Chapter Four: Same Planet, Different Date

Chapter Three or Chapter Five

CHAPTER FOUR:  Same Planet, Different Date

As quickly as the spell had swept up the six travelers from a small living room in a small house in the heart of South Dakota, it dropped them down in a place five of the six would find entirely unfamiliar. The spell worked as intended, like a charm. The travelers arrived each in his own piece upon the floor of control deck of the TARDIS. The physical arrival, however, was less than one of grace; as each found himself lying on the actual floor. Dean was the first to his feet “Okay…” he said aloud as he looked around the dark room. The light was scarce, but he could see enough to know he was no longer where he was. “Sound off” he ordered, taking a hold of the situation as he attempted to gain his balance.

“Sam Winchester present and accounted for,” Sam replied as he pulled himself to his own feet, stretching his back out as he did so.

A few feet away from Dean and Sam, John slowly stood to his feet, pulling his flashlight from his pocket, checking for nearby faces and finding Sherlock already climbing to his feet. “John and Sherlock as well” John called out.

“That’s four of six,” Dean replied. “Cas? You make it through?” he called out, looking for his friend.

“Dean,” Sam called out. He had found Castiel on the floor nearby. The angel had made it through, but was unresponsive. “He’s out” he added as he attempted to examine Castiel’s state.

Dean quickly joined Sam at Castiel’s side. “Doc, think we can get a little light over here,” Dean asked as he called out to John, who quickly joined them.

Sherlock looked on “That is still only five,” he noted aloud as he began to search the area for the Doctor, only to discover him on the flat of his back and disoriented. “Doctor, are you alright?”

The Doctor shook his head. “No, not really, but that’s never really slowed me down before,” he replied as he rolled over, pushing himself up off the floor and stumbling to his feet. “That took a great deal more from me than I had anticipated,” he grumbled, still gathering his own thoughts and balance. “Now is everyone here, did everyone make it through alright?”

“Everyone’s here” John replied aloud as he finished examining Castiel’s pupils, before standing to his feet once more. “Castiel is unconscious, but from what I can tell he’s fine. Of course some light would go a long way in helping with my assessment of him.”

“Right, light – yes of course,” the Doctor replied as he began to search the console that stood in the center of the deck. Finally a lever is flipped and the room fills with soft blue and white lights. “Gentlemen I present Time and Relative Dimension in Space also known as a TARDIS,” the Doctor announced.

The light illuminated the control deck, revealing a room not unlike the images brought to life by the most classic of science fiction sagas. It was clean and futuristic with a heavy geometric décor. In the center stood a tall console that extended far up into the ceiling above. The main control panels of the console circled in a hexagon pattern, surrounding what appeared to be a dimly lit pillar and power source. Every man that could stand - stood in awe. Until, finally, Dean broke the silence. “So this is the spaceship?”

“Among other things, Yes” The Doctor replied, as he began to examine the control panels, like a doctor who busied about checking over a patient’s vital signs.

“Kind of retro” Dean commented aloud, still taking in the surroundings.

“I happen to like retro, retro is cool,” the Doctor replied. “How’s the patient Dr. Watson?”

“Hard to say, I mean he’s unconscious, but I can’t find anything physically wrong with him, no outward signs of head trauma or any trauma for that matter. His vitals are all as they should be,” John replied with a heavy sigh. “Does he have any kind of a history with black outs or fainting spells?” John asked, looking over to Sam and Dean.

“Well, I know in the past when he’s transported one of us in time, it’s taken a physical toll – maybe the spell drew off him, drained him of his energy,” Sam suggested trying to assist John with Castiel.

John stepped back for a moment, rubbing his eyes and taking a sharp and deep inhale. He was keeping his cool all things considered, but remaining cool and calm was no less a challenge.

Sherlock especially took notice of his friend’s growing anxiety “John, you’re handling all of this rather well, are you alright?” He asked showing mild concern.

“Yes, well no.” John began with a heavy sigh “I am for now; I will remain so until Castiel is back on his feet, after that I really can’t say – I mean here we are, standing in what we’re told is a spaceship, how are any of us handling this well?” John replied, asking almost rhetorically. “Right,hDoctor – do you happen to have a first aid kit on hand?” He asked regaining his composure and his role.

