For some reason I'm being super speedy with the updates. I can't promise how long this'll last. Now-, to Riley Wolffang: Thank you! Jack's just really fun to write :)
Enjoy!
Chapter 3
Merlin liked to consider himself an open-minded person. Living in a gray area; standing on the fence in a culture where magic was seen in black and white, plus being a man-servant to a king as reckless as Arthur. . . Well, expecting the unexpected was practically in the job description. However, this was a situation the young sorcerer's mind simply could not comprehend, no matter how hard he tried.
He'd seen magic before. Heck, he's been practicing it for over half a decade by now. He's seen a lot when it came to the magical art. But this floor beneath his feet wasn't cobble, carpet, or wood. It was hard like metal, but the light reflected off of it almost like water. He knew the thing he was on was a boat, but how something of this size actually stayed buoyant in the water was beyond him. And the clothes of the people around him. . . he didn't know where to start with their atrocity.
Perhaps this was an illusion. He'd read about some spells powerful enough to trick the mind like this. But something didn't add up. Arthur was here, and Arthur was real. The shoulder-slap may have been brief and seemingly insignificant, but Merlin remembered Arthur's hand giving his shoulder a quick squeeze, as if to assure himself that his friend was really there. He and Arthur had exchanged a long look after that, both silently agreeing that no matter how this situation played out, they would make sure that they got each other out alive.
So no, this wasn't an illusion. And Merlin didn't feel any kind of magical vibe coming off from anything around him. Looks like he and Arthur would have to go through this the old fashioned way.
"Sherlock!" John called to the man in the dark clothes at the top of the stairs. "How- this can't be possible- they're not-" John stuttered, waving his arms in emphasis of whatever point that he seemed very unable to articulate.
Merlin liked John. He'd decided that early on. He had never met the man before, but anyone who felt obligated to save a stranger's life just based on the fact that they were a fellow human being was alright in his book.
But am I really a stranger to John? Merlin pondered. After all, John did seem familiar with Merlin's name, even a bit surprised. Could he be a druid? Druids knew of Merlin. Could this "CPR" be some kind of druid magic?
Merlin's thoughts were interrupted when a man stepped in front of Sherlock, demanding: "Which of you is the leader of this assembly?" Merlin frowned, studying him. He was very large, to say the least; his sheer size could only be dwarfed by Percival. He had short blond hair and outfit that somewhat looked like the knights', but the most interesting thing about him had to be the strange eyepatch that covered his right eye.
Everyone exchanged uncertain glances. Sam released Jacksepticeye, who stumbled forward with a gasp of relief. Low murmuring started up from small groups, and Arthur whispered to Merlin, "Would announcing I'm the ruler of a powerful kingdom and offering my leadership advice be better or worse for our chances of survival?"
"Worse, definitely. The 'leadership advice' alone is bound to get you killed, and there's no doubt you'll bring me along for the ride," Merlin said, trying to keep his expression deadly serious. Arthur thwacked him upside the head, somehow discreetly.
"That's enough from you," he ordered.
"I apologize, your clotpo- I mean, Majesty."
Arthur glared at him. In the corner of his eye, Merlin noticed the Doctor climbing on top of one of the boxes, calling out "Excuse me!" and "If you could listen for a moment-" and "Why is it always a face that they ignore?"
Arthur began talking again, but Merlin wasn't listening. He was picking up bits and pieces from the conversations around him, all of them suddenly crescendoing to rise over the others' volumes.
"They're fictional, Sherlock! How are they here!?"
"What do you mean you haven't heard of King George? Clearly you're not American, but. . . he's King George!"
"How fockin' drunk am I?"
"If you could just turn your attention towards me for a bit-"
"I'm working on that!"
"I assure you I have no recollection of this king you speak of."
"Remember the Hound of Baskerville? Those drugs? Are you also seeing a Thor with an eyepatch?"
"'Don't drink before bed,' she said. 'It focks up your dreams,' she said. Well what if I want-"
"WILL EVERYBODY JUST SHUT. UP!"
Silence fell instantly and completely. Everyone's eyes turned toward Donna, then to the Doctor who was standing on the crate beside her.
"Thank you, Donna," he said, clearly exasperated.
"Right," the Doctor clapped his hands together, and shifted his weight on his feet. "Look, we're all confused, and I know waking up somewhere with no memory of how you got there can be quite frightening." Merlin began nodding in agreement, and noticed everyone else doing the same.
"We're all smart, capable people who can get through this, but only if we work together and make a game plan. I don't know any of you, and you don't know me. You have no reason to trust me. But please, believe me when I tell you that it's in my best interests to find out what is going on, and how we can all get back home. But in the meantime, we need to assess the situation.
"There may be other people in these boxes, or different helpful supplies. We should split up and open as many crates as we can, and report back here in twenty minutes. Regardless if you find a friend, enemy, stranger, or someone you didn't even believe was real, bring them back here and we'll decide what to do then. Any questions? Are we agreed?" The Doctor's eyes skimmed the small gathering.
