#clarean

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Doctor Who, Supernatural Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Clara Oswin Oswald/Dean Winchester Characters: Clara Oswin Oswald, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Christopher "Rigsy" Riggins, Bobby Singer, Kate Lethbridge-Stewart, Canton Everett Delaware III, Crowley (Supernatural), John Winchester Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting Summary:

Late 1940s. The war feels like it’s over. They’ve won, though no country, no alliance has taken over officially. They have simply become The Empire, a military giant that has gained the compliance of almost every major world entity.

Still, there are rumors. In the looming shadow of the Empire, they share secrets about a plot to build a bomb that can shatter continents and reform the world in the wielder’s image. For most of the public, it isn’t true, but for the nascent Rebel Alliance the chance cannot be taken.

　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 ᶠᵘᵗᵘʳᵉ ᴰᵒᶜᵗᵒʳ ˣ ᶜˡᵃʳᵃ ᴼˢʷᵃˡᵈ | ₀₂

　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 　 The note

Right after he and Sam met the Doctor and Clara, on a crushing plane, Dean received a phone call from the future. And years before he still remembered every single word of it, standing in front of him in tight skirts and piercing eyes.

"I had one job, that one job. . . I need you to see that, I'm begging you!"

Right after she and the Doctor flew away from London, Clara received a phone call from the past. A sad, bittersweet phonecall that made her see, that made her stay.

"Goodbye, Clara. Miss you."

The strenght of the Doctor's vow towards Clara.never changed, even when they met him. He who was cold, distant, without no clue on who she was. He who considered her sacrifice a human error. Deep down, in the inside, in his hearts.

"It can be bludgeoned, tortured, but never broken. Not even by me. It's vulnerable, impermanent. But stronger than you know. And more valuable than you can imagine."

Right after all the mess that happened with her soul, containing in its humanity the power of billions of other lives, Clara was safe from Crowley and from the angels. And her phone rang.

The Doctor was leaving another note.

"I'll be keeping you safe. One last victory."

"I had a duty of care."

"I made a vow, remember? To look after you. Stay close to me and I will keep you safe from them, I promise you."

Seventh series era. No fringe for Clara. Eleventh Doctor. Before Dean and Clara know each other, and obviously the Doctor knows all.

In all her life, Clara Oswald had never seen the Doctor stumble so drunkenly without having an actual drop to drink. The grip of his overexcited state seized him again, and he stumbled, tremors running up and down his loose limbs. His arm swung towards her and accidentally slapped her across the face.

Clara gasped. clasping at her cheek. “Doctor!”

Her cry echoed around the parking garage. Why the TARDIS landed here, she had no idea. It was nowhere near London. Rather, it had landed on the other side of the Atlantic in the parking garage of some gaudy casino in Atlanta. She should have demanded her home and her safe bed, but as always, she allowed the Doctor to sweep her off track again. They ended up winning big in a casino because of an accidental powerful swipe of the sonic and going to jail for using alien technology.

Who knew Atlanta had actual aliens as well?

The Doctor fared better in jail than Clara would have guessed in the opposite cell with the rest of the women. She feared for him, but instead, he stood well above them, using his long words and loose limbs to bore the criminals to sleep. In a few cases, they also became intrigued with his stories and became docile little schoolboys, sitting on their shared benches, chins in their palms, listening to the Doctor prattle on and on about seemingly impossible things.

By the time the aliens released them, the Doctor was so tired of his own voice that he had to lean on her for support.

Presently, the Doctor fell on his face, his hand scrambling on the bumper of a car to catch him.

Clara rushed forwards to sit him up against the car. It was black, with a long trunk that stuck out of the line of parked cars. Its bumper shone a bright silver and was obviously well-cared for like the rest of it. “Doctor?” she asked, tentatively, brushing his fringe aside.

He scrambled to sit better,  his arms circling as if he was trying to swim upwards. His sweaty palm squeaked loudly against the car. “This car,” he stated, wrinkling his nose. “There’s something about it.”

Clara rolled her eyes and grabbed him under the arm. “It’s just a car, Doctor. Come on. Let’s go.”

The Doctor ran his hand along it, more softly this time. “Baby?” he murmured.

“Doctor,” she groaned.

“Hey!” a voice echoed. “Hey! What the hell are you guys doing to my car?”

Clara flipped her hair over her shoulder as she looked up. A man strode towards them, anger in every step. He was stubbly with short dark hair, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.

