#oschester

Not that she was afraid, of course. Clara loved Halloween. She loved seeing kids’ costumes, the decorations, the spooks. She loved the thrill of being afraid without the added chance of actually dying.

Simply: without fear, the world would be boring.

But this was a whole other level. Clara did not believe in ghosts, but this was H.P. Lovecraft level of odd, and she was not too fond of his writing. The Call of Cthulhu? Giant spaghetti monsters who hang limp in the trees like vines and snatch people up like live nooses waiting for their next victims? More like Fifty Shades of Nope.

The Doctor had insisted that he could handle this one, but the odd markings on the wall and the dried blood in a cup in center of a pointed shape spoke otherwise. She stepped around the arrangement and moved into the kitchen. This was clearly not a Doctor case. But the only people she thought would be able to take this one were not picking up.

“Clara!” came the Doctor’s hoarse call from down the hall. “Come this way!”

She left the kitchen and paced down the hall in both directions. “Doctor?” she whispered loudly. She felt silly. There was no real reason to whisper, yet there was something so still and silent in the air that she felt she must. Every creak from the wood panels and every whisper from the trees outside made the house feel like a church. Sacred. Safe.

Or it could very well be condemned and damned, like the owners who used to live here.

“Upstairs!” the Doctor called again.

She found the stairs in the front of the house adjacent to the front door and stopped with one foot on the first step. There was a new sound added to the cacophony of whispering trees and creaking wood. She turned. The doorknob jiggled.

Quickly, she clicked off her flashlight and hurried to the side of the door, preparing for company. Fear was unreasonable at this point. It could have been a few local kids wanting to get a few laughs out of spending the night at a haunted house on Halloween. It could have been a land proprietor coming in to kick them out. For all she knew, it could have been the police. Nice, friendly American police.

A muttered curse followed the sound of the molding porch breaking.

Clara stilled. It could have also been a robber. A desperate one who really needed the money for drugs. One in a high stupor who wouldn’t mind killing an English teacher far from home.

She reached to her side and felt around a dusty side table for something heavy. Not because she was afraid of some low druggie. Rather, this was just in case.

Companion’s Rule #10: Sometimes blunt force is necessary.

The lock clicked. The door opened a crack wide enough to admit a man, judging from the profile. He closed the door behind him and looked around. He held his arms strangely, with his elbows locked and held in front of him, like in spy movies where they’re staking out a place with bad guys.

A gun, she realized. He was carrying a gun.

Doctor’s Rule #2: No. Guns.

A mini torch clicked on. He flashed the tiny beam both ways, narrowly avoiding her, and pointed straight forward at the stairs.

This was her chance. Carefully, she stepped forward.

Creak!  the step beneath her screamed. She held her breath.

Before her, the man froze.

Companion’s Rule #1: Always be brave.

Throwing caution to the wind, she raced forward with a battle cry. She brought her heavy object over her head and straight down on his shoulder. The mini torch fell on the first step. She attacked again, but he caught her wrist and twisted her arm behind her.

“Drop it,” he ordered low in her ear.

She gritted her teeth and tried wrestling away from his grip.

“Now!” He twisted harder.

Reluctantly, she let go, making damn sure it landed right on his foot, causing him to hiss. His hold relaxed just enough for her to wiggle out. Then, she shoved her shoulder into him with all her body weight, making him stumble on to the stairs. She caught herself on the bannister.

“Dean?” a voice shouted from another part of the house.

Clara scrambled for her torch and, clicking it on, flashed it in the man’s face. He recoiled holding his hand in front of the light, cursing. Someone else with heavier footsteps approached from another hallway, and soon the two beams of light were illuminating the darkness.

“Clara?”

“Sam?” she responded, turning.

He surveyed the scene from the foyer between the stairs and front door and snorted with disbelief. His big bad brother was disarmed by a girl a head and a half shorter than he was.

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled as if reading his mind.

Sam smirked and turned to Clara. “I didn’t think this was a Doctor-case,” he said.

“It’s not,” she said pointedly, shoving lightly at Dean’s chest, making him fall back on the step just as he had started picking himself up. “Someone wasn’t picking up.”

“Well, sorry, sweetheart.” he said sarcastically. “I couldn’t exactly drop everything just for the Impossible Girl.”

