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?”

Chapter Three: Feather, Book, and Blood

Chapter Two or Chapter Four

CHAPTER THREE: Feather, Book, and Blood.

Not but a moment after Dean had spoken into the phone had a new arrival appeared in the room. Without initial detection or notice, and less than a stir of wind - in the room he stood. “I’m here.” Castiel spoke aloud, drawing attention from each set of eyes that occupied the room, and each with their own reaction. Sherlock’s grew wide, but his mouth remained closed and his tongue still behind his teeth. The Doctor's gaze fell upon him as though he had been an expected, but unwanted new addition to the room. And finally John’s eyes grew even wider than Sherlock’s had, before returning to a squint as he started to step back towards the kitchen. The man appeared normal enough. Short brown hair, with a pair of his own blue eyes that held a constant wayward stare of their own, basic suit and tan trench coat; sort of fellow you would pass on any street corner in any city at any time of day, but it wasn't his appearance that had John stepping back and swallowing hard on his rising anxiety, but rather his sudden arrival. “No – No, no thank you  - that is it. You can’t fly me across an ocean and halfway across a country and talk about Demons and Angels and Magic and Aliens – and then have this guy just show up – No. Not anymore.” He said looking back and forth between Sherlock and the Doctor. “I’m sorry Sherlock, I’m sorry Doc.. Well, actually I’m not sorry in any way to you on the matter, whoever you are or whatever you’re supposed to be; I know I said we’d help, that I’d help, but no.” He said turning to leave, pausing by the entrance way, looking up at the Devil’s trap that was carved into the ceiling before glancing back at the men still standing in the room. “I’m sorry – but No, just no.” He said before finally making his way towards the porch.

“Can someone explain what just happened?” Castiel said looking over to Sam and Dean.

Sam scratched lightly and nervously at the back of his head as he looked to Sherlock. “Should we go after him?”

“Probably.” Sherlock replied a bit nonchalantly.

“Are you going to go after him?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow at Sherlock’s curious response.

“He’ll be fine on his own for a bit, he won’t wonder far, he never does. We flew across the Atlantic Ocean for this, I won’t walk away now.” Sherlock replied in a huff.

Dean shook his head clearly not approving of the attitude towards John he was witnessing.  “Dude, go after him, I promise we'll wait, I just need to clarify a few things with Cas here. Probably better you aren't right here right now anyways.” Dean said aloud, voicing his feeling on the matter.

The Doctor nodded in agreement, looking towards Sherlock. “Go after him, we’ll wait – it’s a lot to take in. Everyone has a part to play Sherlock. We need him – you need him.” The Doctor added his tone more forgiving than Dean's had been.

Sherlock glanced to Sam and Castiel, both seemed to echo the encouragement that Dean and the Doctor had voiced. Still with a moment of hesitation, like a kid being forced upon an errand or a chore that was less than his choosing, he finally, with a huff turned to follow John out on the porch.


Outside Sherlock found John leaning against the wooden railing of the porch, resting his chest on his elbows, fingers laced and turned towards the ground, while his eyes turned towards the clear sky above. Sherlock took a deep an audible inhale before leaning against one of the porch’s supporting beams, beside John, but facing the house as opposed to John who would not. The two remained silent for a moment – and then, finally, John sighed. “Sherlock let's go home, back to England, back to Baker Street.”

“ We've come a long way to turn back now.” Sherlock replied, his tone softer than before, but his stance on the matter unchanged.

“But come on Sherlock, this isn't us. This is – well I don’t know what this actually is, but you were in there… this is science fiction and fantasy. This is Aliens and Magic and Superstition. This isn't me and it is certainly not you.” John replied, his tone as insistent as his words.

“What do you mean not me?” Sherlock asked almost mockingly. “We have a mystery on our hands, not just the Doctor and his stolen box, but the Doctor himself. Mysteries, John, we solve mysteries. Not every one needs to start over a dead body.”

“No, of course not, I know.” John said agreeing at first. “Still, I don’t think we are in our depths here – Not even a question of depth; Sherlock, mystery or not, these are not our waters.”

Sherlock gestured towards the house with an outward hand “So we live a little John, try something new. New is what makes life interesting – formulaic is boring John,.I’m tired of being bored.”

John pushed himself back off the railing. “And you know another thing I don’t understand, why Dean?” John began. “I mean here you are the world’s only consulting detective – on this great big, though in my opinion, boring mystery so far – weird yes, but I’m not the least bit interested thus far – and here we are encountering these different people, the Doctor and Captain Jack, real characters if I've ever known any and you just let it go. You had opportunities – but you let it go. Which is fine. I've seen you let things go before, bite your tongue – save the peace, but then here comes Dean, a man with a firearm aimed right for you and you go off on him, of all people. I mean why skip the Doctor and Jack and not Dean? I don’t understand, help me to understand Sherlock.” John pleaded in frustration.

“I could observe Dean.  A plain and simple truth.” Sherlock replied as he folded his arms across his chest, sighing lightly. “The Doctor is a curiosity to say the least, as I told you before back in the flat. I can observe him as I observe any other man – I can read and take note, but when the moment arrives to deduce – I cannot connect the things I see.  For me his is an anomaly – a mystery. One I would like to see through to the end.” Sherlock admitted, keeping his voice low.

“And Jack – Captain Jack Harkness? What about him?” John asked.

Sherlock’s lips pulled into a wiry grin “Everything I could deduce from Captain Jack suggested I should keep my mouth shut - though we really should introduce him to Mycroft, I think they would get along famously, perhaps to the detriment of half the free world, but it would free up our schedule a bit,”Sherlock answered only partially joking as he did so.

John smiled and chuckled lightly to himself over the pair Mycroft and Jack would make. “Still, I want to go. I am going back to England – you cannot make me stay.”  John said putting his foot down once more.

“And I won’t try. Do give Mrs Huddson my love will you, I’m sure I’ll be along shortly after, once the mystery of the missing blue box is laid to rest.” Sherlock replied as he pushed off the beam and started back into the house.

“Sherlock” John began turning on his heels after him, stopping him in the foyer, beneath the devil’s trap, just out of view of the others. “Sherlock, be reasonable. We've come this far and it will be difficult enough to turn back now and only God knows what is still in store, how much further we have to go.” John pleaded, lowering his voice to almost a whisper.

Sherlock glanced back, pausing for a moment. “What are you implying?” he asked with genuine curiosity. “That the Doctor may actually lead us somewhere we can’t return from? Be reasonable John.”

John sighed. “Yes and No and I know how crazy that must sound.”

“He’s already told us we’re going back to England, John.” Sherlock argued and insisted.

“We’re not going home are we?” John asked with an even heavier sigh, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands as he did so.

“Not without changing the definition of the word WE” Sherlock replied before continuing into the main room of the house once more. 

Dean looked up at the two with a smile as they reentered the room “Trouble in paradise?”

