Memories We've Created

[lady_yashka]

Title: Memories We've Created
Author: lady_yashka
Artist: finnickodair
Crossover: Merlin
Word Count: 15,808
Characters/Pairings: Gen, past Arthur/Gwen
Warnings: Violence towards children
Spoilers: Spoilers through series five of Merlin, AU season four of Supernatural
Summary: Centuries after his death, destiny calls Arthur Pendragon forth to fulfill his duty as the Once and Future King. But Arthur is also a Winchester now. Destiny won’t know what hit it.
Author’s Notes: I want to thank chosenfire28 for running this challenge. And to finnickodair, your artwork is awesome, and gorgeous. Thank you so much for picking my story. :)

Link to Art Master Post: Art Master Post






Dean was tired. A bone deep weariness had settled over him these last few months. Sam was gone, off to live a normal life after the hellish ride that was saving the seals. Logic told Dean that Sam head earned his rest, but he could help resenting him. Dean couldn’t understand how Sam could just walk away from all the monsters still left roaming the world.

They were hunters. They lived to hunt monsters, and died doing it. There was no quitting. But Sam had, and Dean couldn’t.

The empty bottles clinked as he brought the Impala to a stop. It was pouring outside, wind, hail, and sheets of rain battered anything in its path. The radio spoke of possible tornadoes, and told people to stay off the roads. The sky was a soupy green that was occasionally highlighted by streaks of lightning.

The motel he’d found seemed decent. The building looked solid and in good shape. There were a few cars lined up at the room doors. He parked close to the lobby doors and sprinted inside.

The clerk behind the counter greeted him with a bored smile.

“Welcome to Grand Stay Inn,” she said, putting her phone down. “How can I help you?”

Dean shook the water off his jacket as he walked up to the counter. He gave the woman his best friendly smile, too tired to try flirting.

“I need a room,” he said. He reached for his wallet and sifted through the cards. He chose one for a Mr. Nicholas Feranna. He still had some time before he had to trade it in for a new one.

“Sure, just one moment,” she smile. The woman turned to the computer and began putting in the details Dean supplied.

Credit Card run, and receipt signed, Dean took his keycard and ran back to the Impala. Luck was on his side and his room was on the ground floor. He parked before the door and hurriedly retrieved his duffle bag and weapons bag from the trunk.

The motel room was musty, but clean. The queen bed was soft, and the pillows firm. He put the weapons bag on the table and set his duffle on the bedspread.

Wards and salt lines went down next. He even placed a few hex bags around the room for extra security.

Finished, Dean settled on the bed. He turned the television on and then began flipping through the phonebook. He placed a quick order for a pizza before laying back.

He was just getting into an episode of Dr. Sexy he hadn’t seen when a flutter of wings and the spray of cold water got his attention. Castiel stood before him, blocking the screen with a screaming bundle in his arms.

“Cas,” Dean said, jumping up from the bed. “What the hell?”

“Here,” Castiel said as he all but shoved the squirming baby in Dean’s arms.

A tiny red face with nearly white blonde hair greeted him, the kid’s cries making his ears hurt.

“What the fuck is going on?” Dean asked as he began to try and get the baby to stop crying.

“His parents were killed by demons,” Castiel said. “And my brethren were very interested in finding him. I can’t tell you yet why he’s so important, but he needs to be protected.”

“And just what the fuck am I supposed to do with a baby?”

“Raise him,” Castiel said.

Dean nearly dropped the kid in his shock and the crying reached new levels of painful.

“Cas,” Dean said. “I can’t raise a kid.”

“You have to keep him safe,” Castiel said, an edge of panic in his voice. “The same way you did with Sam.”

Dean scowled. “I don’t have a steady job, or a place to live. Hell, I’m not even legally alive.”

“I’ve taken care of that,” Castiel said. He pulled out a large envelope and handed it over.

Dean shuffled the baby to his shoulder and emptied the packet. Inside was a new set of ID’s, social security cards, passports, birth certificates, and a debit card. Dean picked the passport up and eyed Castiel.

“I set it up during the apocalypse,” Castiel said. “In case you and Sam needed to hide in ways I couldn’t help.”

One of the ID’s said Dean Smith.

“It was already in place,” Castiel said with a shrug. “I just tweaked it a little. With the right protection, heaven and hell won’t find you.”

“Cas,” Dean said, tone weary. “I can’t raise a kid.”

Castiel came to stand before Dean, looking every inch the avenging angel he’d been when he’d first pulled Dean from hell.

“You must,” he said, gaze locked onto Dean. “I will not let heaven, or hell, manipulate this child the way they did you and Sam.”

Dean felt his shoulders sag. He then made the mistake of looking at the now sleeping child’s face. It was still blotchy, little round cheeks wet with tears, but the kid was sound asleep, tiny thumb tucked into his mouth. Dean cursed.

“What’s his name?” Dean asked.

“Arthur.”

Dean nodded and put the ID down on the bed. He slowly, carefully went to the bed and settled the baby down. He snuffled a little before quieting down and letting out a soft snore. Dean took the pillows from the top and placed them on either side to prevent Arthur from rolling off the bed. Then he grabbed his keys and wallet.

“Stay with him,” Dean said. Pulling his jacket on, he took a deep breath. “I need to go pick up supplies.” He paused before leaving, the cold rain spraying his face. “Oh, and pay for my pizza when it arrives.”

When he reached the convenient store, Dean felt like a drowned rat, and knew he looked worse. The clerk eyed him as he went up and down the aisles. Dean was grateful to find a few days worth of baby supplies, diapers, wipes, and food. Anything he couldn’t get now, he’d get tomorrow.

The whole trip took him longer than he’d thought, the weather outside seeming to get worse. When he reached the motel, he turned the engine off and sat, letting the rain pelt the Impala.

Dean didn’t want to go back in there. Through that door was a responsibility greater than any he’d ever faced. He didn’t know how to be a dad.

He had his phone in his hand and Sam’s number dialed before he even registered the action. His brother picked up on the second ring.

“Dean? What’s wrong?”

Dean took a deep breath; his heart feeling like it was trying to fly from his chest.

“Cas gave me a baby.”

“What?”

Dean had to pull the phone away from his ear.

“Sammy!” Dean yelled, trying to be heard over Sam’s frantic words.

“Kid’s about ten months old. A bunch of demons killed his parents, and the angels were a little too interested in him for Cas’ liking, so he brought him to me.”

There was a pause then he heard Sam let out a slow steady breath.

“What are you going to do?”

“Apparently I get to raise him.” Dean let out a sigh and rubbed his face with his free hand. “Kid’s name is Arthur.”

“You can’t do that, Dean.”

“And why not?”

“Seriously?” Sam said. “You have to ask? How about your lifestyle, and how that’s no way to raise a kid.”

“Sam-”

“Plus, you drink way too much,” Sam said, going over Dean’s objections. “And you know nothing about raising a child.”

“Fuck you, Sam,” Dean said before hanging up and turning off his phone. He ignored the pile of empty bottles littering the backseat.

He just couldn’t deal with it right now, not when Arthur needed him. The thought stopped Dean cold. Arthur needed him. He needed him to protect him, to raise him, to be the dad Dean barely remembered having.

“Please don’t let me screw him up,” Dean prayed before getting out of the car and going inside.

Castiel still stood where Dean had left him, his gaze focused on Arthur. Arthur lay on his back, head facing the other wall. Dean slowly walked over, placing his onto the floor. Arthur took in a deep breath, and let it out in a shuddering gust before settling again.

“How is he?” Dean asked. “Really.”

“He will get through this,” Castiel said. “And you will help him.”

“I don’t know if I can do this, Cas,” Dean said. He reached out and ran a finger through Arthur’s soft hair.

“You will not have to do this alone.” Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Okay,” Dean said. “Welcome to the family Arthur. I’ll do my best not to fuck things up for you.”

He could feel the weight of fatherhood settling along his shoulders, and oddly enough, it felt right.