“No, but I do have a medical lab set up for just these sort of occasions,” the Doctor replied gesturing for the others to follow as he turned to lead them down one of the metal bridge paths that winded away from the main deck. Sam and Dean followed along first, each with half of Castiel hoisted upon their shoulders, followed then by Sherlock and John. The path featured many paneled doors along the way, but when the path reached a dead end at a large heavy stainless steel door, the group finally paused as the Doctor attempted to open the door, attempted and failed. “This is rather odd,” the Doctor commented and produced once more his sonic screwdriver. It buzzed and glowed as he swept it along the edges. “Very odd”

“Doc, what is it?” Sam asked curiously.

“It’s locked, and not just locked – time locked” the Doctor replied, his tone failing his confidence. He turned around, moving past the group, trying different doors as he passed. Not one would open, and after a quick inspection each proved to reveal the same results, locked again and again, and even locked to the Doctor. “This isn't possible. They can’t be locked, they all can’t be locked!” he exclaimed, his frustration growing and showing. “And certainly not from me, this is my TARDIS after all.”

“What are you saying? Are you saying we’re trapped?” Dean asked aloud “Is he saying we’re trapped inside a spaceship?”  His tone was a subtle blend of concern and early panic.

“Maybe – I don’t know, this has never happened to me before,” the Doctor replied nervously as he began to head back towards the main deck, the rest of the group following along. “ I've been stuck on the outside unable to get in before, but this – this is different.”

“Good different? Or Bad different?” Sam asked as he helped carry Castiel along.

“To be honest, I haven’t really decided yet,” the Doctor replied as he made his way towards a pair of double white doors, stopping for a moment to examine them with the sonic screwdriver. This time the resulting feedback brought good news. Still, before the Doctor rushed out what was likely the only set of unlocked doors at his disposal, he paused and turned to face the other men who eagerly awaited what he had to say. “Okay, these doors are unlocked, but before we continue through them I need each of you to understand that I do not know what awaits us on the other side of them. I know we are on stable ground, I know we are on earth – this is all I know.”

Dean shrugged “Sounds like plenty to go on to me. What’s the hold up?”

“This ship, my ship – my TARDIS is more than a Spaceship. It’s also a time machine,” the Doctor confessed.

Upon hearing this John face revealed a somewhat nervous smile as he pulled his wallet from his back pocket, flipping it open to reveal his registrations “Yep,  letters are in order and legible” he then proceeded to put it away and then quickly pinched the tender part of his forearm “Yes, hurts – clearly I am not dreaming… I wish I was dreaming, but no – okay so time machine?”

“You’re warning us, cautioning us, preparing us – preparing us for what exactly?” Sherlock asked, paying John’s momentary lapse of calm no mind.

“I don’t know what is on the other side of these doors,” the Doctor began. “We could step into New York 2055 or we might step into Rome 196 B.C. I simply have no way of knowing at this moment.”

“We would find your box in England, Doctor – is that not what you said to John and I back at the flat not even two days ago?” Sherlock asked.

“In case you haven’t noticed Sherlock, I have a tendency to say a lot of things,” the Doctor replied honestly.

“Okay, so we’re in a spaceship that is also a time machine. Why even bother going outside at all, why not just leave? We have what you set out for right? Why don’t we just take it and go?” Sam asked, his point and questions valid ones.

“Because one, I didn't simply misplace my ship. Someone took it. Something that is not easy to do. Last time I walked through the doors I made sure, as I always do, to lock them behind me and someone – I don’t know who, but someone from your present day London found it and took it, took my TARDIS. That person is somewhere, maybe inside somewhere, but more likely on the outside, wherever we are, whatever time this is and I cannot leave them here. Second, it appears every door is time locked, all but this one, and like I said before that is different. And good or bad it would be very unwise for us to leave before I figure out why. Third, a member of this group in unconscious and needs care. For all we know he may need care immediately and the fastest way to see he gets it is my moving forward… I think," the Doctor replied at length. “We can’t go further in and we simply cannot leave. This leaves only forward and out as our option. Our only option. I’m simply trying to warn you, to caution you, to prepare you for what may greet us on the other side of this option,” the Doctor added, echoing Sherlock’s own words from before.

“Sounds like we’re all about as a prepared as we’re ever gonna be,” Dean replied with a shrug “and we’re not gettin’ any younger. So, lead the way.”

