Merlin/SPN Crossover fic: Two Boys from Kansas...2/?
Title: Two Boys from Kansas in King Uther's Court
Rating: Gen--no pairing, just swearing
Characters: Sam, Dean, Merlin, Arthur, various canon BBC Merlin characters and a few OCs
Word Count: ~3K
Warnings/Spoilers: see part 1
Disclaimer: not mine, no profit.
A/N: beta'd by the wonderful
calamitycrow
More notes here, with part 1
Thanks, everyone, for reading and commenting. This part is still mostly introductory, but there'll more action and plot in the next couple of sections--promise!
ETA: beautiful banner by ala_tariel
Summary: The title says it all. And this:
“So, you think we really-“ Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose, “we really went back in time?”
Dean shrugged unhappily.
“And these guys are really Merlin and the Pendragons?”
Dean shrugged again, even less happily.
“It’s a little different than The Sword in the Stone, Dean.” Sam was working up a head of steam now.
“Hey, no one ever said Disney was historically accurate, did they? Loved that movie, though-when Mickey can’t stop all the little brooms with the water buckets?”
Picture Credit: ala_tariel
part 1
Part 2:
When Sam faceplanted, Dean really did lose it for a moment. Heedless of the rope cutting into his wrists, he scrambled off his knees, around the clueless Kay, and to his brother’s side, standing over him protectively. The king flicked his hand, and a couple of chain-mailed guards started towards them. And either the layers of metal made them slow, or adrenalin made Dean fast, because bound hands or not, he was able to stagger the first one to approach with a quick, two-handed blow to his exposed cheekbone, and grab his pike before he could recover. Dean had no idea what to do with the long, awkward weapon once he had it, but he waved it at the other guards in what he hoped was a threatening manner.
They stopped, unsure. And then Arthur stepped out from behind the throne, walking towards Dean and Sam with his arms spread wide and empty hands.
“Lower the weapon, stranger, you have proven your courage,” he said, still supremely self-assured, but without his earlier contempt. “I am Arthur Pendragon, and you are in my father’s court. We treat all captives honorably here-even giants from the land of Impala-and we mean your brother no harm. Put down the pike, and we will commit him to the skilled care of our Court Physician.” He nodded towards Gaius, who wiggled his eyebrows at Dean in a way that clearly meant please do what he says.
Dean looked around. He was completely out-numbered, and still had no clue what was really going on. Then he looked at Sam, unconscious and pale on the hard stones. They clearly weren’t going anywhere just yet.
He put down the weapon.
*********************************
A couple of the guards scooped up Sam, and carried him down to the room that seemed to serve as Gaius’s treatment room, office, and living space combined. Brave Sir Kay, thankfully, had faded away once the fighting started. The dark-haired boy, however, had followed them at a gesture from Arthur-is he everybody’s dogsbody? thought Dean, though he warmed up to the kid when he surreptitiously helped him get the rope off his hands.
They laid Sam on a cot in the middle of the room, and Gaius efficiently brought him around by waving a vial of something sharp and medicinal-smelling under his nose. Sam blinked a few times, lifted his head off the pillow, and then lurched suddenly to the left. Dean’s respect for Gaius went up a few notches when he produced a wooden bucket before Sam could puke all over the floor.
“Easy now, son,” he said, steadying Sam’s shoulders as Dean hovered anxiously behind him, “a head injury will do that to you, and a long march in the hot sun doesn’t help. Some rest, some sustenance, and you’ll be fine.” He eased Sam back down onto the cot, and stood to concoct something out of the various bubbling pots and vials on his table. Dean took Gaius’s place, brushing Sam’s damp hair off his face, while Sam batted ineffectually at him. Gaius handed Dean a tin cup of water, and another vial of something pungent.
“That should help with the pain and settle his stomach,” he said. Dean sniffed it, then shrugged and held it out to Sam, who got up on his elbows, and also sniffed at it suspiciously. Nevertheless, he downed it, and took a few sips of water too.