Sam showed up three days later. Dean opened the door, towel in hand and baby food on his shirt. He pointed one finger at Sam and jabbed him in the chest.

“Not one word,” Dean growled out.

He turned and went back to the table. Arthur was seated in a highchair, bib on and baby food decorating his face. He had it smeared on his arms and in his hair. He currently had his little fingers in his mouth, blue eyes locked on Sam.

“Dean,” Sam said as he sat on one of the beds. “We need to talk.”

“Don’t start again, Sammy,” Dean said as he grabbed a washcloth and started wiping Arthur off.

His shoulders were tense and he kept his voice as calm as he could. He didn’t want to upset Arthur. It was obvious he still missed his parents, and the poor tike had no idea what was going on. Dean was trying to make things as easy for Arthur as possible, but he still cried more often than not. Today, however, had been a good day so far, and Dean didn’t want anyone messing that up.

He put the washcloth down and removed the bib and shirt. Arthur had somehow gotten food all over his chest as well.

“You can’t raise a kid on the road,” Sam said, voice imploring him to see reason.

Dean dropped the washcloth and picked Arthur up. He grabbed some clean clothes and a diaper before disappearing into the bathroom.

Dean could feel his brother’s eyes on him as he stripped Arthur and settled him in the tub seat. Letting the tub fill with a few inches of water, Dean began washing lunch out of Arthur’s hair and ears. Arthur just laughed and tried to cram one of his toys into his mouth. Bath time was hit or miss most days.

Even taking his time, it took him less than five minutes to get Arthur cleaned and dressed. Back in the main room, Dean settled Arthur in his playpen and turned the television on to some weird kiddie show. Arthur ignored it in favor of chewing on his toys. Kid was going to have more teeth soon.

Ignoring Sam, Dean began cleaning up. There was baby gear all over the room, from tiny little shirts to an economy sized box of diapers and wipes. A car seat was next to the bathroom door.

The highchair needed to be wiped down and the clothes would have to be washed. If he left it too long the room would start to smell of old baby food.

Everything was a disorganized mess, and Dean knew he needed to get his act together soon if he was going to do right by Arthur.

“Dean,” Sam tried again.

This time he reached out and grabbed Dean’s arm. He turned, clothes held in one hand, and gave Sam frustrated look.

“I heard you the first fifty times,” Dean said. “I’m keeping him. Cas already has all the paperwork set up.”

“What about school?” Sam said. “And what are you going to do about hunting? Who’s going to watch him?”

“I know what I’m doing,” Dean said.

“And what could you possibly know about babies?”

Dean gave Sam a dark look. “I looked after you, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the same thing.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest.

“You’re right, it’s not,” he said. “I was just a kid then. Someone should have been looking after both of us.”

“You’re going to raise him the way we were?”

“God, no!” Dean said, horror filling his heart. “Bobby’s gonna help me find a place.”

“Oh,” Sam said. “So you’re giving up hunting.”

“No,” Dean said. “At least not all of it. I can make specialized equipment, man the phones, something. I’ll figure that out once we get settled.”

“You haven’t really thought this out, have you?”

Dean let out a sigh and slammed down the handful of crumpled clothes he was holding.

“Sammy,” Dean said. “He’s only been with me for about four fucking days. Kid still misses his parents for God’s sake. Give me a freaking break here.”
A yellow teddy bear landing at his feet stopped the conversation. Dean turned and spotted Arthur bouncing on his toes. When he noticed Dean, he offered a wide grin and unintelligible babble. Dean went over to the playpen and picked Arthur up.
“Feeling neglected already?” Dean asked. Arthur just shoved another soggy toy in his face.

“Okay, Your Highness,” Dean said as he took the toy. “I get it. You should be the center of attention at all times.”

Sam sighed. “I just don’t want this to end badly.”

“I know,” Dean said. “But if I don’t take him, who will?” Dean gave his brother a rather pointed look. “Heaven and hell have a lot invested in this kid. Cas hasn’t said why that is, but do you really want to leave him at their mercy?”

Sam’s shoulders slumped. “So what are we going to do?”

“You can help Bobby find us a home,” Dean said. “And help protect Arthur.”

“That’s it?”

Dean shrugged. “That’s all that matters.”

Chapter Two:

Arthur couldn’t find his favorite jacket. He’d looked in his closet, under his bed, through the piles of clothes scattered around the room. He’d even looked in the laundry hamper in the bathroom, and through his dad’s closet as well.

It was as if the room had swallowed it, stealing it away from Arthur without his permission.

Frustration building he clomped down the stairs, hoping to find it in the front hall closet. His dad sometimes put it there if he left it lying around downstairs.

“Stop.”

Arthur paused mid-step and cursed. He had been sure his father was not home. Turning, he found his dad standing before the kitchen sink. He held a kitchen towel in his hands and was giving Arthur a look that demanded his immediate attention.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Out?” Arthur replied, a hint of hope filling his words.

He widened his blue eyes and gave his dad his best innocent grin.

Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Chores done?” he asked, titling his head slightly.

“Dad, I’m going to be late.”

“What I’d tell you skipping your chores?” Dean waited, but Arthur stayed silent.

“Arthur John Winchester, answer me.”

Arthur’s shoulders slumped and an annoyed look spread across his face.

“But--”

“No.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the bloody car!”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because she’s a senile old bat?” Arthur sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Last week she was positive gremlins were eating the wiring.”

Arthur grinned at the snort that escaped from his dad. The gremlins had turned out to be field mice. They’d built a nest in the trunk.

“Mrs. Evey is lonely,” Dean said, giving his son a stern look. “And it won’t hurt you to go over there and check it out.”

Arthur’s shoulders slumped as his plans to spend the weekend traipsing through the woods hunting vanished.

“She tries to feed me those hideous cookies.”

Dean did laugh then. “You could always stay here and clean out the garage.”

Arthur’s face fell, and his good mood abandoning him. He turned, opened the hall closet and found his jacket. Just fucking great. Jerking it out, he pulled it on and moved towards the door.

“The car will take less time.”

He picked up his favorite machete, and holstered a gun. His lucky bow and a quiver of arrows were tucked into his duffle bag. Maybe if he finished in time, he could still go hunting.

“Oh, just go,” Dean said.

Arthur turned, eyes wide. “What?”

“I’ll take care of Mrs. Evey’s car, but you have to clean out the garage when you get back. Got it?”

A wide smile lit up Arthur’s face and he dashed forward to give his dad a hug.

“Thank you.”

“Call me when you get there,” Dean said.

Arthur gave him a carefree wave. “I’ll be home Sunday before sundown.”

He was out the door in a flash, sunlight briefly lighting up the entrance way in his wake.

He jogged down the driveway to his car, a beat up Chevy truck older than he was. His dad despised the thing, calling it an eyesore and a blight on humanity. Arthur loved it, and kept it running. He didn’t need anything bright and shiny, and the old vehicle was one he didn’t mind hauling dead animals in.

Arthur loved hunting. He loved the quiet, and the patience it took to stalk down his prey. This hunting, so different from what he and his Dad did, was all Arthur’s. His father could wait for hours, perfectly still when hunting some monster, but a deer, his dad usually left that up to Arthur. His father preferred machinery and Arthur loved the outdoors.

Climbing his favorite tree, Arthur settled the bow in place and waited. Deer loved this area, the bushes being full of leaves and berries. A rustling in the bushes had Arthur bringing the bow to ready. He kept his gaze focuses, and his breathing even. He pulled the bowstring back, ready to fire when the deer showed itself.

His name being called had him falling out of the tree. Between one blink and the next he was on his feet, weapons still in his hand. A familiar figure in a beige trench coat stood before him.

“Damn it, Uncle Cas,” Arthur said. He placed the bow back into his duffle bag. “I was in the middle of something.”

“I hadn’t realized Dean let you hunt by yourself.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Dad always lets me.”