John responded with a cross look of his own. “Don’t start in with that – Starting that now would be a very bad idea, so just – don’t” He warned Dean before making his way over to the long sofa, taking a seat beside Sherlock who was sitting aside, but not overly close to Sam who was almost straddling the arm rest as he leaned in on his knee. Dean was seated the wrong way around on a chair, resting his chest against the chair’s backrest and Castiel stood nearby between the others. As for the Doctor, he had found a nice comfy chair to recline in behind the large wooden desk upon which, ever so coolly, his feet now rested with crossed ankles. “So – what have we missed?” John asked aloud, trying to be a good sport about things.

“Just some introductions” Sam began to explain. “We told Mr Holmes we’d wait, so we did.”

“You can refer to me as Sherlock” Sherlock replied.

“So, back to the matter at hand – Aliens Cas? Didn't we have some conversation once about aliens not being real? I mean that sounds like a conversation we would have had already.” Dean asked skeptically, glancing from the Doctor to Castiel.

Castiel shrugged his coated shoulders “If we did, I’m sure I only thought it was with the subject matter of the Milky Way. I wasn't fully aware that any would travel quite this far,” Cas replied, his line of vision moving from Dean to the Doctor. “Tell me, have you been visiting the planet long?”

The Doctor smiled and sighed lightly. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Castiel, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

“I would like to state for the record that though I do understand that reference it in no way makes it an accurate one.”  Castiel spoke up in reply.

The Doctor pushed himself up and out of the chair, pulling his screwdriver out of his pocket as he did so; with a flick of his wrist the device lit up with life. He held it up so the others could see as he made his way towards one of the many book cases that lined the room. “Gentlemen, this is a Sonicscrewdriver.”

“A what?” Sam asked curiously.

“A torch that opens doors.” John chimed in.

The Doctor turned his head about revealing a slight frown on his face – he was almost appalled at the suggestion his screwdriver was so limited to doors. “It’s not a torch, and it can do so much more than open doors,” he replied.

John tilted his head in fained curiosity. “Like what, exactly?”

“Well, for starters it can find books, such wonderful books.” The Doctor answered with a smile. “See, not all books are created equal – all books are amazing, wonderful things really books, never go out of style no matter how much changes in technology, you simply cannot beat the feel of a well-made book in your hands, the smell of it! The sound when a page is turned…”

“Yes I think we’re all aware of what a book is.” Sherlock interrupted the Doctor, an attempt to keep him on course.

“Of course, parchment, ink, vowels and contents strung together in series of words and sentences and into stories and yes, I’m sure each of you know what a book IS. All are very special in their own right, but some go a bit further. It’s how they are made, the information they contain. It makes them stand out on so many levels, even a vibrational one.” The Doctor explained as he began to fiddle with the gadget, tuning the tool. The light would grow very dim and very bright and settle out again, the strange buzzing noise it emitted would lower to a hum and settle somewhere between. “Most of the books in this room actually fall into that category.” He commented looking back to Sam and Dean.

“Well it’s not your typical collection.” Sam spoke up, a bit of pride hidden in his tone, but not in his posture as he straightened his back a bit as he spoke.

“Sammy” Dean said shortly.

“What?” Sam snapped back looking to his brother.

“Just because he’s not a demon doesn’t mean we can trust a dude who claims to be an alien.”  Dean replied with a sigh.

“Whatever – go on.” Sam said turning his gaze from Dean back to the Doctor.

“I’m looking for one of these books particularly; one I believe you have in your collection.” The Doctor continued as he moved the device past one row and then the next and next.

Sam stood up walking over to join the Doctor. “Most of these books are very subject specific, dealing heavy with religion or the occult, rare recordings of oral histories or how to books on everything you can imagine, blessings, curses, hexes…Spells essentially. What do you plan to do with this book when you find it?” Sam asked curiously, following the Doctor as he moved from one book case to the next.

The Doctor smiled looking over to Sam. “Curious and clever – you know you’d think that would be redundant in a lot like this, but here you are the only one asking questions.” The Doctor pointed out glancing back over at Sherlock, who may not be standing in line to ask questions, but was far from idle in his mind – after all a mind like his was incapable of idle. The Doctor looked back to Sam and to the books as he passed over them. “I lost something and I think my best chance for getting it back lies within the pages of this book and with you and your brother, but first I have to find the book,” he replied. As he glanced at the last book case, his eyes grew worried. 

“Well, maybe I can help you find it. There are books all over this house. These are just the ones we use the most. This book? Does it have a name or do you know what it looks like at least?” Sam asked following the Doctor to the next set of shelves.

“Old… very very old.” The Doctor replied in almost a whisper.

Sam listened and smirked a bit “Hate to break it to you Doc, Old is pretty much the most common denominator among this collection.”

“Doc? I like that Doc. You know people have tried to call me Doc in the past, but never really worked – must be the accent. Anyways moving on, yes I see what you’re saying, but not like this; this book is old. The information in it is older than the parchment and the parchment is older than the latest layer of ink, which in its self is far older than the binding, but it’s the binding that is especially important – the book will be well kept or at least far better kept than it should be since there are not many around who should still be able to read it, but it will reflect the respect it’s been shown none the less.” The Doctor continued, though his tone and face began to show the frustration that was building inside of him.

Dean, listening to the conversation between Sam and the Doctor, just shook his head. “I don’t know Doc, I mean something like that sounds a bit sacred. Sure something like that would be here?” Dean asked.

“Not initially no. I admit this isn't my first stop, but it is my last hope.” The Doctor confessed stepping away from the case with a heavy sigh. “Where is your next largest conservation of books?” he asked looking back and forth between Sam and Dean.

“We have an upstairs storage area and some shelves here and there” Sam replied.

Still, before anyone could do or say anything further, Sherlock rose from his seat to join the two of them, Sam and the Doctor. “I’m sorry but there has to be a way to speed this up – surely you keep things in some kind of system?” Sherlock asked with a sigh looking to Sam.

“Well yeah, but with nothing to go on, old – even really really really old, isn't much to work with.” Sam answered truthfully.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “The difference between nothing and something is that, nothing is truly nothing, and anything - no matter how small is something,” he replied to Sam, and then turned towards the Doctor “Now you said the information in it is old. When you said that did you simply mean the information, meaning the subject matter, or do you mean the language itself?” Sherlock asked. In his eyes for the first time since they entered the house, a bit of life seemed to shimmer deep within them.

The Doctor crossed his arms over his chest as he nodded. “Yes, the language, or in this case languages, would be very old indeed.”

“Okay, narrowing it down by like a quarter.” Sam replied with a frustrated sigh of his own. “Older than Latin?” He asked, folding his arms across the median of his torso as he thought.

“It may contain some Latin, but the bulk of the notes would go even further back.” The Doctor replied.

“Good, so a book containing in its pages mostly a core of dead languages, with more familiar rooted languages, Latin in the margins perhaps?” Sherlock asked, he hands tucked into his pockets as he continued to draw out the information in thought and conversation.

