, I haven't met many women like you. And even then, it was obvious they were ... you know."

She started to respond then her eyes widened when she realized what he'd meant. "Wait, you think I'm -" She pointed to herself as she felt the uncomfortable tension between them vanish. She almost laughed when his uneasiness turned into confusion. "I'm not," she assured him, her smile more mischievous. "You're making that mistake a lot today."

"Yeah," he mumbled as he quickly looked away. He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, his face hot. He felt -more- stupid now. No, not stupid, but something much worse: rejected. Casually, he shrugged as he let his hand drop down. "I've never had a woman react like that before ..." Not "never", but she didn't need to know the facts, did she? "I assumed ..."

Her smile turned wry as she folded her arms over her chest. "You assumed the only reason a woman wouldn't be interested in kissing you is because she's lesbian," she finished. When he dared to look at her, she cocked her head to one side. "Aren't you up yourself?" she added, her tone more teasing than annoyed. "It couldn't possibly be you're not her type, could it?"

When it was clear she wasn't pissed off, he relaxed; his own smile turned slightly smug. "I'm every woman's type," he matter-of-factly stated. One of her eyebrows arched, as if to say, 'Oh, really?' "You know wha I meant. Almost every woman's."

"Hmm," she murmured, unimpressed. "It isn't at all possible she fancies someone else?"

He took measured steps in her direction as he smoothly replied, "It's funny ... they always forget about other guys once they've met me." When he placed a hand on the wall, just beside her head, and leaned closer to her, and added, "I bet you're dyin' to find out why."

Coy grin on her face, she leaned forward until her face was mere millimeters from his. "Not at all," she whispered. Eyes glimmering, she reached behind her and opened the door, which forced him to suddenly stand straight to avoid being smacked in the face. She easily slipped out of the room then called out, "The Doctor's waiting for you!"

Shaking his head, he let out a short laugh. She wanted him; she just didn't know it yet. His sly smile faded when the reality he'd contemplated prior to her visit rushed back to him. Going home, only a year left to live, the almost certainty he'd never see her again ...

"Dammit," he breathed, shaking his head again, this time in self-pity. He half-slammed the door shut behind him as he left the room.

Unlike his earlier trek through the place, Dean felt comfortable as he navigated the corridors of the TARDIS. For some strange reason, the ship's passages weren't so confusing. It was almost as they they're rearranged themselves to be more manageable for him. He had to have imagined it – walls couldn't do that. Ahead, he saw Martha waiting near the door which led to the console room.

"Why does he want to see me?" he asked once he caught up with her.

"He didn't say," she quietly replied, glancing over her should to the door. In fact, he hadn't said much of anything when she'd returned to check in on him. Only that they'd reached their destination in the Camelopardis Galaxy and he'd wanted to speak with Dean. "You should be a little nicer to him, though."

"Why the hell would I do that?" he demanded, more angry than he'd meant to sound. "The whole time I've been stuck here, he's been an asshole. And I'm supposed to treat him like a special and delicate snowflake?" He scoffed. "No. And not just 'no', hell no."

"Dean, please." She'd made a conscious effort to not sound like she was begging, but she wasn't terribly successful. "He's ... " She looked away. "He's been strange the past few hours."

"The past few hours?" he incredulously repeated. When Martha's gaze met his, he shut his mouth. The worry and concern were evident, it was the most troubled he'd seen her yet. "Define 'strange'." The sarcasm and general disgust was absent from his tone. "I've seen a lotta strange behavior – mostly from Sam – but strange all the same."

Her hands nervously wrung together as she lowered her gaze to the floor again. All she recalled was the distant expression on the Doctor's face. The look a normal person would get when he'd become privy to information and is unsure whether or not it's believable. And if it was, what kind of consequences it entailed, and how severe they would be.

"What happened at the Churchill house, with the Malus and Monica's ... ghost, it's unsettled him," she quietly explained. "He can't sort out an explanation which makes sense, and ..." She looked to Dean, whose own expression was indecipherable. "Well, he isn't able to accept the alternative."

"What's the alternative?"

"That you're right; it was an actual ghost."

"Really?"

She nodded.

