Daphne had fallen asleep on Fred's shoulder, one of the axels on the wagon had become wonky, the food was being squashed under a plank of wood that had fallen on it and become wedged and would have to be pulled off at the next stop, the horses were growing tired and Fred's legs had fallen asleep, but he didn't want to stop yet. The light and hum of the second Ohio was still too close for comfort and Fred wanted to get as far away from it as possible before searching for the IDVPs, mindful of the people who were searching for him and Daphne. He shuddered as he thought of them being hunted and urged the exhausted horses onwards a little further as he saw the small staying-house the man had told him about.

"Come on guys, I'm really sorry," he murmured to them, reaching out and patting the rump of the nearest horse gently. Daphne murmured something as she shifted to rest her head more firmly on his shoulder, her lips pressed against his neck and gently nuzzling his skin as she breathed. Fred smiled and laid her back slightly, wiping her lip gloss off his neck and watching as the staying-house approached them.

"Are you staying for the night? The young lady looks very tired," the owner of the staying-house commented, motioning to Daphne, whom Fred had carried in and who was now yawning in his arms. Fred nodded and the owner turned and plucked a key from the board behind him, handing it over and pointing up the stairs. Fred thanked him and walked up with Daphne clutching his arms sleepily and resting her head on his chest.

"You gonna sleep as you are, Daph?" Fred murmured to her, putting her down on the bed and turning away to take his shirt off. Daphne put her hand out and grabbed the hem of his shirt, and he turned with a questioning look on his face.

"Freddy… I feel… cold."

Fred abandoned taking the shirt off and hurriedly sat down next to her, putting his wrist to her forehead and feeling her temperature. She was clammy, freezing under his warm skin, but as soon as he took his hand away she opened her eyes and her skin returned to normal.

"What was that?"

"I don't know," Fred replied softly, gathering her up in his arms and pressing his lips against her cheek to soothe her. She wrapped her arms round his neck and leaned against him, feeling his warmth against her body, as she fell asleep.

"Night, Daph," Fred murmured, lying her down on the bed and turning away again, catching sight of himself in the mirror. He had huge black bags under his eyes, his skin looked rough and bristles covered his chin. He narrowed his eyes at his reflection and looked away from it.

"You're handsome enough as you are," Daphne teased sleepily from the bed, and Fred smiled at her and untied his ascot. The humble little piece of orange fabric hung from his hand, and he smiled at it and the memories that accompanied it as he put it on top of his clothing and lay down to sleep.

I need some shut-eye so bad, he thought as his eyes closed and he fell asleep, with Daphne resting her head an inch away from his and her breath brushing his collar and neck.

Outside the room, an argument was beginning with the owner of the staying-house.

"I want you to tell me if they are here, honourable," a young man said, leaning on the wall of the foyer and glaring at the staying-house owner with piercing blue eyes. The owner shook his head firmly.

"I cannot tell you, honourable. It goes against the Staying-House Code."

"I am telling you now, honourable, if you do not tell me whether they are staying or not then I will… take matters further than I intended."

"Why, what do you intend to do to me?" the man asked, a slight hint of amusement in his voice as he turned away and pressed a button to call a waiter. The young man smiled and pulled a gun from his pocket.

The owner's face changed from its usual ruddy, cheerful red to aghast white in a few seconds; his hands first dropped to his sides in shock, and then slowly and shakily lifted above his head in a show of submission.

"Tell me," the young man said softly. "Tell me if they are here. If I find you lied to me, then I will kill you. I can tell when people lie; there is no escape, honourable."

He stressed the man's title cruelly, and the owner quivered harder as the gun was raised to his head level.

"Alright, alright! Don't shoot me, please, honourable!"

"Where are they?" the young man whispered, drawing closer to the terrified staying-house owner.

"In room 14. The young man and girl who just arrived."

"Good."

The man turned away, still holding the gun to his victim's head, and pulled a spare set of keys for the room from a rack.

"Oh, and by the way, it's no use calling the correctors," he added with a sinister hint to his voice. "They won't get here in time. I'll be long gone by then… in fact, in another universe completely. So, as we may well not meet again until eternal glory is mine… my name is Mitchell Jones."

The young man cocked the gun, stowed it in his belt, smiled at the staying-house owner and turned to run up the stairs.

The owner, still almost petrified with fear, reached over to the hatch and grasped a button there, with "CORRECTORS" written underneath it.

He had no idea that it was far too late for them.

Mitchell Jones panted up the stairs, his emotions mixed. He knew from what he had been told by Rileyson back at headquarters that these two were dating, from the dominant universe and- most importantly for Mitchell- that in the dominant universe, the boy was his brother. He had sworn to himself that he would feel no emotion for him- he was a scoundrel, he had no right being here from his inferior world- but he couldn't help wondering what he was like, how he looked, what his life was like in his universe. Maybe it was better than this one? No.