“Well, dead is a bit harsh, but dying.” The Doctor replied to Sherlock looking over to Sam. “Any better?”

Sam shrugged, “Narrowing down to about half, would help if I knew what languages were most prominent?”  Sam asked.

“Well, at least the basics…” The Doctor began, closing his eyes in deep thought. “Aramaic, Phoenician, Elamite, Hittite, Ammonite, Carrionite….” he continued, trailing a bit.

“That’s a lot of nites.” Sam commented.

“Yes, but all – well almost all, are very region specific.”  Sherlock pointed out. “Middle east.”

“Yeah I know.” Sam replied with a smile “The region, being the Holy Lands doesn't exactly narrow it down much, but the ages do.”

“How narrow?” the Doctor asked.

“Down to about a quarter of the collection, maybe less.” Sam answered. At that point both the Doctor and Sam look to Sherlock to for his brilliance once more.

“The imagery of the book? Is there anything you can tell us about that?”  Sherlock inquired of the Doctor.

The Doctor paused for a moment in thought. “Well of course, but nothing that would stand out too much, except…” The Doctor trailed off a moment.

“Expect what? Tell us.” Sherlock almost demanded for the both of them.

“It’s a language in the book, but its old, very old and very advanced and very much not local. The characters are geometric in structure and imagery, very advanced – highly unlikely it would be regarded as writing, maybe petroglyphs, but even then unlikely ones that anyone on this planet could cipher.”

Sam’s eyes grew wide as he stepped back, “I know exactly which book we need.”

Across the room Dean, Cas, and John all sort of had their own unique look of amazement or shock. “That was…” Dean began trailing off.

“Uncanny…” Cas added.

“Brilliant – absolutely fantastic.” John exclaimed, though he quickly lowered his tine when all eyes then turned to him. “Sorry, I've just never heard it in stereo before.”  He explained a bit under his breath.

All three men, the Doctor, Sam, and Sherlock, couldn't help, but smile a bit. Sam moved past Sherlock and the Doctor and made his way towards a small stack of moving boxes that were huddled in the corner aside the couch. Still, as he began to open each one, his face went from the one that held the pride of victory, to one of growing panic which only ever stands as a for-bearer of disappointment.  “No, no – it should be here! Right at the top of one of these stacks – I mean I packed them myself not two days ago for storage.” Sam said aloud in frustration. At this point all the men had gotten up and now formed a group around the corners opening, each with their own unique look of curiosity and suspense.  “I know it was here. A simple book bound in black well-oiled leather with a design embedded into the cover. I remember it. I picked it up a few hunts back. It was beautiful, but I couldn't make heads or tails of it, so I added it to the storage boxes for the next trip out, but it’s not here. How can it not be here?”

Dean stepped back from the group. “Shiny black book with a bunch of weird circles on the cover?”

Everyone looked back at him as Sam replied. “Yeah….”

Dean’s smile grew wide as he walked to the other end of the couch, kneeling down and reaching underneath it and towards the back. A moment later the couch shifted a bit and Dean stood up holding the book in his hand. “Back leg gave out last week, storage pile so figured no worries - right?”

Everyone had their own reactions of course, but it was the screwdriver still gripped in the Doctor’s fist that responded first. The light flared and the humming shifted to a lively buzz, signaling to the Doctor that he had finally found his book. 

Dean handed the book over to the Doctor who began moving through the pages with his thumbs. “Okay, but isn't the whole point of putting it into storage is because we can’t read it?” Dean asked aloud.

“You can’t read it, but I can.” The Doctor replied. “Of course I can read it all day, top to bottom and backwards and forwards and the right way around again and it will do no good, I can’t use it. At least not for what I need…at least not on my own.”  The Doctor continued to explain, as he looked to Sam once more.

“Doc, I’ll help out anyway I can, but Dean’s right; I had at least two weeks one on one with this book and couldn't crack it.”  Sam replied honestly, but not without a tone of disappointment and inadequacy.

 “Of course you can,” The Doctor exclaimed. “You just need me to crack you first.”

“What?” this time Dean spoke up.

“Sorry, poor choice of words…” The Doctor replied to Dean as he handed the book and his screwdriver back to Dean. “Hold these for me?” He then turned back to Sam, taking a quick look over the figure before him, the nearly half a foot taller than himself figure that was Sam Winchester. The Doctor stepped back and walked into the kitchen out of view and a moment later returned with a step stool, setting it up in front of where Sam still stood and climbing onto its first landing. Everyone else in the room sort of looked on with raised brows of curiosity. The Doctor looked about at all the faces that looked upon him, then resting his eyes on Sam’s. “Do you trust me?”

Sam stood there; unsure about the situation or the question he was asked, until finally he replied unsure of his own answer, “Well – No, but I don’t feel guarded around you and you've impressed me even if I don’t understand you entirely. Which is odd for me.”

The Doctor smiled, placing a hand on each of his shoulders. “Good enough - now hold still.” The Doctor instructed, and before Sam could question or react, the Doctor had taken a deep breath, reared his head back and thrust it forward once more into a quick collision with Sam’s forehead – a head-butt that sent them both stumbling back as well as putting the others in immediate defense mode.

Sam, in particular, stumbled back till he landed on the open couch. Dean quickly taking to his side. “What the hell was that about?” Dean shouted at the Doctor. “Dude are you okay?” he asked Sam in nearly the same breath.

Of course Sam had taken knocks ten times worse than a simple head-butt from the Doctor. Still he sat there holding his head in his hand. “Yeah – Dean…. It’s okay – I think.” He sort of mumbled in response, rubbing his eyes now.

The Doctor stood to his feet and started to approach the couch. “It’s a lot to take in and I know some people don’t always cope with telepathic transference well… are you sure you’re alright?”

“Whoa -  telepathic what?” Dean snapped back looking to the Doctor, his voice stern and demanding.

“Yes, I’m sorry but I have to second that question – I’m a bit lost as to why that just happened.” John spoke up looking to the Doctor. Sherlock remained mostly silent.

“It’s like he gave me some kind of crash course in – I don’t know the universe?” Sam answered aloud cutting off the questioning. “It’s unreal.”

The Doctor smiled wider “See, there you are; clever.”

Castiel shook his head disapproving of the action. “That could have seriously damaged his psyche – you shouldn't risk the minds of humans like that. I can assure you they are very fragile. Some more so than others.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “It’s not like it’s the first time I've been to this planet or the first time I've transferred information telepathically. It’s been at least six, maybe seven decade since I last burned someone out. I was careful, I didn't give him everything! Just some collected background necessary to push on with the spell.” The Doctor replied in his defense.

“Cas man, it’s okay. It’s rough, but wow.” Sam said, smiling almost to himself. “Just wow.”

The Doctor nodded “I know – want to do it again?”

“Why would anyone want to do whatever it was that – that was again?” John asked aloud, still confused or unsure of exactly what had just happened. He understood what was being said well enough, but didn't believe any of it of course – the entire mess was just piling up in front of him, but Sherlock had insisted on staying. He knew it was useless to try and leave again.