“Merlin,” Gaius was saying, holding the bucket out to the boy with the ears, “go clean this outside for me, will you?” The boy wrinkled his nose, then grinned good-naturedly, and trotted off.
Dean saw his own surprise mirrored in Sam’s face.
“Merlin?” Sam said weakly, “Is that the Merlin?”
Gaius laughed bemusedly. “Yes, I suppose so. I know of no others who use the name.”
“But he’s the same age as Arthur.” That was still Sam. Something in that potion must have loosened his tongue, Dean thought warily, or the bump on his head was still making him loopy-it wasn’t like him to go on like this.
“Close enough. He was born in 508, Arthur in 507.”
“And what year is it now?” Dean said, steeling himself for the answer.
“Why, it’s the Year of Our Lord 528. The twentieth of June, 528, to be precise.” Gaius peered at Dean, puzzled, “did you take a blow to the head as well? Or perhaps they use a different calendar in your country?”
“Yeah,” Dean replied, “that’s one way of putting it.”
Sam was still chewing on the Merlin thing.
“But, he’s a servant? He’s not a great magician? Not the greatest wizard of all time?”
Now it was Gaius’s turn to look pole-axed, though he quickly schooled his face into an expression of amused disbelief.
“No, of course not.” He laughed awkwardly, and then turned serious, as though trying to convey a warning along with the information. “Merlin could not be a warlock, because King Uther, in his wisdom, has banned the practice of all magic from Camelot. Any who perform magic are imprisoned and executed. Since Merlin is both alive and free, he is therefore no magician.”
That shut Sam up. He got a look on his face Dean recognized-like he was trying to put together a particularly gnarly jigsaw puzzle-one of those ones with only neutral colors and abstract designs. Dean felt oddly comforted by that look. Sam always kicked ass with those puzzles-maybe he could figure out this mess too.
“Well, then,” said Gaius, clearly glad to put the matter to rest, “let me get you two something to eat and drink, you must be famished.” At the mention of food, Dean’s stomach growled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten since the night before--an ocean away, and almost fifteen hundred years in the future, if Gaius was to be believed. “What are your names? I don’t believe Kay properly introduced us.”
“Dean,” Dean said, standing and holding out his hand. When Gaius just looked at it quizzically, he tried bobbing his head in an awkward bow. “I’m Dean Winchester, and this is my brother, Sam.”
“And are you really from a place called Impala?”
“Nah. Sorry about that. We’re from Kansas. Originally, anyway.”
“Mmm,” said Gaius, though Kansas clearly didn’t mean any more to him than Impala. Right, thought Dean, ‘cause if it’s really 528, there’s nothing in Kansas except long-grass prairie and a lot of happy buffalo.
“Thank you for helping us out today,” he said, “we appreciate it.”
Gaius waved a hand at him, dismissing his gratitude, and began to put some food out for them on the table in the center of the room: brown bread, yellow cheese, a bowl of what looked like broth scooped out of a pot over the hearth for Sam, a cup of something for Dean that he happily identified as a kind of thick, warm beer. Sam gingerly levered himself off the cot, and they tucked in--Dean enthusiastically, Sam more cautiously, though everything seemed to stay down okay.
It was Gaius who brought the matter up again.
“How did you-I mean, why did you think that Merlin might be a magician?” he asked.
“Well-him,” said Sam, gesturing at Dean, still overly communicative despite the caloric intake, “from Bugs Bunny and that Disney movie. Me-well, me-just from reading, I guess.”
That, at least, seemed to push Gaius off in a different direction.
“You read? You are a scholar, then? A traveling scholar? Perhaps a monk?”
“Yup,” Dean put in, sensing an opportunity for revenge for the Bugs Bunny thing. “He’s a scholar on a road trip-and he might as well be a monk.” Sam kicked him under the table. Which made a more serious possibility occurred to him. “In fact, he would love to see your library, once he’s feeling better.”
“Hmm. Yes, perhaps. I’ll see if I can work it out with the Records Keeper,” Gaius agreed, as Merlin re-entered the room.