He picked up his bag and started walking. He’d have to find a new spot now.

Castiel titled his head to the side. “But you don’t eat black dogs.”

Arthur’s confusion grew. “I wasn’t hunting a black dog.”

The confusion lifted from Castiel’s face. “You did not know the creature was in the area.”

Between one blink and the next, they were standing in his driveway.
Even his truck was sitting in its usual spot.

“The hell?”

“A situation has come up,” Castiel said. “Your father needs you home.”

“And the black dog?”

“I took care of it,” Castiel said, then with a flutter of wings he was gone, leaving Arthur standing next to his truck.

“Of course,” Arthur said.

He gathered up his things and headed into the house. His dad and Uncle Sam were gathered around the kitchen table.

“So, what’s so important you had to get Uncle Cas to come and get me?”

“Charlie called,” Dean said. “There’s a haunting not far from here. A bunch of kids have gone missing after spending sometime in the local haunted house.”

Arthur grinned. He liked Charlie. She’d taught him to hack, and had given him the ‘talk’ much to his dad’s dismay. It had consisted of being told to always use a condom, and that no always meant no. The memory of his dad’s reaction was one he cherished.

“How is Charlie?” Arthur asked. He couldn’t help it. She’d been his first crush after all.

Dean rolled his eyes. “She’s fine,” he said. “She said to remind you to check your email.”

“Awesome,” Arthur said. He went and settled his gear in the front hall closet. “So, what do you need me to do?”

“Go through everything and make sure it’s all in order,” Dean said, turning back to the pile of newspapers before him. “And clean the guns. We don’t want any misfires during a hunt.”

Arthur nodded and got to work. Pulling out the dust cloths and gun oil, Arthur sat down at the coffee table, weapons bag at his right. He fell into a rhythm after that, taking the guns apart and cleaning each piece before putting them back together. He even checked the salt rounds before going to make more.

His dad interrupted him when the sun was down, citing dinner.

“Come on,” Dean said. “It’s getting late and we’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Arthur packed their gear away and placed it next to the front door.

Dinner consisted of takeout eaten straight from the cartons. No one wanted to have to bother with dishes on top of everything else.

That night though found Arthur back downstairs, a box of electrical parts next to him. The light above the stove provided all the illumination he needed as he tightened a screw on the EMF meter he was working on.

He didn’t mind the tedious labor. He liked helping his dad out. The work was soothing, and each new design he got to work made the sleepless nights worth it. He sat aside the device he was tinkering with and reached for his coffee. It wasn’t where he’d left it, and he turned, looking to see if he’d knocked the cup over without noticing again. His dad was seated to his left, coffee cup in hand and a worried look on his face. Busted.

“Hey,” Arthur said as he ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

“How’s the design coming?” Dean asked.

He fumbled with it, keeping his eyes down. He didn’t want to face the knowing look in his dad’s eyes.

“It’s going,” Arthur said. “Give me a few more hours and I should be able to get it to work.”

Dean nodded and stood, taking the cup into the kitchen.

“Should be daylight in a few hours.”

Arthur sighed. “Dad…”

“I know,” Dean said as he came and placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. He gave it a quick squeeze before turning back and heading towards his room. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

He’d had the dreams as long as he could remember. Visions filled with swords and knights, and castles. There was even magic and dragons.
When he’d been younger he used to act out his dreams, claiming to be a knight. He’d made his dad call him Sir Arthur for a month after one particularly vivid dream.

Now, the dreams held death, and pain. A vast landscape filled with dead bodies and the tortured face of a dark haired man with blue eyes.

“Dad,” Arthur turned in his seat.

His dad came back over and sat down. He didn’t say anything, just sat, looking at Arthur with an expression of understanding.

“How do you handle it?” Arthur asked, voice cracking.

He knew his dad had plenty of sleepless nights. He’d found the Supernatural books when he’d been fourteen. He’d thought some enterprising hunter had dreamt them up at first, and had read half the series before realizing they were about his family.

His dad laughed. “I didn’t.” He gave Arthur a sympathetic look. “I drank too much, and ignored the problem. You, however, gave me every reason to straighten myself out.”

Arthur lowered his head again.

“Wanna tell me what it was about?”

Arthur took a deep breath and met his father’s gaze. Tears filled his eyes, but he fought to keep them from falling.

“I’m with someone,” Arthur said. “We’re in the woods, and everything hurts. The other person is crying, and I ask them not to change, to always be themselves.” Arthur ran his fingers through his hair. “It felt so real.”

His dad’s hand on his arm broke the dam he’d been holding up.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Arthur.”

He looked up at the harsh sound of his dad’s voice. The grip on his arm tightened, and he could see his dad swallow a few times, his eyes bright with tears before he spoke.

“There’s isn’t a damn thing wrong with you,” Dean said. “Don’t ever think that.”

Arthur nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Come on,” Dean said as he took the tools and began putting them away. “I think it’s time we both got some sleep.”

Chapter Three:

Dean vetoed the first house. He claimed it was too suburban cult for his liking. The second, third, and fourth houses Arthur refused to be brought into and Dean turned them down as well. Dean knew Sam was starting to get frustrated, though he understood part of his brother’s reasoning. Kids were more attuned to the supernatural, and if Arthur cried at a house, it just wasn’t an option.

That didn’t mean Dean didn’t notice the signs of mutiny brewing between Bobby and Sam as he turned down houses six through fifteen.

“Dean,” Sam said his eyes tracking Dean as he bounced Arthur, attempting to get the little guy to sleep. “You need to pick something. You can’t keep camping out in hotels.”

“I know that, Sam,” Dean said. Arthur lifted his head and spit out his pacifier before emitting a sleepy cry. Dean rolled his eyes and picked it up, putting it on the table. “But none of them were good enough.”

“Boy, if you don’t pick a house soon,” Bobby said. “People are going to start asking questions.”

“We’re looking at more tomorrow,” Dean said. “Maybe I’ll find one then.”

Dean should have known luck wasn’t on his side. Houses sixteen through twenty all needed more work than the asking price was worth. By the time late afternoon rolled around Dean was ready to give up on the whole endeavor.

Arthur was cranky, not having slept well the night before, and Dean was starting to get a headache. This latest house was a few miles outside a small town, about five hours from Bobby’s place. The land was situated in a valley meadow, surrounded by hills. The house itself sat behind a thick growth of trees.

The house was in dire need of new paint, but when Dean went up the steps, they were sturdy, the porch railing strong. As he entered the house, Arthur stayed quiet, blue eyes taking in the empty house.

The front entrance opened to a kitchen on one side and a small living room on the other. Stairs led up to a second floor and there was a hallway off the living room. The realtor smiled at Dean and gestured towards the kitchen. The appliances were an ugly shade of green and looked older than Dean.

“Now I know it needs updating,” Alice said. “But it’s in good shape.”

Dean eyed the sink. The green reminded him of Arthur’s split pea baby food.

“The living room is just over there,” Alice continued. “As you can see, it has the open floor plan you wanted. There’s a guest bedroom off the living room along with a half bath.”

“And upstairs?” Dean asked, checking the staircase out.

He’d need to do something about the carpet. It had seen its better days before he’d been born. The stairs and railing seemed sturdy, though Dean knew he’d have to put up a baby gate. Arthur loved to climb and he didn’t want to look up one day and find his son dangling from the banister.

“There are two bedrooms and one bathroom upstairs.” Alice motioned for Dean to follow her. “This is the first bedroom.”

Dean walked in, cringing at the bright pink paint decorating the walls. The color reminded Dean of Pepto-Bismol.

“This crap will have to go,” Dean said. “No way is Arthur staying in a room this…pink.”

“That’s easy enough to change,” Alice said, her voice breaking through Dean’s thoughts.

“Oh, I know,” Dean said, still giving the bright pink walls the stink eye. “So, where’s the master bedroom?”

“Down the hall.”