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea.” Cas interrupted “Sixty or Seventy years is hardly sufficient time to perfect such skill, he could damage you should you try again.”

“Oh come on, it’s been at least that long since my last incident, I've been perfecting this skill set for over nine hundred years now….” The Doctor pleaded in a huff of frustration. “Honestly leave it to an Angel to stand lacking in faith,” he grumbled. “Typical really.”

“Sam, listen to Cas here,” Dean advised remaining at his brother’s side.

“After what the Doctor just showed me? No way Dean. If he says I need and can handle more, I’m in.” Sam replied as he stood up. He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself and prepare himself for the next strike.

The Doctor nodded. “I promise I’ll be as gentle as possible, just a bit of language left, hardly take a tap this time.” He said, but again before anyone else could even argue his head moved back once more and forward again and again the collision sent both men backwards. 

“Would everyone, please, stop doing that.” John exclaimed as he walked over to Sam, pulling a flashlight from his pocket. “Let’s have a real doctor take a look at you.” He suggested as he began to examine Sam’s pupils, listening to some inaudible mumblings that fell from Sam’s lips at the moment.

“He’s fine I can assure you.” The Doctor insisted.

“He’s concussed,” John snapped back glancing over to the Doctor then back to Sam, shaking his head as he did so.

Dean smirked at the diagnosis “Actually Doc,” he began, referering to John as the doc this time. “Concussions are sort of one the more preferable of most of our work related injuries… I’ll get him some ice.” Dean added as he stood leaving the book and the screwdriver on the couch as he did so.

“Right, Okay” John replied with a heavy exhale as he stood back up. “Not sure why I even bother with this lot.” He grumbled as he returned to Sherlock’s side. Sherlock, himself still rather silent, couldn't help but smirk over his partner’s frustrations.

Sam sat up slowly with a smile. “Thank you Doctor Watson, I’m fine I promise, but thank you just the same. I wish the rest of you could see what – what I have going inside my head right now, it’s a bit overwhelming.” Sam confessed.

“Take up the book, put it all too good use – should straighten it all out.” The Doctor suggested, gesturing to the book Dean had left at Sam’s side.

Sam nodded, taking the book up and opening it in his hands as he had done countless times before. This time, though, was different. This time all the languages long since dead almost glowed with new life in his eyes, even the petraglyphs seemed to unfold in his vision as it moved from one page to another and another.

“I’m confused though,” Castiel spoke up as he looked to the Doctor once more “If you had all that information in your head, enough to gift it to Sam as you have, why not just take the book and perform the spell yourself?” he asked.

“Because, Castiel, like angels, Time lords are also notorious for standing in lacking of faith.” The Doctor replied solemnly. His tone was deep and echoed with hint of mourning. “Or at least we were… some things simply require more than the knowledge I have to offer.”

“And some things require items we simply don’t have.” Sam added in as he finally looked up from the book. “I found the spell you want and it calls for the feather of an angel.”

“Oh that won’t be a problem,” The Doctor began to reply as Dean walked up handing an ice pack to Sam.

“Trust us Doctor, it will. See, I don’t know what Angels you've encountered in your day, but the ones here – ones like Cas, don’t have wings.” Dean explained to the Doctor.

“He’s mostly right.” Cas began “Our wings are not corporeal. We can’t actually produce a feather needed for the spell.”

“You know I think I've changed my mind on that beer idea,” John said aloud. “Do you mind if I?” he asked as he began walking towards the kitchen.

“Naw, help yourself.” Dean called out, before turning back to the Doctor. “Well I s’pose this leaves things sort of dead in the water, huh?”

The Doctor reached into his coat pocket pulling out what appeared to be a feather made of solid stone. “Not quite, see you were right about one thing Dean Winchester – you don’t know what angels I have encountered in my day.” He added as he held the stone feather out for Dean.

Dean took the stone feather into his hand, holding it up and looking it over. “What’d you pluck this off of some statue…. Not sure this is really going to do the trick.”

“Yeah, I have to side with Dean on this one Doc. The spell is very specific,” Sam added while looking at the stone feather as well.

“I can assure you that feather is very real and it will work. It’s simply under quantum-lock at the moment, but that shouldn't matter,”  The Doctor assured.

“Quantum-locked? That would mean it belonged to a Lonely Assassin?” Cas asked aloud, taken back by the idea of what the feather actually was.

“Yes, and you won’t believe how hard that little endeavor quickly became, but never the less we have it now.”  The Doctor replied assuring Cas of his suspicions concerning the stone feathers origins.    

“What the hell is Lonely Assassin?” Dean asked.

“In short it’s another alien; A Very old Alien, far older than most anything else that calls this universe home – nearly as old as my own race. I wasn't aware they were even still around,” Cas replied.

“Their ranks are thinning, but the Lonely Assassins, or Weeping Angels aren't exactly easy to kill – not sure they will ever die out, not entirely. See, they have this amazing defense mechanism;  Quantum Lock. They don't exist when they are being observed. The moment they are seen by any other living creature they turn to solid stone – and you can’t kill a stone. It’s involuntary – sheer biology with them, quark of their evolution.”  The Doctor explained.

“And when nothing’s looking at them?” Sam asked.

“Like when you turn your head or blink? They strike, and by strike I do mean kill, in their own way. Still, that’s not important. What’s important is that we have this here with us now, and this should work. It’s real enough after all. If we all closed our eyes or turned our backs at this very minute, it would revert back to a feather like any other. You can give it a go if you like.” The Doctor suggested to Dean.

Dean looked to Cas, unsure what he should do. Cas simply offered a shrug in return. Clearly he was more relaxed about this idea than the last one. Sam’s unspoken reply mimicked Cas’ in nature, so Dean stood up, walking over to a corner, his back turned towards the others, glancing down at the stone feather in his hands one last time, balancing it upon his open palms as he took a shallow breath and closed his eyes. In that moment the feather went from heavy stone to a soft, light presence on his hand, just as the Doctor told him it would. Startled, he fumbled the feather and opened his eyes just in time to move and catch the now once more stone feather before it hit the floor. Standing upright holding the saved stone feather up for the others to see, he exhaled a sigh of relief. “This should do,” was all he could offer up after the experience. His words stuttered a bit, which told Cas and Sam all they needed to know of the conclusion.

“Okay – well that just leaves a few herbs, an object of connection and the blood of the traveler – or in our case, travelers.” Sam said aloud, looking to the Doctor. 

The Doctor pulled a small silver key from his pocket handing it over to Sam. “The object of connection.”

Dean looked over the key now held in Sam’s hand “What exactly are we connecting with?”

“A vehicle of sorts. My spaceship is the simplest explanation I can offer you,” The Doctor began.

“You lost your spaceship?” Dean asked, smirking, clearly still not entirely taking everything too seriously. “Alright Marvin, what does this spaceship look like? I mean, something like that can’t be easy to lose,” he asked and commented, referring to the Doctor as Marvin.