"That's different, huh?" he flatly said. "Wasn't he swearing up and down the other day that everything supernatural could be scientifically explained?" He couldn't help but smirk now, a sense of satisfaction replacing the general anxiety he'd felt about going home. He couldn't help it. With the way the Doctor had so arrogantly insisted his version of the universe was the only version, it was hard to feel sympathy for the son of a bitch.

"Yes, but -" Martha was cut off by Dean's chuckling.

"Man, is this gonna be good." His grin turned more devious as he thought of the ways he'd rub the salt in the wound.

She frowned. Though she felt the Doctor was harsher than he should've been with Dean, it didn't erase her feelings for him. The desire to protect him from everything, even a fellow human, outweighed all else. "Don't mention it." She couldn't keep the pleasing out of her tone this time. She placed her hands on his upper arms, which made him look to her. "Please?"

With the way she gaze up at him, he couldn't say no. As much as he'd wanted it for himself, he didn't want to make her miserable. The bastard was her friend after all. Who the hell knew why? Or why she was even with him in the first place.

"I won't say anything," he finally assured her. He inwardly sighed. The words almost caused him physical pain to utter. For that he felt he deserved some sort of retribution. "But," he continued. "My head's been botherin' me." He touched the bandage then sadly shook his head. "I might forget. Is there something you could give me for the pain?"

Martha's folded her arms over her chest as she studied him. "If you're in pain, it's my duty as a physician to do whatever I must to ease it."

"Really?" He hadn't meant to sound as surprised as he did. With as coy and sly she'd been earlier, it couldn't be this easy to get what he wanted. Any suspicion was overruled by the glint in her eyes and the seductive smile on her face now. "What'd you have in mind?"

"Oh, I thought I'd smack your gob," she stated. Her eyebrows lifted when his grin vanished. "It would take your mind off how much your head hurts," she added. "How's that for an effective treatment?"

His hands went up in a white flag manner as he carefully maneuvered around her. "All right, all right," he said as he backed away to the door. "You win. For now." He grinned again. "I'm not givin' up."

"You'd have better luck with the Doctor." She pleasantly smiled then waved her fingers at him. "Bye." As the door fell shut behind Dean, Martha's smile melted away. She prayed Dean would keep his word and not get into yet another argument with the Doctor. That was the last thing either one of them needed. Especially if she wasn't around to stop it.

-

After Dean entered the console room, he came to an abrupt halt. The distinct sound of ticking clocks all around him gave away to an easy, mellow tune. "Is that Pink Floyd?" he murmured. After nearly a minute of listening to the music, his suspicion was confirmed:

"Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day

You fritter and waste the hours in an off-hand way

Kicking around on a piece of ground, in your hometown

Waiting for someone or something to show you the way ..."

Chuckling, he shook his head. "Time". What the hell other Pink Floyd song would a Time Lord listen to? As he shifted his attention to his left, his smile faded.

At the end of the ramp, standing in front of the open TARDIS doors, gazing out on the black of space, was the Doctor. His hands were tucked into his pants pockets and he rocked back and forth on his feet, in synch with the music. Curious, Dean made his way past the console and down the ramp. As he neared the doors, more of what was outside was visible.

"And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking

Racing around to come up behind you again

The sun is the same in a relative way, but you're older

Shorter of breath, and one day closer to death ..."

Beyond the ship, Dean had no idea how far away, was an incredible sight. Even more impressive than the pink seas and blue-green skies of Thoros Beta. Before him was a massive sphere, he'd seen enough Discovery Channel specials on astronomy to know it was a star. Its brilliance had dimmed but it still managed to be an awe-inspiring thing, with its hazy reddish light emanating from a muted white center. The darkness of space loomed like a vulture, waiting for the light to fizzle so it could close in and finish it off. The star, though, refused to give up.

"The oldest star in the Camelopardis Galaxy," the Doctor thoughtfully commented. He side-glanced as Dean stopped by him at the open doors. He heavily sighed. "And it's dying. 'Hanging on in quiet desperation ...'" A faint smile crossed his lips.

Dean's gaze shifted to the Doctor's intense profile. The melancholy in his tone, it was odd. Almost like it depressed him that some random star was dying. Outside, his attention was briefly caught by a flare of white light from it.

"Even a star, when faced with its own mortality, will do whatever to cling to existence. Just one more minute, one more day, one more year ..." The Doctor shook his head, the melancholy replaced by genuine wonder. "It's the nature of all living things, to fight for life, no matter how inevitable the end is."