“Yeah, well, it’d be a good idea to,“ huffed Clara. Dean glared openly at her, but she refused to take the challenge. “What’s the case?” she asked Sam.

He glanced between them with a raised brow but quickly shook his head, shuffling his feet to look at Clara directly. “It’s just the usual,” he answered. “A few murders and disappearances that ended in bodies with a dusting of sulfur.” She pursed her lips. “So, demons.”

He nodded. “What are you in town for?”

“I asked for Mardis Gras,” Clara replied, exasperated.

“Well, you’re a little early.” Dean told her.

“Yeah,” scoffed Sam. “Or way late.”

The Doctor suddenly appeared at the top of the staircase. “Clara!” he exclaimed, rushing down. "What’s the point in having you if you’re just going to mope around and miss everything important?” He looked up from the stairs and observed the scene. "Hmpf. The Winchesters. I s'pose they’re invited, too. C’mon.” Then he disappeared back up the stairs and around the corner.

Clara rolled her eyes. “Move.” she muttered, narrowly missing Dean on her way up the stairs.

“Excuse you,” called Dean, pointedly. She didn’t even glance back.

“Jeez.” Sam scoffed. “I take it your last encounter didn’t end well?”

Dean pulled a face.“That’s putting it lightly.”

- - -

“Dean, can I have a word?”

Dean looked up. He should have known by then what that meant. It meant someone had made some big decision or there was a big decision to be made. Simply: It meant trouble. When people asked a word from him, he should have already been able to guess what his word would be: No. Always no. No good ever came from another word.

But he listened to her words anyway. Because they were Clara’s.

Her first word was very good one. It was the frustration leaving her in a huff of breath. It was her eyes shutting out her good sense. It was her lips pressing against his in some dark back room of the TARDIS. It was him listening to the words of her (dare he think it?) heart, the way he counted the layers between them like he did when he was young and inexperienced, the way he wished them all to dissolve so it was just him and her.

“Listen, Dean.” she said breathlessly. “I know we both tacitly agreed that this couldn’t work, but maybe-” Her eyes opened wide, and he saw hope. He felt it vibrate in her fingertips pressed against the back of his neck. “Maybe it could.”

“Clara,” he warned.

“No chick flick moments, yeah. But this is real. This is real life.” she said. “Our lives. We can make it work, yeah? The Impossible Girl and the-” She shook her head and laughed. “No, no. Souffle girl and pie guy. Fighting child hunger one pastry at a time.”

Dean laughed. “That sounds like the worst series ever.”

She shook her head, smiling. “I know.”

“Not because, like, obese superheroes because that’d be great,” he rambled. “But pie guy?”

“But it could work,” she insisted.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “It could.”

She smiled warmly.

Dean said, “Because souffle girl and pie guy would exist in another life.”

“I have plenty of those,” she said dismissively, leaning in for a kiss.

“I mean another dimension, even.” he said, pushing her away. “But not this one.”

Her arms fell from around his neck. “But what are the chances, Dean?” He opened his mouth to speak, but she ran over his words with her own. “What are the chances we would meet two hunters in a haunted house one night?” she asked.

“Not that impossible,” he stated.

“Then, what are the chances that it was you?”

Dean turned on the lights. “I’m not having this conversation, sweetheart,” he said, starting to leave.

“Yes, you are!” she insisted. “Dean!”

He returned. “You don’t tell me what to do.”

She gave him a hard stare. It was no secret that between them Clara was the better, less reckless decision-maker.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” He added, “At least not right now.”

“Yeah, especially now.” She grabbed his arm and stared at him imploringly. “Please. Let’s just talk.”

“Just talk?”

“Yes.”

Dean licked his lips and looked around impatiently for a way out, imagining ways he could distract her in order to slip away. He glanced back down at her and her big wide eyes and expectant stance. Her toe tapped impatiently. He didn’t think she was never going to give up.

So he did what he always did: push.

He changed his demeanor, nearly going stiff with this new form he was taking. He felt his lips curl into a twisted smile, his eyes almost turning black with what he knew he had to do, the words he had to shove in her face. “Okay! Fine!” he said with a cold bark of a laugh. “Let’s do exactly what you say, like we always do.”