“Yeah, I’m not from mars – why does everyone always think I’m from mars? I mean you can see Mars, you've been to Mars, do I look martian?” The Doctor asked, slightly offended.

Sam shook his head. “No – at least I don’t think so. Not really sure what to think, but you do look human.”

“Yeah, why is it, some sort of cloaking device or shape shifting?” Dean asked curiously.

“I’m a time lord. I look like a Time Lord, and we were here – here in existence first, so humans look like time lords. Not the other way around.” The Doctor explained “As for my spaceship, it’s a blue box – just shy of about seven feet tall. Not too big on the outside – less than five by five I’d say. It looks like a Police Box.”

“Yeah that is kind of small for a spaceship – I’d imagine. What the hell’s a Police Box?” Dean had to ask.

“It’s a box that British law enforcement would use as a sort of makeshift mini police station. The public could use the phone to contact the authorities when necessary, or the police could use it to phone for back up, or even lock up criminals in a pinch until they could be transported to the actual station. Everything an officer could need found in the convenience of a corner – or at least it used to be, not sure if they around much anymore.”  Sam explained.

The Doctor looked down at Sam with some curiosity. “I don’t recall gifting you that sort of information,” he commented, referring to the telepathic transfer.

“Yeah, there’s not too much Sammy doesn't know at least something about – has to earn his keep in some way.” Dean explained.

“Right – Okay, clever. So herbs and blood is left?” The Doctor asked.

“Herbs we've got, just give me a little while to get everything together and we can begin. We’ll need blood from everyone who’s attending, from what I can see the spell will draw out a lot of energy, but no mention on the passenger restrictions.”  Sam replied as he stood, pressing the bag of ice Dean had fetched for him against his head, his eyes glued to the book.

“And I’ll gather the blood.” The Doctor mumbled as he turned around, his eye falling upon Sherlock and Castiel who were standing somewhat in the same space, and glancing aside to John who seemed to be nursing his beer at the kitchen table. “I think,” the Doctor further mumbled beneath his breath, knowing where the real challenge laid before him, so with a wave, a gesture of his hand he called Sherlock’s attention and the two of them joined John at the table.

John, who had been sitting silently with his thoughts and picking at the label that was tightly glued to the brown glass bottle that sat in front of him, looked up when Sherlock and the Doctor took a seat on either side of him. His eyes first fell on the Doctor, a face that just sparked a moment of frustration within him, so with a heavy exhale he turned his stare towards his flat mate, partner, and friend Sherlock. “Can we go home now?”

Sherlock looked puzzled with a brow line that really synched his disappointment and confusion. “Go home? We can’t leave now, now when things are finally getting interesting or at the very least - fun. You said so yourself; Brilliant – absolutely – fantastic. We can’t walk out on that which is absolute and fantastically brilliant, can we?”

“Funny you should bring up the word go, go as in to leave” The Doctor began, bringing his hands together as he spoke “Because that is exactly what I wanted to speak to you both about. Now I’m not sure how close either of you were paying attention or listening,” he continued.

“I heard the word spell come up a few time more than I am particularly comfortable with,” John interrupted. “Sort of a wild guess that you don’t really mean spell in the sense of a short span of time, a spell of a moment, do you?”

“No, well not quite, more like a spell in the short cut sort of sense.”  The Doctor answered honestly. “A ritual that should take us from here and relocate us, reunite myself and introduce the rest of you to the object I lost and perhaps the man who took it.”

“So spell in the other sense, the magical sense.” John replied with a nod that quickly gave way to a head shake, that rested with his eyes pinned upon the table and a heavy exhale, a release of his frustrations.

“Don’t be absurd Doctor. Magic? Magic doesn't exist, just a word simpler minds use to label anything that lies outside their field of comprehension. There is nothing in the universe that can’t be understood and explained should one put forth the effort to try,” Sherlock scoffed in response.

“Yes, exactly” The Doctor replied agreeing. “A word we place upon a skill or tool we can wield, an effort that produces a desired result that we cannot at this time fully understand within the limits provided by the science of the realm – also known as magic,” the Doctor reasoned further in his reply. 

A reasoned reply that couldn't help but inspire a smirk on John’s face, no matter how briefly lived. “So you’re counting us in to come along?” he asked, trying not to choke on the idea which carried the words.

“You did say you would help, both of you,” The Doctor reminded them both.

“And exactly how is the magic supposed to work?” Sherlock asked mockingly.

“A few items in a bowl and a quick incantation and abracadabra – blue box,” The Doctor replied “Nothing to it -a feather, some herbs, bit of blood,” he added, mumbling the last bit.

“Did you just say blood?”  John piped up in his seat “whose blood?”

“All of ours, a bit from each of us. Hardly more than a pin prick’s worth,” The Doctor explained. “It’s the only way.”

“You’re joking – or you’re delusional.” John insisted in short reply. “There is no way you are getting my blood, or his – if I know him half as well as I think.”

‘You can have my blood,” Sherlock replied, cutting John off.

“What?” John was first to respond. “Sherlock, why – why would you do that? Why would you take part in this – this is just far too far,” John tried again to reason.

“It won’t work. Magic’s not real John, not even in these terms. I don’t know what has driven this game to this point – and I have tried my best to keep an open mind as I know you have – but whatever this is Doctor, it is at an end. I’ll stake my blood on it,” Sherlock explained and challenged.

“Well this isn't really how I wanted this to sort out, but we don’t have a lot of time to argue it out properly,” The Doctor replied with a heavy sigh as he stood from his seat. “What says you John?”

John paused a moment, looking back and forth between Sherlock and the Doctor. Finally, after a moment passed, he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah whatever – if it gets me out of here and home again- then I have one question; is there a finger preference?” 

A short while later, three men, one time lord, and one angel stood around a small makeshift altar. A medium sized bowl sat securely upon a pedestal that bore shapes similar to those that graced the pages of the book, now clutched in Sam’s hands. Most of the ingredients were already placed in the bowl: a quantum-locked feather, a TARDIS key, and a collection of herbs. All that was needed was the blood and incantation.

Dean, the last to join the group, hurried down the stairs with a medium duffle bag hoisted upon his shoulder. “Alright, left a note for Bobby and have all the necessities packed.” He informed the others, taking his place around the altar.

“What sort of necessities?”  John asked curiously, unsure why he was even bothering  to question much of anything at this point.

“Basics really, holy water, salt, rosaries, lead pokers, a gun or two, some ammo, first aid – laxities. Everything one needs when they’re about to be zapped to only god knows where.” Dean replied very assured in his preparation skills.

John felt as though he should venture one question further, but decided to drop the habit then and there - for now. “Right – Okay, sooner we get this over with the sooner I can go home.”

The Doctor smiled to himself as he took one last look at the men who shared the space with him. “Sharp pointy objects at the ready.” He announced.

