Something of a Mystery
Chapter 15: Something of an Intrusion
Warning: OCs (unavoidable, really, so get over it), altering of Supernatural plotlines, Timey-Wimey stuff, etc
Rating: T, to be safe
Disclaimer: Characters and Supernatural, Doctor Who, Torchwood and Sherlock do not belong to me, but to their Moffat, Kripke and all associated thus. I am responsible for creating this alternate universe, and the story line only. Please do not take and use or post elsewhere without my permission.
“He’s in here,” the nurse said with a faint, soft smile for Sam as she lead them into the hospital room. “Please keep it quiet. Ten minutes, agents, and don’t stress him out too much. He’s had quite a day.”
Dean grimaced as the woman stepped out. “Yeah, I’ll bet,” he grumbled, looking towards the bed. Sure enough, their very own Jack was on it, eyes closed with sleep.
“Sherlock said he and John would meet us here,” Sam said, stepping inside the room. He closed the door, blocking all view of the room with the exception of the window. But then, they were on the fourth floor, on a hill, so the likelihood of anyone peering in was zero to zilch. Barring supernatural eavesdropping, of course. “So where are they?”
“I don’t know,” Dean replied, walking over to stand next to the immortal. He was still reeling a bit from what the pretty nurse had told them.
“He’s got no memory at all. Wiped clean, but we can’t understand it. It’s similar to... victims of abuse, or people that’ve hit their heads, but there isn’t a mark on him.”
Not a mark, Dean thought grimly. But what could have done this to our Jack? He reached out, checking Jack’s steady pulse, and those pretty hazel eyes fluttered open.
A familiar smirk crawled across Jack’s mouth as Dean began to retrieve his hand, and said appendage was caught in strong fingers. “Have I died and gone to heaven, or am I dreaming? Either way, this is a dream come true, handsome,” he murmured.
Dean had a brief inner battle - fighting both the urge to laugh, as well as punch Jack in the face. He settled for a happy medium, and jerked his hand back. “Woah, dude, I don’t swing that way.”
“What a shame, because I’m reasonably certain I do,” Jack responded cheerfully.
Blinking, Sam stepped up next to his brother, a geeky sort of curiosity lighting up his face. “Really? How do you know?”
Looking between them briefly, Jack seemed to consider the question. Then he grinned widely, and pointed down to a noticeable bulge in the blankets. Dean smacked a hand over his eyes and turned away. “Augh, I won’t be able to unsee that!”
Laughing, Jack moved, apparently sitting up, because when Dean hesitantly peeked back, he was leaning against the wall, grinning and eying Dean’s backside. “Oh, okay, stop it,” the elder Winchester said, as grossed out by Jack’s blatant flirting as always. “I don’t let you get away with this behavior on a normal basis, I ain’t gonna start now.”
Jack stopped smiling, and looked back and forth between them. “You know me? I mean... properly. You know my name, and who I am?” he asked, hopeful.
Sam exchanged a look with Dean, and nodded, pulling up a chair. “Yeah, that’s right,” he murmured. “I’m Sam, and this is my brother Dean. We’re here under aliases, but we won’t lie to you. Um... Your name is Jack, or that’s what you’ve been going by, at least. We’re old friends, I suppose.”
“That’s a lot of hemming and hawing,” Jack muttered, looking between them again. “If we’re old friends... why does it sound like you know little about me? You don’t know my real name. You suppose we’re friends.”
He was frowning now, in the same way Dean had seen him do the one time they met up with his team, and the man had started scolding them in the middle of a weevil hunt a couple years back.
“It’s... very complicated,” Sam tried again, but Jack spoke over him.
“And another thing... I didn’t tell the doctors, but maybe you can explain this.” He held up his arm, unblemished as always. “I nearly cut my hand off falling yesterday, but it healed up right before my eyes. Poof, just like that.”
Sam blinked, and glanced at Dean again, before holding his own hand out. “May I...?” He smiled in thanks when Jack nodded, and gently took the man’s arm, eyes scanning over his wrist. “Completely healed, Dean,” he murmured, gesturing his brother over. “Just like he said.”
Sure enough, there was nothing to suggest the incident had happened at all.
The three of them started, and looked up at the door. Sherlock stood there, eyes narrowed as he took them in. Jack grinned widely, and the consultant detective snorted. “On his collar,” he continued impatiently. “And considering it’s Captain Harkness, and you’re examining his arm, I’m going to assume something happened to him. Yesterday, at some point, judging by the dried state of the blood, and how dark it is. The only thing I don’t-” He stopped, eyes narrowing as Jack’s expression shifted from lecherous to suspicious. Blue eyes flickered over the immortal.
