Paging Doctor Crazy

The Doctor was gesticulating wildly, throwing those thin pale hands about as he always did. Expounding some theory, no doubt. Martha nodded, 'hmmm'ing in the way the Doctor found most agreeable. He knew she wasn't really listening – but she was polite enough to pretend that she was. Good old Martha. The one who held him together. The one who picked up the pieces. Who didn't let his charm get to her, or let his ego get the better of him. The Doctor stopped suddenly in mid-explanation, leaning back against the main consol of the TARDIS, hands curling against the edge. He crossed his ankles, casting an eye over the woman who stood leaning against the railing, chewing her lip absently.

"So Martha – where are we going now?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow at her. She started slightly as she realised his words were actually directed to her, rather than at the air around her. The Doctor continued his questioning, his hands tucking into the pockets of his pinstriped suit pants, a small smile pulling at his lips.

"Where do you want to go? What are we gonna do?"

~

"What are we gonna do? Cas? Cas! Damn it!"

The side table rattled as Dean's booted foot connected with it, the lampshade skewing to the side, the naked bulb revealed as the white cone was shaken from its perch. He threw up his hands and stalked back to the centre of the poorly lit hotel room.

"Friggin' angels and their friggin' secretive winged avengers crap!" The elder Winchester hissed, as the younger eyed him from his seat on the edge of his bed.

"Dean, calm down." Sam's voice was annoyingly even, as usual. His brows were drawn together, his forehead furrowed, hands loose in his lap.

"I can't friggin' calm down! The friggin' world is ending and we're sitting here like a couple of schmucks with our heads up our asses, while Cas doesn't tell us jack! I can't calm down!" Dean replied snarkily, turning his green-eyed glare on his younger brother. "He goes off with a 'don't worry Dean, I have a plan' and I'm supposed to be calm? It doesn't work like that, Sam!"

Dean put his hand to his forehead, rubbing it for a second before shifting his hand down to pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing shut.

"Life used to be so much easier. Remember when it was easy, Sammy? When we hunted a few monsters, screwed a few girls, salted a corpse or two? But now the friggin' world is ending and Cas 'has a plan'. Excuse me if I don't feel instantly better because he claims to know what he's doing."

~

"Well now that you mention it, Doctor—"

"Can you hear that?" The Doctor had leapt up, head tilted to one side, eyebrow cocked again, eyes serious.

"Hear what?" Martha asked, nonplussed.

"That. That. That annoying ring – no, of course you can't. What was I thinking?" The Doctor shook his head, as though dismissing the thought. He looked around, eyes wide, brows drawn together in an expression of slight puzzlement.

"But where is it coming from? It's not inside the TARDIS – where is it?" He muttered to himself as he rambled around the centre console, turning in a circle every so often, trying to find the source of the persistent ringing. He'd even put his swotty specs on; as though they might somehow enhance his vision enough for him to find what he was looking for.

"Not under here, no... The library? No, not there – Where are you coming from?" The Doctor exclaimed, turning to grip the edge of the centre console, eyeing one of the readout screens, one hand whizzing across the buttons.

"Wait, locking onto the frequency... Oh, you are a – got it!" He suddenly shouted, a grin pulling at his lips. Martha was still stood where she had been three minutes ago, her expression even more confused. She wanted to ask what exactly was going on, but she knew better than to interrupt the Doctor when he was in the middle of something. She'd find out soon enough, anyway.

"Hmm... What? No, I can't he– Oh, okay."

The Doctor now seemed to be listening intently to some unheard voice, nodding every so often.

"Yeah... Alright. Brilliant, I'll be there with bells on."

He nodded one final time then pulled a few levers and pushed a few buttons before he whirled around to face Martha, his eyes gleaming. The TARDIS shook wildly and made a loud groaning noise while Martha clutched the railing to prevent herself from falling down. She regained her composure, loosening her death grip on the rail when she was certain there wasn't going to be anymore shaking. The Doctor grinned at her, swotty specs still in place.

"Change of plan, Martha. Get your Stetson and your spurs, we're going to Texas."

~

Dean was about to go into full blown rant mode, Sam could feel it. His brother was teetering on the edge, about to fall into the anger which had built up inside him for some time. Sam's frown grew more pronounced, his head tilting to one side as he threw up a hand, barking a 'shut up, Dean' as he struggled to hear past the angry mutterings of the other Winchester. Dean stopped, eyes narrowed.

"What?"

"Shh! Can you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That!"

Dean's brow furrowed, as he too caught the sound Sam was listening to so intently. It was a strange roaring kind of groan, whirring and wailing and hissing, rising and falling in a strange kind of rhythm. Through a chink in the curtains, a strange blue light pulsed in time to the grating beat, fading to black before growing in strength, then fading once more.

"What the hell is that?"

"I don't know, that's why I mentioned it," Sam replied shortly, standing, his face screwed up in concentration. He crossed the room, and was about to twitch back the curtains to get a view of the car park when it stopped. Sam frowned further, making a little 'huh' noise. He paused for a moment longer before he reached out to push back the curtains. An instant before his fingers touched the cheap netting, there was a sharp knock on the door. Sam nearly jumped out of his skin, snatching his hand back as though the netting had just taken a snap at him. He waited for the call of 'house cleaning' but it didn't come. He turned to his brother, whose confused expression mirrored Sam's own.

There was another rap on the door, brisk and business-like. Demons? Dean shrugged, the same thought obviously crossing his mind. He reached behind him and pulled out his handgun from him waistband. Sam did the same, striding almost silently towards the door, shoulders tense, gun out. He slid the chain off the door with his free hand, glancing over his shoulder. Dean nodded, training his gun on the door. Sam inclined his head, and reached out a hand slowly to grab the knob. He flung the door back, both hands settling on the grip of his gun, his brows drawn together, mouth pressed into a thin line.

The man and woman who stood on the front step smiled.