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Momentary Seizure of Love
crackfic crossover o'doom
by Raven

PG, gen, HP/BtVS/Velvet Goldmine/Good Omens/Stargate SG-1/Doctor Who/Life On Mars (ohgod). They're all under arrest.

“Put ‘em all under arrest,” Hunt had said, so Sam was putting them all under arrest. It seemed like the easiest thing to do. With a feeling this wasn’t going to help his own head, he marched to the door and flicked on the light switch.

There was a collective heartfelt groan. Seven people shaded their eyes at once and stared very resolutely at the carpet or at the ceiling or at anything else in the room that wasn’t naked or covered in glitter. Sam wondered vaguely if being naked and covered in glitter qualified as resisting arrest.

Closest to the door, and possibly with the most clothes, were three teenage boys of about the same age, wearing clunky, black leather boots, ripped t-shirts and smudged eyeliner. Two of them had dog collars. Despite his approaching presence, they were busy having a heated argument.

“No, we can’t! It doesn’t matter if we get arrested...”

“Moony, you’re gonna have to run that by me again, because I think you just said that it doesn’t matter if we get arrested. My parents are going to hit the roof.”

“So are mine.” The third speaker, with the long black hair and surprisingly long eyelashes, was the most louche of the three. “Let’s do it.”

“Not all of us have the luxury of pissing off our families, Sirius!” The middle one was getting angrier. “Moony...”

“You interrupted me.” The first speaker – pale, thin, with long, shaggy brown hair that seemed to be permanently hanging in his eyes – had dropped his voice, but made it clear he expected to be listened to. “It doesn’t matter if we get arrested if you compare it to getting expelled! We’re not of age yet. Two months off, I grant you, but we still can’t do magic outside of school!”

Sam, who had been momentarily transfixed by the idea of a school that allowed magic mushrooms on its premises only, moved forwards. “I’m arresting you,” he said clearly, “on grounds of indecent exposure and possession with intent to supply of Class A…”

“Tyler!” came an approaching voice from outside the door. “Get the fuck on with it!”

Sam gave up. “You’re nicked. Are you going to make this easy for me, or will there have to be gratuitous violence?”

The three submitted with little resistance, and only the slightest bit of melodrama from the one with the dark hair, as his pale wrists were encircled by cuffs. “None of that,” Sam warned, as he whimpered in mock-pain. With a glance at his dog-collared friend, also resolutely cuffed, he murmured, “You’re probably used to it by now, anyway…”

The next lot, Sam decided, definitely qualified as resisting arrest. There were two of them, a well-entangled pair, and while one was fully dressed, with flared jeans and a leather jacket not unlike Sam’s own, the other was stark bloody naked and didn’t seem to have noticed. “Hello, officer,” he purred, from his altogether too comfortable position sprawled out on the floor. “Are you here to tell us we’ve been naughty?”

“Shut up, Ethan,” said the other, brow furrowed. He stood up. “Listen, mate, I think I ought to warn you: you’re going to find it very difficult to arrest me.”

It was a sixth sense coppers had, that something was about to kick off, but Sam reckoned you didn’t need ESP to know this bloke was trouble. But before he could do anything about it, the door burst open and DCI Gene Hunt strode in. “Right, boys and girls and boys what look like girls! You’d better have a bloody good explanation for this, if you don’t want to be sharing cells down the station with blokes who haven’t had girlfriends in a while, know what I’m saying? Come on! Up you get!”

“What,” said Sam’s newest friend, “the fuck is that?”

Sam lost his patience. “That,” he hissed, lifting the man up by the collar and pushing him against the wall, “is my superior officer. And I tell you something: he’s not a nice man when he’s pissed off and believe me he is extremely pissed off. Now, are you going to come quietly?”

His face two inches from Sam’s, the man nodded.

“Right. Give us your name and address, make your mate put some clothes on and we can finish up this whole sorry situation.”

“Rupert Giles.” He smirked. “Balliol College, Oxford. And that’s Ethan down there. Now I’d appreciate it if you’d let me down, officer.”

Sam cuffed him and let him go, deciding not to worry about the issue of the man’s wildly mutating accent, and turned him over to Hunt. Before he could get to the next set of people to wave handcuffs at, he was distracted by a movement in a corner. Something – or someone – was there, hidden by the darker shadows close to the wall. As Sam watched, someone emerged from under a pile of blankets. He moved closer.

It was a boy. On Sam’s reckoning, he couldn’t be more than fifteen, and was probably closer to twelve. He was wearing glasses over large, frightened blue eyes. Sam took a deep breath. “Listen, kid,” he said softly, “What’s your name?”

“Daniel.” His accent wasn’t local, either.

“Right.” Sam nodded. “Well, listen to this, Daniel: I don’t know why or how you’ve ended up here, or what you’re planning to do now or what, but I’m not in the habit of arresting little ones. Get out of here, now, before there’s trouble. Scram.”

After a long pause spent blankly staring, the kid came to his senses. He nodded his thanks and ran for it.

Sam sighed, again, and moved on. And stopped. “Guv,” he said softly.

“What is it, Tyler?” Gene drifted to his side from where he had been shepherding people towards the landing.

“That one, there,” Sam said, pointing to one of the detainees Gene had been handcuffing. “That’s Brian Slade!”

It didn’t quite have the effect he’d been expecting. “Who?”

“Brian Slade! He disappeared… I mean, he’s going to disappear, and I was only a kid but I remember it…”

“Tyler.” Gene stared at him. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but you are a fucking lunatic. Get ‘em all cuffed up and downstairs, now.”