Abruptly, Sherlock crossed the room, tugging a pen light out, and shined it in Jack’s eyes. “Do you have a- no, not possible, the healing rate is unheard of, and you’d have recovered. Dean, do close your mouth, I don’t want to hear the thoughts that would even bother crossing it.” Dean made a face and stuck his tongue out in a vast display of maturity. Sherlock ignored him. “No, this vacancy-” He stopped again, and looked almost insulted for a beat. “You don’t remember a thing, do you?”
“Brilliant, Sherlock,” John said from the door, holding up a clip board that had been posted outside. “Ever occur to you to just read this? Bloody hell.”
His flatmate gave him a glower. “Oh.”
Sam smiled. “Glad you’re here. Obviously, we found him-”
“Obviously,” Sherlock echoed, derisively, and was largely ignored.
“-but not sure what to do next. Do we tell Gwen and the rest of the team?”
Jack jerked his arm back abruptly. “Don’t tell anyone I’m here,” he hissed, eyes going wide as he glanced around the room. Almost as if he expected someone else to walk through the door and hurt him.
Dean held up his hands, stepping on Sherlock’s foot when the detective opened his mouth. When all that emerged was a strangled yelp, the elder Winchester spoke up. “Okay, Jack. You’re the boss, so we won’t say anything. But it probably is best to get you out of here. We could take you somewhere safe, then.” He caught Sam’s gaze grimly. “And I know just the bunker.”
“Jack!” the Doctor called, darting through the market place. He leaped over a railing heading to a lower part of the plaza, landing and stumbling, before regaining his balance. A quick glance around revealed that the immortal had heard him this time, and started back, so the Doctor straightened himself out and just waited.
His old friend grabbed him up in a brief hug, before glancing around. “Doctor... where am I?”
“Not sure,” the Doctor admitted, peeking about himself. “Well, it’s a planet. How’d you get here? I didn’t expect to see you!”
“That makes two of us, old friend,” Jack said, shaking his head. “It was some sort of... tractor beam, or a transport of some kind, but it was interrupted in the middle, and next thing I know, I’m here. Pretty sure I drifted through space for a while...” There was a beat of awkward silence, before he cleared his throat and went on. “Don’t suppose I can get a lift back?”
“Oh, right!” the Doctor gasped, and grinned. “Sure thing. C’mon, I think the TARDIS missed you.”
They got to the TARDIS, but before the Doctor even reached out to open her up, there was a familiar voice behind him. “Doctor?”
And suddenly, it all made sense; angels. He turned around, Jack beside him, and they both looked at the haggard man standing there, looking lost.
“Doctor... where am I?”
Jack took a step toward Castiel, his face morphing into concern, but the angel backed up a step. He nearly lost his balance in the process, but managed to catch it. His hands were shaking as he looked back and forth between them.
The Doctor put a hand on Jack’s shoulder, and took a step. “Castiel? It’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you, and I don’t know how you got here. But I can figure it out, if you’ll let me,” he murmured, as soothingly as he could manage.
The angel went still, staring at them without seeing, and the Doctor whipped out his sonic. He barely had a chance to scan Cas before his friend was snapping out of his stupor, calmer now. Almost collected. “Doctor... I do not understand how I came to be in this place... But-”
“Get to the TARDIS,” the Doctor snapped at Jack, who didn’t hesitate, and darted for the Police Box behind them.
Castiel was fast. Too fast, blade sinking between Jack’s ribs. Then he was turning toward the Doctor as the immortal human dropped to his knees. The Doctor lifted his screwdriver, eyes sad, and clicked a button.
His angel friend fell, hands over his ears, screaming. The sound of his voice was deafening, and made Jack jerk on the ground, but the Doctor did his best to ignore its echoing pitch, and made for the TARDIS door. He paused beside it, grabbing Jack’s shoulder, and dragged him inside.
The door clicked closed behind him, and the time lord raced to his console, setting a course back for Earth.
As the engines worked, the familiar siren drowning out the wounded angel’s shrieks, the Doctor sank to his knees and cried.
The lights flickered to life in their bunker, and their guests stared around in astounded disbelief (except Sherlock, who looked rather disdainful, but that wasn’t really unusual). “Home sweet home,” Sam announced with a little smile, waving an arm around. “Shall I give you the grand tour?”