"I have a question," Arthur declared. "Who made you- mmmpf!" He was cut off when Merlin's hand slammed over his mouth.
"Agreed," Merlin confirmed. The Doctor nodded.
"Good. Twenty minutes. Allons-y!" He hopped off the crate and sped off, Donna following close behind. Soon, the group was scattered.
Arthur shoved Merlin's hand away. "When was the last time you washed those?" he wondered, cringing. Merlin rolled his eyes.
"C'mon. Let's go box hunting."
"Oh, so you're giving me the orders now, are you?"
"Wouldn't dream of it. That was merely a. . . suggestion," Merlin said over his shoulder, batting his eyes in sarcastic submission, for his unrelenting pace contradicted his words.
"Box hunting" as it turned out, was just as boring as it sounded. He and Arthur would pry off the nails, look in the crate, and have so far found a large fishing net, towels, and a large amount of matches. He would occasionally see other people filter by, working on their own boxes, but they deliberately avoided eye contact, and would quickly walk away when they finished. Merlin added "awkward" to the already huge list of words he's compiled to describe this experience.
It was ten minutes in, and Arthur and him had just finished getting the nails out of their fifth box. They lifted the lid off, and he fumbled it in his grasp in surprise when he saw what was in the box.
Merlin knew the Doctor told them to acknowledge the possibility of more people, but that didn't prevent Merlin's gasp of alarm as he stumbled and dropped the lid onto the ground, causing a rather loud crash. Arthur sighed, and ran his hand down his face.
"Why does it not surprise me. . ." Arthur trailed off, shaking his head. Merlin bit his lip, but didn't comment as he leaned over the box and peered at the figure inside. He was a man, with short, dark hair, and a long, almost black overcoat. What was with these coats? Merlin wondered, recalling that the Doctor and the man John addressed as Sherlock were dressed similarly.
He and Arthur exchanged a glance, Arthur looking pointedly down at the man inside. "He's breathing. . . Should we wake him up?"
Merlin shrugged. "It'd be rude not to. . ."
Arthur stepped back, and when Merlin made no moves, gestured with his hand to the unconscious man. "You could do it, you royal prat. . ." Merlin muttered under his breath, but shook the man nonetheless. "Um, hello? Are you alright?"
The man's pale blue eyes flickered open. "Are you an angel?" he asked.
"Uhhhhh. . ."
"Cat got your tongue?" He smirked, and pushed himself to a sitting position. Merlin mentally noted how similar his accent was to Sam's.
As Merlin fumbled for words, the man patted his back, and said, "Nah, I'm just kidding. Can't be dead. . ." The man stood, carefully stepping out of his box. "Captain Jack Harkness, at your service," he said with a wink, offering his hand. Merlin looked nervously back at Arthur.
"Merlin," he managed to get out, shaking it quickly before bringing his hand back to his side.
"Captain?" Arthur spoke up with interest.
"Yup. And you are?"
"Arthur," he said curtly.
Captain Jack whistled. "Arthur and Merlin," he pondered. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't those the names of a medieval king and sorcerer? Like Arthur and his knights of the round table?"
Merlin stiffened.
"Oh, so you've heard of me?" Arthur straightened. "I didn't think the news of my kingship would travel that fast. And-" Arthur broke off, narrowing his eyes. "Wait, did you say Merlin was a sorcerer? This Merlin?" Arthur let out a laugh.
"What? I could have an extra set of uncharted skills," Merlin said defensively, trying to hide the worry in his tone.
"Right," Arthur slapped his shoulder and rolled his eyes.
Captain Jack frowned. "What year is it?"
For some reason, the oddity of the question didn't even strike him. "It's-" Merlin froze, eyes widening. He recalled flipping through the back of his spell book just yesterday- well, if yesterday even was yesterday. The spell had been very complicated and difficult, and it was highly advised against performing it. It had only been done once before; it was a time travel spell, meant to bend the time stream and throw the caster forwards or backwards in time to a destination of their choosing. Merlin knew for sure that he hadn't used it, but if it was possible to send someone else instead of the caster. . . Merlin closed his eyes, not wanting to think about what Morgana could do to Camelot while he and Arthur were gone with no way back.
"Merlin?" Arthur called, snapping him out of his thoughts. "You look pale. Well, paler than usual."
"Time travel," Merlin murmured. Arthur furrowed his eyebrows.
"What?"
Merlin glanced at Captain Jack, surprised to find the man nodding. "It's possible," the captain confirmed. "This isn't my first time crawling out of a box to find myself in a new year. And I'm not even talking about that January first a couple years back." Jack offered a smile, but when neither of the men reciprocated, he dropped it. "Just saying I've time traveled before," he said, considerably less enthusiastic.
"So this is some kind of magic?" Arthur wondered. Captain Jack raised an eyebrow.
"It's really more of a science."
"We should probably hurry," Merlin realized. "We have about five minutes until we have to meet the others."
"Others?" Captain Jack grinned. "This should be fun."