He stormed out. Undaunted, Sam approached the man with the blue hair and bored expression. “I’m a big fan,” he said quietly. “And look, there’s this concert, Death of Glitter, and just… you know. Don’t fake your own death, it isn’t a good idea.”

“Don’t waste your time,” said a voice from behind him, and Sam turned to see a man dressed all in black, wearing sunglasses despite the dimness of the room. “He’s out of it. Been high as a kite for a couple of days now. Yes, even when on stage. Oh, are you a policeman? Was I not supposed to tell you that? Oops.”

Sam blinked. “We’ll be taking statements down at the station, Mr.…”


“Crowley, yeah. In the meantime, you’re nicked.”

It was surprisingly difficult to restrain him – although he didn’t resist, so to speak, the handcuffs insisted on coming spontaneously unlocked and bouncing across the room - but at length, it was done. Brian Slade was almost catatonic, and Sam didn’t actually believe it was worth the effort of adding him to the increasing pile of handcuffed people.

“SAM!” yelled a voice from below. “Have you got ‘em all?”

Sam nodded to himself, taking a moment to look at the three glittery glam rockers, the leather-jacket-wearing man with the mutating accent (who had handed over his jacket to his formerly naked friend), the space where the kid had been, Brian Slade and his sunglassed keeper, and tried for a long, desperate moment, to wake up. He could do with some TLC at this moment, he decided; a nice white room, no windows, lots of liquid food and tranquilisers. It might do him some good.

But it didn’t happen. Sighing, he took a step out of the door and called, “Got them!” He was waiting for Gene to get back upstairs when something very close at hand went vworp. Then it went thud. Then it went vworp again.

After a few confused seconds, a blue police box materialised with a further thump in the middle of the room. There was dead silence for about a minute. Then the door opened, and out stepped a girl in a pink hoodie and a man in pinstripes. “Hello,” he said cheerfully. “I’m the Doctor. Are you Sam Tyler?”

Wordlessly, Sam nodded.

“I’ve come to take you home. Oh, hello, Remus. What are you doing here?”

The boy who answered to the name was the one with the dog collar and the shaggy hair. “Um… who are you?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

The Doctor smacked his head, comically. “Oh, I am sorry, I’m jumping the gun a bit. You are Remus Lupin?”

Remus nodded. He seemed as gobsmacked as everyone else.

“Yes, well, I haven’t met you yet. And you, Mr. Giles – haven’t met you either, though I rather think this is that phase you keep telling me about. Daniel, what are you doing so far from home?”

The kid – who had reappeared from somewhere, Sam was displeased to note – didn’t seem as nervous, this time. “Won a radio phone-in contest,” he whispered. “Concert tickets.”

“Ah, I see. And this is the...”

“After-show party,” Crowley finished. There was something very unsettling about his smile. “Or debauch. Or bacchanalia. I lose track of the terminology.”

The Doctor nodded. “Ah,” he said again, and seemed ready to say something else before he froze, transfixed, as though having just received an electric shock. “Is that,” he whispered, “is that Brian Slade?”

When no one replied, Sam felt called upon to answer. “I think it is,” he said. “He’s a little out of things right now.”

“I was such a fan...” The Doctor carried on staring for a few moments more before putting himself back together. “Right. Where was I? Sam, yes. I’m here to help you. You haven’t asked me to help you yet, but it’ll work out in the end. Now, where do you want to go? March 2006, isn’t it?”

Before Sam could reply, Giles stood up, looking calculating. “If you’re providing transportation, sir, I would be very much interested.”

“What?” The Doctor looked up. “Oh, of course, why not. Come on in. Don’t worry, she’s bigger on the inside than the outside.”

As everyone’s eyes turned to the police box, the girl spoke for the first time. “Doctor, they’re all in handcuffs. Are you sure this is such a good...”

“Rose, you don’t have to be so suspicious. I’m sure they’re all lovely people.”

“I’m sure,” she said, weakly, but no-one moved towards the door. Instead, they all turned to look at Sam.

Sam blinked. “Don’t ask me, I’m in a coma.”

“Yes,” said the Doctor patiently, “but you have the keys to their handcuffs.”

Five minutes later, DCI Hunt came storming back upstairs, but the room was empty. Five minutes after that Remus Lupin woke up in a rosebush in Oxford.

“Moony,” called a voice. “Moony, if you don’t get me out of these nettles I will cry.”

“And why?” demanded someone else, “am I in a tree?”

Remus decided, almost absent-mindedly, that it was time he did some magic.

At about the same time Rupert Giles realised he was alone in a strange, bleak, alien-looking city with bizarre ornate designs on the sides of buildings. “Where...” he began.

“Fucking hell,” came Ethan’s voice from somewhere behind. “Fucking poncy southerners never been north of Watford Junction...”

Coming from a man naked except for a leather jacket, Giles thought this was a little much, but he followed.

Daniel woke up in bed in New York. He was pretty sure it had all been a dream, but he never did manage to explain the dog collar and lead.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley called into the bookshop. “Aziraphale, is it all right if I put a smashed glam rocker to bed in your kitchen?”

Aziraphale appeared, yawning sleepily and wearing a nightcap. “Of course it is, my dear. Does he want a cup of tea?”

Sam Tyler woke up in 2039.

“You see,” said the Doctor, rubbing his hands together, “there’s nothing like a job well done.”

Rose smiled and said nothing.

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