******************************************
Gaius excused himself for a bit, saying he had other patients to check on, and Merlin pulled up a chair and stared at Sam and Dean while they ate with frank, wide-eyed interest. It would’ve bugged Dean, but the boy managed to convey so much sheer friendliness along with the curiosity, that he couldn’t muster much irritation. More of a puppy dog than Sammy, he thought.
“Merlin?” he asked around a mouthful of bread and cheese.
“Mmm?”
“Will Uther throw us in the dungeons like he said? Once Sam’s on his feet again?”
“I shouldn’t think so. Not if you aren’t nobly born, and don’t know anyone rich enough to ransom you.” Dean snorted at the idea of the Winchesters as aristocrats. “Uther may be a hard man, but he’s not much for letting people rot down there just for the fun of it. Doesn’t have much use for Giant Shows, either, unless your brother has some really good feats of strength up his sleeve.”
“Oh give it a rest, will you?” Sam said wearily, pushing himself back from the table, and sagging back down onto the cot with a muted groan. “Not. A. Giant. Just. Tall.” His voice trailed off at the end, and his eyes slid shut. Dean caught Merlin’s sly smile, and couldn’t help snorting again.
“No,” the boy continued, “he’ll find some other use for you. In the kitchens, maybe. Do you have a trade, where you come from?”
“Um…huh,” Dean was at a loss. Trade? “Well, he’s a traveling, monk-like scholar.” That had to be the best description of Sam he’d heard for a while. “And I’m, well, a hunter. Sam is too, when he’s not being a scholar.”
“Oh, you’re woodsmen, then?”
“What? No, no, we don’t chop down trees or anything. We-uh-we track things, evil things, things that are hurting people. And then we kill them. You know, saving people, hunting things, it’s kind of a family business for us.”
“So, you’re a tracker?”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“Can you handle a crossbow?”
“Hell yes!” God, Dean loved crossbows. Hardly ever got to use them, but Dad had made them train with bows, along with a lot of other obscure weapons. Give him some silver-tipped arrows, and a bow was better than a gun, in some situations.
“Well, you might be in luck then. Some creature-we’re not sure exactly what, except that it can fly, it’s huge, and it has sharp claws-has been terrorizing the village. Arthur’s going after it first thing tomorrow, and he’s down a few men. Maybe he’ll take you on.”
“Awesome!” And, okay, this whole situation was still fucked, but Dean couldn’t help but feel a tiny thrill of pleasure at the idea. Tracking some nasty flying creature through the woods with a crossbow? Finally, something that made sense.
As if on cue, they heard Arthur’s voice shouting for Merlin, and the prince flung open the door without knocking.
“There you are, Merlin. I’ve been looking for you everywhere. There’s a state dinner tonight, and I need you to dress me.” Dean’s eyebrows went up at that, since Arthur sure didn’t look naked, though he had ditched the ridiculous red jacket, and was down to a much more reasonable open-necked brown tunic. Merlin seemed to take him seriously, though.
“Sorry, Arthur, sorry. I think I’m supposed to be guarding the captives, though.”
“What, them?” Arthur cast a cursory glance over Sam and Dean. “I think they’ll stay put without your prodigious restraining power. He’s not going anywhere,” he gestured at Sam, who Dean now saw was fast asleep, snoring slightly. “And the other one won’t go anywhere without his brother.” True enough, Dean thought, a little surprised at the prince’s swift and accurate assessment of the situation. “How is he?” Arthur asked tersely, ‘Will he live?”
“He’ll be fine,” Dean said, “Go on, Merlin, we won’t do anything to get you or Gaius in trouble.”
“Arthur? Dean here comes from a long line of trackers, and he’s good with a bow besides. I thought he might help us out tomorrow, since Ranulph is still out with that broken arm.”
“Yes, Merlin, and the fact that I started the afternoon with him disarming one of my men and waving a pike in my face is no reason not to hand him a deadly weapon first thing in the morning. Excellent plan.” The sarcasm of the throne room was back in Arthur’s voice, but with nowhere near the level of venom he’d directed at Kay, maybe even a little affection, Dean thought.
