Hah hah, /rolls his eyes/ really funny Rodney Dangerfield. But last I checked, it was me having to save your ass. Even from chicks three times smaller than you.
Hey, you barely got through that fight alive. You may have saved me initially, but it was me who cleaned the fingernail wounds on your arms.
((Post order: Doctor-Castiel-Dean-Sam))
The Doctor’s hands were steady as he punched in the set of coordinates that, after all this time, he knew better then anything else. They had been orbiting around a dying star, opening the fuel cells to prepare the old girl for any quick maneuvering they would have to do during this, quite frankly, insane task, but the Doctor flipped up the blue switches so their plunge back into the time vortex went largely unnoticed. Rushing around the console he flicked a switch there and pulled a lever here, returning to the small hanging screen and gazing at the readings. He was really doing it, the dancing Gallifreyan symbols and various numbers told him as much. He was taking them home. Something he hadn’t even thought about doing in…Rassilon, how long had it been? He didn’t even remember anymore…
“Attention everyone!” he spoke into the old CV radio remote that connected to the console and broadcast his voice throughout the entirety of the TARDIS, “If you could all make your way to the console room quick as you can, thank you! Come on Dean, get the lead out!”
The Doctor hung up the CV radio remote back onto it’s hooks on the time rotor, adding in that last bit as he remembered the older hunters testy relationship with the idea of punctuality. He let himself feel nervous as the symbols and numbers told him they were drawing closer and closer to Gallifrey by slow fits and starts in and out of the Vortex. Gallifrey wasn’t a straight shot, the Timelord having to keep phasing back into reality to check his location and adjust accordingly and because of that it would still be about fifteen minutes before touch down—Kasterborous was a long ways away from Idix 3 and the nearly dead center of the universe was never an easy thing to reach. But even so his own nerves threatened to have him turning about and flying away before they’d gotten anywhere near close.
’As quick as you can’ was an order Castiel barely had trouble with on any occasion…save for this one.
“He’s done it. Hasn’t he?” His eyes were directed pointedly at the small patch of grass he sat on, cross legged in an expanse of otherwise cold metallic ground. He eyes would not even raise to see the brush of stars above - which now had to be there only from memory as they bruised the Time Vortex with speed. This room, lik a feild under the stars was - unknown to the others - where he could be most often found if he was ‘somewhere off by himself’ - as the others said. Though they forgot every time that he could never have been alone, as his constant companion surrounded him at all times.
‘Yes, Castiel. He has done it.’ Though the voice of the TARDIS gave no indication of it in her voice, the angel knew her to be scared. Terrified. Not for herself, of course (although she very much had reason to be) but for her Thief. And for Castiel. And even for the other strays aboard at the time.
He nodded to himself, he motion becomming like a nervous tick. “Are you…alright…?” Usally the angel was more eloquent, but now he could not find cause to be. ‘No, my Angel. No. Now quickly, my Thief needs you. Do not make him wait on my account.’ Castiel could not expect anything less than the truth from the TARDIS, no matter how painful of worrying it would be. Nor could he expect it to be inflected with any amount of terror, to her she was just stating the cold facts.
But Castiel nodded once more. His eyes shutting, feeling the sultry grass beneath him and sensing the star freckled air above. He wet his lips once, trying not to let his brow fold with all the problems they could suffer and all the losses they could face by trusting the one they had so often relied on not to trust. The thought plaguing him that he would be an integral part in…whatever terrible plan he was quietly sure the Master had laid out…The one he was sure to walk right into the heart of by ignoring everything he felt so surely. All for the Doctor.
He sighed, his eyes opening to reveal the hurt and worry, before the grass disappeared from beneath his legs and was replaced with cold, hard glass beneath his feet as he appeared dead centre of the control room. He said nothing upon arrival, it was not he who needed an explanation. All the acknowledgement he offered over the change of setting was a grim, clinical nod to the Doctor.
Dean Winchester had been lounging on his bunk bed, his arms tucked beneath his head, but he was most definitely not contemplating sleep. His boots remained on, as did his jacket, and he had angled his head so that one of his temples pressed against the hard, metal construct of said bed. Contrary to what some viewed of his intelligence, he was mulling over the happenings of the past few weeks in great detail, when his stomach gave an involuntary flip.
The hunter glanced in the direction he heard the Doctor’s voice echoing and stood up like an old man who had aching joints. Something in particular had been perturbing him - though the thought of taking any mediocre threats from the Master seriously made him feel dirty. To admit he found the other man even so much as something as threat went against the sheer hubris he oozed on a daily basis, but he kept the Doctor’s words close at heart.
There was no way Dean would underestimate the Master. Or so, that is how he strongly felt.
He was fully aware of the delicate nature of what was to follow now, but the hunter did not exude nervousness. On the contrary, for the moment he was particularly fine. The prospect of what would happen did strike Dean as it would many other human beings. The eldest of the Winchester brothers was used to the tension that sizzled in the air before a hunt, battle, or mission - and even now issued an impenetrable coolness to his expression. He thrived on these sorts of emotions.
Just to prove the Time Lord wrong, in his own little way, Dean made sure to walk with extra quickness to the control room. He suspected Castiel would have easily beaten him there, but he made a conscientious effort to out speed his brother. His feet clunked heavily as he cantered into the expansive room - catching sight of a trench coat donned angel, but not Sam. The hunter grinned in satisfaction, “Am I late?”
The call slapped a slumbering Sam up the head right when Lucifer started to get creative. Jerking awake, he realized he was stuck in a gargantuan leather chair in the Doctor’s expansive library, limbs entangled with books and blankets, stretched just the wrong way; neck howling, ears ringing.
A minute later, he managed to get himself upright and standing. He was late, of course, which had been happening more and more frequently these days. Nightmares suppressed his appreciation for punctuality, just as it did everything else.
Whatever he’d dreamt, felt, experienced, he was in the real world now— a furtive sweep of his thumb across his scarred palm, an internal sigh of relief at the pain elicited— and it was time to hang up his night cloak and don his sword.
He shouldn’t have fallen asleep reading Lord of the Rings.
Taking the calming cup of hot chocolate the TARDIS’d conjured on the nearest table, Sam banished any thoughts of nervousness or anxiety over the day’s prospective events. None of them could afford any second thoughts about this mission; such a distraction had proven deadly more than once, and any shortcomings in resolve would be seen and taken advantage of by the Master in a snap.
His hand may have shaken as he pulled the library doors open. He blamed it on the sugary marshmallows in his cup.
The TARDIS obviously wasn’t in the mood for playing— a quick, jumpy stroll down the hallway and suddenly the console room was looming closer. Light shattered into miniscule patterns on the floor and reached for Sam, pulling him in by his fluttering Adam’s apple.
At least he had the opportunity to tease Dean about his change-of-heart concerning punctuality.
deanwinchesterinthetardis-deact asked: Hey, Sammy.
Heya, Dean. What’s up? Who’s beating your ass this time?
(Source: tonystarkosis, via deanwinchesterinthetardis-deact)
Read more3.) Name one scar your character has, and tell us where it came from. If they don’t have any, is there a reason?
Read more2.) What are your characters most prominent physical features?