"Stop that, you fool," he hissed to himself as he reached out and opened the door, the key sliding out of the door almost as soon as it had gone in. If you wanted to be in this organisation, you had to learn to open doors silently and quickly.

His heart thudded silently as he took in the sight of the two people sleeping on the bed, the girl curled around the young man whose features Mitchell was now studying keenly.

There was a resemblance between the two men; the subtle jaw, the smooth curve of the cheekbones, the pale lips, the thick, curved hair. They seemed similar in some ways, and worlds apart in others, literally. His hand was in the hand of his girlfriend, a pretty specimen, long curly red hair and a gorgeous dainty face, enhanced by the perfect make-up on the eyes and lips and cheeks. The make-up she had been wearing when she had come out here would have stayed in place no matter what in this world; it was a lucky break for her that she had forgotten to take her make-up off before going to sleep and it hadn't been mussed by the pillow. The pile of clothes on the chair beside the bed was messy, the sign of a tired man just wanting to get to sleep. Mitchell reckoned he was completely out.

"You're coming with me," he murmured, but with none of the sinister voice he had used downstairs. Although this was what he had trained for, worked for, hoped for for so long, suddenly it seemed so… violent. Evil. Unneeded. Unjust.

Throwing the thoughts out of his head, Mitchell walked over to the bed and silently, gently, tied ropes round the wrists and ankles of the occupants, making sure that his touch didn't wake them up and trying to banish the growing feelings in his stomach telling him to stop.

Mitchell had never been this unsure.

"Nothing happened today?" Velma asked as a nurse walked in. She shook her head.

"Nothing, I'm afraid. We tried using cold shocks on both, but Daphne's response was disappointing and Fred didn't react at all. I doubt he felt a thing."

Velma nodded in understanding and explained what she meant to Shaggy and Scooby after the nurse had gone, talking about temperature shocks sometimes triggering a response from people in comas.

"Ran I risit?" Scooby asked as the nurse came back, and Shaggy translated.

"Sure," the young woman shrugged, turning and opening the curtain to let the three into the bed bay. Velma walked in first, walking over and putting her hand on top of Fred's briefly, hoping he might respond. Nothing happened, but when she grasped Daphne's hand her eyes flickered.

"Daph?" Velma asked, leaning forwards and encouraging her to wake up. Nothing happened.

"She's gone again," Velma said quietly, sitting down in between her friends. Scooby nuzzled Daphne's hand and then moved over to the other bed, looking down into Fred's expressionless face and carefully avoiding the ventilator secured into his mouth as he did so. He whined softly and sat down next to them instead, watching the machines monitoring pulse, oxygen, vital life statistics.

"They'll come back," Velma said comfortingly. Shaggy reached forwards and put his hand on the mattress just next to Fred's arm and pushed it down: it always worked when he was trying to wake Fred up at home, but it didn't make any difference at all here.

"Like, I sure hope you're right, Velms."

Velma put her arm round him and watched as a nurse walked in and injected something into Fred's arm. Shaggy winced and Velma bit her lip as a bead of bright blood came out of the small puncture, but Fred didn't seem to notice a thing…

"Ow!"

Fred opened his eyes as a sharp jab of pain in his arm woke him up. At first he thought Scooby had pricked him with a claw, but when he looked round he saw what had actually happened.

He was hidden under a pile of cloths, tied up, on the back of a wagon.

Fred's first instinct was to look for Daphne, and there she was, sleeping soundly next to him, also tied up. He wished he could wake her up, but realised that someone was sitting nearby and, thankful that his exclamation before hadn't woken them up, decided to let her sleep.

Craning his neck, Fred managed to look out and see the ground flashing by under his body. He seemed to be on some sort of mud track, the kind you got in cowboy films, and the jogging motion of the wagon made him feel vaguely sea-sick. He closed his eyes briefly and tried to remember what he had been thinking about a second before. Something about Scooby and Shaggy pressing on his mattress as he slept…

The memory evaded him, and he gave up.

Daphne gave a sleepy moan and turned over, meeting Fred's eyes as hers opened. Fred shook his head at her gently, motioning to their surroundings, and Daphne frowned and then groaned as she looked round.

Due to their experience in mysteries and needing to lip-read, both were pretty good at it, and since it was the only method of communication that was sure not to result in their immediate discovery and probably deaths they began using it.

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know. North, I think."

"North? To the IDVPs?"

"Yeah. I think the organisation found us, Daph."

"Freddy… Oh no, we're gonna die…"

"Ssh, Daph, don't think that."

"I don't think it, I know it."

"Daph. Don't. We are gonna get out of this, and together."

"You promise?"

"I promise. I love you."

"I love you too," Daphne whispered.

But as the wagon went over a bump and the two were thrown about uncomfortably, they began to wonder if anyone else in this world cared about them.

A/N: I'm sorry it took so long, I've had exams (Ethics and Philosophy- avoid at all costs, peoples) and writer's block as well… Please review, and a huge thanks to everyone who's already review! You rock! Jazzola :)