Merlin turned towards the other unopened boxes around them, jumping in surprise when he saw Sam coming around the corner, and gulped when the tall man's eyes fixed on them. Although Sam didn't seem aggressive, he couldn't forget how quickly he had subdued Jacksepticeye—whatever kind of name that was—and how he knew exactly what to do to get the green-haired man to talk. And Merlin couldn't exactly use magic to get himself out of a headlock, not with Arthur standing two feet away.
"Merlin and Arthur, right? Look, there's this box I'm working on, and I think there's a person inside. But- well, there was a crate carrying some kind of glue on top of it, and there was a crack. . ."
Arthur frowned and asked, "What is glue?" at the same time as Captain Jack winced and commented, "Yikes."
"Anyway, I could use a hand."
Captain Jack and Arthur simultaneously stood, following Sam to the crate. Merlin nervously bit the inside of his cheek, but trailed after them. The crate seemed rather normal from a distance, but upon closer inspection, it was clear that there was some kind of substance coating a portion of the lid.
"I already got two nails out," Sam explained. "It's just that the spills are on opposite sides, and I can't pry the lid off."
Captain Jack, Sam, Merlin and Arthur arranged themselves on the four corners of the box. Merlin slid his fingers under the lid and heaved as hard as he could when Sam gave the signal. To his surprise, the box was lifted with the lid. What is glue? he pondered.
Merlin quickly glanced around to make sure the others were focused on their own sides before narrowing his eyes at the nail, concentrating on using his magic to lodge it free from the adhesive substance surrounding it. When it was loose enough, he turned his attention to the other nail. He barely had to loosen it when the box suddenly broke apart from the lid, crashing to the deck. Merlin nearly fell back in surprise as the others stumbled from the sudden weight release.
He heard a moan from the box after its collision with the floor. Sam was right. It was a person. He had medium-length golden-brown hair, not much shorter than Sam's own. He also sported strange clothing like most of the others, which covered his rather short figure. He had a scratch on his cheek which was quickly gathering blood, and he gingerly moved his hand to feel it as his eyes blinked open.
Merlin looked back at Arthur to see his own curiosity and confusion reflected back at him, but his gaze shifted to Sam. Sam's eyes were wide, as if he had just seen a ghost. He was stiff and breathing heavily, and his mouth was partly open from shock. Quickly, he took control of himself and clenched his jaw shut, staring at the man with a storm in his eyes. "You son of a bitch," he gritted out, grabbing the man by his shirt collar and yanking him upward.
The stranger's eyes widened. "How-?"
"Fix this," Sam demanded, gesturing around him. "I'm not participating in any more of your games. Next time—and there will be a next time—just stay dead."
In unison, Arthur and Captain Jack moved forward, each grabbing one of Sam's arms and forcibly hauling him off the stranger. "Remember what the Doctor said," Arthur grunted to Sam as he and the captain struggled to hold him in place. Sam went slack and took a deep breath. The two men exchanged a glance before letting go of Sam and standing protectively in front of the stranger, who still sat dumbfounded in his crate.
Slowly, the stranger blinked. "I don't think we're all on the same page here."
Sam's head snapped up. "What?"
"For starters, I was dead—well, as far as you're concerned—but that was pretty dead. But you- you don't look dead. So I'm assuming you've been in better shape than me?"
Sam glared at the stranger, who shrugged. "Mostly better shape? Give or take a death or two, with you Winchesters. Speaking of which—hey Bonnie, where's Clyde?"
"Cut the crap, Gabriel. What's going on?"
"A lot of things, apparently."
Arthur cleared his throat. "Hold on, did I hear you say you died?" Arthur turned away from Sam to face Gabriel. "I didn't think even magic could resurrect the dead."
Merlin didn't think so either. Not really. There was the whole incident with Lancelot, but he wasn't really Lancelot. Just a convincing puppet pulled by Morgana's strings. Merlin swallowed. He didn't want to go through that again with this Gabriel.
Gabriel turned his gaze to Arthur. "Amazing what you can do with a little faith, trust, and pixie dust."
Arthur pursed his lips. "Who- what are you?"
Gabriel opened his mouth to reply, but Sam beat him to it. "A dick."
"Rude." Gabriel snapped his fingers, causing Sam to flinch. Sam looked back at Gabriel, seemingly confused when nothing happened. Gabriel frowned and snapped again. "Hm. It doesn't usually malfunction. . ."
Arthur gave an uncomfortable cough. "We should discuss this later," Merlin suggested. "The Doctor said it'd be best to figure things out as a group."
Captain Jack perked up at that. "The Doctor? Or a doctor?"
Merlin frowned. "Does it matter?"
"Depends. Was he wearing a leather jacket or a trenchcoat?"
Before Merlin could question what a trenchcoat was, Sam deliberately turned away from Gabriel and said, "See for yourself. Come on."
Merlin felt a lump in his throat as he followed Sam to the meeting place. There were really only two ways this meeting could go, and Merlin hoped that violence wouldn't be the one.
Next chapter is where the conflict really starts to kick off, and all of the characters will be revealed. As always, reviews and constructive criticism are appreciated!