“Dude-I mean, uh, your Highness-that was nothing personal. As long as no one’s trying to hurt Sam, I got no problem with the rest of you. And I’m a good hunter, I can promise you that.”
“You don’t have to give him a bow, Arthur, he could just help with the tracking-“.
“Hmmn. I will take it under consideration. Merlin, attend me.” And with that, the prince swept out of the room, Merlin mouthing I think you’re in over one shoulder as he scurried after him.
*****************************************
Dean let Sam sleep for what he thought was probably an hour, following the protocol for head injuries even though he had no idea what he’d do if Sam really was bleeding into his skull, given the apparent level of medical care around here.
Gaius hadn’t come back yet, and Dean very cautiously poked around in his books and medicines. If this was some kind of massive role-playing thing-which was seeming less and less likely every goddamn minute-someone had certainly gone all out on the authenticity front. Dean knew a bit about old books and manuscripts, and these were done with the right kind of colors, and bound in the right kind of hides. The Latin they were written in was perfect as well. The room looked real down to the spider webs in the corners and the mouse droppings near the hearth.
Sam was a little more clear-eyed when Dean woke him. He drank some water, and then said, in a careful voice.
“So, what do you think is going on here?”
“Wish I knew, Sammy.” Dean had been looping through every conceivable possibility until his head swam. “No fucking clue, though.”
“Could we have ended up in some elaborate live action role playing gig somewhere?” Oh, so that was what LARP-ing was, Dean thought, filling in the blank from this morning.
“Could be…pretty damn authentic, if it is…And then there’s the fact that it was November last night, and June this morning.”
“Okay, maybe I’m dreaming. Or delusional. Maybe this is all from being hit over the head.”
“If you’re dreaming, why am I here too?’
“You’re not here-you’re a creature of my delirium.’
“Oh shut up, Sam, you’re making my head hurt now.”
“So, you think we really-“ Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose, “we really went back in time?”
Dean shrugged unhappily.
“And these guys are really Merlin and the Pendragons?”
Dean shrugged again, even less happily.
“It’s a little different than The Sword in the Stone, Dean.” Sam was working up a head of steam now-probably ticked off he hadn’t been able to put all the pieces of the jigsaw together yet.
“Hey, no one ever said Disney was historically accurate, did they? Loved that movie, though-when Mickey can’t stop all the little brooms with the water buckets?”
“Wrong movie, doofus.” Sam blew out another breath. “So, maybe someone cursed us, or we accidentally touched some magical object or something?”
“I don’t know, Sam. The last couple of jobs we had were poltergeists, and before that just the angry spirit of that mailman….Not much powerful magic there…And I don’t think it was those truckers in the bar.”
“I don’t know then.” Sam subsided, looking pissed, “You got any ideas?”
“Not really. You could take a look in their library tomorrow, see if you can find some spell to get us back. Or a Delorean, or something.”
“Yeah, okay. Hey-you have Dad’s journal with you?”
Dean checked, and to his surprise, it, unlike his gun and his watch, was still there, tucked away, as usual, in the inside pocket of his jacket. He nodded.
“Well, that’s something. What about you? What’re you doing tomorrow?”
“I, uh, I think I’m going on a crossbow hunt with Arthur; they’re after some flying creature that’s picking off villagers.”
Sam glared at him. “Unbelievable. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Doesn’t matter how messed up a situation is, show you a shiny weapon and it’s all good, huh?”
“Hey, at least I didn’t faint in the presence of royalty.” Dean tried to divert Sam from seeing how right he was, but Sam suddenly wasn’t paying attention to him anymore.
“Wait. I think I know how we can tell if this is really 528.”
Dean raised his eyebrows.
“Well, the only complete eclipse of the sun in the first part of the sixth century occurred on June 21st, 528. And we aren’t due to have any eclipses at all in 2005.”
“Jesus, Sam, how do you know this shit?”
“What? Oh, astronomy class, sophomore year. But the point is, if there’s no eclipse tomorrow, we’ll know we’re messed up with some twenty-first-century bullshit.”
“And if there is?”