“Nothing,” she sighed, standing. “My- uh, friend is just having a little off-night is all.”

The man put his fist on his hip, his brow lifted. “An off-night? Lady, it’s five in the morning.”

Clara jutted her chin out and looked down her nose at him from her place on the upper part of the slope of the parking lot. “Off morning, then. What’s it to you?” she said, stubbornly.

“Look, lady, no offense-” His eyes flicked over her, head to toe. A corner of his lips flicked upwards for a second. “Really. No offense, but I need your boyfriend off my car, like, pronto.”

Clara crossed her arms. “Not my boyfriend.”

“Then  your -” He blinked. “Your whatever-they-call-a-boyfriend-in-England. I don’t care. Just get.”

Suddenly the sonic screwdriver whirred behind them. “1967 Impala,” the Doctor muttered to himself, his face now pressed against the car. “With a false bottom in the trunk.” His head lolled against the door as his smile lazily swung towards them. “Winchester.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Who the hell are you?”

“Nobody,” Clara replied, quickly. She grabbed her friend’s arm and pulled him up roughly this time. He nearly body slammed her before getting stable on his feet. “We were just leaving.”

“Fine,” he grunted.

Clara roughly led the Doctor in the direction of the TARDIS on the next level of the garage. She stood in the small corner next to a few stray vending machines and the stairs. With the Doctor leaning and stumbling with one chicken-footed step after the other, the journey there couldn’t be more arduous.

“WAIT!” the man barked. “You left a freaking SCRATCH.”

Clara glanced back, shoving the Doctor the last eight feet to the TARDIS. The doors snapped open for him. “Sorry!” she shouted back. “We’ll call someone to get on it right away! We’ll just step into this phone box-”

“You seriously brought a freakin’ phone box all the way to the States?!”

She shrugged with one foot in the door. “Always gotta travel in style!”

The man shook his head at the offensive mark in his car. “Brits, man,” he muttered.

It was their wedding day. Dean continued to pace up and down the set of church stairs, anxiously awaiting the arrival of his best man. Where the hell was Sam? Just as the full-flanked panic began to set in, the ex-hunter spotted his brother, sporting a brilliant white tuxedo and holding- thank God- two ring boxes. His smile was positively alight, radiating all of the pent-up joy Dean was currently experiencing beneath the surface.

Hunts? He could handle. Angels, demons, vampires- heck, even Lucifer. But waiting for his bride-to-be? With the niggling doubt that she won’t show up? Honestly, he was surprised he wasn’t downing the flask of whiskey that lay heavy in his jacket pocket. But he promised Clara he wouldn’t. And he always kept his promises when it came to Clara.

Beautiful Clara with her big brown eyes that had caught him completely off guard, the moment he first stood on her doorstep. Beautiful Clara, who he’d seen die once in his arms, only to find her inexplicably revived several months later. Beautiful Clara, who would soon become his for the rest of his life.

Walking into the church, Dean drank in his surroundings; appropriately girly. Tastefully decorated. Simple. Clara. The butterflies in his stomach were threatening to transform into something more sinister as he made his way to the altar, hands tucked deeply into his pockets. Their friends were here already, laughing and smiling, taking their seats in the pews. It wouldn’t be long now. Where was she?

"Dean. You need to calm down. She’ll be here." Sam’s voice offered reassurance to the oldest Winchester, his hand squeezing his shoulder gently. “She’s head over heels. You both are. If I were you, I’d be more worried about remembering my vows."

Dean raised his eyebrows at that. What did Sam know? Writing his vows for Clara… Well, that was the easiest thing he’d ever done. The list of promises that were quick to touch down, from pen to paper- they seemed to flow freely. Dean found himself writing what he’d already memorized- promised her- every single day.

That’s when the music began to play. And heck, did Dean look like a deer in headlights or what? First the flower girl- some kid Clara had taken to babysitting, now clothed in a dress that was far too big for her. Second- the bridesmaids and grooms-men, his brother included. Dean wanted to whop the kid over his sasquatch head, the way he kept smiling at him with such a shit-eating grin, as if to say ‘I can’t believe you’re here but I told you so’. 

And then there was Clara. Beautifully, flawless Clara, blushing madly as her silken dress clung to the curves of her body. Dean had never seen a girl more beautiful. She was just… There weren’t words accurate enough to describe it- to convey how incredibly perfect she looked. And she was going to be his. How the fuck did he manage that?

