A/N I had this idea and just had to write it down. This was inspired by Supernatural, Seroes Five, Episode Four, entitled The End. Enjoy. Please dom't be put off if you don't watch Supernatura.

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin... obviously.

It had just been a bad day. That's what Arthur told himself as he lay under his bedclothes in his ornate four poster. He rolled over, punching his pillow into a comfier position then flopped back down. It had been immensely hot earlier that day, and when enclosed in heavy armour, that sort of heat gets to even the best of men. And it was Merlin's fault for being so cheery, and relatively cool. Always that bloody grin. An then there was the incident with that horse, just as hot as them all, rearing and nearly knocking him over. Well not nearly. When Arthur had stepped back to avoid those flailing hooves, he'd tripped, much to Merlin's amusement. Merlin and his air jacket and thin-cloth clothes. He didn't even feel the need to remove his neckerchief!
Still overheating, Arthur kicked his bed clothes off and glared accusatorially at the tray Merlin had left when be sped out of the room. The servant has made some quirky comment when on his exhausted daze, Arthur had knocked over his goblet, spilling wine over his food. Arthur had thrown his goblet, hard, still with remnants of liquid, at Merlin. Due to the proximity, Merlin hadn't had the time to dodge and received a hard metal object to his forehead with the bonus of very fine, oaked red wine splashing into his eyes.
Merlin had grabbed the plate and goblet and fled as Arthur ordered him to leave, and return in the morning with more respect and his sense of humour tightly under reign. And he was left with guilt gnawing at his insides.
It might be hunger, he reasoned. He never did eat that evening. But he had a feeling that he was actually feeling guilty over his servant.
"Damn it." he groaned, pulling his pillow over his head. Should he go apologise? God no, it was the middle of the night, the oaf was probably asleep and his princely pride couldn't have him apologising to a servant.
Merlin was more than that though. Wasn't he? Through thick and thin, he was always greeted by his cheeky smile or his poor attempts at insults. He was acting as a pillar of strength during his father depression. Ever since Morgana's attempted invasion, he'd put on an even more forced sense of cheeriness and Arthur found himself grateful.
In the morning. In the morning, he'd find a way to apologise with out looking soft.

He must have drifted off, as he had a distinct impression of waking up. He pulled himself out of the darkness and opened gritty eyes. He saw the weak sunlight, filtering through the window and groaned. Damn Merlin! He was late. Again.
But then, who opened the curtains? They'd definitely been closed the night before.
Arthur pulled himself out of bed and dragged himself to the window. He peered blearily out of it into the grey morning. It wasn't morning. The sun in the sky... It was nearly sunset once again. Had he slept the whole day? He'd had appointments! Merlin!
Wait a moment. He looked out over Camelot. Yesterday, everything has been bright, colourful, greeting the sun and the warmth. Today was monochrome, as if all life had been leached from the town before him. The streets were empty. No not empty. He could make out slumped, dirty figures at the base of houses. What had happened?

He dressed quickly, despite Merlin's belief, he was quite capable, and left his room.
If he'd paused longer, he'd have noticed the layer of dust over everything, the spiders that had made themselves a home in his room. He'd have noticed the build up of filth and most importantly, that the tray that Merlin had left and the wine stain on his oak table were now gone. The room had been uninhabited for years.

He ran down the corridors, feeling the atmosphere pressing down on him, suffocating. His footsteps echoed, pounding on the flagstones. The life that was the castle was gone.
He heard other foot falls and instinctively pushed himself against a wall. Something felt wrong.
Knights paraded into his vision, but they weren't his knight. They were stiff, to attention, even within the castle. Instead of being clad in the Pendragon crest, they bore midnight blue tablet with a black elder tree embroidered across their chests. Their visors obscured their faces as they searched for the only source of disturbance in the ghost castle. Their eyes passed over Arthurs hiding spot before as a unit, they moved on.
Arthur stood, presses into his alcove, paralysed in shock. What the hell?
He needed to find out what was going on. His gut told him that the throne room was a bad idea and so, as stealthily as possible, wishing that he'd grabbed his sword, he traced the well known path to the next best place for answers. Gaius' chambers.

The smell of neglect hit his nostrils as soon as he opened the old wooden door. Gaius' chambers looked as the always did, filled with books, jars, plants... Except the plants were dead. Long dead. Most of them were well on their way to full decomposition. Some of the jars were empty, others filled with blackened and congealed potions. One lay, shattered by Gauis' usual work bench. On the bench a book lay open, the exposed pages faded and curling.
This time Arthur saw the thick skin of dust covering all, heard the snick of rodents claws, saw the spiders, hanging fat on their glistening webs.
Feeling ill, he uncertainly made his way to Merlin's room, stepping over the broken glass, his footsteps echoing unnervingly against the planks.
He climbed the steps and winced as the door creaked inwards.
Merlin's room had been stripped. There was no hint of anyone having lived there except for the bed, neatly made, clad in dust only disturbed by the paw prints of rats and other small mammals that had made their bed where Merlin once had. The only disruption in the room was a plank that had been torn up and now lay haphazardly across the floor, as if it had been flung from it's place.
Unable to remain in the room, Arthur turned and left sharply.
What on earth? What sort of enchantment was this? It was as if Merlin and Gaius had been absent for years! And those soldiers that weren't his... This was definitely Camelot, Gaius' chambers had proved that. But where was everyone? Where was...?
As the thought hit him, he sped up. He had to check, to see that she was alright in all of this madness.

