Characters: From SPN 'verse: Dean, Sam, Bobby, Castiel, Chuck. From DW 'verse: 11th Doctor, Amy, Rory, OC (Chuck)

Warnings: Spoiler alert for Supernatural 6.22 and for Doctor Who 6.08. Offensive language. Blasphemy? I think that's about it.

Summary: The Doctor, along with the Ponds, comes to the aid of the Winchesters in their final battle to save the world. Will they save Castiel, too? And will Dean ever accept how he feels about the former angel? A few mysteries are revealed, including the whereabouts of the original God, and just how the world really did come to be.

Prologue

Dean has been crying again. He would never admit it, of course, and Sam would have a broken nose if he ever tried to talk to him about it, but he knows and it breaks his heart in a way that remembering Hell never could. Sure, Sam has tried on many occasions in the past to get Dean to open up about how he feels. He tried when their Dad died. He tried when Ellen and Jo died. He tried when he got Castiel to wipe Lisa and Ben's memories of him. But he doesn't even know where to begin with the former angel.

For one, he's not sure how he feels himself. He's angry at Cas. How could he forgive him for bringing him back without a soul? Yet he knows, deep-down, that Cas didn't do it on purpose. That he should be grateful for him at least trying to rescue him. Especially now he remembers bits and pieces of what was done to him... But Cas should have done something. He should have told someone. Even if he didn't want to tell Dean and ruin his chance at happiness outside of hunting, he could have stopped by at Bobby's. Hell, he could've just told Sam. Not that maybe soulless Sam would've listened.

He sighs and runs a hand across his jaw, feeling the stubble growing there. He needs a shave.

It's been nearly three days since Castiel didn't kill them. He looked about ready to after Dean had threatened him. "You can shove your undying love up your ass," he had spat, tears threatening to fall. The words he didn't say rang clear through the warehouse; that he already loved the old Cas. That seeing Cas like this was killing him. The penny had finally dropped. Yet another person he had come to rely upon had done what Dean had been waiting for; betrayal. He didn't say any of it; just hid behind his sharp tongue like he had always done.

But Sam knew. He knows his brother better than anyone.

Before the anger that flashed behind Castiel's bright blue eyes could be unleashed, however, the former angel suddenly paused, his mind clearly elsewhere. Sam looked at Dean and then to Bobby, who both looked equally as confused as Sam felt.

And then he smiled that eerily serene smile that made him look nothing like the Cas they knew and everything like Castiel, the new and improved God, and he told them he had to leave. He had more pressing concerns than three insignificant human beings to attend to. Yet, as a token of his love, and out of respect to their former bonds, he would let them live. For now. They had a week's grace. Seven days to mourn their loss, and then, then, they must decide where they stand.

Of course, Dean couldn't just let it be. He told Cas to kill them then and there or they would find a way to stop him, no matter what it takes, so help him... God.

Castiel just smiled once more. And then, without even a hint of a whisper of his former wings, he was gone.

Sam goes outside to find his brother, who's sitting on the hood of the Impala. The badly crumpled Impala. A bottle of whiskey is in his hand and Sam frowns. A part of him doesn't approve. Wants Dean to stop drinking so much and start opening up. But instead he says nothing and simply joins his brother on the hood, wincing when the metal groans in protest, and takes a swig of the proffered bottle. He grimaces as the liquor burns a path down his throat.

"It's not the good stuff," comments Sam.

Dean takes a moment to speak, before admitting gruffly that it was pretty shit.

Sam can see where tears had made tracks down his brother's face, shiny amongst all the grime of engine grease. "How's she coming along?" he asks hesitantly.

Dean doesn't need to ask who 'she' is. He shrugs before taking another swig of the bottle. "I don't know, Sam," he sighs. "I don't think there's any point."

"In what? Fixing her?"

Dean shrugs again. "In four days we'll be toast anyway, so what's the point?"

Sam wants to hit his brother. What was the point in them righting her back onto her wheels and towing her from that bloody warehouse then if he was just going to leave the car in this state? He lets out a breath and takes the bottle from Dean's hands, taking a long pull. It doesn't taste as awful the second time around.

Resolutely, he tells Dean, "We'll fix her after we sort this mess out with Cas."

Dean gives Sam a hard look, somewhere between anger and surprise shining on his face. Sam holds his ground, waiting. And then Dean chuckles, the sound rough and without mirth. It sounds like nails rattling. "Sort this mess out?" he reiterates. "Sure, Sam. You got any ideas how we go about doing that?"

"We'll find a way. We always do."

"We always do, huh?" replies Dean. He shakes his head, that bitter smile tugging at his lips. "I think whenever we try and find a way to sort things out, we just make things worse."

"You can't believe that," begins Sam, but he's cut off.

"I do, Sammy. Every time. Every single fucking time we've ever tried to put things right shit's just gotten worse. What makes you think this will be any different?"

"So what are you saying?" says Sam, getting worked up. He can feel a pressure building in the back of his head. His vision is getting blurry. "Are you saying that we just give up?"

Dean looks at Sam, frowning. Maybe he can tell something's up because he puts a reassuring hand on Sam's arm. "I don't know, Sam. I don't know what to do."

But that's not enough. They need to know. They need to have a plan. Sam's heart is pounding in his ears, and he shouts, angrily, "Should we just lay down and die, then? Or should we profess our undying love to our new God?"

Dean shoots Sam a look that would stop anyone in their tracks, but Sam's not even completely there anymore and Dean's eyes widen in shock upon realising too late. The last thing Sam hears is Dean shouting for Bobby, before the world around him disappears and he's surrounded by the fires of Hell.

In his mind, he's praying. Not to God – old or new – not to the angels, the angels who have played with and tortured him for decades... but to the universe. He casts out his hopes and dreams, his worries and fears, across all of time and space. But his prayers are quickly whisked away from him and then there's no escape from the memories.

Billions of light-years away in a time yet to pass, a mad man in a strange blue box feels a tug of psychic power and pauses in his spiel to his two companions.

"Doctor?" one questions. "Is everything okay?"

Frowning, he pulls out the psychic paper from his coat pocket and reads aloud to himself: Please help my brother. Please save us from the monsters. Please save us from ourselves.

"Time to go, gang!" replies the Doctor. "I've always wanted to meet the Winchesters!"