"Hi," she squeaked at him, her radiant smile beaming from beneath her veil. Dean’s eyes lit up with affection as he clasped her hand in his own.

"Hello, you." Linking his fingers with hers, the minister began to speak, but the two were so lost in one another’s eyes that Sam had to smack Dean on the back of his head when it reached the time for vows. The audience laughed at that, admiring how incredibly in love the pair were. It was as if nothing else existed.

"Right. Vows." Dean turned a violent shade of red, rubbing the back of his neck nervously as he laughed at being caught out staring. She squeezed his hand in encouragement. Whispering words that only he could hear: “I’m right here with you."

"You’re so beautiful-" he blurted out suddenly, losing control of his mouth. “Not that you’re not always beautiful, you just look really beautiful right now and I’m rambling please stop giggling at me- vows!"

She began to play with his fingers, a shy smile still faintly echoing on her lips as Dean finally began to speak.

"Clara Oswin Oswald; my diamond in the rough. I’m really awful with words, you already know that. But heck, I’m gonna try my damnedest to say words right now, because this is really important to me."

Dean.

"When I first met you, I couldn’t believe how blunt you were. Calling me out on my rubbish. Seeing through my carefully placed mask-"

Dean.

"And I let you in. You’re the first person I’ve let in in such a long time. And I promise you’ll be the last. My beautiful Clara. With your cheeky grin and bounce in your step. For the rest of my life, I want to wake up to a cup of tea, awfully off-key singing, and a plate of burnt soufflé—"

Dean, please.

 "I promise I’ll love you for the rest of my life. But you already know that. Even in death, my love for you will never die. Thank you for doing me the honour of becoming my wife."

She was crying. Beautiful Clara was crying because of something Dean had said. She was crying, and for once it was because he’d said something amazing.

      "Dean! Wake up!”

An abrupt slap across the cheek caused Dean to wince in pain, his eyes groggily sliding open to find…Sam? Where was he..? A warehouse of some kind?

"Oh thank God! I thought I’d finally lost you, Dean! You’re a freaking idiot! I’m going to beat the shit out of you after you get better. Don’t you dare go solo. Ever. Again.”

His tone was relieved. Anxious. Why? Where was he? Solo? What was he talking about? Dean had retired from the hunting game over a year ago. For Clara. She’d begged him, saying she was too frightened of losing him. He’d finally met a girl that he’d give it all up for. So what was Sam talking about?

"Where- where am I?" Dean’s voice was scratchy, his throat raw and painful as his eyes glanced around the dark room.

"You don’t remember? You were hunting a Djinn. It must have gotten you when-"

"No. I haven’t hunted in over twelve months, Sam. I need to get out of here. Clara is probably worried sick. Undo the ropes!"

His voice was raised in panic, completely unsure of his surroundings. Djinn? No, it was date night. 

"Dean- you need to calm down." Sam’s tone had changed, shifted into something entirely different. Sympathy?

"Sam! Get me the fuck down! Right now!"

His brother moved quickly, covering Dean’s mouth with his filthy, dirt covered hand. It isn’t safe to yell, his eyes seemed to convey, bringing a single finger to rest on his lips in a quieting motion. Creeping out of the room, Sam now wielded a silver knife dipped in…blood? What the hell was going on?!

It was back. The djinn was back, its blue eyes aglow as it paced closer to Dean, bile rising in the back of his throat as the ugly thing’s tendrils reached out to touch his mind once more. But Sam was faster, moving effortlessly from the shadows, plunging the blade deeply into the djinn’s heart with a violent cry. It was dead.

"What the hell is going on, Sam!? No- don’t worry about that- get me the fuck down! I need to call Clara!"

"Dean-"

"She’s probably having a heart attack right now! I promised her no more hunting-"

"Dean!"

"What?!"

"Clara’s… She’s dead, Dean. Remember? She died. At her apartment."

"Yeah, and we went back and she was alive again. Don’t you remember? You were there."

"No Dean. The djinn-"

"Shut up Sam!"

"I’m serious, Dean. Clara’s gone. She’s been gone for over a year."

No no no, Sam had it all wrong. Clara wasn’t dead. Not again. She couldn’t be. She was finally his. Forever. 

His brother spoke with resignation, his tone weak and empathetic as he rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder. A motion not unlike the one at the wedding. Reassuring.