Night was falling as he escaped the castle without detection. He stole across the courtyard silently, a shadow with his heart pounding in his throat.
It was the same Courtyard he crossed daily, but in the shadows, and with the unnatural still, it seemed alien.
There wasn't even a lit torch as he left the courtyard and darted to his loves house.
The shadows stretched across it leered at him, filling him with foreboding. The house which usually seemed inviting, usually glowing with her presence was now, just like everywhere else in this godforsaken place, dead and empty.
Something was trying to prevent him from reaching out, from touching that door, from pushing it open... But he pushed the force down, as one would swallow an unpleasant taste, and entered his beloved's house.
Eyes seemed to watch him from the shadows, piercing his skin, speeding his heart. Dread seeped through him. The house was just as empty as everywhere else he'd been, just as decrepit. Except here, there were signs of its old inhabitant, as if she'd left in a hurry, like Gaius. There was a meal half eaten on a table, her dresser was open, stripped of it's content. That was promising. If she'd had time to grab her clothes, it couldn't have been too bad.

The lack of people was beginning to scrape away at his already raw nerves. Some deity with a cruel sense of humour decided to answer his unvoiced prayer for a presence, with a troop of guards.

They burst into the small house, knocking the herbs that hung by the door from their perch and knocking over one of Gwen's chairs.

They all levelled their swords at him, and he had no choice but to raise his hands in surrender. The one he assumed to be their leaders stepped forward, angling his sword. All he had to do was extend his arm to cut Arthurs throat.

Arthur desperately searched for a way out. He spied a carving knife, on the side with some other utensils. He was preparing to make a jump for it when a man yelled.

The formation of the group disintegrated as a man at the rear collapsed.

There was a flash of green light and another man collapsed.

"Emrys!"

One of the men shouted before also being struck down with that green light. Arthur took advantage of the distraction to lunge for the knife.

Clasping its handle, he spun around, wielding it as a weapon. No matter how small, any weapon is better than nothing.

In theory. He doubted any weapon would help in the face of the thing now standing in the doorway.

The figure was hooded, clad in a dark blue cloak, with a deep cowl that kept his face in shadow. The air sat heavy around the figure. The bodies of most of the troops radiated out from his.

Arthur took a moment to admire the last man standing who pointed his sword unwavering at the sorcerer.

There were two small flashes of gold from within that cowl and the last man standing was sent careening off his feet, to the floor.

The sorcerer didn't even look at Arthur, just crossed the room, his cloak brushing over the bodies.

"I wouldn't bother."

The sorcerer's voice was oddly familiar, in an abstract way. He didn't look in Arthur's direction, but crouched by the final body, pushing the helmet off the face. "I just want to know what you're doing in this house."

Arthur didn't lower his insignificant weapon. It wasn't in his nature.

"Why would you care?"

The figure straightened, sighing, back still turned.

"If the Jack-asses got you, I'd never find out."

"I meant why'd you care about this house?"

There was a pause.

"It's a friends."

The figure turned and walked towards Arthur. He stopped a few feet away.

Arthur stood his ground in the face of the sorcerer who stood before him, radiating power. If he lunged, he was sure that he could at least harm the sorcerer. But something held him back. Something about this man, this killer, was familiar.

"I was looking for someone."
The man hissed. "Fool. You should know better to come here."

Arthur stepped forward, challenging the man.

"Why?"

From the cowl, Arthur could swear that the man was looking down his nose at him. He was taller than Arthur. The sorcerer was staring at him, silently. Arthur had the distinct impression of cogs whirring behind the shadows.

The figure shifted his head slightly, and that slight movement cleared the dark within the hood and Arthur could see clearly who it was under the hood.

"Merlin?"

A/N If this story genertes interest then I shall update as soon as possible. This story isn't intended to be more than five chapters at most.

For those who do watch Supernatural, I have a poll. We have five options to go down in this story as you've all probably figured out what's happened already,

1) A not-so-random magical event putting Arthur in this predicament.

2) Closer to the Supernatural storyline, a random Angel did this to Arthur to make a point.

3) Have Castiel, in his vessel of the time be the Angel responsible.

or finally

4) Throw all rules of linear timelines out of the window and have Jimmy!Castiel being the angel responsible for Arthurs position.

Please vote, even anonymous votes will count, and give me any opinions on my work.

P.S Please point out any grammar or spelling mistakes also.

CJaMes12