Sam held his free hand over the bowl, his other hand holding the book up as he read as Dean pulled a long silver knife from a sheath on his belt, slicing a small and shallow opening into the side of Sam’s forearm, allowing the blood to drip into the waiting bowl. Dean quickly followed suit with his own arm. Next up was John and Sherlock, each with their own makeshift lancet.  Each swiftly pierced their own finger producing a few drops of blood deposited into the bowl. Finally all that remained was Castiel and the Doctor. Castiel spared his blood in much the same fashion as the Winchesters had. Whereas the Doctor simply forced his thumb down upon one of the edges of the screwdrivers crown, piercing that filled with blood. Just a few drops ran down and dropped into the awaiting vessel and at once, a blast of energy ignited in the space between them and in a flash the room that just held 2 brothers, 2 friends, 1 angel, and 1 time lord, stood vacant of souls once more.  

Fan Art By: Lyndsey Gerlach 03/2013 "A New Look For An Old Time" aka "Work in Progress" 

CHAPTER TWO: Planes, Helicopters, and Automobiles.

CHAPTER TWO: Planes, Trains  Helicopters, and Automobiles. 

Chapter One or Chapter Three

      Shortly after the plane touched down state side, at the John F. Kennedy International Airport, the three men, tired and jet lagged beyond belief emerge to exit through the gates. Navigating their way past the bustling crowds of new comers where the arrivals who were lucky enough to be greeted with open arms conjugated. Among the smiling faces and teary eyes, stood a man wearing a very long, very old and very navy blue coat. He stood out among all the others. He was tall, handsome – even from the perspective of most heterosexual males, his look was clean, ordered and above all timeless. He truly appeared as though he was from a different era, stepped forward from the pages of a history book long forgotten. Plus the sign he was holding that just read DOCTOR, drew attention.  The three men, John, Sherlock and the Doctor quickly made their way towards him. The man smirked for a moment when the three came into view. “Which one of you is the Doctor?” he asked aloud, his eyes mostly falling on Sherlock’s face. “Please, tell me that’s you.” he added with a grin. Who could blame him?

“You mean you don’t know?” John asked raising an eyebrow.

“With the Doctor? One never really knows.” The man replied only half-jokingly.

The Doctor stepped forward. “Hello, Jack.”

Jack’s gaze turned from Sherlock to the Doctor and a more awkward look took over his face as he took the Doctor in from head to toe and back again with his eyes. “Well, after our last meeting and your voice on the phone last night – I knew not to expect the old you, but…” He began trailing off.

“But what?” The Doctor asked, suddenly feeling insecure.

“Well at least the bow tie distracts from the chin… I like the hair though – still not ginger though.” Jack replied with a smirk.

“There is nothing wrong with the way I look. And I’ll have you know bowties are cool, very cool – and I know! 11th disappointment in a row.” The Doctor replied, informed and grumbled as he turned towards Sherlock and John who were standing quietly beside him. “Sherlock Holmes, Dr John Watson – this is…” but before he could get the interoduction out of the way, Jack cut in with a grin and an open palm greeting, towards Sherlock first.

“Captain Jack Harkness, at your service.”

Sherlock looked down at the greeting hand, not bothering to shake hello. “Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes, to be more precise. Tell me Captain Jack Harkness – Captain of what exactly?”
he enquired.

“I’m afraid the answer to that question is fairly long and classified.” Jack replied, turning his attention to John this time. “Captain Jack Harkness, at your service.” Same greeting, same extended palm, same charm.

John, unlike Sherlock, actually shakes his hand. “U.S. Military or U.S. Government?”  John asks, his curiosity beginning anew after being worn to shreds after his initial encounter with the Doctor.

“No – no – and no.” John replied as he flashed a cheeky smile.

John paused a moment, his face puzzled “That’s three no’s to two questions.”

“No to the military – no to the government – and no to the U.S.” John began as he turned to lead them out through a side exit and on to a small patch of concrete clearly set up as a helicopter pad... “Those answers are long, classified and complicated. This way gentleman. We have a lot of ground to cover and a very short amount of time to do it in. These boys don’t stay in one place for very long and you will not believe the amount of favors I had to call in just to track them down – a lot of fingers in a lot of pies… speaking of pies we might want to pick some up before we get there.” Jack replied and trailed off with that last thought.

“Boys?” Sherlock chimed in once more. “You mean you are not the one we are here to meet?” He asked aloud over the noise of an approaching helicopter that was coming in to touch down a mere 50 feet from where they now stood.

“No – I’m just your ride.” Jack replied as all four men locked eyes on the massive jet black helicopter that now awaited them. Whipping the air in pulse patterns about them, the engine roaring loudly, gun and cannon barrels reflecting the soft morning light that surrounded it.

John looked on a bit baffled at first, before looking once more to Jack. “Is that a Mil Mi-24?”

Jack smiled. “Modified and top of the line – you know your birds, I’m impressed.”

“Well I'm a Captain too - retired, Captain in the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers to be exact.”  John replied with subtle pride in his best matter of fact tone as he straightened his jacket.

“Well hello Captain.” Jack replied as the group moved to board the helicopter. Once inside in the slightly less noisy cabin, the guys took to their appropriate seats. “Now South Dakota is several states away from our current location here in New York, roughly 1500 miles – but if we buckle up and sit tight, we can probably arrive in time for lunch.” Jack informed and instructed.

“1500 miles? There is no way a Mil Mi-24 can make that in one trip.” John replied skeptically.

“Modified, Captain – Doctor Watson. It’s all in the upgrade.” Jack replied with a smile as the helicopter began its return to the air.

A few hours pass and sure enough, and just as Jack said they touched down in South Dakota without a stop between the two. The helicopter touched down in an open field with a small town not too far off in the distance. Jack escorts the men out and several feet away from the blade’s roar. Once in a place where sound could actually travel from one man to the next Jack begins a new set of instructions. “Head down this stretch of road about a quarter of a mile…. Or a little more or less than a quarter of a kilometer – I really need more sleep for conversion factors. Anyways, up ahead on the right you’ll come upon a junkyard, just carefully navigate your way through it – as you reach the back, an acadian style house will come into view – approach with caution. The guys are confirmed to be inside, but they don’t take too kindly to unannounced guests. I really have no idea how this is going to play out – whatever this is you have planned Doctor.” Jack warned, looking over to the Doctor.

The Doctor stood there for a moment, gazing off down the road in the direction Jack had laid out for them, biting his lip and doing very little to appear anything other than puzzled.

“You do have a plan, don’t you?” John asked the Doctor.

“Of course he has a plan… the Doctor always has a plan, don’tcha Doc?” Jack asked while trying to reassure John.

“Well, I know where we need to go – and I know that the Winchesters are the best way to get there… that was my plan – the extent of my plan.”  The Doctor replied at length.

“But as far as how you plan to convince them to help you – you have nothing in the way of a plan for that, do you?” Sherlock asked already knowing the lines along an answer would return.

The Doctor spun about to face the three of them once more “I just sort of figured that winging it with you two went so well, that it didn’t make sense to go and muck up this kind of luck with a plan.”