“Then we really are in the sixth century.”
part three on LJ
part three on DW
Rating: Gen--no pairing, just swearing
Characters: Sam, Dean, Merlin, Arthur, various canon BBC Merlin characters and a few OCs
Word Count: ~3K
Warnings/Spoilers: see part 1
Disclaimer: not mine, no profit.
A/N: beta'd by the wonderful
calamitycrow
More notes here, with part 1
Thanks, everyone, for reading and commenting. This part is still mostly introductory, but there'll more action and plot in the next couple of sections--promise!
ETA: beautiful banner by ala_tariel
Summary: The title says it all. And this:
“So, you think we really-“ Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose, “we really went back in time?”
Dean shrugged unhappily.
“And these guys are really Merlin and the Pendragons?”
Dean shrugged again, even less happily.
“It’s a little different than The Sword in the Stone, Dean.” Sam was working up a head of steam now.
“Hey, no one ever said Disney was historically accurate, did they? Loved that movie, though-when Mickey can’t stop all the little brooms with the water buckets?”
Picture Credit: ala_tariel
part 1
Part 2:
When Sam faceplanted, Dean really did lose it for a moment. Heedless of the rope cutting into his wrists, he scrambled off his knees, around the clueless Kay, and to his brother’s side, standing over him protectively. The king flicked his hand, and a couple of chain-mailed guards started towards them. And either the layers of metal made them slow, or adrenalin made Dean fast, because bound hands or not, he was able to stagger the first one to approach with a quick, two-handed blow to his exposed cheekbone, and grab his pike before he could recover. Dean had no idea what to do with the long, awkward weapon once he had it, but he waved it at the other guards in what he hoped was a threatening manner.
They stopped, unsure. And then Arthur stepped out from behind the throne, walking towards Dean and Sam with his arms spread wide and empty hands.
“Lower the weapon, stranger, you have proven your courage,” he said, still supremely self-assured, but without his earlier contempt. “I am Arthur Pendragon, and you are in my father’s court. We treat all captives honorably here-even giants from the land of Impala-and we mean your brother no harm. Put down the pike, and we will commit him to the skilled care of our Court Physician.” He nodded towards Gaius, who wiggled his eyebrows at Dean in a way that clearly meant please do what he says.
Dean looked around. He was completely out-numbered, and still had no clue what was really going on. Then he looked at Sam, unconscious and pale on the hard stones. They clearly weren’t going anywhere just yet.
He put down the weapon.
*********************************
A couple of the guards scooped up Sam, and carried him down to the room that seemed to serve as Gaius’s treatment room, office, and living space combined. Brave Sir Kay, thankfully, had faded away once the fighting started. The dark-haired boy, however, had followed them at a gesture from Arthur-is he everybody’s dogsbody? thought Dean, though he warmed up to the kid when he surreptitiously helped him get the rope off his hands.
They laid Sam on a cot in the middle of the room, and Gaius efficiently brought him around by waving a vial of something sharp and medicinal-smelling under his nose. Sam blinked a few times, lifted his head off the pillow, and then lurched suddenly to the left. Dean’s respect for Gaius went up a few notches when he produced a wooden bucket before Sam could puke all over the floor.
“Easy now, son,” he said, steadying Sam’s shoulders as Dean hovered anxiously behind him, “a head injury will do that to you, and a long march in the hot sun doesn’t help. Some rest, some sustenance, and you’ll be fine.” He eased Sam back down onto the cot, and stood to concoct something out of the various bubbling pots and vials on his table. Dean took Gaius’s place, brushing Sam’s damp hair off his face, while Sam batted ineffectually at him. Gaius handed Dean a tin cup of water, and another vial of something pungent.
“That should help with the pain and settle his stomach,” he said. Dean sniffed it, then shrugged and held it out to Sam, who got up on his elbows, and also sniffed at it suspiciously. Nevertheless, he downed it, and took a few sips of water too.
“Merlin,” Gaius was saying, holding the bucket out to the boy with the ears, “go clean this outside for me, will you?” The boy wrinkled his nose, then grinned good-naturedly, and trotted off.
