CHAPTER SIX

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On the opposite side of the small booth table, Martha blinked once Dean finished his story. She was absolutely stunned by the sad, and often tragic, tale which began when he was simply a small child with the loss of his mother. What followed was the obsession his father developed with the 'demon' who'd murdered her, and two children exposed to every horrific, evil being imaginable, never having the chance for innocence. Until then, she'd not understood why she saw the same emptiness of the Doctor's eyes in his.

Dean, however, never looked away from the empty water glass clutched within his hands. Usually, he would've felt better after this; explaining to the uninitiated exactly what was out there, lurking in the shadows. Today, he wasn't so sure of what was out there himself. Some alien race so far out of touch with its own history, it thought it was a demon or a vampire or a ghost ...

He softly snorted . “Just occurred to me: an alien owns my soul.” He shook his head as he met her gaze. Apparently, she didn't find it as amusing as he did. “Maybe I'll just go to another dimension when I die?” He paused as he considered it. “That might not be so bad.” His mouth quirked. “Or it could be like Event Horizon.”

“There must be a way to free yourself from this ... deal,” Martha firmly stated once found her voice. “You obviously aren't the first to make one; someone before you had to have managed a way out.” She brightened as an idea hit her. “The Doctor may have the answer for you! I'm almost certain, actually.”

He chuckled.

She frowned. “What?”

“Nothin'.” He shifted his gaze back to her. She was annoyed now. “It's ... you sounded just like Sam then. All week, he's been reading books, contacting every kook in the country, convinced there's a way out.” He heavily sighed. “Course, this was before we knew E.T. was involved ...”

“Which is why you should ask the Doctor about it,” Martha insisted. Her face brightened with wonder as she continued to speak. “He's done incredible and brilliant things during the short time I've known him. He's ... well, he's rather amazing, he is.”

Dean pushed the glass aside as he looked to her. She was positive the Doctor had all of the answers. How one person could have that much faith in anyone else, it was a total fricking mystery to him. “I ain't askin' him for help,” he grumbled. “Besides, after my short time with him, he's almost killed me. Twice.”

She sighed as she leaned forward. “Look, you may not get on well with him, but he never refuses to help anyone who asks. He'll do everything he possibly can for you.” She paused, trying to decipher the expression on his face. “Just talk to him.”

“I can't,” he shortly replied as he shook his head. “And it's not about me not likin' him, either. If I try to screw with this deal, the demon ... alien ... whatever the hell it is, will retaliate. Deal's off. Sam's dead again.” He let out a heavy breath. “That's why we needed that gun; to take out as many of these sons of bitches as possible before ...” He paused as his gaze fell to the tabletop. “What's it matter? The Doc's on the job, right? He can take care of it. Big hero of the universe, or so you said.”

Martha's jaw tightened. “This is your life.” She took hold of one of his wrists, which made him look at her. “You can't simply give over to the demon, or alien, or whatever it is. If you do, you may as well be dead already.” It was a harsh statement, but she had to do something – anything - to pull him out of his ever-deepening well of self-pity. “Resign yourself to that fate, you've already lost. You're not the sort who accepts losing.”

Thrown by her determination, which reminded him even more of Sam, he only gazed back at her. Could the Doctor really have an answer for him? Was it ... possible?

Before Dean could respond, the bell above the diner's entrance door jingled, catching his and Martha's attention. An older man, dressed in a sheriff's uniform, stepped inside of the establishment then seated himself on an empty stool at the counter. Out of pure reflex, Dean slumped down in the seat as he lifted his hand to obscure his face.

Martha glanced from the sheriff, who placed his hat on the counter, to Dean. She arched a curious eyebrow. “What're you doing?” she asked in a hushed voice. She recalled another part of his story, then added, “I hardly think you're wanted for crimes you haven't yet allegedly committed.”

He relaxed as he sat up straight. “Force of habit,” he nonchalantly replied, casually gesturing with his hand in an attempt to play it off. In reality, he felt like a jackass.

“Hey, Fred,” the middle-aged waitress behind the counter greeted as she stopped in front of the sheriff. She placed an empty mug in front of him then poured fresh coffee into it. “How're things at the office today?”

Fred wrapped both of his hands around the mug as he let out a breath. “Not good, Joleisa,” he answered. “Not good at all.”

A sympathetic expression crossed her features as she placed the coffee pot aside. “Still searchin' for the Reynolds girl?” When the sheriff shook his head, she went on. “Been almost a day, hasn't it?” Another nod. “Can't imagine what could've happened to her. Athena was always a good kid; didn't peg her as the kind to run away.”