The Doctor paused for a moment longer, his eyes falling over the group that stood waiting before him. The fearless duo, Sam and Dean Winchester, supportively shouldering their unconscious and ethereal companion, Castiel. Behind them stood the most brilliant team modern day London could lay claim to, the clever Sherlock Homes and the intrepid Dr. John Watson. The Doctor smiled nervously – the first time venturing outside of one’s time was never something he could prepare anyone for, but the excitement and anticipation that normally filled this moment quickly gave way to the sinking feeling that took hold of his gut, knowing that whatever took the TARDIS, whatever brought them here – might still be even too much for this group, this gathering of strangers, to take on. “Right this way,” he finally replied as he turned to open the door and proceed out. The sight to behold was not one that he had in any way anticipated, not that he had ever really bothered trying to anticipate anything walking out of the TARDIS anymore. Still, what did greet his view was a long wide hall, built of the finest stained and ornamentally carved woods. Large stained glass windows stretched the length of the left wall, allowing soft shimmering color tinted light to flow through and cascade upon the floor. The opposite wall to his right held the most brilliant hand carved paneling which echoed the magnificence of royalty the room clearly played witness and stage too. And finally, in the center of the room stood a very large and imposing round table with over two dozen identical chairs circling its edge. The Doctor’s eye grew wide as they fell upon this last sight “No!” he exclaimed in a happy tone of disbelief, spinning around quickly to face the group once more. “You four, and eventually five - are not going to believe this!” he further exclaimed excitedly as he turned back, exiting the TARDIS so the others could follow suit. “We’re in CAMELOT!” He announced in a ta-da sort of fashion. Still, before anyone could step out to see what he had seen, to follow where he had led, a figure stepped in the line of sight between the Doctor, the door and the group. The figure moved quickly, striking the Doctor to the floor, laying him out cold.

The figure, a man, was relatively tall, dressed in clothes suitable for the era that the group suddenly found themselves in “Yes – you –are,” he muttered to himself as he turned to face the rest of the group, flipping his long wavy brown hair back and out of his face as he did so, and with a smirk on his scruffy face and heavy sword readied in his hands he greeted the remaining group, “Carefully this way or you will surely join him.”

“Why would you just jump someone like that – I mean who does that?” Dean exclaimed, not much unlike the Doctor would likely have had he not now been laid out on the floor in front of him.

“We do – we have frequently,” Sam nervously reminded Dean. “So let’s just step out, nice and calmly,” Sam suggested as the two, with Castiel in tow, continued out.

“You two as well,” the man ordered, looking back at Sherlock and John, who as instructed followed along. Once everyone was out the TARDIS door seemed to close behind them on its own accord. The man tried his best to open it once more “Why won’t it open? We've tried for days now to open this door to no avail then you six walk out and now it’s shut once more. Why won’t it open?”

“That is a very good question and you know who would have likely known the answer?” John asked in his most sarcastic of tones, pointing down at the Doctor.

“I can help him” a voice spoke up from the other side of the strange man. Out stepped another man, this one about the same height as the first, but far thinner and smaller in build. His skin was pale, which created a cold contrast from his bright blue eyes and dark black hair. His clothing fit the period as well, but his brown jacket, blue tunic, dark brown pants and matching boots showed of far more wear than the other man’s attire, and around his neck he wore a bright red scarf – the color of Camelot. “Just one moment,” he added as he turned away and quickly returned with a pod of garlic in his hands. “This should do,” he commented further and he bent down to assist in recovering the Doctor, crushing the pod between his fingers to release the oils and aroma.

As the Doctor was being assisted by the new comer, the man who knocked the Doctor out in the first place stared curiously, still on guard, at the new comers. “How did all of you even fit into such a small space to begin with?”

“What do you mean small space?” John asked curiously as he, Sherlock, Dean and Sam turned to look back at the object from whence they came. Their eyes all falling on a sight each had had described at least once before to them.  A small blue box, small by comparison to the room they had emerged from, that stood slightly taller than Sam, and was only at best, as the Doctor had described i,t five by five feet squared – a size that would only hold the six men in the most uncomfortable of close quarters. The box was blue with white accents and frosted paneled windows and read Police Box over the threshold. 

“It’s a Police Box…” John observed aloud.

“That’s actually a spaceship,” Dean commented further.

 “That’s also a time machine,” Sam added.

“That’s larger on the inside,” Sherlock observed.

The Doctor sat coming too at this time, pushing himself off the ground for a second time since being reunited with the TARDIS. “Yes, which is exactly what I have been trying to tell you” he said aloud, coughing a bit as he did so  “Garlic?”

“It’s all I had on me, are you alright?” the smaller of the two men asked, the man who had helped bring the Doctor back to the land of the conscious.

“No, it’s clever and brilliant. What are your names?”  the Doctor asked, looking at the pair curiously as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’m Merlin and this is Sir Gwaine, of Camelot,” Merlin, the one who had helped the Doctor, the one who was not holding the sword, replied honestly.

