It was a weird, serene day where everyone was feeling it. We don’t film in chronological order so the last shot we filmed was me, Matt and Arthur going into the TARDIS. Then Matt closed the door for the last time and we were in darkness. We hugged and started crying. It was kind of tears of happiness. It was a feeling of ‘Look at what we’ve done’. It was lovely.
#John didn’t hit him #Dean would’ve liked him to #It would’ve been a relief #Instead John called him useless and stupid #John said the family would be better off without him if he didn’t get his shit together #John said ‘I’m out there EVERYDAY putting my ass on the line in a hundred different ways but you have ONE JOB and you can’t do it?’ #John was up in his face screaming for what felt like forever #He told Dean to not bother coming home #wherever home was that week #until he had Sam with him #’If you don’t think you can handle this Dean then I can take Sam and he and I can take care of this without you to slow us down and fuck … #Words branded into Dean Winchester’s brain forever
The Doctor sat on the jumpseat in the console room, rectangular foil packet in his hands. He had been staring at its reflective surface for far too long, putting off the inevitable, but he couldn’t put it off any longer. There was an expiration date. The box the foil packet came from had it stamped there, and as fluid as time could be in the TARDIS, the Doctor’s impeccable Time Lord sense of chronology told him that this particular packet was about to turn any second.
With a sigh, the Doctor lovingly brushed his fingers across the reflective surface and tore it open. Inside waited two Pop Tarts. The sight of pink icing and the scent of strawberries made sadness well in his throat and he swallowed, clenching his jaw and refusing to give in to the tears that sprang to his eyes.
It’s been long enough, he told himself sternly, lifting the first Pop Tart out and holding it up in the TARDIS’s gentle yellow light. Pink and yellow and strawberries and everything that reminded him of Rose – these were the last groceries Rose had bought and carried into the TARDIS before Canary Wharf. The Doctor had eaten all the rest, saving the Pop Tarts for last, because they were Rose’s favorite and because they had the longest shelf life.
He lifted the dry, cold pastry to his lips (as cold as his hand since Rose wasn’t there to hold it any more) and took a bite. The icing crunched and the taste of strawberry jam burst over his tongue (Rose liked to wear strawberry lip balm and her kisses tasted just like this, but with fewer sprinkles). The tears wouldn’t stay contained any longer; they welled over his cheeks as he chewed, his teeth grinding the last of Rose’s Pop Tarts before he swallowed the final traces of her terrible taste in breakfast food (Rose always ate the damn things in his bed, and at the end of their lovemaking sessions he’d been annoyed by the crumbs embedded in the flesh of his back, but now he’d gladly coat himself in Pop Tart crumbs like a deep-fried filet of catfish if only she was here again).
Before he knew it the silver foil packet was empty, balled into his fist, and the Pop Tarts were gone. He had to pull himself together. He had to go find an expendable sun, something to burn up in order to have the broadcasting power necessary to say goodbye.
With a sigh, he stood up and crammed the foil packet into his pocket, brushed the crumbs from his pinstripes, and began to flip levers on the console.
He plays with the controls, trying so hard to the signal to connect. The Doctor’s hearts are pounding as he allows himself to dream that the impossible has happened. He’s so desperate, his voice almost cracks.
“Hello! Can you hear me?”
He longs to hear her voice, to hope that its her and she made it across, to hope that Donna’s message really means exactly what he thinks it means - to hope that Rose Tyler did the impossible and came back to him… She’s done it before, after all. Bad Wolf. It’s her calling sign, her signal that she’s fighting the impossible, just to get back to him. She’s the big Bad Wolf, defying all odds just to make sure he’s okay; more importantly, she’s his Rose. His beautiful, brilliant, incredibly strong Rose. She took all of time and space into her, just to fly back the TARDIS and save him. If she can do that, then maybe, just maybe she can cross the void and come back to him. His hearts clench as he waits to hear her voice, her beautiful voice flowing out from the TARDIS’ speakers. Please please please please. Rose, I need you. Rose, please let it be you.
“Rose?”
When he gets a response, his insides turn to ice. Instead of Rose, he gets Davros. Instead of his dream come true, he gets his worst nightmare. The Daleks are back.
