(A/N: I know I've been paying more attention to my other stories, but I haven't forgotten about this baby either. I've just been hard-pressed to develop it to where I can roll, you know? So today, I made myself sit and work on this, nothing else. And I have to say it payed off. It got the chapter out, didn't it. :D Anyways, sorry for the slow update and I hope you enjoy this chapter.) "The higher your price, the better you live." Clara glanced around at the aliens milling about. "Most of the aliens down here are pretty harmless, barely worth anything." "I'm sorry," John interrupted again, "but did you say 'price'?" Clara nodded and Sherlock's eyes widened. "Oh..." he murmured, his lips turning upward slightly. "I see. This is a slave ship."
"WHAT?!" John roared, arms falling to his sides. He turned to Sherlock. "How'd ya' mean 'slave ship'?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I mean it exactly as it sounds, John. This vessel is a slave ship, our captors are slave traders, and we, the cargo, are the slaves." Sherlock gave John a sharp look, his eyebrows raised. "Do you understand now John?"
John gave him a hard look. "Yes, Sherlock. Thank you," he said flatly. John opened his mouth to make some sort of biting, sarcastic comment when he was interrupted by a loud noise. The din originated from the above them, from somewhere in the darkness, and amplified as it echoed down to the bottom. It sounded like a metal animal was exhaling sharply, but something was choking it.
"What the bloody hell is that god awful noise?" John demanded, flinching and covering his ears. Clara took a step forward, her eyes cast skyward and fingers plugging her ears. Following her gaze, John saw long metal tubes descending from the black above; twisting and turning until they reached the ground.
They moved so quickly John couldn't count them; for once they touched the floor for maybe a minute, the tubes quickly retracted. Curious, John followed the closest tube's descent the best he could, only losing it a few times, until it was level with them and deposited its load. He ignored it as it retreated, but instead focused on what it left behind.
Two men were laying unconscious on the floor. Both had tanned skin and brown hair, although the shorter of the two's hair was lighter. Clara moved forward and rolled them off each other, making sure they were both facing up, before stepping back again to stand beside the Doctor.
John watched as Sherlock took a step forward and ran his eyes over the two men. When he turned to face John again, intrigue and excitement burned in his eyes. Probably has their entire story already, John thought, sighing mentally. I wonder what caught his attention though... Curious as to what had captured the detective's attention, John observed the two new men with more interest.
The taller of the two had shoulder-length brown hair, a long thin nose, even thinner lips, and a narrow, but strong, chin. He wore jeans, a flannel, and a jacket, but John could still see the hidden weapons on his person. The shorter of the two had spiked hair, a nose that had obviously been broken at least once, full lips that seemed to be permanently pulled into a frown, and a strong jaw. He also wore jeans and a flannel, but his jacket was leather. Furthermore, he had the same hidden weapons as his companion.
John, Sherlock, Clara, and the Doctor all inched closer to the two men when suddenly the shorter one's breath hitched and his eyes flew open.
Dean was dizzy. Dizzy and disoriented and, GOD, did his head hurt. The last thing I remember, the last thing I remember, the last thing I remember... Dean began digging through the fuzziness that was his memory, but struggled to grasp anything substantial.
Swimming through the darkness of unconsciousness, Dean was able to find his way to London and Abby and Jimmy the Trickster and ... BAKER STREET! With a gasp, Dean rushed into consciousness and opened his eyes only to quickly close them again, trying to counteract the knives behind his eyes with darkness.
After a minute of groaning and stretching, Dean carefully opened his eyes, letting the light filter through his eyelashes. Slowly, far too slowly in the hunter's opinion, the world swam into focus and Dean realized that he was surrounded by four very different looking people.
There was one man with thick brown hair, a heavy brow, and almost comically large chin. He wore one of the most ridiculous outfits Dean had ever seen, complete with suspenders and a bowtie. Next to him was a, frankly, beautiful young woman. She had long, dark hair that was pulled back, large brown eyes, and a thin nose that curved sharply at the end. Dean couldn't help but smile, to which she scoffed, but she was still pretty.
To her right was a short, blond man with large blue eyes, thin lips, and ears that stuck out more than just a bit. Strangely enough, he wore only a bathrobe which was falling open to reveal a bare chest and, thankfully, a pair of boxers. To his right was a tall, dark haired, imposing man whose shining eyes coupled with his smirk just rubbed Dean the wrong way.
All these observations took all of two seconds after which Dean lurched upright and glared at them. The chick and short man lurched backwards at the sudden movement, but the funnily dressed man grinned and the other just watched on, still smirking. I want to smack the smirk off him, Dean frowned. Then, as the tendrils of unconsciousness finally relinquished their grip, he remembered the most important thing.
"Sam?!" Frantically, Dean twisted, left then right, looking for his brother. Upon seeing him still unconscious on the floor, Dean scrambled to Sam's side and gripped his shoulders, noting the even breathing. "Sam. Sammy! C'mon, man. Wake up," he said sternly, shaking Sam and lightly slapping his face. Not too soon after, Sam gasped and lurched forward, eyes opening and then shutting just as quickly. Dean didn't let go of Sam's shoulders until his brother had stopped swaying and his eyes focused on Dean's face.
"D-Dean?" he asked cautiously. Dean smiled and nodded. Sam slowly turned forward and blinked a few times before looking up at the four people around them before facing Dean again. "Where are we?" he asked, blinking and shaking his head, trying to regain focus.
"I don't know, but I'm about to find out," Dean muttered before he stood, leaving Sam supporting himself on the floor. For the first time since waking, Dean looks past the four standing by them. And he almost collapses, catching himself just in time. Instead, Dean finds himself leaning on Sam as he tries to process what he's just seen.
"Dean?" Sam asked, worried. "What is it?" He couldn't see past the four in front of them.
"Aliens," Dean whispered.
"What?" Sam asked, his brow furrowing.
"Aliens, Sammy," Dean repeated louder. He swallowed. "Real, live aliens." Sam, ever the skeptic, had to see for himself, so he stood and promptly had to sit again.
"Dean?" Sam called shakily. Dean answered with a grunt. "What are we doing on a spaceship?" He glanced up at the four people who were still hovering around them. "And, more importantly," Sam made sure his voice was soft enough that only Dean could hear, "who are they?"
(A/N: Horrible way to end it, I know. But I actually know where I'm going now, so hurrah! I hope you enjoyed the chapter nonetheless and I promise to try to churn out the next chapter quicker. :/ Please review)