Dean gave her a slight smile and left the pink monstrosity. He found the bathroom on his way, which while outdated, wasn’t painted a color that hurt his eyes. His luck ran out in the master bedroom. The walls were painted a hideous shade of purple so dark it was nearly black. The carpet was stark white and Dean had no idea how the previous owners kept it so blinding.

It was big though, and the closet was a walk-in that he could easily hide his hunting gear in. The shelves at the top of the closet would be good for keeping the more dangerous items out of tiny hands.

“So, what’s the asking price?” Dean asked, hoping it wasn’t too high. This place needed a lot of work, but Arthur seemed pleased with it and Dean was tired of looking.

“The owners are asking $220,000.”

Dean snorted. “With all the work that needs to be done, they’re out of their damn minds.”

“Price can be negotiated,” Alice said.

Dean nodded. “I’d like to put an offer in.”

Alice beamed. “Okay. Let’s head back to the office and get the paperwork started.”

The whole house buying process was mind numbingly boring to Dean.
He just wanted to sign the paperwork and take the house, but financing had to be approved, and a home inspection needed to be conducted. Through it all Dean vowed to never buy another house again. He’d rather go hunting some evil son of a bitch through a rat infested sewer first.

Sam on the other hand, haggled like the geeky lawyer he should have been. He picked apart the owner’s demands, he cited odd by-laws, and pulled up a history on the house so detailed it went back fifty years.

The day he moved in was chaotic. Dean had no idea how he’d accumulated so much crap. After lugging in another box full of toys, Dean decided to blame Sam.

Once he had gotten over his apprehension over Dean raising Arthur, Sam took to being an uncle with relish. He bought every loud, annoying, and flashy toy he could find. Dean had already disabled five of the worst, happy that Arthur seemed to like the boxes more at this stage.

There were also books, and educational cartoons. Sam was already leaving pamphlets out about private schools and college funds. Dean just wanted to make it to the next day. He couldn’t even think about college.

“Well, that room’s taken care of,” Bobby said. Dean turned and found him leaning in the doorway, paint splattered on his hands and clothes.

“And the rest of the house?” Dean asked, leaning against the wall.

He was beat. Lugging boxes up and downstairs, putting furniture together, and keeping an eye on Arthur was exhausting. He was walking now, and had the curiosity of a cat. Anything that was harmful or bad for him had to be picked up and inspected. He’d nearly given Dean a heart attack earlier when he’d tried to lick one of the paintbrushes. At the momnt he was taking a nap in Dean’s room while everyone else worked.

“This is the last room,” Bobby said. “And Cas is going over the rest of the house, making sure to add his own sigils.”

“Good,” Dean said. He ran a tired hand through his hair.

“Sam’s about done with the baby proofing,” Bobby added.

Dean checked his watch. It was nearing three o’clock.

“How about we take a break and get something to eat?” Dean asked, stretching out sore muscles. “Arthur should be waking up soon anyway and he’ll be hungry.”

“Dean.” Bobby stopped him before he could leave. “You’re doing a good thing here. Kid needs a home, and a parent that can look after him.”

“Thanks,” Dean said, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. If he started getting all weepy, Dean was definitely blaming Sam.

“Now let’s go get that kid of yours,” Bobby said. “I can hear him babbling already.”

Chapter Four:

Arthur took a deep breath and gathered up the rest of the gear. Sleep had alluded him the rest of the night and he’d spent most of the drive out to the haunted house dozing. When they’d reached their location, they climbed out of the car and gathered at the trunk. His Uncle Sam met them a few seconds later holding a duffle bag and a shotgun.

“Arthur and I’ll take the house,” Dean said. He handed Arthur a shotgun and some ammo. “You search the property. We’ll meet back here in fifteen.”

Everyone nodded and set out to do their part.

Arthur followed his dad’s lead through the old house. It was rickety and listing to the side. The roof looked about ready to fall in and Arthur had to wonder who was dumb enough to think spending the night in this house was a good idea. Ghost or not, it looked like a good strong wind could knock it down.

The stairs that had once led up to a second story stopped after four, the rest were scattered all over the first floor. A scratching noise came from under the rumble and Arthur backed away from it. He did not want to know what lived under those rotten planks.

They’d reached the living room when all the doors slammed closed.
Boards flew up over the bare windows and silence filled the room. Arthur was back to back with his dad, shotgun held at ready, and hoping his Uncle Sam was having better luck than they were.

“Dad?” Arthur asked, eyes scanning the room. Everything was still and eerily quiet. Were before, the sounds of the outside world filtered in through glassless windows, now they could hear nothing.

“Stay close,” Dean said. Arthur heard his dad pull out his phone, then curse.

“No signal?”

“Nope.”

“Shit.”

A loud banging sound had them jumping. The doors blocking them from the front entrance shuddered again and Arthur cocked the shotgun. On the third bang, the doors flew open and a group of four people stood at the entrance. One was a tall older man with a balding head and scattered white hair. He wore an expensive suit.

He stepped forward and gave them a smarmy smile.

“Dean,” he said. “I should have known you’d be right in the middle of this.”

Dean stepped in front of Arthur. “You come near him and I’ll kill you.”

A fluttering sound rang in his ears and soon the world tilted from beneath his feet. When the world stopped moving, Arthur opened his eyes and looked around. He had no idea where he was and he had no weapons either. The room he found himself in looked like the great room of a castle. Ornate wood paneling decorated one wall and large windows took up the other. The ceiling was curved.

There was a dais at one end with two thrones and a massive round table dominated the center room. Empty seats where pulled up to the table and when Arthur reached the edge he could see a golden dragon embossed in the center.

“Dad?” Arthur called out. Silence greeted his words and fear caused his heart rate to quicken. “Dad!”

“Hello, Arthur.”

The voice made Arthur jump. He turned and watched as the strange man from the house walked towards him, suit in immaculate state, hands held behind his back.

“Where am I?” he asked, his voice echoing throughout the room.

“You are safe.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I am Zachariah,” he said as he came to a stop a few feet from Arthur.

“I’m an angel of the Lord and I brought you here to insure that you fulfilled your destiny.”

Arthur crossed him arms over his chest in his best impersonation of his dad. “And what’s that?”

“To save the world, of course,” Zachariah said with a smile.

“My Dad did that already,” Arthur said.

He’d only heard bits and pieces about those awful years, but it was enough for him to know his dad and uncles were heroes.

“He only postponed it,” Zachariah said. “You, Arthur, have a great destiny ahead of you.”

Arthur snorted and backed away. Zachariah was looking at him like he was a prized trophy.

“Yeah, is that the same spiel you fed my Dad? Or are you trying out a new con?”

A loud crashing sound interrupted them. The room shook and glass rained down. Arthur ducked back against a far wall, hands over his head. The wood was a cool solid presence in the chaos surrounding him. He used the wall to keep his feet beneath him as the room shook again, a loud thunderclap of sound echoing in the room. The wooden doors at the end of the hall flew open, and the room around him flickered like an image on a broken television.

Looking up, Arthur watched as a familiar dark haired man entered. He wore clothes similar to Arthur, jeans and a dark hoodie, but his eyes were a bright blue and his expression promised death to any who crossed him.

Zachariah seemed stunned at his arrival and Arthur took the moment to inch his way towards the now open doors. Before he could take more than a few steps, Arthur found himself slammed back against the wall. He slid to the ground, struggling to get breath in his lungs.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” the man said, his voice accented in a way Arthur only heard in his dreams.

“You think you can stop destiny?” Zachariah said, a haughty tone to his voice.

“This isn’t destiny,” the man said. “You’re just trying to restart a fight that’s already finished.”

“You know who he is.”

A dark smile crept onto the man’s face and he lifted his hand.

“Then you know who I am as well.” He cast a glance at Arthur. “Close your eyes.”

The man’s eyes flashed a brilliant gold, and bright white light filled the room. Arthur had to turn his head away, keeping his eyes closed so the light wouldn’t hurt him. It seemed to last forever before it died away. When Arthur looked back, the dark haired man was standing only a few feet from him, a worried look on his face.

