This one is for Clarry and Runaway Baby for being super sweet and amazing people. If you read the last A/N, then you know why I had to write this. Sorry, this update is a lot shorter than the first chapter, and I'm upset with that. But I like this one. Thank you reviewers, and Adam, if you read this, you should review anonymously and spam about Drarry fancomics. R&R!

Disclaimer: I do not own Big Time Rush, Pocahontas, or anything else you recognize.

They hadn't even made it to their destination and Carlos already missed Kendall. He missed James and Logan, hell, even the river rafting guide. He had to keep calm. What would Logan do? Probably play along, since he knows everything about Pocahontas, he thought sourly, and a thought struck him. They were talking about Pocahontas not more than 30 minutes ago, and Dak had said something about the chief of a tribe being the father of Pocahontas. Assuming that he was the Pocahontas, since the location was right, then that would mean the stranger, who he had come to accept as his authority figure, was his father.

Carlos whimpered, and he tugged at his arm. The man got a little wrinkle between his brows, and he loosened his grasp. Carlos quirked an eyebrow and tugged again. Same results. As he did it once more, the grip loosened drastically, and Carlos was sprinting through the forest before his father could even realize his fist clenched around air. The raven haired teen was retracing their steps, listening for the sound of rushing water. If he could just get back to the river, the James River; he felt a pang in his chest, missing James so much after being pulled into this foreign world.

Every tree looked the same, and the sounds of rushing water were disguised by the rustle of leaves and his quick footsteps. As if the leather slippers did anything protection wise. Carlos could feel his feet slapping against the wet forest floor, could feel a twig snap up against his leg, and every leaf that brushed his face was a noticeable touch; as if someone had passed their hand over his face. He could feel the adrenaline pumping underneath his dark skin. There was something different about this alteration of Carlos; he was leaner and stronger and faster. His eyesight did not have that slight blur that Carlos was accustomed to, his arms did not move awkwardly at his sides as he ran. This Carlos was an amplified version, and as he realized the changes, he felt himself slip more out of his dimension. He lost a finger's grasp on his world, where Kendall cared for him deeply, where James and Logan were always a team against their other friends, where he had passed out on the bank of the James River.

Carlos slowed himself, leaning against a tree and panting. So maybe the easily induced fatigue was still a common trait of every dimension of Carlos. His mind listened for the sound of water, and found is senses were clearer as well. He had taken a wrong turn, the river was to the east of where he was, and he took off, not wanting the stranger or whoever else mattered to him in this world to find him. Every tree looked the same, and tune of water was becoming fainter.

Carlos stopped himself again, regaining his breath and listening intently. There was definitely no water nearby, and Carlos felt a squeeze in his chest. He was about as close to finding his way back to Kendall as he was to going to wherever this Carlos lived and making a bow and arrow. A distinct sound pierced his ears. Was that…voices? There were surely footsteps nearby as well. Shit. He must've been found by his fellow tribesmen or something. He took a few cautious steps forward, peering around a tree and seeing the clothed backs of a few light skinned men. Ok, not his brother in hunting. The two men turned to look at each other, and Carlos took in their profiles. So they were English. One of them had blonde hair and a particularly large nose; the other with brown hair and slightly darker skin, like he spent more time in the sun than the other.

Carlos thought through everything he knew about this time period. Since his body was the same size he assumed that he was still sixteen or seventeen; who did Pocahontas meet at this age? Surely if there were strangers from another land then his whole tribe would know about it. A thought struck him. John Smith. He had meet Pocahontas, hadn't he? They had some sort of epic romance, where they were both almost killed trying to protect the other. Could one of these men be…?

The questioned didn't need to be answered; they turned and faced Carlos. They didn't see him, but Carlos took in just who they were. He felt himself regain a grasp of his Carlos. It was James. That smile and that broad chest and long legs and hazel eyes couldn't be mistaken anywhere else. The other man was Kendall. Carlos felt another pang in his chest, this one of joy. From seeing that wonderful face, those shining eyes, his mouth, his nose, his thick eyebrows; every bit of him, Carlos had missed, even if they had only been apart for an hour now. Their voices floated loftily towards Carlos, and they were only slightly altered; the tones were more practiced, as if they held themselves high enough to practice each word until it sounded proper. The two familiar men started striding towards Carlos, and he feared he had been seen for a moment before sighing. They passed by the tree that Carlos was hiding behind, and even their walks were different. Less sloppy, more…proper, again. These were definitely the old English Kendall and James. Carlos felt a smirk slide onto his face as he appreciated their asses. He could really get used to the trouser look instead of the skinny jeans he was used to. He lost another fingers grasp on his world as he realized how handsome these versions of Kendall and James were.