"It wasn’t real, Dean. The djinn- it messed with your mind. You’ve experienced the touch before. You know what it does."

No. It couldn’t be- no. Clara wasn’t imaginary. She was his Clara. Dean’s tear-filled eyes glanced up to meet the concerned eyes of his brother. Sam was- he was telling the truth.

"You’re saying this djinn- this dead thing on the floor… gave me my deepest desire? For Clara to be alive again?"

He felt his heart break into a thousand tiny, shattered little pieces. Would anyone ever be able to put it back together again?

"Yes, Dean. She’s still gone."

"I knew it was too good to be true. Good things don’t happen to people like m-"

Sam pulled his brother into a tight hug as the sobs finally began to shake through his body; unrelenting, never-ending, eternal pain. In this moment, Dean honestly wished himself dead. The grief- it was far too raw. He couldn’t stand it. But Sam was there; holding him through it all, unwrapping the bindings on his arms, driving him home. Back to motels. Back to cheap beer. Back to life without meaning. 

Depression came easily.

                                                      [2 months later]

All was quiet; the swishing sounds of trees in the breeze were the only backdrop to an otherwise silent place. It was hauntingly beautiful. Exactly how he’d remembered it. 18 months ago, when he buried the love of his life. Finally he’d worked up the courage to return.

"Hey Clara, it’s me." Dean began to speak, tucking his hands uncomfortably in his jacket as he stood in front of her tombstone. “I know I haven’t been here in a long time. And honestly, I would’ve felt stupid, talking to a gravestone a few months ago. But things are different now. Everything is different."

Fighting back the tears, he took a step closer, placing a single variegated tulip on the grass. He’d put a lot of thought into it, choosing a flower with meaning. This one meant ‘beautiful eyes’. Because that’s what she had. Beautiful, big brown doe eyes.

"I’m so sorry for letting you down-" His voice finally broke, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “We could have been so happy. I fucked up, Clara. I let you- it was my fault!"

The tears were now flowing freely, Dean pausing in his speech to wipe a single hand down his face, brushing away the mess to the best of his ability. 

"I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it." 

Pulling out a plain gold ring, Dean placed it on his wedding finger, snorting out a sad, choked laughter at the notion. 

"I promised I’d love you for the rest of my life. I’ll see you in paradise one day."

IF YOU CAN THINK OF A SHIP, I WILL ANSWER THESE QUESTIONS FOR THEM:

Dean Winchester x Clara Oswald [Doctor Who]

Who cooks normally?

Clara would try her damnedest to cook the most — especially soufflés. But Dean would definitely volunteer to help her out.

How often do they fight?

I still don’t get this question. Seems pretty dumb to me, trying to predict this stuff. What I can answer is what they fight about, which would be anything and everything. Opinions on certain TV shows, and definitely about whether or not Clara is being safe. Dean would worry about her safety constantly, and they’d fight about his lack of care for his own safety.

What do they do when they’re away from each other?

Dean would hunt things. Clara would worry in the back of her mind, but get on with her day-to-day life.

Nicknames for each other?

Clara: Ra, Captain (because Dean is a sassy shit and would follow her orders by saying ‘Aye aye, Captain’).Dean: Princess.

Who is more likely to pay for dinner?

Dean. He’s a gentleman. Give him some credit.

Who steals the covers at night?

Dean. Clara would bitch endlessly about it and Dean would just respond with ‘well why are you sleeping so far away?’ and commence cuddling.

What would they get each other for gifts?

Dean would be extremely sentimental, buying Clara things from their past life together that she can’t remember experiencing. He’d explain the memory behind the gift, and re-enact it.

Clara would buy Dean practical stuff. She’d act like a mom, making sure he has warm clothing and the best equipment, because she doesn’t want him to get sick or hurt.

Who remembers things?

Both of them.

Who cusses more?

Dean. The answer to this question will probably always be Dean with any ship.

What would they do if the other one was hurt?

Dean would be extremely overprotective, destroying anything that dared harm a hair on Clara’s head. Then he would fret over her. Clara would pretend she’s not as shaken about his injuries as she truly is inside, and would dress his wounds carefully. Later, in private, she would probably cry.

Who kissed who first?

Clara would kiss Dean first, catching him completely off guard.

Who made the first move?

In this situation, Clara, because Dean wouldn’t want to pressure her to go for him a second time.

Who started the relationship?