After he studied it a few moments, he casually shrugged. "It's just a star, Doc."

"Just a star?" he repeated. "Is that what you think?" He motioned to the darkness to their right. "It's more than that to the people who live on a planet not far from here. They've depended on it for survival since they evolved." He shook his head again as his arm lowered. "Without it, their civilization is lost. Their existences so closely linked, they're both on the brink of extinction."

"So why don't you do something about it?"

The Doctor's lips pressed together. "It isn't my place to interfere with the natural course of the universe. Their time is done."

"How can you know that?"

"I don't know it, I feel it." He looked down at his hands outstretched before him. "Everything in my being tells me it's wrong to interfere. The burden of a Time Lord." He lowered his hands as his gaze returned to the star. "Despite the inevitable, it simply won't give over."

"Come on, Doc. How does a star know it's dyin'?"

The Doctor looked the human dead in the eye as he asked, "How do you know?"

"Havin' been close to it more than once already ..." He reflected on both of those experiences. As much as he didn't want to die, it was disturbingly easy for him to accept. On some subconscious level, he'd given up because he knew it was coming. Even more disturbing was the sense of relief he'd felt in that moment. "It's just ... there. Something tells you your time's up."

The Doctor's attention shifted back to the star. He'd essentially died nine times himself already; he knew when he was destined for regeneration. Unlike humans and stars, however, he also knew it wasn't the absolute end. With regeneration, he'd come back, only with a new face and a new personality. A star like this could become a red giant, a planetary nebula, or a white or black dwarf; it was a different entity after death. Humans, though ...

"It's struggled for centuries now, but it's useless. The future is inevitable, what it will become. I ... I used to know, with absolute certainty, the same of everything in the universe."

This must've been what Martha meant by him acting stranger than usual. Frankly, it creeped him the hell out. "Doc, as much as I'm finding this whole conversation interesting, would you mind getting' to the point?" When the Doctor focused on him, he added, "I know you didn't send Martha after me so we could chat about a dying star."

"You're quite right, I didn't." He gestured for Dean to follow him as he headed up the ramp to the console. "Actually, I'd wanted to show you something." He clicked a few keys and sound level of the music drastically lowered. Another click changed the display on the monitor.

When Dean stepped beside him, the Doctor motioned to the fluctuating wavelength pattern near the top. "What's this?"

"The signature of the unknown energy source which powered the Malus at the Churchill house," the Doctor answered. "I analyzed it and broke it down into something I eventually did recognize." He hit another key and a new pattern appeared below the first. "I managed because, in case you didn't know, I'm clever."

Dean shot him a brief look before he studied the patterns on the screen again. He shrugged. "I have no damn idea what I'm lookin' at," he grumbled. "You're the science guy, explain it."

"This -" He ran his finger beneath the second pattern. "Is the psychokinetic energy pattern of a living human being," he said. "I have quite a few on file, so I used them as a baseline for the analysis and ..." He rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. "Well, there it is."

"I still don't get what you're tryin' to show me," Dean replied, his aggravation growing. "Explain it like I'm five years old."

"I was."

His eyes narrowed. "Just explain it."

The Doctor clicked another key so only the bottom pattern remained on screen. "This is what Monica Churchill's psychokinetic energy pattern would've looked like when she was alive." He hit a key and the second, nearly identical pattern, joined it. "This is the energy pattern I detected as the source of the Malus' power. Do you see it now?"

As he leaned closer, Dean squinted at the screen. "Yeah." He pointed. "This one spike's down where the other goes up. It's almost like a mirror image." He looked to the Doctor. "What's it mean? Why does this matter?"

"It shouldn't be possible for a human pattern to exist, especially that strongly, after death." He gaze down on the screen, his features more contemplative. "This pattern, it's not only what powered the Malus, it survived separately of it. Well, it did, at any rate."

Dean stood straight. "What do you mean, 'it did'?"

"When the Malus was completely destroyed, the pattern vanished from the ship's sensors." He met the human's gaze. "The energy burned itself out of existence in its effort to stop the Malus from self-destructing. It's gone." He punched a key and both patterns blinked out. "Forever."

