"I do believe in fairies"
Title: "I do believe in fairies"
Fandom: Supernatural/Doctor Who
Rating/Classification: language and mild sexual content, Martha/Dean, filler fic, crossover, AU.
Disclaimer: I don't own either universe and am making no profit.
Summary: A filler ficlet for DW S3's finale, "The Last of the Time Lords." 800 words.
Martha's throat is dry by the time she finishes telling The Story. That's how she thinks of it now, capital 'T', capital 'S.' She's told it in so many places, changing a word here or a pause there, but keeping the basics of it the same. And it's always the same audience, the same kinds of dirty, haunted faces that just want a bit of hope.
She's seen them all over the world. Until she comes to Lawrence. Until she meets the motley lot cleaning their guns and reckoning whether or not they should blow her head clean off. The leader, the one who must be the leader because of the way they all look to him, tilts his canteen at her when she coughs and she shakes her head. "No. No, I'm alright."
"Well, we aren't," he growls, his own voice sounding like he's got a frog in it. "We're hunters, Miz Jones and if you think we're going to pass on some fairy tale about the magic Doctor that we can bring to life by clapping our hands, you've fucking lost your mind. You give us something to chase, you tell us some way to cut down those things out there, *that*, we can do."
He tells her his name is Dean, that his brother was one of the one tenth who didn't make it. He tells her that Sam would've believed her.
All she can give him to chase is possibility.
That's all she's got anymore.
Of course, they're the ones who end up getting chased.
He's escorting her along the outskirts of town when two spheres detect him, go spiky, and start shooting. They take refuge in the wreckage of someone's storm cellar. Someone else who didn't make it. Dean swears like her first year rotation adviser as he reloads his revolver and pokes his fingers through the burn marks in his jacket. She checks her gear, counts it all and recounts, and doesn't speak at all. She's learned to save the energy for The Story.
He doesn't let her out of his sight the whole time, even though he doesn't quite notice her. It's nearly funny, the TARDIS key has made every man look at her like the Doctor would: like she's there but slightly off.
When she slides the chain over her head and drops it to the side, he blinks. He shakes his head like he's knocking something loose. A slow smile spreads across his face, the first one she's seen, and she gets it. She's not thick. Martha knows, or at least she knew once, that she's got a pretty face and a slamming body and a mind that's not too shabby either.
If she lets herself look, and with the cellar door shut tight she can, Dean is an ideal shag. He's got all the right things in the right place and she knows he'll make it good. He'll make her forget the dust and the fire and the screaming. He'll make her forget the whisper against her ear, Leo, Mum and Tish and Dad. Just for a little while.
Just… "Clap your hands," she tells him, unbuttoning her flak jacket. "Clap your hands, Winchester and, yeah, let's have a go."
His eyes flicker over her and then come back to her face. He's looking at her like she's mad, like she's telling him The Story all over again and he wants something to hunt instead of something to do in six months that may or may not save them all. "You really believe in that guy that fucking much?" he laughs, softly.
"Yeah. Yeah, I really do." She tilts her head, finds the catch in his laugh and the telltale rise of his Adam's apple. "Haven't you ever?"
This time, when he doesn't look at her, Martha knows he still sees her. He tells her "Once. I believed in somebody once," and undoes his trousers.
Flagging a medical transport is spotty and she hasn't had her BC in months. Dean pulls condoms out of nowhere. It's almost absurd, she almost has a laugh over Boy Scout Americans and their always being prepared, until he reminds her, "Old military trick. Keeps a gun barrel dry in the rain."
He makes her come the first time just using his mouth.
The second time, she digs her nails into his shoulders and remembers the way Jack looked at her like he *knew*. The way he sort of laughed and said, "You, too?"
The third time, the last time, she kisses Dean and forgets, for just a little while, what a Time Lord tastes like.
She's no different than the rest of the world, really. She just wants a bit of hope.
Dean's throat is dry by the time he finishes telling The Story.
July 1, 2007.