“Arthur?” he said, holding out a hand. “You need to come with me. I don’t know how long I can keep him away.”

“What did you do?” Arthur asked as he backed away from the other man. “What are you?”

The other man flinched, but kept his hand out. “Please, Arthur, we don’t have a lot of time.”

“Get the fuck away from me,” Arthur said.

He turned and began running towards the doors. He only made it a few steps before the other man appeared before him. Arthur just barely managed to not run him over.

“Oh, sod it,” the man said. “We don’t have time for this.”

He reached out and grabbed Arthur. The world lurched around him once more. This time, however, a gentle golden light filled his vision and when the world righted itself, and he was standing in his living room. Several guns were pointed in their direction, and every question he’d ever had about his dreams were answered.

“Arthur?”

He turned at the sound of his dad’s voice and soon found himself in a bruising bear hug. He was released almost as quickly before being shoved behind his dad’s back.

He moved away, standing off to the side. Arthur let his gaze travel along the room before settling on Merlin. He looked the same despite his clothes, tall, gangly, and big eared. It was only when Arthur looked in his eyes did he see the changes, the long life spent waiting, the grief still fresh even after centuries had passed.

“Merlin?” Arthur said, confusion filling his words.

Stunned silence greeted his words, and then Arthur heard a hope filled whisper.

“You remember me?”

“Merlin?” Dean shouted. “What the fuck is going on here?”

Arthur felt his shoulders stiffen and turned to face his dad. He had both sets of memories filling his head now, a lifetime of being Prince Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon. A lifetime of wanting his father to be proud of him, striving not to disappoint the distant king he called father, battling with a life spent being a child and knowing his dad loved him and would happily lay the world at his feet if he could. It was all just a bit confusing.

“I, uh,” Arthur said. “I need some air.”

He ran out of the house before anyone could stop him. He didn’t think, he just kept going, down the porch and into trees shielding his house. He ducked and dodged by instinct, his feet finding the path without him consciously looking for it.

Before he knew it, he’d scaled the tree and was sitting in the far corner of the tree house his dad built him when he was seven. It had been renovated over the years, giving Arthur a good place to hang out as a teenager when their house got a bit too small.

All of his things were there, the bean bag chair, his crate full of books and comics, posters hung on the walls. A portable DVD player and his hand held gaming system sat in one corner, a stack of DVD’s and games sitting next to them. His futon was still spread out in a bed, blankets trailing the floor.

Another memory surfaced, this time of a large room with stone walls and a fireplace. A table took up a good portion of it, and Arthur remembered being small and curled up tight in the center of a large bed, the wind howling outside his windows. It had been his first night out of the nursery, his father having declared five to be old enough to warrant his own chambers. He was to start training as a knight the next day, and needed to start acting like the prince he was.

Arthur took a deep breath and tried to shake the memory off. It was hard to focus, both lives warring in his head. A hand settling on his shoulder had Arthur nearly jumping out of his skin. His dad was sitting next to him, a worried look on his face.

“Did you know?” Arthur asked, voice rough. He could feel tears filling his eyes, but he refused to give into them.

“No,” Dean said. He ran a tired hand over his face, looking much older than his fifty years. “But Cas told me you were important, that you needed to be protected.”

“That’s why you took me in.”

“Yes,” Dean said.

“I see.”

“No, you don’t.”

Arthur turned to look at his dad.

“What do you mean?”

“Look, Arthur,” Dean said. “I was in a pretty shitty place when Cas brought you to me. The apocalypse was over, and Sam had run off to be normal.” Dean took a deep breath and stared down at his hands. “Not that I blamed your uncle, especially after everything that went down, but I’d just spent the last few years fighting a war and suddenly it was over.”

“It’s hard to adjust,” Arthur said, more memories becoming clear. “Everyone just expects you to be normal, but you’re not. You’ve changed.” At his dad’s look, he continued. “I remember my first campaign. I was sixteen and I was ordered to clear out a Druid camp. It…didn’t go very well, but my father, Uther, was still pleased. Magic was evil and needed to be wiped out.” He ran his hands over his face and sighed. “I heard their screams in my dreams for years after.”

His dad snorted.

“And you just kinda embraced the life after that.”

Arthur nodded. “Yeah. At least until Merlin came along. He called me an ass and tired to hit me the first time we met.”

“I stabbed your Uncle Cas once we ran out of ammo.”

Arthur laughed and if it carried a bit of hysteria, neither of them mentioned it.

“He spent the night in the dungeons and then a few hours in the stocks.” Arthur wiped his face, feeling wet trails down his cheeks. “He saved my life that night.”

A warm weight settled across Arthur’s shoulders and soon he found himself clinging to his dad, confusion and grief filling him.

“I miss them,” Arthur said. “We never really got a chance. It was all about fighting, and stopping Morgana. And then there was Camlann and Merlin telling me he’s a sorcerer.” Arthur took a deep breath and pulled away from his dad. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“You’re my son,” Dean said. He squeezed Arthur’s shoulder. “And there ain’t a damn thing that will ever change that.”

Arthur wiped the tears from his cheeks.

“I was married before I died.” His eye took on a dreamy look as more tears filled them. A slight smile appeared on his face. “You would have loved Gwen.”

Dean gave him a soft look and leaned back against the wall.

“Tell me about her?”

Arthur settled in next to his dad and began talking.

Chapter Five:

The first time Dean tried to cook for him and Arthur, he ended up going overboard. There was chicken, mashed potatoes, and gravy. Dean even cooked vegetables. Just before dinner was served, two pies and a cobbler joined the feast.

Arthur ate everything Dean put on his plate, luckily for him. But clean up was a pain in the ass. First he had to bathe Arthur, then tackle the mountain of dishes. It took him about two hours to get the kitchen back into some semblance of order. Arthur kept babbling at him and if Dean didn’t respond in time he’d start whining.

Sam laughed at him for five minutes when he found Dean’s battered collection of recipes and DVR’d cooking shows. That afternoon, Dean showed Sam that despite their difference in height, Dean was still the older brother, and therefore could still kick Sam’s ass. They ended up trashing the living room, much to Arthur’s delight. He kept throwing his toys at them from his playpen in front of the television.

In the end, Sam helped with clean up, and Dean made burgers for dinner. The next day Dean found a Cooking for Dummies book, and a frilly apron on his front porch. The next time Sam came over for dinner, Dean wore the apron, Arthur’s multicolored hand prints decorating the front.

This Sunday, Dean had one book open. The recipe looked simple enough, though he had never made lasagna before.

Dean squared his shoulders. He’d fought the hordes of hell and the armies of heaven. He’d helped banish Lilith to hell for good before the last seal could be broken. He could make freaking lasagna. Looking over his shoulder, he spotted Arthur at the table. He had Play-Doh smeared over the surface and some stuck in his hair.

He seemed happy enough, so Dean turned back to his task. He eyed the set up the same way he would if he were gearing up for a hunt. First task, heat the pot. He turned the burner on; making sure it wasn’t too high. Second he added some oil.

He added the meat to the pan. It didn’t sizzle at first, but Dean wasn’t worried. No sizzle meant he wasn’t burning anything yet. A loud banging had him glancing back at Arthur. He’d thrown the Play-Doh container to the floor and was watching Dean with bright blue eyes.

“Hey,” Dean said, pointing the spoon at Arthur. “Enough from the peanut gallery. Daddy’s trying to make dinner.”

Arthur laughed. “Daddy need Uncle Sammy?”

Dean mock scowled. “Hush, you.” He waved the spoon around. “I can make dinner without your uncle’s help.”

“Daddy, food smell.”

Dean cursed and turned towards the stove. He removed the pot from the burner just in time, stirring the contents before any scorching could occur. He turned down the heat and added the onions, garlic, herbs, and the canned tomatoes before putting it back on the burner. He turned back to Arthur who was still watching him with a big grin on his face.