Jack blinked a few times before turning his gaze to the elder Winchester. “This place is safe?” he asked dubiously.
Patting his shoulder, Dean nodded and moved beyond him, heading for the stairs to take him down to the floor below. “Yep. C’mon. Sammy can give you guys the tour, and I’ll make dinner! Any requests?”
“Burgers,” Sam said instantly, prompting a tiny grin out of his brother.
The others agreed with him without much issue, so Dean left to cook. A little over half an hour passed before he returned with a plate of burgers, a bag of buns, and a handful of condiments tucked into his elbow.
“A little help here?” he asked as he edged down the stairs.
Sam turned away from his lecture on books - directed at Sherlock - and hurried up the steps to take the condiments from his brother. “We just finished the tour,” he reported cheerfully, giving Dean a bright smile.
Blinking, Dean paused. When was the last time he’d seen Sammy so... happy? Surely not in a very long while.
He somehow refrained from commenting on it, setting the plate of big burgers down on the table instead. “Help yourself,” he said to their guests, and set the example.
“Don’t mind if I do,” John responded, reaching out to snatch up a patty.
Silence fell between them all as they fixed up their burgers as they liked, and Dean endured the following awe with the strength of an egotistical martyr. Sans the martyr bit.
Sam got halfway through his burger before he began babbling about the first time Dean had made the dish, right here in this very bunker not so long ago. How he hadn’t known Dean could cook like that, and he never wanted to go back to fast food joint burgers if he could help it. In no time, Sherlock found some reason to make a derisive comment, which started up a verbal battle between he and Sammy. John soon joined in, prompting Dean to defend his brother.
However, it all came to an end when Jack began hitting on each and every one of them like a man a fraction of his age.
Then Dean’s phone rang. He grabbed it up, not bothering to hide his relief at the excuse to escape, and waved off Sam’s ribbing as he walked away from the table to answer it. “Yo, you’ve reached the phone of Allen Ford. What can I help you with?”
“Dean? It’s the Doctor. I need your help.”
Dean’s blood ran cold.
The place they met up was an abandoned sea-side warehouse one state - four hours drive - away. They had left Jack and John behind, but weren’t able to keep Sherlock from accompanying them. They tried, but it was similar to trying to turn a shark into a vegetarian.
And so, the three of them approached the shabby warehouse and slipped inside to find the Doctor waiting before his TARDIS, Sonic Screwdriver in hand and at the ready like a gunman with a pistol. The hard look on his face instantly set Dean’s spine stiff.
“Is it really you?” Sam asked warily, eying their friend.
The Doctor relaxed slightly, and nodded. “Of course it is, Sam. Nice to see you have your soul back, by the way.”
The younger Winchester looked surprised. “How...”
“It’s obvious,” Sherlock snorted. “You’re much different now. Doctor, what’s happened? Why did you want us to meet you?” His eyes darted over the time lord, and narrowed. “And why is there blood on your jacket?”
Blinking, the Doctor looked down at himself, and sighed. “Oh, that’s Jack’s. Sorry. Don’t worry, he’s okay. Annoyed, but okay.”
The brothers exchanged a look, while Sherlock forwent caution and stalked forward. “Jack? He’s with you now?” he demanded, stopping right in the alien’s bubble.
The other male leaned back on his heels, brows arching. “Erm... yes?”
“Let me see him.”
“Now. Let me see him now. Right now, Doctor,” Sherlock demanded with the impatience of a child.
Now thoroughly bemused, the suited male nonetheless turned and opened the door of the ship behind him. “Jack? Sherlock wants to say hello.”
In a heartbeat, a familiar grinning face appeared in the doorway, though Jack’s shirt was torn and covered in blood, as if someone had stabbed him. “Sherlock! Good to see your gorgeous face. How’s it going? Oh- oh! Sam, Dean! Hi!” He waved, leaning slightly to the side to grin at them.
A part of Dean untensed, hearing their names rolling off the Captain’s tongue with the ease of memory. He started forward at the same time as Sam, both of them wearing identical smiles as they approached.
“Hey Jack,” Sam said. “It’s good to see you. Erm... what happened?”
Jack’s smile faltered at the question, and he stepped fully out of the TARDIS, shooting the Doctor a look. “You wanna tell them or should I?”
“Might as well just go ahead, Jack,” the Doctor sighed, eyes saddening.
The resident detective was frowning, clearly not holding all of the pieces, and so Dean took the opportunity. “Tell us what?” he asked, glancing between his two time-traveling friends.