"Wait a minute," Dean said as the Doctor retreated to the opposite side of the console. "Are you tellin' me you have no explanation for the second pattern? Not aliens or dead guys from another dimension or some other thing?" When the Doctor didn't answer, he laughed. "That's it, isn't it? You can't explain it because you don't know!"

"I'm quite certain I'll sort it out in time ..." the Doctor calmly said as he sat down. He pulled his coat across his lap. "As of now ..." He looked to Dean. "No, I don't know."

"Well," Dean's tone turned more smug as he strolled behind the seats. He watched as the alien sifted through the coat's pockets. "I know." He rested his arms on the back of the seat as he leaned over to get a clearer look at the Doctor's face. "Lemme explain it to you like you're a five year old." He pretended to mull it over then said, loudly, "It was a ghost! Residual energy of a departed human being from this dimension." He saw no change in the other man's expression. "Am I talkin' above your intelligence level, Doc? Because I can dumb it down for you, if I am."

The Doctor paused in his rifling to turn his head and glare. "I said, I didn't know yet," he evenly replied, obvious restrain on his voice. "But if there is the slightest possibility that I'm wrong – and I emphasize slightest possibility – perhaps ..."

"Perhaps what?"

He let out a breath, unable to believe what he was about to say. "Perhaps, when you've returned to Earth, you and your brother should ... continue to do what it is you do there."

Dean blinked. "Huh? Did you say what I think you just said? Sam and I need to keep doing our job? The one you said was bullshit because demons and vampires weren't real? Not in the way that we think, anyway."

Teeth gritted, the Doctor nodded. He withdrew the Colt from his long coat's pocket. He held it up between them and watched the light glint against the metal. "Considering your performance at the Churchill house, as well as your obvious dedication in keeping it out of the wrong hands ..." He offered the gun to Dean. "You've proven yourself a worthy guardian of this."

He glanced from the gun to the Doctor. "After everything you went through, you're just handin' it over? After all of the sanctimonious jabbing about how dangerous it is to the universe, you're just sayin', 'Hey, here it is. No hard feelings'?"

"Well, if you don't want it," the Doctor replied as he looked to the open doors. "We've a few minutes before the star finally -"

Dean snatched the Colt from him. "I don't think so," he cut in. He gave it a once over. "So, thanks. This'll be real helpful in our fight." Real helpful, so he could put a bullet in that crossroads bitch's head.

"Oh, it isn't functional in that capacity any longer."

He flicked his narrowed gaze to the Doctor. "What?"

"I've disrupted the wave pattern." He noticed the expression on Dean's face. "What, you didn't honestly believe I would relinquish a such powerful weapon to someone like you?"

Angrily, Dean threw it onto the seat beside the Doctor as he stood straight. "What goddamn good is it to us like that?!" he practically shouted. He pointed to it. "We need it the way it was, Doc!"

"No, you want it the way it was," he corrected. "Power such as that shouldn't be considered so lightly. You must earn the right to wield it, and the only way to do so is through work. Otherwise, you won't respect it. And if you don't respect it ... "

"What? We end up like those people the Time Lords offed because they had time travel too?" For a second, he regretted saying it. The words couldn't be unsaid, though. He could only watch the Doctor as he stared at the console before him.

"You'll become the Time Lords," he gravely replied. He shifted his gaze to Dean. "Is that what you want? To be responsible for the end of your own race?"

"You're overstatin' the matter, Doc. We'd only use it to kill demons, not other humans."

"At first it seems so innocent and well-intentioned. Then you'll use it on someone else for the sake of the preservation of your race, your world. And then another and another, until you've nothing left to preserve." He tilted his head back, drawing in a deep breath as he thought back on his own people. "We used our mastery of time to destroy whole worlds, civilizations, galaxies, futures, in the belief it was necessary to win the last great War. Ultimately, we destroyed ourselves." He met Dean's gaze again. "We've hardly anything left; we're merely a legend throughout the universe we'd saved." He offered the Colt to the human. "Either accept the opportunity to earn its power, or I'll eliminate it completely."

Dean stared at the Colt. He remembered the trouble they'd gone through to find it. Twice. Yet it was so easy to use it to kill that yellow-eyed bastard. He didn't deny he'd felt pretty damn powerful in that moment. Powerful, satisfied and eager to use it again. Would he and Sam really become the Time Lords? They'd lived their lives by doing what was right, what was good. A phrase Bobby liked to turn often popped into his head: "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions."

