Sam hesitated, shovel poised ready to break the undisturbed earth beneath him. "Dean," he cautioned, eyes fixed on something behind his brother's back, "What is that?"
Dean's gaze followed Sam's to the silhouette running towards them. "You think it's her?" He asked, violently cocking his gun.
"No... I think it's a man."
"Well... Do I shoot him?" Dean asked in an annoyed tone, his shotgun poised, following the stranger.
Sam pulled a small mirror from his pocket, and angled it toward the stranger, frowning. "He's got a reflection." Sam stated. "Looks human. We can't shoot him."
"Then what do we do, Sammy?" Dean's voice was growing increasingly agitated. "He's coming right for us, and we're digging up a stiff, in the middle of the night. None of this looks good."
"Dean. Shut up." The figure was only a few strides away, and at the pace he was going, he would be upon the brothers in a matter of seconds.
"Sammy, he's coming right for us." Dean repeated through gritted teeth, his brow furrowed with frustrated confusion, how the hell were they going to explain themselves? The brothers watched silently, unsure how to react to the situation. In the moonlight, the man's features were only just discernible. Average height, average build, average everything, except for his prominent chin. His slightly too-long hair, rippled in the wind as he rocketed towards the pair. The man zipped past the brothers before they got a closer look. "Run!" The stranger's acknowledgement of the brothers carried back to them on the wind.
Sam and Dean exchanged a perplexed glance. "Run?" Sam mouthed.
Dean shrugged, glancing over his shoulder at the retreating figure. Dean recognised the way he ran. The same way a person runs from Hell Hounds. With pure, maybe unadulterated terror. Then, inexplicably, the man faltered, turned, and ran back towards them. He stopped just shy of where the brothers stood. "What are you doing?" He was practically yelling with incredulity, accentuating his accent, which was unmistakably English. "Run!" The strange man reiterated.
"Uh..." Sam hesitated. "Why?"
"What do you mean 'Why?'?" The man's voice was rising in pitch. Then, from behind the Winchesters, came a low, drawn out roar. The air dropped ten degrees. The night was plunged into a chill so cool that the breath of the trio was visible. Instinct had the Winchesters on edge, expecting a ghost to appear, but something about the stranger told them that there wasn't one. "What was that?" Dean whispered.
"I don't know," The stranger said, grin on his face. "Hah! Love it when I don't know."
"Sorry," Sam interjected, looking the man up and down. "But who the hell are you?" He wanted to ask what the hell the man was, too, because no sane person Sam had ever encountered dressed like that. Trousers, about an inch to short, beige shirt, tweed jacket and a deep red bow tie. Everything about him screamed mismatched.
"Me? I- I'm nobody important right now, but that," The man pointed behind them, "That probably is, sorry, but, er, ah, um, yes, run!"
Another ominous growl. The man's eyes widened. He glanced between the pair before him, then turned and sprinted away, leaving the Winchesters in silence.
"Sammy..." Dean said, "Run."
"Yeah." They bolted after the stranger, struggling to catch up to him.
"Hello!" He yelled, inexplicably cheerful, "This way, we'll be safe inside my, er, vehicle!"
"That thing better not touch my baby!" Dean roared, pushing his legs hard, trying to keep pace with Sam and the Stranger. Sam's speed, he could explain, ridiculously long legs had to have their perks, but the stranger... The stranger moved at an inhuman pace, dodging gravestones, zipping towards his- their destination. The trio came to a, rather abrupt, stop outside a blue box. The stranger rooted through his pockets, making agitated noises.
"Gah!" He huffed, "Pockets. They're always so much bigger on the inside, it's a wonder you can find anything in a hurry. Aha!" He pulled out a key and opened the box. "Alright, everybody in."
"That?" Dean scoffed.
"What wrong with her?" The stranger looked almost sad. "There is a... thing following us, and you want us to hide inside a little blue 'Police Box?"
"Ohh, you Americans! Always so cynical. Except Canton! Now I liked Canton," he said disappearing into the box, "He just took it in stride, and then..." He faltered, and his head poked out of the box. "Well come on!"
"I... Uh... I'm not entirely comfortable with the three of us being in... well... there..." Sam gestured towards the box. There was another earth-shattering roar, and Sam felt the ground tremble beneath his feet.
"Fuck it, in, Sammy." Dean made an executive decision and unceremoniously shoved Sam towards the door of the box, raising his gun and backing in after him. Their backs pressed together in the confined space, Dean slammed the door shut and turned around to face the stranger.
"What the..." Sam was frozen, staring into the box. It was massive, orange and silver and massive. The stranger was stood at some sort of console, pressing buttons and pulling levers, and generally running about like a madman.
"Ah," he said, turning to the brothers, clapping his hands in excitement. "Yes, bigger on the inside, I always forget bigger on the inside, where is Rory when you need him? Oh." He looked at the two guns now facing him. "Right."
"What the hell is this place?" spat Dean.