“No.” The sheriff drummed his fingers against the mug as he stared at the black coffee within it. “Talked to some of her friends earlier.” After a second, he lifted his head. “Said the last they saw of her, she was headed for the old Churchill house.”

The waitress blanched. “Why would she go there?”

“You know kids that age, Jo. Daring each other to do stupid stuff, see who'll flinch first.” He swirled the coffee before he took a drink. “Hell, they're all convinced the place is haunted as it is.”

“Enough people have vanished out there, Fred,” Joleisa evenly replied, her face still pale. “And, well, I'm not fully convinced that it isn't haunted. Even when we were kids, we didn't dare go within half a mile of that place. Not after what happened to Tommy Jacobs.”

Martha saw Dean's expression change at the mention of 'Tommy Jacobs'. She glanced back at the sheriff and the waitress. Both of them had fallen uncomfortably silent. “What is it?” she asked in a whisper when she turned to him. “Tommy Jacobs? Who is he?”

Dean, though, didn't hear her. He only stared at the sheriff, while the downtrodden man, unaware of him, absently sipped his coffee. Thinking about that missing girl, no doubt. He knew the look too well.

“Dean?” Martha waved a hand in front of his face, finally gaining his attention. “What's the matter?”

He glanced at the sheriff. She wouldn't stop asking until she found out, he knew. Why even try to lie now? “We can't talk about it here,” he quietly said then stood up. “Come on.”

-

Once they reached the end of Main Street, Dean came to a stop as did Martha. Beyond them, on the northern horizon, settled in the midst of near endless farmland, was the Churchill house. Sam was more familiar with the history of the place than he, but he didn't need a lot to know what was out there. Well, what he'd thought was out there.

Martha's gaze shifted from the two-story farmhouse in the distance to Dean beside her. “What is it?” she quietly asked.

He folded his arms across his chest. “Not sure now,” he flatly replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Thought it was a ghost, until the Doc came along and said otherwise. Still, people've been disappearin' around the house since the late 1950s. Without a trace in most cases.” He side-glanced at her. “And whenever they did find somebody? It wasn't much. Hell, usually not even enough for dental records.”

She wrinkled her nose. “And no one's sorted it out?”

“Everyone has a good idea.” He paused, his mouth quirked as he remembered the Doctor. “Had, I mean. We'd figured it was connected to a woman who was murdered there in the early 50s - Monica Churchill. Husband beat her for months before he finally killed her and hacked up her corpse.”

Martha's eyes widened. Not so much at what had happened to the poor woman, which was awful enough, but at how blasé Dean was in relating it. As though it wasn't anything. Then, with the things he'd told her in the diner earlier, this was rather mild in comparison.

“In the early 60s, two hunters dug up her grave, and salted and burned her remains. But people just kept vanishing. Once in a while, they'd find pieces of'em in or around the house itself. Never did make sense, why the burning didn't work. No piece of her corpse they might've missed ever turned up, either.” He sighed. “So, the Churchill house is like the Holy Grail of the hunter world. Whoever figures that out? Infamous.” He chuckled. “No mystery now.” He ruefully smiled. “I win, I guess.”

Martha bit her lower lip as she studied his profile. He'd been so different in the past few hours. The cockiness and confidence he'd exhibited was almost gone. Understandable, given what he'd been through. The radical changes and the information overload; a sociologist in the early 1970s had called it 'future shock'. “Your father tried to solve the mystery?”

He looked down as he nodded. “Almost died out there. One of the few jobs he never finished.” His arms dropped to his sides. “He was good at this, too. One of the best ever. When he couldn't figure it out? I didn't think it could be done.”

“You've never given it a go?”

“No.” He shifted his attention to the house. “Never had the inclination. Dad sure as hell never wanted to see the place again. Then ...”

An eyebrow raised. “Then ... what?”

He shrugged. “It ... just kind of ... stopped. People disappearing. No one's gone missing 'round here since ... “ He pondered for a few moments. “About this time. Early 90s.”

“Maybe someone managed to stop it?” she suggested.

“Oh, hell no. If that'd happened, whoever it was would've made damn sure everybody knew.” He absently gaze at the house now, a more serious expression on his face than before. “It's still out there, I think. And ... whatever it is ... it's just waiting.”

“For what?”

He shook his head, slowly. “Something. Who knows?”