Finally, he accepted it. "If we can figure out how to make it work, we won't become your people, Doc," he stated in a low voice. "One more thing I can prove you wrong about." He cracked a slight smile.

Slowly, the Doctor rose to his feet. "I hope you do, Dean," he answered with a solemn nod. "Humans have a trait which was long lost on the Time Lords as a whole."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"The ability to admit when you're wrong, and the willingness to set it right." He moved to the console and toyed with the controls. "Martha!" he called, glancing to the door.

A few seconds later, Martha entered the room, a half-curious/half-wary expression on her face. To her surprise, nothing seemed off. For once, neither the Doctor nor Dean appeared as though they wanted to punch each other. What sort of discussion did they have? And why couldn't it have happened sooner?

"Yes?" she cautiously asked as she approached them. She noted the Colt was in one of Dean's hands. The Doctor had returned it to him?

"It's time to move forward," the Doctor announced as he moved in front of the monitor. He motioned to his left. "Could you shut the doors, please, Martha?"

As Martha made her way down the ramp, Dean stepped next to the Doctor. "So ... this means I go home now, huh?"

The Doctor lifted his head just as Dean looked over his shoulder at Martha, who closed the TARDIS doors. A faint smile appeared on his face and promptly vanished when Dean turned around. "Well, yes, I should imagine so," he casually replied.

"Ah." His shoulders slumped a bit. "Figured."

When Martha joined them at the console, the Doctor glanced between them. "Unless you aren't quite ready to return, that is?"

Martha's eyebrows shot up, surprised. "What's that, then?" she asked as she looked to Dean. "I thought the only thing you've wanted was to go home?"

Before Dean could respond, the Doctor said, "Well, it is customary on my part to grant two trips – one back and one forward." He paused in setting the return course to Earth in 2007 as he flicked his attention to Dean. "But the future wouldn't interest you, would it? And you certainly couldn't leave your brother waiting, could you?"

Dean stopped him from throwing down the nearby lever. "You said you could make it like I never left," he countered. He raised an eyebrow when the Doctor looked to him again. A crooked smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Unless that was a bunch of crap and you're not as good as you think you are, Doc?"

"You want to stay with us?" Martha couldn't quite believe it. Then, in a way, she could. Even in the most dire of situations she and the Doctor found themselves, she couldn't imagine wanting to be anywhere else. With another person, another human, along, it definitely would be more interesting than usual. She'd wondered if the Doctor ever traveled with more than one person in the past ...

"Time doesn't matter here, does it?" He shifted his attention to the Doctor. "One more day, one more week, one more month, whatever I can get before the inevitable. Right?"

"It's your decision," he evenly replied.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Martha asked as she looked up to Dean.

"If I go back home now, I only have a year to look forward to. I already know what's there, even if the Doc doesn't." He paused when he saw the alien's eyes briefly narrow behind his glasses. "The rest of the universe? No clue. So ... what do you think, Doc?"

The Doctor shifted his gaze to Martha. She seemed open to the idea. And, he had to admit, Dean annoyed him considerably less than when they'd first met. He studied Dean as he debated on whether or not he'd allow him an extended trip. After a few moments, he sighed. "I think we can work something out. One condition, however." He paused as both humans turned to him. He peered over the top rims of his glasses at Dean. "You are no longer to refer to me as 'Doc'. Understood?"

Dean shrugged. "Whatever you say ..."

With a nod, the Doctor turned away, relieved.

"Doc," he added, grinning. He glanced at Martha who simply shook her head, a small smile on her face.

Teeth gritted, the Doctor threw down the lever. He already regretted his decision.

-

(Sorta) The End.

Notes: I want to thank everyone for reading this story and I'm happy if you've enjoyed it. Even if it was a long road on the last couple of chapters with editing and a few rewrites, I enjoyed writing it. Obviously, I've left it open for a little AU-verse of SPN/DW crossover stories as ideas come to me. And, yes, I do have an idea for why Mary recognized the TARDIS in the past! Not sure if that'll be the first idea I write about, though. More likely, it'll be the second. At any rate – thanks again! I can go die now.