Jack sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he considered it. Finally, he waved a hand toward his shirt. “This was done by Cas,” he muttered. “I was on another planet and the Doctor was about to give me a ride back here, when he stumbled upon us. He seemed really confused for a few minutes, but then he just kinda... froze-”
“He was caught in some sort of communications loop,” the Doctor interrupted, and Jack let him. “A psychic connection between he and another entity with a similar metaphysical signature. My guess is-”
“Another angel,” Sherlock inserted, getting a nod. “Then?”
The Doctor frowned. “I told Jack to get to the TARDIS, but Cas attacked before he could. We barely escaped.”
Standing between Sherlock and Sam, Dean was feeling like there was more to the story than that. But... a part of him just didn’t want to know. He was still reeling, almost unable to fully comprehend the magnitude of what they were telling him.
Castiel had tried to kill them, but why? The last Dean knew, Cas was gone, lost in purgatory after he took the fall for Dean and destroyed Dick. Now, not only was he learning that Cas was back, but that he’d gone darkside again, somehow.
A hand touched his shoulder, and Dean snapped out of his mental lapse. The men around him were all giving him varying looks of concern, and it was Sam’s hand pressing into his jacket-clad skin. Ironically, right over the palm print his angel had once left behind.
“Dean? Are you okay?” the Doctor asked, brow furrowed.
The elder Winchester nodded glumly. “Yeah. I’m just... disappointed. A lot has happened, and Cas...” He sighed, shrugging Sam’s hand off of his shoulder. Somehow, it seemed wrong for anyone to touch there, right now. “I don’t want to hunt my best friend.”
The time lord flinched, and Jack looked away. Sam sighed, looking forlorn, but it was Sherlock that got it. “He stabbed Jack.”
A beat between them all, during which several sets of eyes moved up to stare at him. The Doctor lit up like a Christmas tree, though, a broad smile curling across his lips. “Oh! You’re right!”
“Wait, what? I’m missing something,” Dean said, blinking at their resident genii.
They both turned to frown at him like he was dense, but Sam was shaking his head. “Me too. What do you mean? We know he stabbed Jack.”
“Oh, don’t be dense, Sam,” the Consultant Detective scolded. “I know you’re smarter than this. Castiel stabbed Jack Harkness. What is the one thing Jack Harkness cannot do?”
Jack clued in at that, and took on an expression akin to someone that’d just been slapped. “Wow. I can’t believe I didn’t think about that.”
“Okay, all of you, knock that shit off,” Dean snarled in frustration, “And tell me what you’re talking about!”
Smiling, the Doctor leaned in, like someone about to impart a great secret. “Jack can’t die.”
The Winchesters reached their conclusion at the same time, and Dean’s jaw dropped open. “Holy fuck!”
“Okay, so basically I have to recalibrate the entire system to match the-”
“Tosh. Tosh,” Owen interrupted impatiently, waving his hands. “Okay, can you start speaking English now? I only speak doctor and human.”
The Japanese woman narrowed her eyes at him, and huffed. “I have to fix it by breaking it down and remaking it,” she said, which was, at best, a very loose translation.
He held his hands up in a, ‘see, now was that hard?’ gesture. “Now I get it. So what are you waiting for?”
She growled angrily, and spun in her seat, putting her back to him. Beyond them, Gwen and Ianto entered the main room of the Hub together, speaking quietly. The latter looked up, apparently decided he recognized the situation, and in exasperation, spoke up.
“Owen, please stop pestering Tosh while she’s working,” Ianto scolded.
Gwen snorted beside him, and smiled. “She may eventually decide to kill you,” she pointed out, amused.
The doctor rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. “I was just asking her a question. She started going off about recalibrating the system.”
At that, Toshiko whipped around, a pencil raised in full preparation for a lecture (and perhaps stabbing him in the eye). However, the words died in her throat when she stared past all of them at the exit. In particular, at the unfamiliar young woman standing there, looking around with a bird-like curiosity.
In seconds, the others had caught on, and Gwen and Ianto scurried away from the crimson-haired woman wearing what looked like some sort of maroon, form-fitting body armor. They both had their guns raised.
“Who are you?” Gwen demanded, gun stance instant and habitual.
Dark brown eyes shifted toward the other female, and the redhead smiled. “Gwen Cooper, I suppose. And you are Ianto Jones, Owen Harper, and... Toshiko Sato? It’s a pleasure to meet you, finally. I’m Jack’s daughter, and you are going to tell me where he is, or I will kill you all.”