Martha flicked her own gaze to the house. The late afternoon sun hit the structure at an odd angle, the shadow lingered eerily on the ground to the east. “We should find out,” she firmly stated.

“What?” He looked to her, baffled.

“We should go,” she replied. “A young girl is missing as well. It's more than possible she's still alive.” She nodded to the house, and her resolve increased with each word. “Isn't that why you do what you do? To save innocent lives?”

“Yeah, but -”

“Then get to it!” she cut in before he could make an excuse.

“Look, I just told you – no one's been able to figure it out.”

“They didn't have me!” she declared with a nod of her head and a smile. “Or the Doctor,” she added as she took him by an arm. “Come on.” Before he could say another word, Dean was being pulled along. “We're going to solve this mystery. Today.”

-

When the doors to the TARDIS opened, the Doctor raised his head as Martha, followed by Dean, entered the ship. “How was the town of Evansville, Oklahoma?” he greeted as he stood straight. “Quiet and uneventful, I hope?”

Martha ignored the question. Instead she glanced around the console room. The place was an even bigger mess than it was when they'd left. “What happened here?” she asked as she turned to the Doctor. “Did you sort out what went wrong with the TARDIS yet?”

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair as he sighed. “Weeeelll, not fully,” he admitted. “I've been preoccupied with another mystery.”

“What the hell is that?” Dean asked as he carefully stepped over the loose pieces of floor grating. He'd had enough of this frigging trip and wanted to get back to his own time period. Preferably without the detour via the Churchill house.

The Doctor rocked back and forth on his feet before he let his hand drop to his side. “It's about this Colt revolver, actually,” he said as he nodded to the gun, which rested on the console beside him. “There is more to it than I initially thought.”

“No, really?”

Ignoring Dean, the Doctor moved to the main screen at the console. “I performed a few tests,” he continued. “The results of which were ... not what I'd expected.” He glanced at Martha as she joined him. “The science is extremely advanced and complicated but -” He paused as he picked up the gun with both hands. “This gun, the energy it possesses, could destroy ... anything. No being in the universe would be safe from its power.”

Martha wide-eyed gaze shifted from the Doctor to the weapon clutched in his hands. “How?” she almost whispered. “You said the science was complicated. Can't you put it into simpler terms, something we could understand?”

He glanced between Martha and Dean, the lattere reclined in the nearby seat and stared blankly at him. “Well, basically, the pulse embedded within the weapon, when correctly aligned, has the ability to disrupt and deconstruct any type of living matter on a subatomic level.” He focused on Dean. “If you did indeed use this on a Daemon, it would've been killed. Instantly. A feat which isn't easy. I know.”

“But where did it come from?” Martha wondered as she regained the Doctor's attention. She motioned to the gun. “And why would it look like that, instead of an ... alien ray gun or what not?”

He shook his head as he looked to the Colt again. “I'm not certain, in either case.” His brow furrowed as he pondered the possibilities. “The technology is far too advanced for humans, especially in the time period during which it was fashioned. Hardly any of the beings who've visited this planet have anything close to its destructive power. Except for my kind ...” His mouth quirked. “And the Daleks.”

Martha's heart skipped a beat when she heard the name - “Dalek”. The alien race the Doctor had thought to have been erased from time yet they were still out there. One, at least. But one was more than enough to cause horrific devastation, she knew from first-hand experience. Four had nearly wiped out the Earth's population. Twice.

“Could you fix it?”

The Doctor and Martha both turned when Dean spoke.

“What?” the Doctor asked, his voice barely audible. He didn't hide the mix of surprise and horror at the mere notion of restoring the weapon to full working order.

He motioned to the gun. “You said your people know that technology. Could you fix it?”

“Even if I could, I wouldn't,” the Doctor firmly (almost angrily) replied. He stepped closer to Dean as he held the Colt up between them. “This was dangerous enough when it was merely a transdimensional gate key.” He lowered it. “All the more reason to destroy it as soon as possible.” He turned away.

“Wouldn't it be useful, though?” Dean asked. When the Doctor, his eyes narrowed, peered over his shoulder at him, he continued, “Martha said you run around the universe and fight evil aliens. Or whatever it is you do, when you're not screwing up other people's lives. Wouldn't that be helpful? Said yourself it's hard to kill a Daemon.”

His eyes narrowed even more. “You aren't actually suggesting that I use this on another being?”

He shrugged. “What's it matter, if it's something evil?”