“Not a word.”

Grabbing another pot, Dean filled it with water and put it on the stove. Turning the burner on high, he added salt, then sat down at the table to wait.

“All done?” Arthur asked, looking from Dean to the stove.

“Not yet,” Dean said. “We have to assemble everything first, then bake it.”

The pasta had just finished when Dean heard the front door open and close. A second later, Sam appeared, a brown bag in hand.

“What’s that smell?” Sam asked as he sat the bag down and picked up Arthur.

“Daddy make food,” Arthur said with a smile.

Dean glared at his brother. “Shut up. Kid has to eat something that doesn’t come out of a box.”

Sam stared. “Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”

Dean threw a kitchen towel at Sam. Arthur just laughed when it landed a few feet from its target.

“Great, you’ve turned my kid against me,” Dean grumbled as he picked up the towel.

“Nah,” Sam said. “He just likes me more than you.”

He rolled his eyes and began assembling the lasagna, adding layers of meat sauce, cheese, and pasta. Soon he had it baking in the oven and a mountain of dishes to wash. Making lasagna required several pans, and if he didn’t clean up now, it’d be a pain to do so later. Next time he was just buying a frozen one.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Dean asked as he began the task of cleaning tomato sauce out of the pot.

“Maybe I just wanted to visit my favorite nephew,” Sam said, giving Arthur a wide smile.

Dean huffed out a breath. “He’s your only nephew.”

“Okay fine,” Sam said as he sat down, Arthur settled on his knee. He fiddled with the bag for a few seconds before opening it and placing the contents on the table.

Dean frowned, drying his hands as he came over. “A book? You’re nervous over some old book?”

Sam sighed. “It’s journal, like the one dad used.”

Dean’s head snapped up and his eyes narrowed. “I thought you gave that stuff up.”

Sam shrugged and he seemed to curl into himself. “I did,” he said. “I have, but there were some strange occurrences near my place, and I couldn’t not look into them and…”

“You remembered what it was like to do good,” Dean said choosing his words carefully, mindful of little ears.

“I just,” Sam said. “People still need help.”

Dean sat down, dishes forgotten. Arthur looked from his dad to his uncle, a frown marring his small face. Dean reached out and plucked him from Sam’s lap, settling him on his own. He hugged him against his chest, smelling the baby soap and Play-Doh in his hair.

“I get it,” Dean said. “I really do. If things were different…”

“You’d have never stopped.”

“Stop what, Daddy?”

Arthur was looking at him with such an open and worried expression that Dean held him just a little tighter.

“My old job,” Dean said voice low and carrying a lifetime of memories both good and bad. “It was dangerous, and I was already thinking of changing it when I got you. You just gave me the push to quit sooner.”

“That bad thing?” Arthur asked.

“No,” Dean said. “No, it was a very good thing.”

“Is Uncle Sammy bad?”

Dean shot his brother a look, not missing the hurt and deep seeded guilt that crossed his face.

“No, Arthur,” Dean said unable to keep his words steady. “You’re Uncle Sammy is being good.”

“Oh,” he said, looking down at the table. He ran one chubby finger along the edge before glancing back at Dean. “He stay safe, right?”

“That’s right,” Sam said, his voice cracking. “I’ll stay very safe.”

“Good.”

Chapter Six:

He didn’t remember falling asleep. Arthur woke tucked into the futon, his dad stretched out on the beanbag chair. He sat up, stretching out sore muscles. The clock said 8:01 a.m.

Climbing out of bed, Arthur wrote a quick note, and carefully tiptoed around his dad. He made sure to keep quiet as he climbed out of the tree house. When he made it to the ground he paused. Merlin was a sleep against the trunk of the tree, mouth open and a bit of drool on his chin. A wave of gratitude and nostalgia filled his heart.

Merlin had been a constant in his first life, his best friend and confidant. They’d done everything together, and when Arthur had felt his lowest, Merlin had been there, by his side.

He also remembered the numerous times Merlin had come singing into this chambers in the morning, that ridiculous smile on his face. Unable to help himself, Arthur snorted and shoved him with his foot.

“Merlin, wake up,” Arthur called. He laughed when his old friend flailed upon waking, nearly falling over into the dirt. “Up here, Merlin.”

“Oh,” Merlin said. Standing he brushed off dirt and leaves before giving Arthur a hesitant look. “Is everything okay?”

Arthur studied Merlin for a few seconds. It was odd. He remembered being king, he remembered trusting Merlin above all but Gwen. He also remembered the hurt and betrayal he’d felt when Merlin had finally confessed his magic.

But it also felt like it had all happened to another person, and in a way, it had. He had been Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot. Now he was Arthur Winchester, student and part time hunter. He wasn’t going to give that up.

“Yeah,” he finally said, giving Merlin a half smile. “It’s a bit crowded in my head at the moment, but it’s getting better.”

“Huh,” Merlin said, cheeky grin in place. “I would never have described your head as crowded.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Merlin?”

“Shut up?”

“Please do.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and shoved his way forward.

“Come on,” Arthur said as he made his way back towards the house. “It’s been a long night and I want some coffee.”

The house was silent when they got back. Arthur headed towards the kitchen, and began filling the coffee pot. Merlin stood off to the side, seemingly not sure what to do. Arthur was glad; he didn’t like people messing with his morning routine.

Coffee on, he opened the fridge and pulled out eggs and bacon. Soon he had breakfast going and a coffee in hand. Merlin watched all of this with a bemused look on his face and Arthur just sighed.

“I’m not the same person I was back then.”

Merlin’s eyes turned sad. “No, you’re not.” He grabbed the cup Arthur handed him. “Back then you had no idea how to take care of yourself.”

Arthur snorted. “None of us did.” He settled the first two eggs on a plate and added two more to the skillet. He turned the heat down and settled back, spatula in hand.

“I think I did just fine,” Merlin said.

“Yeah,” Arthur said. “Sure you did. And how much of what you did was because you actually knew what you were doing, and how much was pure dumb luck?”

Merlin’s mouth opened and closed several times before he managed to speak.

“I knew plenty.”

“It’s a wonder we didn’t get ourselves killed,” Arthur snorted. More eggs went on the plate and he turned off the stove. “I mean who goes after an immortal army with just eight people.”

“A Winchester.”

Arthur turned to find his dad standing in the door way, a crooked smile on his face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Merlin asked, eyes darting between the two grinning men.

“It means, Ol’ Great and Powerful Oz,” Dean said, ignoring Arthur’s snorted laughter. “That even back then, Arthur was meant to be a Winchester. We don’t take insurmountable odds lying down.”

“But destiny-”

“Screw destiny,” Arthur said at the same time as his dad.

“We beat the apocalypse once,” Dean said. “We’ll do it again.” He went and grabbed a coffee, then sat down at the table. “So while we wait for the others, what’s for breakfast?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and made another plate of eggs. He handed it to his before sitting down with his own.

“So, what’s the plan?” Dean asked as he finished breakfast and took the used dishes to the sink. He got more coffee before sitting back down, his gaze going between Arthur and Merlin.

“First off,” Arthur said. “We get my sword back.” He turned and gave Merlin his best prattish look. “I take it you do know where it is, right?”

Merlin waved a lazy hand. “Freya has it.”

“Who?”

“The Lady of the Lake,” Merlin said, a wistful smile lighting his face.

Dean paused, coffee cup held half way to his mouth, and eyed the two of them. “Just how much of that legend crap is true?”

“They got our names right?” Merlin said with a shrug.

Arthur wrinkled his nose in disgust. Some of those legends had him sleeping with Morgana. “Now I know why you hate those damn books so much.”

Dean snorted. “And to think you used to love The Sword in the Stone.”

Merlin snorted into his coffee.

“I was seven,” Arthur grumbled, feeling a blush heat up his face.