He stepped out from around the tree, with full intention of approaching the men. He wondered if their names were the same. Carlos took two paces, admiring how fleet footed he was as a Native American. A hand covered his mouth and wrapped firmly around his waist. He screamed against the hand, and the sound was muffled, but as his head whipped around he saw that it was the stranger-his father- again. The scream turned into a groan, and he stopped struggling. Well, he thought, at least if I go with him I'll maybe learn something about himself. The arms released him, and a deep, strong voice hissed in his ear.

"What do you think you're doing? You could have been killed, Pocahontas, you must stop running off like you are some warrior!" Oh. He wasn't a fierce tribesman then. He nodded along to the rest of the lecture, looking back at the retreating bodies of Kendall and James as he was yanked away by the stranger. A smile passed his face when the blonde turned around and looked toward him. Carlos was towed off into the forest, and James stared at his companion.

"Did you hear that?" Kendall asked, retracing a few of his steps and gazing around the forest. "I swear, I heard a voice or something…" His brows furrowed, and he glanced back to a clueless James.

"The foreign air must be making you delusional, love. It's only us. We should be heading back to the camp soon, Logan may be worrying over us." To that Kendall nodded, and he rejoined James back on the path to their base camp. The brunette placed a hand on his lower back, his thumb and pointer finger slipping under the hem of his navy blue vest. His green eyes darted to his friend, and his features expressed indifference, if not slight care. James had always seemed more…affectionate toward him than he did in reverse.

….

Carlos had entered the camp with wide eyes; he'd never seen so many teepees before in his life. They were all done superbly, he could tell, and there was an occasional fire pit. The whole area smelt of smoke and meat, and he beamed in the masculinity of it all. The men walking around camp were all bare-chested, with more mature versions of Carlos' attire. All the women had tops that covered their chests and stomachs, with open backs and sides, medium length skirts covering their lower halves. Carlos had appreciative eyes; he didn't know that Native American clothing could be so…revealing. The man had lead him straight up to a large teepee, and they turned to each other in the entrance.

"You will stay here while I and the rest of the warriors go on a scouting mission. We will find the location of those English men you saw in the forest, and attempt to find out why they are here. You will stay here. I want you to stay away from those strangers; they may harm you." He nodded his head in affirmation, and Carlos looked at his back in disappointment as he walked away. He felt less than helpless. He stepped into the tent, seeing another boy around his age sitting on a leather mat. He brightened at the sight of Carlos, and patted a spot next to him. The raven haired teen welcomed the friendly face and sat down. Hell, if Carlos was who he thought he was, then he was going to take this to his advantage.

"So Nakoma," the name came easily from Carlos's lips, and he lost another finger's grasp on his old self, "tell me about myself."

He noticed that the words he was speaking had a different taste on his tongue; foreign. Everything was foreign. His friend looked surprised, and shot him a look before beginning.

"Your name is Pocahontas. Your birth name is Matoaka, but you also go by Amonute. Pocahontas means 'little wanton', and you are called this because you are cheerful and playful. You're father is Chief Powhatan, and he is of course the most respected warrior in the Algonquian tribe because he leads us. He has many daughters, but you are his only son. You are betrothed to Kocoum, who is a strong warrior, but not the brightest." The other teen nodded, checking through his mind to make sure he got all the information. Carlos just raised a brow.

"And why did you listen to my request?" Nakoma got a confused look on his face, and he stood, and began pacing around the teepee.

"Are you sure you are all right? I think you have forgotten yourself, you are one of the most self-assured people I know." His voice was worried, and turned up at the end, as if it were almost a question. Carlos sighed, crossing his legs and linking his hands.

"Would you just tell me?"

"Well, Pocahontas, you are the prince of the tribe. We must all respect you, and I have the most for you, because you are my closest friend."

Carlos' jaw dropped. Nobody told him Pocahontas was that important! He had no clue how to act, he was still just Carlos! Nakoma looked concerned.

"Are you alright? You must have hit your head."

Carlos nodded absently, a vague 'yes' leaving his mouth. That word didn't feel odd on his tongue. He had spoken English. He had spoken as Carlos again. He sighed in relief, feeling more normal than he ever had in this world. And he knew what he needed.

Carlos needed Kendall. He needed his beanie wearing, indie rock band singing, happy-dancing friend. He needed that scrawny shoulder of comfort, that hand that would hold his through it all. His chest panged, his throat tightened, and a tear streaked down his face.

He wanted to be home more than ever.