Clara sensed a change in the air and stiffened, too. Her toe stopped tapping. Her arms wrapped around her. “What do you mean?” she asked, hesitantly.

“I mean, let’s make this work! That’s what you want, isn’t it, sweetheart? Good. Then, let’s plan, shall we? That sound good?”

“You’re not scaring me, Dean Winchester,” she said, daring to take a defiant step forward.

He tilted his head sideways, still smiling that odd little smile. He took a step forward. She retreated back. Amused, Dean stepped left. She stepped right. Soon, they were circling each other like fighters in a ring.

“I never mean to scare you, Clara. I just wanna make this work. So, let’s think.” He casually walked their circle, tapping his chin. “Since this is your proposal, I’m assuming you’d be the one to come to make the plans to come to me, but since Sam and I have to share a room most cases, we’ll have to be extra quiet. Unless we just hang a tie on the doorknob, and he can just sleep in the car, but then you’ll have to be a little more sneaky when you leave. I mean, you’re a teacher! Hate to spoil your perfect reputation, right? And then there’s the matter of money…”

Clara stopped moving. Her chest heaved every silent breath while her eyes screamed her pain. “What are you suggesting, Dean?” she said in a calmer voice than her demeanor portrayed.

One more push, thought Dean. One more push, and she’s out the door.

He shrugged. “I’m suggesting we start now. This place seems quiet enough, and the TARDIS isn’t going to tell anyone our secret.” He pulled out his money clip and sifted through the cash. He flipped it around so a condom lay clearly visible at the top of the stack.“How’s twenty bucks for the first go?”

Clara stared at him, her lips tugging downwards in the face that people think would keep them from crying. Her red rimmed eyes filled even more, but she blinked quickly. She will not cry, she will not cry…

Dean tilted his head, his gaze taunting. One more push, he thought, and she’s out the door.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he leered.“First time?”

A chant was beginning in her head, the feeling in her chest growing with it. I will not cry in front of him. I will not cry in front of him and give him the satisfaction. I will not…

But she knew what he was doing. And what was even worse, he knew what he was doing in this disgusting little play he was performing. Well, it wouldn’t work, she decided.

But he pushed harder. He strode forward, close enough to reach out his fingertips and lightly brush her shoulder to her waist. His eyes flicked back upwards sinfully, but the look was lost. She was staring right through him now, hiding from him inside her own mind. He had to do something to bring her back, to make her leave and drop all her fantasies about them. (For the record, it wasn’t like she was the only one imagining them together, but someone had to be realistic here.)

Her eyes flickered as he moved even closer.

He leaned to her ear. “I suppose I can go easy on you this one time,” he murmured, lips brushing the lobe of her ear.

Finally, something snapped inside her. Her stomach coiled with anger and she found herself slapping his hand away from her waist and shoving a finger into his chest. “If you ever say anything like that to me again, Dean Winchester,” she said, her voice stronger than her eyes. “I will smack you so hard you’ll find yourself gasping back to life.”

“Sounds like a good time,” he said, staring hard.

She shoved him again and glared at his casually cruel smirk, her quick tongue wavering on her next words. “Go to hell,” she told him.

And out the door she went.

- - -

Dean paused at the door while Clara went on ahead after the Doctor. Moonlight was spilling in on the colorless dusty floor, the first open window they’d seen. He should have been happy to be able to see more than just the small beams flashlight, but there was something wrong with the picture, something that made his fingers twitch towards his gun. The Doctor was smiling. Dean had only known this new old Doctor for a few minutes tops, but he did get a feeling that the man was not one to smile easily, especially at a blank room. He waited at the door, his gut telling him this whole deal was going to turn south real soon, but still he kept a close eye on them huddling closely together.

Sam followed behind him and, glancing down the hallway, noticed a door standing ajar at the end of the hall. Sam nudged his brother and nodded at it with his chin. “Worth a quick look?” he asked.

Dean hardly spared him a glance. “Who’s stopping you,” he grunted.

Sam swiftly overtook the ten feet to the door and went inside, raising his gun ever so slightly. Then his eyes widened. His head whipped towards his brother. “Dean!” he shouted, running forwards. But the door was already slamming shut.