“He won a goldfish at a fair once and named it Merlin. Damn thing is still alive,” his dad said, causing Merlin to choke and Arthur to wish he could crawl into a hole and hide. “He lives in a giant tank in the office.”

The sound of fluttering wings interrupted the conversation. A second later Castiel stood in the kitchen, an old book held in one hand.

“Emrys,” Castiel said as he came to stand beside his dad.

Merlin nodded in response, the humor from before now nothing but a distant memory.

“You knew where he was.” Merlin did not sound happy, and Arthur turned, giving his old friend a glare.

“I had to keep him safe,” Castiel said.

“I could have done that.”

“No, you couldn’t,” Arthur said as he stood from the table. He went to the coffee pot to get more coffee and barely resisted the urge to slam it down.

When he turned back to the room he saw Merlin giving him a look so filled with hurt, Arthur felt like he’d just kicked a puppy.

“You don’t think heaven and hell had eyes on you?”

“I could have—”

“What?” Arthur asked, voice harsh. “Sent me to Avalon again?”

Merlin’s flinch was more pronounced and Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Stop it,” Arthur said. “There was nothing you could do.”

“Could somebody tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“He’s King Arthur, the Once and Future King,” Castiel said. Arthur shot him a dark look.

“I got that bit already,” Dean said. “But he’s still my son, and I want to know what’s going on.”

“I told you he was important,” Castiel said. “That he must be protected.”

“Not helping, Uncle Cas,” Arthur ground out.

“Heaven and Hell want to start the apocalypse again,” Merlin said.

He was still glaring at Castiel, but somehow managed to be polite and respectful when answering his dad. Arthur took a moment to wonder when he learned how to do that. He never spoke that way to Arthur when he’d been king.

Dean ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“Right, so what’s the plan?”

Arthur paused, staring at his dad. Before him wasn’t the dad he grew up with. This was the man he’d only get a few glimpses of whenever he helped out on a hunt. This was the man who’d defied destiny, and won.

“Merlin?” Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I help you fulfill your destiny,” Merlin said.

“Yeah, but how do you plan on doing that?” Dean asked, arms crossed over his chest.

Merlin drew himself up, and gave Dean a look Arthur remembered seeing whenever a crisis appeared. It was the same look he wore whenever he followed Arthur out into battle, or would spout odd words of wisdom whenever Arthur doubted himself. His heart clenched and his eyes stung. He’d missed his friend.

“We need to find out their plan is,” Castiel said.

“Right,” Dean said. “You, Cas, and Merlin here hit the books.”

“Not Merlin,” Arthur said. Everyone turned to look at him. He rolled his eyes. “My sword, Merlin? Remember?”

Merlin’s eyes lit up and he smiled the same grin Arthur often thought made him look like an idiot.

“Oh, yeah,” Merlin said. “Come, on.”

He reached out towards Arthur, but before he could touch him, Arthur was pulled out of the way. His dad had a firm grip on his arm and was eyeing Merlin like he wasn’t sure if he should kill him or not.

“Dad,” Arthur said, pulling out of his grip. “It’ll be fine. We’ll be back before you know it.”

Dean stayed silent for a few more seconds before nodding. “Fine. If you’re not back in fifteen minutes, Cas and I are coming after you.”

“Got it,” Arthur said as he came to stand beside Merlin.

The trip to the Lake of Avalon went much like the one that had gotten him home. Once the gold mist had receded, Arthur and Merlin stood on the shores of a cold lake, a busy street behind them. There was an island in the middle, a broken stone pillar in the center.

The hair on Arthur’s neck stood on end, and another memory surfaced. Trees replaced houses and roads and the area sang with magic even he could feel. His side ached, and his breath caught in his throat. He blinked and shook away the memory, turning to face Merlin. He wore a concerned look, and his hands were clenched in his pockets like he was resisting the urge to reach out and magic Arthur away from this place.

“I died here, didn’t I?” Arthur asked, turning back to the lake.

Merlin nodded. “You did.”

“What happened after?”

Merlin swallowed and turned his gaze towards the lake. His voice cracked as he spoke.

“I laid you to rest,” Merlin said. “Then I went back to Camelot. Gwen deserved to know what happened.”

Arthur nodded. “Then what?”

“I stayed,” Merlin said. “She lifted the ban on magic, and named me her magical adviser. A few years later she married Leon.”

“Were they happy?” Arthur asked, his own voice thick.

“Yes,” Merlin said. “But no one stopped missing you. They named their first son after you.”

Arthur nodded and Merlin gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. He stood on the shore as Merlin walked forward and lifted his hand. A string of words he didn’t understand drifted to him on the breeze.

At first nothing happened. Then the water started to ripple and the tip of a sword broke the surface. It gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. The gold inlay was just as he remembered it and his palm itched to hold it in his hands again.

It was soon followed by an arm, then a woman in a flowing dress with long dark hair. She walked along the surface like it was solid, her steps hardly displacing the water.

Merlin met her at the edge of the water and she bowed to him, handing the sword over. She gave him a soft smile and laid her hand against his cheek. Arthur couldn’t hear what they said to each other, but he recognized the look on her face. It spoke of love and respect, and it pained Arthur that Merlin had never told him of her.

She turned and bowed towards him before going back out over the lake. She disappeared from view, drifting away on the breeze like she had never been there.

Merlin came to stand by his side again, and handed the sword over. It fit in his hand just like he remembered, solid, strong, and giving him the feeling he could accomplish anything. He felt like a king again.

“So, that was Freya?” Arthur asked. He kept his head down, and his eyes on his sword.

“Yeah.”

“Right.” Arthur nodded. “Let’s get back before dad sends out a search party.”

He arrived back in his living room, sword in hand. His Uncle Sam was sitting at the kitchen table the book his Uncle Cas had brought over sitting in front of him. He was watching Arthur and Merlin with a look Arthur was having a hard time placing. It made Arthur feel like a bug under a microscope. The angel was nowhere to be seen.

“Sammy!” Dean yelled as he came into the room. “Stop staring.” He then walked over to Arthur, giving him a quick once over. It was the look Arthur had gotten his whole life, his dad making sure he was in one piece. “This your fancy sword?”

Arthur held it up. It was just as perfectly balanced as he remembered. It felt at home in his hand, like there had been pieces of him missing and he’d finally found them in Merlin and this sword.

“Yeah.”

“Huh,” Dean said. He gave Arthur a smirk. “I always thought it’d be bigger.”

“Dean!”

They turned. His Uncle Sam stood with an affronted look on his face.

“What?”

“That’s Excalibur,” Sam said, gesturing towards the sword.

Arthur felt his shoulders tense and he drew the sword in closer. Merlin moved closer to his side and he watched as his dad glared at his uncle.

“And the skinny dude is Merlin,” Dean said. “Big freaking deal.”

“Dean, that’s--”

“Your nephew Arthur,” Dean said, shutting Sam up.”My son, remember?”

The look his uncle gave his father had Arthur unsuccessfully suppressing a snort of laughter. It was the look his dad loved to call his uncle’s ‘bitch face’. Everything was going to be okay.

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Oh, really?”

“It’s freaking Excalibur,” Sam said. “Do you know what the lore says about it?”

Dean waved a hand. “Really powerful weapon, used to slay evil monsters, yadda, yadda, yadda.”

“Dean,” Sam said. “If we’d had that sword…”

“You can’t use it,” Merlin said, cutting their fight off. “It was meant for Arthur alone.”

“Besides,” Arthur said, giving Merlin a shove. “Someone had it hidden at the bottom of a magical lake.”

“I thought it was supposed to be in a stone?”

Arthur laughed. “He’s hidden it there too.”

“Let me guess,” Dean said, snickering. “You pulled it out?”

Arthur glared at his dad. He just knew he was never going to live this down. “I hate you.”

“Come on.” His dad put his arm around his shoulder. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

The mood turned serious and books were pulled from shelves, and laptops were fired up. Castiel returned with more books and tension rose.