Dean saw his own surprise mirrored in Sam’s face.
“Merlin?” Sam said weakly, “Is that the Merlin?”
Gaius laughed bemusedly. “Yes, I suppose so. I know of no others who use the name.”
“But he’s the same age as Arthur.” That was still Sam. Something in that potion must have loosened his tongue, Dean thought warily, or the bump on his head was still making him loopy-it wasn’t like him to go on like this.
“Close enough. He was born in 508, Arthur in 507.”
“And what year is it now?” Dean said, steeling himself for the answer.
“Why, it’s the Year of Our Lord 528. The twentieth of June, 528, to be precise.” Gaius peered at Dean, puzzled, “did you take a blow to the head as well? Or perhaps they use a different calendar in your country?”
“Yeah,” Dean replied, “that’s one way of putting it.”
Sam was still chewing on the Merlin thing.
“But, he’s a servant? He’s not a great magician? Not the greatest wizard of all time?”
Now it was Gaius’s turn to look pole-axed, though he quickly schooled his face into an expression of amused disbelief.
“No, of course not.” He laughed awkwardly, and then turned serious, as though trying to convey a warning along with the information. “Merlin could not be a warlock, because King Uther, in his wisdom, has banned the practice of all magic from Camelot. Any who perform magic are imprisoned and executed. Since Merlin is both alive and free, he is therefore no magician.”
That shut Sam up. He got a look on his face Dean recognized-like he was trying to put together a particularly gnarly jigsaw puzzle-one of those ones with only neutral colors and abstract designs. Dean felt oddly comforted by that look. Sam always kicked ass with those puzzles-maybe he could figure out this mess too.
“Well, then,” said Gaius, clearly glad to put the matter to rest, “let me get you two something to eat and drink, you must be famished.” At the mention of food, Dean’s stomach growled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten since the night before--an ocean away, and almost fifteen hundred years in the future, if Gaius was to be believed. “What are your names? I don’t believe Kay properly introduced us.”
“Dean,” Dean said, standing and holding out his hand. When Gaius just looked at it quizzically, he tried bobbing his head in an awkward bow. “I’m Dean Winchester, and this is my brother, Sam.”
“And are you really from a place called Impala?”
“Nah. Sorry about that. We’re from Kansas. Originally, anyway.”
“Mmm,” said Gaius, though Kansas clearly didn’t mean any more to him than Impala. Right, thought Dean, ‘cause if it’s really 528, there’s nothing in Kansas except long-grass prairie and a lot of happy buffalo.
“Thank you for helping us out today,” he said, “we appreciate it.”
Gaius waved a hand at him, dismissing his gratitude, and began to put some food out for them on the table in the center of the room: brown bread, yellow cheese, a bowl of what looked like broth scooped out of a pot over the hearth for Sam, a cup of something for Dean that he happily identified as a kind of thick, warm beer. Sam gingerly levered himself off the cot, and they tucked in--Dean enthusiastically, Sam more cautiously, though everything seemed to stay down okay.
It was Gaius who brought the matter up again.
“How did you-I mean, why did you think that Merlin might be a magician?” he asked.
“Well-him,” said Sam, gesturing at Dean, still overly communicative despite the caloric intake, “from Bugs Bunny and that Disney movie. Me-well, me-just from reading, I guess.”
That, at least, seemed to push Gaius off in a different direction.
“You read? You are a scholar, then? A traveling scholar? Perhaps a monk?”
“Yup,” Dean put in, sensing an opportunity for revenge for the Bugs Bunny thing. “He’s a scholar on a road trip-and he might as well be a monk.” Sam kicked him under the table. Which made a more serious possibility occurred to him. “In fact, he would love to see your library, once he’s feeling better.”
“Hmm. Yes, perhaps. I’ll see if I can work it out with the Records Keeper,” Gaius agreed, as Merlin re-entered the room.
