jetpack_monkey | Fic: Untitled Supernatural/Doctor Who Crossover (2/??)

Previous part is here. Still no title on this one. I'm thinking it's set just after Supernatural 2x03 - Bloodlust and a still-undetermined point in Doctor Who Season 3.

The Doctor didn't say a single coherent or useful thing for the entire car trip back to the motel. He kept rifling through Dean's tape collection and making weird comments about the bands. "Stillwater! If you ever get a chance to see them live? Brilliant! Of course half of 'em are dead now, shame about Russell. It's always moving vehicles, innit?"

Even his friend, the Martha chick, seemed a bit embarrassed. "He usually calms down by now, I swear. I haven't seen him this excited since..." She stopped and reconsidered. "It's been a while."

The Doctor drummed his hands against the dashboard. "So what do you call this thing?"

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "Thing?"

"Y'know. The car. El automobilo. Needs a name. I fancy Leela. Should call her Leela! Or Fred! Love the name Fred."

"It's just the Impala," Dean said, trying against all odds not to reach over from the driver's seat to smack his passenger.

"It's not like you've named the TARDIS, Doctor," Martha said from the back.

"Course I have," The Doctor sniffed. "You just couldn't pronounce it."

Sam half-smiled, having clearly given up on the whole "being annoyed to hell" thing. "Try me." He glanced over at Martha, who shook her head as a knowing warning.

"Sorry, mate, but you don't have the biology," The Doctor said. "Not that I'd expect it from humans. Lovely species, my favorite, really, but a complete waste in the vocal chord department."

That's when the Impala came to a screeching halt. It's also when Dean brandished the semi-automatic pistol. "Hey, Sammy. Call me crazy, but I think this guy just said he's not human."

The Doctor seemed unconcerned. "Oh dear, here we go. No, not human. Not remotely. And unless that is the Colt your father mentioned to me, I'm probably not going to stay dead for very long." His tone went deadly serious. "But what comes back might not be as forgiving as me." Then, like a channel being flipped, he was back to manic giddiness. "Of course, if I know guns, and I truly wish I didn't, that's probably something manufactured in the last five years rather than the last one hundred, so I might consider letting me explain."

"Dean, dude, put the gun down," Sam said. "He hasn't threatened us."

"Yeah. Because that might be a little Bond villain for him."

"Doctor," Martha said, "maybe we should just go."

"It's quite alright, Martha," The Doctor said. "Look, would it help if I said I come in peace?" He held up his left hand in a Vulcan salute, thumb out and fingers parted between the ring and middle.

Dean stared at The Doctor. "Okay, for one thing, there's no such thing as aliens. For another, the hand thing means 'Live long and prosper.'"

The Doctor glanced at his hand. "Right, so it does. Good catch, Dean-arino. Top marks."

Sam touched his brother's shoulder. "Dean."

Dean growled. "Goddammit, I'm gonna regret this." He put the safety back on the gun and handed it to Sam. "When we get to the motel, you're telling me everything."

"Certainly," The Doctor said. "Have you got 900 years?"

---

Part Three