After they had confiscated anything that could have been used as a weapon, they signalled for Sam to start walking. "So, what year is it?" Sam asked, fidgeting under the pie-induced weight of his brother. The bizarre question made the slim rider chuckle and a simple look of exasperation from the other. "No, seriously, when and where are we?"

Porthos, the muscular man, looked away in annoyance but the other smiled at the chance to indulge them in, what he believed to be, their own little fantasy. "I, my good sirs, am Aramis of the Kings Musketeers. It is the year 1630 and you are in the beautiful country side of île De France. You will be held in the Village de la Maudite which is just over this hill. We, me and my conversational colleague Porthos here, will keep you under watch until the Red Guard come for you. Then you are the Cardinals problem."

The rest of the journey continued in silence until they reached a small town. Town may have been a generous term for the collection of buildings that lay before them. What could have one point been a Smith stood at the outskirts of the town as they walked in. The doors were a black charred mess of planks and ash that lay in front of the entrance. A few houses still had smoke coming from the chimneys signifying that they still had some inhabitants but others stood empty with cracked windows and some of the thatch from the roofs had fallen to the well-trodden paths outside.

"Sorry," Sam said as they were pushed to the centre of town "But who did you say wants us?"

Porthos sighed again and turned away. Aramis was again the one to speak. "The Cardinal. Black robes? Strange hat? No?" A quizzical look came across his face as he saw the genuine look of confusion on Sam's face. "Well, I anticipated an uncomfortable situation when he passes sentence on you."

Sam looked at his feet and, after shifting Dean into a more comfortable position, he said "Wait, we only just got here. How can anyone here know that we were coming?"

"The King received reports of a coven of witches plotting his assassination and the Cardinal gave him the location we found you as their meeting ground. He told us you would be wearing odd clothes and carrying magical weapons. That blade was all the proof we need." He signalled to the Kurdish blade that was now attached to Porthos' saddle.

Sam looked away, mind racing. What was he going to do? 1630. Musketeers. Why did their names seem so… No. No way is this real. The three musketeers. Balthazar, you son of a bitch. Whilst Sam tried to think about the rest of the stories from his childhood in school, Aramis had begun to complain to Porthos. "I just don't understand you is all. You're such a nice man when no one else is around."

Porthos growled slightly "Why would you bring this up in front of prisoners?" Aramis looked hurt. "We'll talk about it back at the barracks alright?"

Aramis perked up at this and dismounted outside a building with three stocks outside. One was so rotten that had Sam been locked in it, he would have quite easily broken out of it. However, that was not his fate. The two musketeers marched Sammy and a still unconscious Dean into the building. The interior was as dreary as the rest of the sights around. The floor was bare earth with a little straw scattered across the open floor building. Iron bars ran from floor to ceiling to corner of two cells on one side and a table with two chairs.

Sam walked straight to the cell nearest the door and cleared some space to lie Dean down. He took of his jacket and made it into a pillow for his injured brother. He started to think how peaceful he looked like this but then a little drool started to drip down the side of his cheek.

Porthos locked the cell and went to sit at the table. As he did so, he rotated his shoulder as if trying to stretch out a pain. "Is your shoulder still giving you pain my friend?" Aramis asked kindly to which Porthos nodded. "I've told you, you MUST be more careful in training, Athos has a very strong lunge." He ran a hand under his companions Fleur de Lis and began to massage the muscles. The tension in Porthos' upper body visibly disappeared as Aramis worked his own kind of magic.

Sam didn't want to interrupt but felt a little uncomfortable just watching. "You mentioned Athos, you have another man in your unit don't you? Dartanya?"

Aramis' hand returned to his side and rested on the hilt of his rapier. "D'Artagnan. How did you know that?"

Before Sam could reply with the truth, a commotion could be heard starting outside.