Dean walked quickly down the aisle, making a beeline for his seat. Takeoff was still a while away, but he didn't want to run the risk, however remote, of being on his feet while the plane was in the air. In his haste, Dean bumped roughly against a guy who had dark hair, a large nose, and distinctly Arabic features, but the elder Winchester didn't stop to apologize and kept going. Sam, Alina, and Tracy, were following close behind.
"Sorry, sir; my brother doesn't like flying," Sam apologized, as the trio made a more graceful entrance than Dean.
"That's quite all right," the guy assured him as he took his own seat beside a short guy quietly muttering the words to a song; the lyrics to which were apparently "You all, everybody!" over and over again. Sam and the girls caught up with Dean, who was already sitting in the aisle seat of his row; buckled in and looking slightly green. Alina stowed her bag in the overhead compartment above where Dean was sitting.
"What are you doing?" he asked. He'd assumed that Sam would be sitting with him.
"I want to do some research with Tracy during the flight," Sam explained. "We're going to update each other's info based on what we've each collected."
"Disappointed?" Alina asked, as she slid past Dean into the window seat next to him. "I promise I won't get upset if you barf on me."
"No, I just… I guess I'm the last to know the plan around here," Dean huffed, shooting a look at Sam, who had suddenly found an increased amount of interest in his overhead compartment latch. Tracy stifled a chuckle and sat down in her seat, across the aisle from Dean and Alina.
Alina glanced at Dean. "Are you humming Metallica?"
Dean nodded. "It helps me calm down. I didn't know you liked Metallica…"
"Classic rock is the best kind of rock," she said, humming along with him for a few measures. Dean raised his eyebrows, impressed—even though he was still fretting about his Impala. He knew it would be safe in Bobby's lot, but it was going to be hard to be away from his baby for so long.
They had been flying for some time. Sam and Tracy were tapping away on their laptops, occasionally pausing to make a comment on something. They didn't notice it, but they kept copying each other's body language, like leaning their chins on the same hands, or tilting their heads in the same direction.
Dean, who was feeling slightly better after two glasses of airline booze and four sleeping pills, sat in companionable silence with Alina. He'd noticed before that she had dark circles under her eyes, and wanted to give her a chance to fall asleep, so he didn't say much.
"I can't ever sleep when I have to get up early the next day and do something exciting or important," Alina said, as if she heard what he was thinking. Not even bothering to cover her mouth, Alina yawned loudly. Her hand went to the window-shade and Dean tensed. He thought for a split second about asking her to not open it—after all, they were thousands of feet in the air, and seated right behind the damn wing—but he realized that would make him sound like a pansy, so he just clenched his jaw.
The shade went up, and Dean relaxed a little. It was dark, so you could barely see the plane's wing, and there was nothing discernible below it at all. Alina was staring up at the stars, visible through the semi-transparent clouds that drifted lazily by. The moonlight was streaming onto her tired face, lighting the angles of her caramel-toned cheekbones.
"Beautiful," she murmured, mostly to herself.
"Yeah, beautiful," Dean agreed; but he wasn't talking about the stars. Alina mumbled something unintelligible. "Wha—?" Dean asked, but she was already asleep. The plane shuddered as turbulence hit, and Dean found himself gripping the armrest. It took him a second to notice that Alina's hand was resting on his armrest, so he was basically holding her hand under his.
The plane creaked and shuddered some more. The bumps made Alina's head shift away from the window and land against on Dean's shoulder. Dean felt his stomach flip, and knew it wasn't just because of the turbulence. He glanced up when the intercom dinged on.
"This is your captain, Frank J. Lapidus. Sorry for the disturbance, folks; we're passing over Winchester, Hampshire, and I think we just hit a really large air pocket. Nothing to worry about, though. It should be smooth sailing from now on, so enjoy your flight, and thank you for choosing Oceanic Airlines."
Dean didn't move Alina's head from his shoulder; partly because he didn't want to bother her, but also because he really, really didn't want her to move away. As if she knew exactly what he wanted, Alina nuzzled closer, sighing lightly. The puff of soft breath made the hairs on Dean's neck stand up, and he gulped when Alina grabbed his arm and, and cuddled with it, as if it were a stuffed animal or something. Smiling ruefully, he reached over her with his free arm and pulled the shade back down.
"Hang on, Ponds!" the Doctor cried, stumbling about as he tried to stabilize the various levers of his TARDIS. "There's just been some sort of massive disturbance in the time-space continuum, and the TARDIS is being pulled directly towards it. There's no telling where we might end up!"
"I hope it's somewhere exciting!" Amy exclaimed. "We've been cooped up for too long in that apartment."
"Not that we're not grateful for it," Rory added pointedly. "In fact, it's a lovely place! We've just fixed up the wallpaper in the drawing room—" His words were drowned out by the groaning, creaking sounds that the TARDIS made as it landed. All three passengers were thrown to the ground, and then all was still.
"Wow! That was a smoother landing than I thought it'd be," the Doctor mused. "Let's see…" He sprang up and bounded over to the control panel, punching buttons and flipping switches. "Ah. Camelot!"
"Camelot?!" Amy got up quickly and pranced over to the Doctor. "Ooh. Now this is more like it."