Jack smiled, now realizing that his sense of fashion wasn’t the only thing the Doctor lost with his last regeneration – thinking it, not saying it. “John I assume you know your way around one of these?” Jack asked as he produced a handgun from his belt holster.

John smiled “I’m a fair shot if memory serves right.” John replied as he accepted the gun Jack was offering him.

“Here, take two.  The Doctor never carries, these guys are never without.” Jack added as he produced yet another matching gun from another hidden holster.

“Jack, you know how I feel about firearms – this is hardly necessary.” The Doctor protested and he tried to interrupt the swap.

“I also know how these boys feel about trespassers – they are entirely necessary and probably insufficient.” Jack replied with no smile, his words echoed of jest, but his face lacked the expression to match.

John stepped back with the guns in hands “I say we put it to a vote.”

The Doctor's eyes widen as an excited grin took to his lips. “Great idea, here we are – land of democracy, voting – it’s fitting and more than brilliant, it’s perfect.” He said as he raised his hands up. “Everyone in favor of going in armed say ‘I’…”

“I” Replied John.

“I” Replied Sherlock.

“I” Replied Jack.

“Okay so two for the idea – Jack, you’re not even going in, hardly warrants a vote – and all opposed to the idea of armed, and feel free to vote twice say….”The Doctor began, but was quickly cut off when a loud voice spoke up from the field beside them.

“GUNS DOWN.”  The voice was deep with a rough, yet faded southern drawl. His jeans were ripped along the joints, which matched his grease stained shirt which was only hidden so much by an equally worn out green jacket. His boots caked in mud and his face glazed with sweat and oil, and above all other possible accessories that could be paired with this classic junkyard look, it was the sawed off shot gun he held in his hands aimed squarely at the four men that really commanded attention. “I AM NOT ALONE. YOU ARE SUROUNDED. I WILL USE THIS IF THE SITUATUION WARRANTS IT – IF YOU UNDERSTAND YOU WILL LOWER YOUR WEAPONS AND GREET THE SKY WITH YOU HANDS.”

John slowly lowered the firearms to the ground, standing and backing up a few paces with his hands up as told. Jack and the Doctor followed suit, Sherlock just folded his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes back mumbling “Hardly surrounded” under his breath.

                                                                                                                               

“IS this how he normally greets people?” The Doctor began to ask Jack, looking over to the new comer “IS THIS HOW YOU NORMALLY GREET PEOPLE?” He asked shouting aloud.

The newcomer approached slowly “Nope, just the ones who drop by way of military grade Mil Mi-24  helicopter. Who exactly are you guys and what’s your business here?” the man asked, now close enough not to shout, but gun still at the ready.

“A man who knows his birds! Hi, I’m Captain Jack Harkness.” Jack said not stepping forward, but offering an open palm and a dazzling smile none the less.

A gesture that clearly left the man UN amused. “Are you for real… is he for real?” the man asked looking over to the Doctor.

“Hard to say – I lost track a good while back, but I’m the Doctor and you are?” The Doctor asked, hand still up.

“Still wondering about tweedle tall and tweedle small over here.”  The man replied with a smirk, clearly he amused himself a bit.

“This is Sherlock Holmes, he is a consulting detective… he detects things.” The Doctor began.

“A What detective?” the man questioned again – becoming a habit with him.

“A consulting Detective who detects things – kind of a novel idea really.” Sherlock began to chime in. “It’s a useful skill, comes in handy in any given measure of time. It’s a skill set that allows me to tell just by looking at you that you are a liar and we are in fact not surrounded,” he began.

“Keep talking – I’m listening.” The man replied, still not lowering his weapon of course.

“Hearing maybe, but hardly listening – let’s see if we can change that, shall we?” He asked with a smile as sarcastic as the tone that ushered it. “You’re covered in engine grease and reek of petrol, clearly not someone who was in any way prepared for a visit from anyone – friend or foe, military or civilian. The petrol alone tells us certainly, someone who was not or even now is in anyway prepared for a firefight, one spark in the wrong place and you’ll go up in flames like Olympic torch. Your clothing’s a mess and yet you appear to be well fed – hardly squatting, hardly starving. Still, whoever is acting as your keeper enough to feed you, cares not for your image enough to see your shirts spot conditioned, so clearly we can rule out women of any kind. You use a bit of product in your hair, but your fingers are in desperate need of a decent manicure - so likely any men around are of the heterosexual variety. The necklace around your neck doesn't appear as nothing of any particular style or value, so you are likely sentimental – adding this with the fact that you are not alone, yet barely cared for I’d say we could have another male figure waiting in the wings, father perhaps? No, if it was Daddy dearest he would be standing here and you would be the one waiting in the wings. If it was your Uncle he would likely at the very least stand beside you – so cousin or brother? As guarded as you are, I’ll venture Brother; men who appear as you do, aren't usually the centers of extended families.”  Sherlock ever so smugly turner away from the man, who was still holding the readied shotgun, to face Jack. “Tell me Captain Jack Harkness – may I have the name of the eldest brother?”  He asked aloud.

“Winchester, Dean Winchester.” replied Jack with a satisfied grin of his own.  

Sherlock returned his gaze, this time over his shoulder towards the man. “Once more from the top, Mr. Dean Winchester, I am consulting detective Sherlock Holmes and this is my partner Doctor John Watson.” Sherlock added as he gestured towards John, introducing them.

Suddenly another man emerged from hiding, carrying a rifle in his hand, but keeping it at his side and shifted towards the ground. This man was much taller than the other, with longer shaggier hair. Dressed in a plaid shirt, complete with pearled button snaps, he too was also wearing faded jeans, but his were far better kept than that of his brothers, his boots were also fairly spotless in comparison. For him the most noticeable feature, aside from his height - was the wide and luminescent smile he greeted them with, specifically John. “You mean, like the blogger Dr. John Watson?” He asked, walking up to offer a hand in greeting. 

“The very same,” John replied with a smile, shaking the man’s hand. “You know -it’s funny because I can get a sort of overview of the reader geography and I knew there were some hits from the U.S. just always sort of written them off as accidents - stumblers. Never figured it would interest anyone outside the isle much, but yet here we are.”

Sam nodded as he listened. “Yeah, Well I can’t speak for everyone, but I can’t get enough.” He replied as he glanced over towards Sherlock, looking back to John. “Is that who I think it is?”

John nodded “One and only.” he replied as he watched Sam’s smile grow even wider with his words, it was flattering to imagine he had readers this far out.

“SAM!” Dean called out. “Dude, not helping!”  He added, grabbing his brother's attention with his disapproving tone.

Sam sighed “I’ll be right back.” he mumbled to John as he turned to join his brother’s side.  “Dean – I don’t know who all these people are, but I know if those two are here it must be something pretty important.”

“I think the helicopter gave that much away.  You don’t expect me to trust these people because you read a blog do you?” Dean asked, not taking his eyes off the four.