“Sam!”

“Dean!”

It was Clara’s voice that time.

He looked over, keenly aware of the sounds of his brother throwing himself against the door as Clara slowly backed away from the Doctor. “Dean, something’s not right.”

Like she had to tell him. The Doctor’s head was hanging limp over his shoulders, his fingers twitching. Sam was yelling his name more loudly now, the single syllable exploding through the house. “Dean, I found the body!”

Then, silence fell.

Slowly, the Doctor raised his head, eyes shut. The same smile Dean had seen before was plastered across his thin lips, but after the previous display, it was more eerie under the moonlight. “I’m sorry, Clara. That was awfully rude of me. Remind me-” His eyes flicked open to windows of impenetrable darkness. “Where were we again?”

A shot rang out, smoke rising from the tip of his gun. The Doctor shuddered as more bullets pierced his body, yet he was laughing. It only made Dean angrier, making his trigger finger work even more, until his arm was forced down.

“Dean! Stop!” Clara cried. “Look.”

And as he did, the holes in the Doctor’s body lit in orange flame, leaving undamaged skin in its wake. Both he and the demon were gaping in awe.

“I must admit-” the demon said, staring at his borrowed body. “Now that I’ve tried on a Time Lord, I’m afraid I may never go back again.”

“Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to,” said Clara, lifting Dean’s gun. He stared at her. He didn’t even notice it leaving his hand. “Life’s unfair like that,” she added.

The demon merely put his hands behind his back. “Yes. Life’s been very unfair to you, hasn’t it, Clara?”

She faltered for a moment and gripped the gun tighter. “Get out of my friend.”

Dean leaned towards her. “Not the best choice of words, sweetheart,” he whispered. She pushed him away with her shoulder, still glaring at the demon.

“Look at you, Clara. A best friend who will never understand what you lost. A universe that will never pay what you’re due. Not to mention you’re surrounded by idiots.” He flicked his wrist and sent Dean flying across the room.

“Dean!”

“Don’t move, my dear.” the demon said, softly. He raised his hand and lifted Dean against the wall, curling his fingers and closing his windpipe. Clara’s chin dropped in horror at his gasps. She retracted the step she’d taken and resumed her stance with the gun pointed. Satisfied, the demon let Dean breathe.

Clara’s trigger finger trembled. “What do you want?”

“That’s not the matter here, Clara.”

Dean scoffed, still catching his breathing. “It’s always about what you want.”

“Pipe down now, Dean, I’m making a deal.” Again, he flicked his wrist.

Dean’s brow furrowed before realization dawned. Clara! He shouted silently. No, don’t - !

“Eyes up front, Clara.”

Something tugged Clara’s chin forward and kept it there. Try as she may, she couldn’t get Dean within eyeshot. Reluctantly, she focused on the demon instead. “Don’t hurt him,” she demanded quietly.

The demon smiled wickedly. “Ah, but which man are you talking about, my dear?”

She swallowed, her eyes flicking from Dean’s direction to the Doctor’s yet unharmed body. “Please.” she added.

The demon stared at her as if he could eat her. Too good, he was thinking. This deal would be too easy. She cared too much. Then he shrugged. “We’ll talk conditions later, but for now let’s establish what you want.”

“I want nothing from you.”

“Oh, but we know that isn’t true.” He laughed. “We’ve been keeping an eye on you, Clara. We know you’ve been trying to summon one of us for months without any of your friends knowing, and for what? One special, special boy?”

Clara’s hands shook around the gun.

“What was his name? Rupert?”

“You shut up.”

“He didn’t like that name either. Daniel, was it? Danny?”

Clara blinked at the wetness in her eyes.

“Danny Pink.”

“I said shut up.” She cocked the gun.

The demon rolled his eyes. “Oh, put that thing down. You’re not going to need it. Not while I’m wearing armor this effective.” With a nod of his head, he sent the gun flying. “Now, I do believe in fairness, Clara, so I’m going to give you an alternative option in case you hadn’t considered it already.”

Her head swiveled towards Dean. His jaw was shut tight though his eyes were shouting volumes. Suddenly, she couldn’t find her voice either.