Rory stood shakily and leaned against one of the railings. "Camelot? As in, King Arthur and the Round Table?"
"Whoops. Not exactly," the Doctor said, sonic-ing something or other. "We're in the modern-day location of where Camelot used to be. Winchester, Hampshire!"
"Winchester? I think I've got cousins here," Amy said thoughtfully. "It's too bad. I was hoping to meet Merlin or something. Bet we'd get on well."
"Ah, Merlin. He's a funny fellow!" the Doctor said nostalgically. "He's got quite the beard. I've never been able to grow one like his."
"You know Merlin?" Rory sighed, holding his stomach. "Wait, of course you know Merlin. I suppose you know Shakespeare, too."
"Yep! He's quite the character. I may have accidentally said a few words around him that didn't exist yet in his time and wound up in his work. Clever old boy." The Doctor flipped his sonic expertly and headed towards the doors. "Shall we?"
Amy grabbed Rory by the arm, and the three of them exited the phone booth. They were outside of a beautiful castle that was open to the public. After gaining entry, they milled about while the Doctor sonic-ed everything within reach.
"Ooh, look! The Round Table," Amy said, sidling up to it. "Just think… the actual King Arthur sat at this table and had his councils and meetings and stuff."
"It says here that this isn't the original," Rory said, reading off of a nearby plaque. "This was constructed centuries after King Arthur's reign."
"…Well, it's still a table that's round," Amy grumbled. They looked up as the Doctor sped by.
"I'm getting really strong readings in this direction!" he called to them, darting through onlookers and tourists.
"What sort of readings?" Amy yelled after him, hurrying to follow. Rory sighed and followed along as well.
"Oh, you know- the wibbly wobbly sort!" The Doctor's sonic screwdriver led them to the back end of the castle and outside into the garden. The only really interesting thing about it was that there was a group of medieval re-enactors decked out in full chainmail and everything, grouped around a bench on the far side.
"Oh, look, Rory! Actors! Maybe they'll let us take a photo," Amy said, whipping out her phone.
"Maybe we should just let them do their thing," Rory protested weakly, but Amy was already off.
"Amy's got the right idea," the Doctor said, holding up his screwdriver. "The readings increase in the direction she's going! Let's follow her and see."
Rory obliged, almost running into a young man with dark hair who was holding a strange assortment of hot dogs, apples, and crisps. "Sorry, mate."
"Sorry," the lad echoed, smiling apologetically. He hurried past Rory and went for the three men Amy was chatting with.
"I just want a photo," she was saying. "With my phone. Or do you guys charge for photos?"
"I… am sorry," Arthur told her. "I don't quite understand what you mean. If you require our assistance, we will gladly give it."
"It is our duty to help damsels in distress; especially pretty ones like you. I've never seen hair like yours," Gwaine said with a winning smile. "It's like the flames of a sunset."
"I'm not a damsel in distress, thank you very much," Amy retorted. "Although, I suppose you're quite pretty yourself, if I must say. Can I have a photo or not?"
Merlin reached them just as Rory and the Doctor did. "Sorry, Arthur, this was all I could find without having to pay for it." He held up a crumpled bag of potato crisps, two apples—one of which had a bite out of it—and a hot dog in a paper cup. "Don't ask where I got them."
"It's fine, Merlin." Arthur looked at the Doctor. "Can I ask who you are, sir, and why you're pointing that wand at me?" Behind him, Gwaine and Percival were reaching slowly for their swords.
"Oh, don't worry—it's a screwdriver, not a wand. It only fixes things. And scans things, of course. Though I can't figure out why it's going crazy every time I point it at you four! That's why I'm pointing it at you. He said your name was Arthur, right? Artie, I'm the Doctor. Can I call you Artie?"
"I…" Arthur was at a loss for words.
"Oh! You're meant to be King Arthur, aren't you?" Rory exclaimed. "Right. And I suppose they're Sir Gawain and Sir Lancelot."
"It's Gwaine, not Ga-wain," Gwaine said warily, with a hand at his sword hilt. "And this is Percival. We made no mention of Lancelot. How do you know of him? Speak quickly."
"Well, hey, no need to get confrontational, Gwaine, old boy!" the Doctor insisted. He turned around and tilted his head. "Did he say your name was Merlin?"
"…Yes." Merlin blinked uncomfortably as the Doctor peered closely at him. He glanced at his sonic, then back at Merlin.
"By jove, it is you, isn't it?! You look great for your age. I rather like the long beard and robe ensemble, though. It's a little more you."
"Sorry… what?"
"So, I take it that I can't have a photo, then," Amy said, rolling her eyes. "Fine." She put her phone back in her pocket and folded her arms.
"Oh, Amy, this is wonderful!" the Doctor exclaimed. "They're real. It's the real them—it's really them."
Rory's mouth fell open. "You mean… the real King Arthur, Merlin, and two of his knights. Why are they here, exactly?"
Arthur straightened up a little and regained his composure. "I am Arthur, King of Camelot. This is my servant Merlin, and Sirs Gwaine and Percival. Doctor, we would be indebted to you if you would explain what land we are in, and how to return to our own lands, if you have such knowledge. We were sent here by some sort of dark sorcery, and find ourselves in need of aid."