******************************************
Gaius excused himself for a bit, saying he had other patients to check on, and Merlin pulled up a chair and stared at Sam and Dean while they ate with frank, wide-eyed interest. It would’ve bugged Dean, but the boy managed to convey so much sheer friendliness along with the curiosity, that he couldn’t muster much irritation. More of a puppy dog than Sammy, he thought.
“Merlin?” he asked around a mouthful of bread and cheese.
“Mmm?”
“Will Uther throw us in the dungeons like he said? Once Sam’s on his feet again?”
“I shouldn’t think so. Not if you aren’t nobly born, and don’t know anyone rich enough to ransom you.” Dean snorted at the idea of the Winchesters as aristocrats. “Uther may be a hard man, but he’s not much for letting people rot down there just for the fun of it. Doesn’t have much use for Giant Shows, either, unless your brother has some really good feats of strength up his sleeve.”
“Oh give it a rest, will you?” Sam said wearily, pushing himself back from the table, and sagging back down onto the cot with a muted groan. “Not. A. Giant. Just. Tall.” His voice trailed off at the end, and his eyes slid shut. Dean caught Merlin’s sly smile, and couldn’t help snorting again.
“No,” the boy continued, “he’ll find some other use for you. In the kitchens, maybe. Do you have a trade, where you come from?”
“Um…huh,” Dean was at a loss. Trade? “Well, he’s a traveling, monk-like scholar.” That had to be the best description of Sam he’d heard for a while. “And I’m, well, a hunter. Sam is too, when he’s not being a scholar.”
“Oh, you’re woodsmen, then?”
“What? No, no, we don’t chop down trees or anything. We-uh-we track things, evil things, things that are hurting people. And then we kill them. You know, saving people, hunting things, it’s kind of a family business for us.”
“So, you’re a tracker?”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“Can you handle a crossbow?”
“Hell yes!” God, Dean loved crossbows. Hardly ever got to use them, but Dad had made them train with bows, along with a lot of other obscure weapons. Give him some silver-tipped arrows, and a bow was better than a gun, in some situations.
“Well, you might be in luck then. Some creature-we’re not sure exactly what, except that it can fly, it’s huge, and it has sharp claws-has been terrorizing the village. Arthur’s going after it first thing tomorrow, and he’s down a few men. Maybe he’ll take you on.”
“Awesome!” And, okay, this whole situation was still fucked, but Dean couldn’t help but feel a tiny thrill of pleasure at the idea. Tracking some nasty flying creature through the woods with a crossbow? Finally, something that made sense.
As if on cue, they heard Arthur’s voice shouting for Merlin, and the prince flung open the door without knocking.
“There you are, Merlin. I’ve been looking for you everywhere. There’s a state dinner tonight, and I need you to dress me.” Dean’s eyebrows went up at that, since Arthur sure didn’t look naked, though he had ditched the ridiculous red jacket, and was down to a much more reasonable open-necked brown tunic. Merlin seemed to take him seriously, though.
“Sorry, Arthur, sorry. I think I’m supposed to be guarding the captives, though.”
“What, them?” Arthur cast a cursory glance over Sam and Dean. “I think they’ll stay put without your prodigious restraining power. He’s not going anywhere,” he gestured at Sam, who Dean now saw was fast asleep, snoring slightly. “And the other one won’t go anywhere without his brother.” True enough, Dean thought, a little surprised at the prince’s swift and accurate assessment of the situation. “How is he?” Arthur asked tersely, ‘Will he live?”
“He’ll be fine,” Dean said, “Go on, Merlin, we won’t do anything to get you or Gaius in trouble.”
“Arthur? Dean here comes from a long line of trackers, and he’s good with a bow besides. I thought he might help us out tomorrow, since Ranulph is still out with that broken arm.”
“Yes, Merlin, and the fact that I started the afternoon with him disarming one of my men and waving a pike in my face is no reason not to hand him a deadly weapon first thing in the morning. Excellent plan.” The sarcasm of the throne room was back in Arthur’s voice, but with nowhere near the level of venom he’d directed at Kay, maybe even a little affection, Dean thought.