The Doctor nodded, smiling. “And that explains why,” he remarked with a sigh. “Okay just a recap. We are standing in a room that has existing inside of it a giant round table and a guy named Merlin at the same time. Pay attention boys, because this is Christmas” he commented to Dean, Sam and the others, keeping his voice low.

“Pleasantries aside, who are you six and why won’t this door open?”  Gwaine asked, clearly uneasy.

“Won’t open?” The Doctor replied curiously, walking over to the door and sure enough it would not give, or budge, would not be pushed, or slid, or even pulled as the sign on the front has instructed over and over and over again. The Doctor examined it closer, with his sonic screwdriver - sighing heavy over what the results revealed. “Time locked….  Why it is time locked. What happened to you?” he asked mumbling to himself as he did so. Turning, he faced what was now a group of seven faces looking to him. “I don’t know – at this moment your guess is nearly as good a mine. And by the way, why are you Sir Gwaine - a knight with a sword - hanging around by my TARDIS?” he asked in a huff.

“It appeared here, on this very spot, a few nights ago. We found it the next morning along with a handful of guards who were attacked in the night,” Merlin replied, speaking up in place of Gwaine.

“Did they say who or what attacked them?” the Doctor asked, his frustration giving way to concern.

“Some of the men didn't survive. The few who have – have only done so for this long and may not see tomorrow. Unable to speak, all we can do is help them and wait,” Merlin replied honestly.

“And you think this box has something to do with the attacks?”  Sam asked.

“Enough to keep it under guard,” Gwaine replied “Who are you people- what are you yourselves even doing here?”

“We’re here to help – this, this box, it was taken from me and we have come seeking to retrieve it and undue any damage that may have resulted by its presence being here,” the Doctor began, doing his best to explain what he knew was impossible for them  to understand “I think whatever took this from me is likely to have attacked the guards and I want to make sure when we leave, whatever it is leaves with us. - Now, I need to speak to your King”

“I doubt I could possibly imagine a worse idea for a conversation,” Merlin began, shaking his head. “Actually I could, but you six just walked out a box that in the King’s mind caused loss of life among his ranks – dressed as you are dressed no less. No, I can’t see that being a very good idea at all.”

“You said you are here to help, yes? Help how?” Gwaine asked looking over the strange group. “Are you knights, or are you physicians, or are you bounty hunters? How are the six of you supposed to help us when you seem just as puzzled about what attacked us as we are.”

“I am actually a physician,” John began speaking up. “Now, I really need to help this man,” he explained, gesturing towards Cas who was still unconscious. “He is in, at the moment what, is my very limited care. But I’m sure I can help the men who were attacked as well. Trauma is sort of my background; I know I can help these men if you let me.”

“And we are hunters of sorts, but not for bounties. If we can help, we will.” Sam added, speaking forward alongside John.

“I don’t know Merlin, I’m not sure if we should trust them – and I certainly don’t think this is something we should keep from Arthur,” Gwaine replied, speaking his honest reservations to his friend.

“I agree, we shouldn't keep this from Arthur – but perhaps we can postpone the news. I say we get these men to Gaius’ quarters, see if they can help the men who were attacked. If they can, we present them to Arthur – if they can’t, we alert the King,” Merlin replied, seeing an opportunity that he felt was unwise to pass up. “Will you help me?” he asked of Gwaine.

“I don’t think it’s the best idea, but if they can help it would prove to be a good one,” Gwaine began to reply, and paused for a sigh. “As always, I’ll follow your lead.”

A soft and almost silent exhale of relief escaped the five conscious men as Gwaine lowered his sword and his guard.  “So Uther is King then?” the Doctor asked, following the words traded between Merlin and Gwaine.

“No, Uther passed away over a year ago. Arthur is King now. Still, if you can help his men, Arthur will greet you with all the welcome of friends – if you can’t,” Merlin began to explain.

“With all the fury of a King” the Doctor replied, understanding what Merlin was getting at. “Right, well before we proceed further, I am the Doctor. These are the brethren Winchesters; Hunters Samuel and Dean, the man unconscious upon their backs is their herald, and the physicians Watson and Holmes,” He added, introducing them at length to the best of his strengths.

“Welcome to Camelot. Now follow me,” Merlin replied as he turned to lead them through the doorway at the end of the long hall, leaving Gwaine to his duties. “Luckily most of the Knights are away on patrol, and the few who aren't are accompanying Arthur on the hunt. Leaving the remaining kingdom busy preparing for the upcoming tournament. Your timing is most opportune,” Merlin explained as he looked back at the group.