“Dean Winchester,” purred the demon, as if presenting a showcase. “Not the best option, I admit, though he does know how to love, and love fiercely. Knows how to handle children- I know that was a rather important trait in your previous lover-” Clara flinched at the flippant word- “No? I always thought you two had had a spark, something– Something worth exploring, no? Besides, look at that jawline. Quite the specimen you’d be passing up here, Clara.

“Clara?” said the demon. She’d been staring his throat the whole time, the Adam’s apple that bobbed with all his unspoken words. “Look at him. Clara. Look at him!”

Painfully, her eyes were forced upward, her gaze locking with Dean’s. His green eyes exploded with emotion: anger, frustration, some confusion, some love. But then his eyes started softening more with the latter as they bore into hers. He was asking her to choose something else, something not Danny Pink. It clutched at her heart until finally she shut her eyes.

“No?” asked the demon.

“Danny Pink,” she said, resolutely, her eyes still closed. “You said you’d give me Danny Pink.”

“Ah.“ He was smiling. She could hear it in his voice as her head turned towards the sound. “I knew it. Danny Pink. Always Danny Pink.”

She opened her eyes. “Only Danny Pink.”

The demon laughed. “Such determination! Now I see why you’ve been the apple of so many eyes.”

Clara blinked impatiently. “Shall we get back to the business at hand now or are you going to confess your love for me as well?”

The demon jumped, surprised by her audacity. They were nearing the part of the deal where the customer started second-guessing this decision, but as he stared back at her, he saw no gray clouds that told of its approach.  But the self-doubt would come soon, he was sure. Perhaps he would try a catalyst to speed the process. “Of course!” The demon smiled and clasped his borrowed hands together. “Of course… but first, would you like to hear some reasoning from Mr. Winchester? Fair is only fair-” he lifted his hand to wave Dean’s voice back into his throat but stopped.

“No,” commanded Clara. “I know what I want.”

The demon was peeved. He wanted a show. He wanted Dean to beg for once. He wanted to see his heart crushed in the girl’s hand. But instead of protesting, he forged forward with the deal. The Doctor was stirring in his head, and he had fought too hard for control to let it go now.

“Then tell me.”

“I want Danny Pink- alive, well, and completely human. No tricks.”

The demon smirked into his shoulder. She was a clever one.

“I also want my friends safe and with me when this over, understand?”

“Fine,” he said stiffly. “Anything else?”

“No.”

“Then, in return, I want permission to take possession of all your past selves. The ones in the past. The ones in the future. The ones in the stars. All of them.”

Clara blinked. “Couldn’t you have just done it yourself already?”

“Your friend,” he gestured to himself, “made sure you were nearly untouchable.”

“He protected me?”

“He was protecting himself. If you didn’t exist, he would die.”

She nodded. “Fine. You can have them.”

He smiled triumphantly.

“But remember what I said: my friends safe and with me.”

“Oh, I won’t touch the Doctor.” he promised. “It’s the others I’m dying to meet.”

She tried not to read into that. “Then I guess that’s it.”

“We have to seal the deal first, dearie. Come here,” he beckoned.

- - -

Dean landed on his feet as the demon left the Doctor’s body in a stream of black smoke and wasted no time getting across the room to Clara. “What the hell were you thinking?” he shouted. “You just sold yourself to the devil.”

“Oh shut up, Dean,” she yelled back. “You are not one to chastise me for selling myself for someone I love.” She bent to help her sputtering friend on the floor before her.

“That was for my brother. This guy was just your boyfriend,” said Dean. “There are others.”

“Like who? You?” she spat.

He clenched his jaw.

“And that guy was just my boyfriend as Sam is just your brother. So shut up and make sure he’s okay.” Dean rolled his eyes and left as she went back to caring for the Doctor, who was just beginning his own rant. By the time he got Sam caught up, the other two were ready to go. Into the TARDIS they went, traveling through space to Danny Pink’s cemetery. There, right below the place where he had made the ultimate sacrifice, he lay human and untouched. His eyes opened as Clara cradled his head in her lap.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

“What have you done?” he murmured, happily touching her cheek.

The Doctor looked up at a shimmering horizon as things changed and shifted into a new world influenced by a possessed Clara sometime in the past. “Indeed,” he said. “What have you done?”