“Dude-I mean, uh, your Highness-that was nothing personal. As long as no one’s trying to hurt Sam, I got no problem with the rest of you. And I’m a good hunter, I can promise you that.”
“You don’t have to give him a bow, Arthur, he could just help with the tracking-“.
“Hmmn. I will take it under consideration. Merlin, attend me.” And with that, the prince swept out of the room, Merlin mouthing I think you’re in over one shoulder as he scurried after him.
*****************************************
Dean let Sam sleep for what he thought was probably an hour, following the protocol for head injuries even though he had no idea what he’d do if Sam really was bleeding into his skull, given the apparent level of medical care around here.
Gaius hadn’t come back yet, and Dean very cautiously poked around in his books and medicines. If this was some kind of massive role-playing thing-which was seeming less and less likely every goddamn minute-someone had certainly gone all out on the authenticity front. Dean knew a bit about old books and manuscripts, and these were done with the right kind of colors, and bound in the right kind of hides. The Latin they were written in was perfect as well. The room looked real down to the spider webs in the corners and the mouse droppings near the hearth.
Sam was a little more clear-eyed when Dean woke him. He drank some water, and then said, in a careful voice.
“So, what do you think is going on here?”
“Wish I knew, Sammy.” Dean had been looping through every conceivable possibility until his head swam. “No fucking clue, though.”
“Could we have ended up in some elaborate live action role playing gig somewhere?” Oh, so that was what LARP-ing was, Dean thought, filling in the blank from this morning.
“Could be…pretty damn authentic, if it is…And then there’s the fact that it was November last night, and June this morning.”
“Okay, maybe I’m dreaming. Or delusional. Maybe this is all from being hit over the head.”
“If you’re dreaming, why am I here too?’
“You’re not here-you’re a creature of my delirium.’
“Oh shut up, Sam, you’re making my head hurt now.”
“So, you think we really-“ Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose, “we really went back in time?”
Dean shrugged unhappily.
“And these guys are really Merlin and the Pendragons?”
Dean shrugged again, even less happily.
“It’s a little different than The Sword in the Stone, Dean.” Sam was working up a head of steam now-probably ticked off he hadn’t been able to put all the pieces of the jigsaw together yet.
“Hey, no one ever said Disney was historically accurate, did they? Loved that movie, though-when Mickey can’t stop all the little brooms with the water buckets?”
“Wrong movie, doofus.” Sam blew out another breath. “So, maybe someone cursed us, or we accidentally touched some magical object or something?”
“I don’t know, Sam. The last couple of jobs we had were poltergeists, and before that just the angry spirit of that mailman….Not much powerful magic there…And I don’t think it was those truckers in the bar.”
“I don’t know then.” Sam subsided, looking pissed, “You got any ideas?”
“Not really. You could take a look in their library tomorrow, see if you can find some spell to get us back. Or a Delorean, or something.”
“Yeah, okay. Hey-you have Dad’s journal with you?”
Dean checked, and to his surprise, it, unlike his gun and his watch, was still there, tucked away, as usual, in the inside pocket of his jacket. He nodded.
“Well, that’s something. What about you? What’re you doing tomorrow?”
“I, uh, I think I’m going on a crossbow hunt with Arthur; they’re after some flying creature that’s picking off villagers.”
Sam glared at him. “Unbelievable. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Doesn’t matter how messed up a situation is, show you a shiny weapon and it’s all good, huh?”
“Hey, at least I didn’t faint in the presence of royalty.” Dean tried to divert Sam from seeing how right he was, but Sam suddenly wasn’t paying attention to him anymore.
“Wait. I think I know how we can tell if this is really 528.”
Dean raised his eyebrows.
“Well, the only complete eclipse of the sun in the first part of the sixth century occurred on June 21st, 528. And we aren’t due to have any eclipses at all in 2005.”
“Jesus, Sam, how do you know this shit?”
“What? Oh, astronomy class, sophomore year. But the point is, if there’s no eclipse tomorrow, we’ll know we’re messed up with some twenty-first-century bullshit.”
“And if there is?”
“Then we really are in the sixth century.”
part three on LJ
part three on DW