“My timing knows of no other way of being, I can assure you,” the Doctor replied with a smile as they began to exit the room and follow along the empty passage ways that twisted and wound around and throughout the inner working of the castle that stood as the heart of Camelot. Finally, the group was led through a simple standing wooden door and into a rather sizable room – not nearly to the scale in size or grandeur as the hall they had previously found themselves in, but impressive none the less. The space was  cluttered, with most of the tables, chairs, desks and altars pushed to either side of the room, allowing space for four small beds to be set out all in a row, each with its own unconscious guard laid out upon it, covered and cared for as best it appeared could be managed. A few small narrow windows allowed enough sunlight in to illuminate the room. Aside from the beds, and the patients held upon them, the room was clearly split several ways. Partly a library judging by the many books that littered the space, part infirmary and lab by the looks of the tools that shared the space, and even part living quarters as revealed by more personal items that could be spotted amongst the shelves in between the rest. Footsteps could be heard from across the room as an older man made his way down a small staircase that ran along one of the room’s curving walls. He was dressed in a floor length robe made of fairly basic burgundy material, accented by fine embroidery – a small sign that he was more than just a servant to the King. His shoulder length white hair, along with the lines of his face revealed his age, but his blue eyes captured well the reflection of wisdom they held. The man paused mid-descent, looking down upon the new comers who stood behind Merlin, in the middle of the room. Merlin returning his look, swallowed hard before speaking. “I can explain.”

“I sincerely hope so,” the man replied, as he continued down the stair.s “You can start with who they are and continue with why they are dressed in such an odd manner,” he instructed further.

“I can’t actually explain that – I’m not sure where they are from, but I know it’s nowhere near here – but two are physicians and they say they can help,” Merlin replied, attending to the question out of order.

The man took a moment, looking and examining each of the faces before him. “None of you appear old enough to claim such a title, but if you can help – it would be most welcomed. Something attacked these men, but for the life of me I don’t know what, and as a result, am at loss for how to aid them beyond what care I have already given them.”

“Well, let’s have a proper look, shall we?” John spoke up, stepping ahead and aside from the group and over to the bed side of the man closest to him. Sherlock also followed along, taking to the opposite side of the bed. “Do you mind?” John asked looking up and over to the man.

“No, see what you can” the man replied, joining them at the bedside.                   

           

“While Gaius is assisting them, let’s get your herald onto a bed as well,” Merlin suggested to the remaining group, while also offering an informal introduction of the master of the chamber. He and the other pulled aside, leading back in a small adjacent room where they could lay Castiel down until John and Sherlock could return to join them.

Around the first bedside, John and Sherlock waited patiently and watched as Gaius folded back the blanket and started to undress the first sets of wounds. When the layers of cloths were pulled away, the sight revealed to them was one of multiple scratches, deep lacerations each. Though cauterization had been applied to some of the wounds, many were still open. Across the chest, the arms, the shoulder, neck, faces and just about any other surfaces of the body the two men could see. Aside from the wounds, bruises and swelling along the joints were very clear; the man at first glance appeared as though he had crashed through plate glass and into a several story fall. Although surprised, neither Sherlock nor John was taken back at the sight, and each was clearly interested, if not slightly more enthused, their curiosities clearly peaked. “Well, where to begin – I mean several contusions are visible – which given the days since the attack is understandable, swelling and” John began, placing his fingers upon some of the cleaned and undamaged skin as he felt for temperatures “really wished I had some gloves with me, but definite rise in body temperature – but low grade I would imagine, given the fact he’s still here. I’m sure we can expect to find fractures upon further analysis,” he added as he leaned in getting not only a closer look at the lacerations but also a sniff “Bacterial infection – which could lead to endocarditis given the depths of wounds, assuming it already hasn't.  I’d have to get a listen of his heart to have a better say on the matter though. Why only cauterize some of the wounds?”

“In an effort to minimize damaging too much of his flesh. I used the method in places I could not stop the bleeding – the most necessary locations, but anything I was able to stop through pressure or attending I did so,” Gaius answered to the best of his abilities. 

“John, do these lacerations appear odd to you?” Sherlock asked, hovering over the body as well.

“Pretty clear scratches.” John replied. His observation, though shallow, was not wrong.