“If that isn't the standard human response to whatever you don't understand,” he coldly said. “Why bother attempting to relate to it when it's so much easier to simply exterminate it?” He looked Dean over, the disdain on his face matched that within his tone. “Whenever I have hope for humanity, one like you comes along to remind me exactly how primitive the lot of you still are.”

“Doctor ...” Martha blinked, stunned at the vitriol he'd exhibited. He'd never responded to any human in such a manner before, not since she'd traveled with him. She looked from him to Dean, uncertain of what to say. She didn't have the chance to try, though.

“So he's really gonna help me?” he asked Martha, nodding to the Doctor. “He's going to be the hero and solve my problem, when he makes it pretty damn clear he thinks I'm not even worth it?” He snorted, then he headed for the door leading out of the console room. When he reached it, he looked over his shoulder to her. “Just remember somethin'.” He pointed to the Doctor. “He's talkin' about you, too.”

Once Dean was gone, the Doctor replaced the Colt on the console, removed his screwdriver from his inner jacket pocket then knelt down and went back to work.

Martha's gaze flicked from the closed door to the Doctor on his knees beside her. “Was that necessary?” she demanded as she put her hands on her hips.

“What?” he murmured, looking up up from the readout on the monitor.

“That!” she exclaimed. She waved a hand in the direction Dean had gone. “It isn't enough you've completely shattered his life, but you have to insult him – and me - as well?”

He let out a frustrated breath as he looked to her. “I didn't mean you, Martha. You're nothing like him. Or most of the humans I've met over the centuries.” He focused on the panel in front of him. “If I thought that about you, I wouldn't have invited you along.”

Her head cocked to one side. “Am I supposed to feel oh so honored?” she sarcastically exclaimed. Her eyebrows arched in an expectant manner when he looked to her. He had a strange expression on his face. “Is that really what you think of us? Are we just primitive savages to you?”

“I've already said, Martha, I didn't mean you.”

“I'm still a human, Doctor,” she snapped. She shook her head, then added, less harshly, “He was only trying to be helpful.”

“By suggesting murder?”

“It doesn't seem that way to him. You'd know as much if you'd taken a second to ask. Something personal, at any rate.” Her eyes narrowed as something else occurred to her. “I shouldn't think you're in a position to judge anyone else, either, Doctor. Human or not.”

He sat back on his heels. His expression was different now; it sent a chill down her spine. He knew exactly what she'd meant by the comment. “That has absolutely nothing to do with this,” he coolly said. “Besides, I haven't the time to discuss his personal history -”

“Yet you do have the time to research this?” she shot back as she picked up the Colt and waved it. “You've taken more interest in a hunk of bloody metal than a living person! If you'd had, you'd know why he feels that way.” She lowered the gun to her side. “And you'd also know he only has a year left to live,” she solemnly finished.

Slowly, the Doctor over his shoulder. “What?”

-

Dean opened the next door; he heavily sighed as he shook his head. This wasn't the right room either. For ten minutes, he'd searched three different corridors of rooms, trying to find the one he'd woken up in earlier. How the Doctor or Martha or anyone could navigate this place, it was baffling. What the hell did one guy need all of this space for, anyway? Was he a part-time smuggler or something?

As he shut the door, he looked around the stark white, brightly lit area. Even now, after a significant amount of time aboard, it still baffled him it could fit inside a small blue box. And he'd seen a lot of unbelievable stuff in his life, but this? How was it possible? He wondered what else the Doctor's people were capable of. Putting it out of his mind, he moved on to the next corridor.

Most of the rooms he'd checked so far were empty and seemed as though they hadn't been used in years. The next one he tried, however, actually had something inside of it. Boxes coated in almost half an inch of dust lined all four of the walls in the well-lit room. Some things, though, simply lay on the floor. Like they'd been placed there with an intention of being stored but, instead, were forgotten.

Curious, he pulled a box down from a stack and opened the folded flaps. To his surprise, it was full of things he recognized as a hunter: amulets, charms, and weapons, among other things. He knew why he would need the items, but why would the Doctor? Behind the rest of that stack, leaned against the wall, was a simple shotgun.

He picked it up then blew away the dust from a portion of the barrel. Nothing outwardly alien about it. Then again, the Colt didn't seem alien to him. He squinted when he noticed something odd around the area a shell would be loaded into the weapon. Remnants of salt.

His brow furrowed, puzzled, as he lowered the gun and looked around the room. What was it all for ? Placing the shotgun aside, Dean opened up another box.

Time to find out what else the Doctor had hidden away on this ship.

-

End Chapter Six