“Dean - trust me, these guys are good – or good enough to test if that’s what it takes to hear them out. Let’s just get them inside – off the main road,” Sam pleaded.

Dean stood for a moment, clearly weighing out his options in his mind. Finally he lowered his shotgun, walking past the group in the direction of the junkyard, taking a moment to stare each one of them down, well each one, except Sherlock. “This way”

“Not for me, thanks – I have work elsewhere to get back too.” Jack said gesturing back towards the awaiting helicopter.  “Doctor, good seeing you again.” Jack said stepping closer to the Doctor.

“Seeing you becomes easier with each encounter.Thank you for your help. I’m not accustomed to being this stranded.” The Doctor replied with a weak smile as he began to say goodbye to his old friend.

“Any time I can help – I can help.” Jack replied with a warm smile, not nearly as dashing as his others, but just as genuine. “You’ll get her back.” He added as he looked around at the others. “Fellas, it’s been a pleasure. I’d say keep in touch, but WE aren't the types – are we?” he asked as he returned his look to the Doctor, embracing his old friend in a hug. “Once again – good bye, Doctor,” he almost whispered before turning and finally walking back towards the helicopter once more.  A final wave back with his hand as he did so.

The remaining men: the Doctor, Sherlock, and John, turned to follow Dean towards the junkyard, leaving Sam walking last in place and alone to fetch the hand guns from the ground. They tracked their way through the Junkyard and onto the porch of the house. And one by one, in an awkward make shift line, each passed under a large Devil’s trap symbol that served as a halo for the house's entrance way. Neither Dean nor Sam bothered to mention the symbol or its purpose, but both took note of the results – so far the three strangers are on the level.  The group entered the closest thing the house had to a living room – a make shift room that served as the living room, the library and study.  All three of the visitors took notice of the very unique theme the cluttered room held. The heavy occult vibe was inescapable, and not one man took a seat before it was offered.

“Can I get you guys anything to drink?” Sam began to ask. “Coffee, Soda, Beer?”

“Some tea would be lovely if you have it.” John replied.

“I think we can manage something.” Dean replied in a tone that was not completely free of sarcasm, as he and Sam excused themselves into the kitchen for a moment.  Sam pulled a large plastic jug from the refrigerator. It was half full of what the label declared as tea. Looking over the container for an expiration, he found one that was too light to be legible. “Any idea how old this is?”

Dean shrugged his shoulder “Your guess is as good as mine.”   

Sam proceeded to pop the lid off and take a sniff, followed by a taste. “Kosher too me,” he said after a swish and swallow.

“Perfect.” Dean replied taking it from him and proceeding to add about half a liter of holy water to the mix.

“Dean – I don’t really think that’s necessary,”  Sam whispered, voicing his disapproval.

“You’re probably right Sammy, but I’d rather know – grab some glasses would ya.” Dean replied as he gave the jug a good shake.

After a short time, Dean and Sam both emerged from the kitchen. Dean, with a cold beer in hand leaned against one of the far walls, as Sam passed a glass to each of the visitors.  Each one took a moment to examine their beverage.

“Everything alright?” Sam asked.

“Tea – in a glass with ice.” The Doctor replied with a curious smile. “Iced tea – Don’t think I've ever had it this way.” He added.

John nodded “Come to think of it – not sure I have either.”

“I didn't know there was any other way.” Dean remarked under his breath, amused for a moment.

“Now that I believe.” Sherlock remarked, less quietly.

“Cheers to new experiences then?” John suggested, holding out his glass.

The three glasses met, yes even Sherlock’s, and with one final glance the Doctor added one less finesse to the toast. “Geronimo.” And with that each took a sip.

“Holy Water?!” The Doctor exclaimed as he glanced over to Sam “What will you American’s think of next… It’s different, good different.”

Both Sam and Dean stood there in silence. It wasn't the reaction they had expected, and certainly a first. Finally Dean spoke up. “What – just- happened?”  he asked aloud. 

“I’m not sure…” John replied staring down at his glass. “Did you say Holy water?” He asked looking at the Doctor then back to Sam and Dean. “Did you put Holy water in theses?”

“Yes they did! I think it’s delicious – it’s wHoly refreshing.” The Doctor replied with a tickled grin.

“You can taste that? You can taste that, but you’re not affected by it?” Sam asked the Doctor curiously. “A first for me.”

“So you did put holy water in the tea?” John asked, more confused than anything.

Sherlock sighed as he sat the glass down on a nearby table. “Honestly John there’s no need to be so surprised,. Look around – they probably bathe in the stuff. Question is, why? Why would you spike our drinks with a blessed elixir?”

“I’m still trying to figure out why he can taste it and not be affected by it.” Dean replied aloud, his eyes pinned on the Doctor.

“It’s a test.” Same began walking towards Sherlock and John. “We don’t get too many visitors, or at least not too many that don’t call ahead. It’s been a rough few months for us on levels you probably wouldn't believe. We, or more specifically my Brother, wanted to make sure you were on the level,” Sam tried to explain.

“And what level is it that requires serving us Holy Water?” John asked.

“Mostly a Demonic one.” Sam replied honestly.

Any other day John and Sherlock both would have rolled their eyes and quietly, but quickly, walked away. This wasn't a normal day, or days rather. The two men just sort of shot the Doctor a please explain glance and gesture combo that wasn't far removed from the one John expressed to Sherlock when this whole mess began. The Doctor just returned with a gesture of his own hands, begging their patience a bit further, before turning to Dean once more. “Now Dean  - Sam, you are both clever boys, tell me what you think I am?”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know – I mean you walked under the Devil’s trap easily enough and all three of you drank the holy water without incidence, but you tasted it – or at least you say you can taste it, but no usual demonly reactions.”

“Devil’s Trap?” Sherlock asked this time.

“Magical and invisible cage. It was carved into the celling in the foyer, can’t miss it Sherlock.”  The Doctor replied.

“I noticed, but things became a bit distracting since.” Sherlock defended a replied.

Sam approached the Doctor. “So, not a demon. An angel could pick up on it, but they don’t usually arrive via military grade helicopters,” Sam suggested aloud.

“But stranger things have happened… so, are you an Angel?” Dean asked.

The Doctor smiled wider, pleased with the group he was slowly pulling together. “Time Lord actually. Not a demon, not an angel, just a good old fashioned time lord. One who’s in need of your help I might add.”

Dean shook his head “And what, exactly, is a Time Lord?”

“A Time Lord is a time lord. A race of people that hail from Gallifrey, or would if there were more of us left, if there was a Gallifrey left, - but in short I think the answer you’re really looking for is; alien, I am, from the human perspective – an Alien,”  The Doctor replied honestly, much to the surprise and disbelief of everyone in the room, as their face’s reflected well.

Dean just set his beer aside, pulling his phone from his back pocket, his head down, one hand rubbing the bridge of his nose and the other holding the phone to his ear. “Yeah, Cas got a minute?”

Fan Art By: Lyndsey Gerlach 12/2012 - The Doctor and The Detective