“Yes, but look at each set. Always five, with the fifth first or fifth always angled towards the median of the body. The initial pierces of each scratch are almost rounded. These are scratches, yes, but not ones left by talons or claws – these were made by a human, John,” Sherlock revealed in his observation. “The patterns of some of the contusions along the neck are very characteristic of someone being choked – an act of violence fairly exclusive to our species as well, wouldn't you agree?”

“Well, of course concerning the marks along the neck, Sherlock, but these scratches, I’d say the deepest ones are well into at least a half an inch in some spots. I don’t know many humans that could have done that,” John replied honestly, agreeing with Sherlock, but also doubting such a person existed that would leave such wounds. “Are the others this bad off?” John asked looking up to Gaius.

“Of these four he is by far the worst – but the other three fair little better. Do you think you can help them? Do you know what did this to them?” Gaius answered and inquired.

“Not without a small arsenal of supplies – most of which we’ll have to reinvent on our own I suspect,” John replied, mumbling the last half under his breath as he did so.

“I know whatever did this was a human, same as you or I – but as far as who did this, in time I will have an answer for you as well. For now, suffice to say whoever did this is very dangerous, and likely quite mad as well,” Sherlock replied as he stood up.

“Well I do think I can help, but I will need a few things,” John added as he began to assist Gaius in replacing the wrappings on to the wounds, and covering up the wounded knight once more.

“Anything we can do to assist you, and whatever we don’t have – Merlin is quite good a procuring.” Gaius replied, offering up Merlin’s services to yet another.

“Alright, well, I would really like to take a closer look at Castiel – but afterwards I will form a list and get to work on these four,” John replied, excusing himself in order to see an entirely different sort of patient. Both he and Sherlock made their way to a small room that was already overly crowded, but upon arrival, all but Merlin and Dean remained outside, giving John plenty of room to work.

John, once again, began to examine Castiel, doing his best to check over his throat and paying close attention to his breathing pattern. “His respiratory system seems fairly stable,” he commented almost to himself, resting his head down upon Castiel’s chest to get a clearer insight to his respiratory functions and cardiac rhythm. “heart and chest sound  stable as well – would kill for a blood pressure cuff,” he further grumbled as he began to take an assessment of his pulse. “ We've pretty much established that he isn't responding much to verbal commands of any sort. Let’s try a different sort of stimulus,” he suggested looking over to Dean “You wouldn't still happen to have that knife on you, would you?” he asked.

Dean simply nodded, pulling the knife from its sheath which had been concealed by his jacket, handing it over to John, who had taken that time to remove Castiel’s shoe and sock. He then ever so lightly began prick as best he could the tenderest stretch of the patient’s foot. This produced a minor response in Castiel’s brow line and eyes lids. “Very good – do you have any smelling salts?” he asked looking back to Merlin, before moving to examine Castiel’s eyes once more.

“Smelling salts?” Merlin replied curiously.

Sherlock, who stood back just on the other side of the door way, overheard the request and spoke up “spirit of hartshorn or sal volatile  perhaps – essentially an ammonia derived from distilling deer antlers or horns. It would have a very strong odor.”

Merlin smiled “Hammonicus sal, yes,” he responded and he went to fetch the elixir, returning quickly, and handing a small vial over to John.

“His pupils are more responsive than before. Let's hope this does the trick,” he said, almost wishing aloud as he passed the open vial beneath Castiel’s nose.

Almost instantaneously Castiel began to turn his head away from the aroma and shift back into consciousness, his eyelids lifting and his heaving as he coughed in response to the treatment. “Welcome back,” John said aloud as he recapped the bottle, handing it back to Merlin once more.

“How you feeling Cas?” Dean asked curiously, as he helped his friend sit up upon the bed.

“Well I have never been struck by a large vehicle before, but I can imagine I feel as though I’m not too far off from such an experience,” Castiel replied regaining his composure, clearly still weakened from the event that knocked him out in the first place.

“Okay, well get some rest and rehydrate, I have to get back to the other four. I’m sure Dean and the Doctor can bring you up to speed,” John added as he stood up, exiting the room to rejoin Sherlock’s side. “I guess the first thing we should do is work out whatever passes for antibiotics in this time.”

Sherlock momentarily revealed a curious smirk “You’re handling this rather well; I’d almost say you were even enjoying yourself, if I didn't suspect the appropriate thing would be not to.”

“Well, I’m not too keen on this whole time traveling Camelot business, but I’d be lying if I were to say I wasn't at least comfortable with the idea of stumbling into my element, even here or now, or whatever.” John replied glancing around at the others who were busy acquainting themselves. “Let’s get to work then, shall we?”