Arthur, never one to sit still, retreated outside. His head was still too chaotic for him to focus on dusty books full of obscure facts. He found a nice shaded place in the front yard and began going through his old sword drills.

He kept his movements controlled and precise. The sword moved through graceful arcs, blocks, and thrust. With the return of his memories, his body ran through the sword drills with minimal resistance. He spun, and slashed the blade through the air, fighting imaginary opponents. He could almost feel the heat of Camelot’s sun beating down on him, hear the hustle and bustle of castle life, and hear the laughter of his knights as they mock battled beside him.

His dad’s footsteps drew him from his memories and he cooled down from his exercise, his breath coming out in short pants. He kept his back turned, fighting the lump of grief in his throat. They’d been dead for over fifteen hundred years, but for Arthur it still felt like yesterday and forever all at once.

“Hey,” his dad said, stopping a few yards away. “That was some pretty fancy moves you had going there.”

Arthur shrugged. “I’m still a bit rusty.”

He swung his sword in a lazy arc, feeling the muscles in his arm and wrist tense with the movement. He was going to be sore tomorrow.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Dean said, coming to stand beside his son.

Arthur turned, and from the look on his dad’s face, he hadn’t hid his emotions as well as he’d wanted.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Arthur snorted and went to sit down on the top step. “I don’t think this is covered in any of those parenting books you used to read.”

He stabbed the end of the sword into the dirt, but kept his hand on the pommel. His dad sat down next to him.

“Knew I should have burned those things,” Dean said with a shake of his head.

“Is Uncle Sam badgering Merlin yet?” Arthur asked. “Or has World War three broken out between Merlin and Uncle Cas?”

It was his dad’s turn to snort. “I’ve called a truce on pain of dismemberment.”

“He’s always been overprotective.”

“Who are you talking about?” Dean asked. “Your uncles, or Merlin?”

“All three?” Arthur said. He ran his ringers through his hair and leaned back against the porch railing. “Merlin used to follow me everywhere.” Arthur kept his gaze on the darkening sky, watching as more stars appeared. “No armor, no weapon, just that insufferable grin and a knowing look in his eyes.”

“He was your best friend,” Dean said. “You trusted him.”

“He lied to me,” Arthur said, mind pulling up memories of those agonizing days as they tried in vain to reach the Lake of Avalon in time.

“And you forgave him,” Dean said, placing a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur turned to look at his dad. He had a look of understanding in his eyes that had Arthur swallowing down a new surge of grief. “It’s what you do for family.”

Arthur nodded and stood, pulling his sword out of the dirt. “I believe you said something about dinner?”

Dean stood and dusted off his jeans before clapping Arthur’s shoulder.

“Come on,” he said, leading them into the house. “I made your favorite.”

Arthur smiled at that as he pulled open the front door. “Chili cheese hotdogs and fried pickles?”

Dean laughed. “Your Uncle Sammy has been giving me the stink eye all evening.”

“Awesome.”

Chapter Seven:

“Dad,” Arthur called, running into the house, backpack bouncing along behind him. “Dad.”

Dean kept his head down, eyes focused on the book before him. He kept his hand over his mouth to hide his grin.

“Yeah?” he asked, putting just enough distracted disinterest in his voice to get Arthur to come barreling into the kitchen.

“Dad,” Arthur said again, eyes bright.

“What is it?” Dean said, looking up briefly. He had to look away quickly. Arthur stood a few feet away, dancing around like he had to go to the bathroom, but had been dared to hold it.

Biting back his laughter, Dean turned the page of his book. An impatient huff preceded the chair scraping along the floor. Tiny hands appeared before his eyes and landed on the open page.

“Dad.”

Dean didn’t answer. He just grabbed his son’s arms and lifted him over his shoulder. Arthur let out a surprised shriek that turned into giggles as Dean let his fingers dance over his side. A few minutes later Dean dropped his breathless son onto the couch. He then settled down into his recliner.

“So, what’s new?”

Arthur rolled his eyes as he got his breath.

“I got invited to Davey’s Halloween party, can I go?”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “I thought Davey was a, how’d you put it, a clotpole?”

“He is,” Arthur said. “But it’s Halloween, and there’s candy. Can I go?”

“I need to talk to his parents first,” Dean said.

Arthur rolled his eyes and let out a dramatic groan.

“But, Daaad!”

Dean laughed. “Go. Get your homework done.”

Arthur grinned and ran off, grabbing his backpack from the kitchen and thundering up the stairs. Dean heard his door slam and he shook his head. He’d never been that energetic at nine.

That Friday was filled with rushed homework and a lot of excited chatter. Knight costume on and bag in hand, Dean ushered Arthur out the door and into the Harlow’s mini-van. He watched them drive away, Arthur’s tiny hand waving to him.

Dean sighed and went back into the too quiet house. He had plenty of work to keep him distracted while Arthur was out, but now he just felt listless. Grabbing a beer, Dean settled into his recliner and switched on the television. Maybe a few hours of mindless entertainment would do the trick.

Some inane reality show was starting when the phone rang. Dean answered it with a distracted greeting, before turning the television off.

“Whoa!” Dean said, his heart plummeting to his feet. “Say that again?”

“There was an accident,” Mrs. Harlow said, tears filling her words, panic making her voice shaky. “They’ve taken everyone to the hospital.”

Dean didn’t let the conversation go much longer. He hung up, grabbed his coat and keys and was soon barreling down the road, hoping he got there in time, berating himself for not going with Arthur, praying that he wouldn’t have to call Castiel.

Dean felt like his skin was too tight. His heart was lodged in his throat, and he nearly knocked over a nurse in his mad dash to the ER. He hit the front desk at a full run, causing the people in line to glare at him, and the nurse to give him a nasty look.

“My son was brought in,” Dean said, cutting in before she could start yelling at him. “His name is Arthur Smith.” He reached over the desk and stopped her from picking up the phone. “Please, he’s only nine.”

“Look, sir,” the nurse said, sympathy filling her eyes. “If you’d just wait a few minutes I’ll be with you then.”

“Look, lady,” Dean said, using the tone of voice he used with creatures he was about to kill. “My son was hurt. Now where is he?”

“Mr. Smith?”

Dean spun around so fast he nearly knocked the person behind him off their feet. Davey’s mother, Mrs. Harlow came running up to him. Her eyes were bloodshot and there was a bruise spreading out over the left side of her face.

Dean charged towards her, grabbing her arms.

“Arthur?” Dean demanded. Mrs. Harlow shook her head, tears welling in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “The car just came out of nowhere.”

“Where’s Arthur?” Dean shook her a little, trying to get answers he so desperately wanted.

“They took him to the back,” she said. Taking a deep breath, she took a step back and wiped at her eyes. “He hit his head and hurt his arm.”

“How bad was it?” Dean asked, fear squeezing his heart. He knew all about head injuries, knew how dangerous they were.

“He was very confused. He kept insisting the driver had black eyes,” she said, her voice filled with fear. “He wouldn’t let up, even after they brought him here.”

“So he was awake?” Dean asked, heart freezing. Demons had hurt his kid.

“Yes,” she said.

Dean let out a deep breath as he followed her to the waiting area. He could plan his vengeance after he knew Arthur was okay.

There were other parents there that Dean recognized from parent teacher nights and various sleepovers. He settled down in the hard chair and kept his head down. If he didn’t calm down, he was liable to storm through the hospital until he found Arthur and that wouldn’t do anybody any good. He’d just end up in jail.

When a doctor finally came out and called his named, Dean felt his throat close up. He barely heard anything beyond his son being banged up but okay.

He was finally led to a room. Arthur lay on the bed, a bruise standing out stark against his left cheek. His right arm was held straight as a doctor wrapped bandages around it. He looked up when Dean entered, and his blue eyes filled with tears. His knight costume was ripped.

“Daddy.”

Dean rushed forward, careful of the equipment. He settled down next to Arthur and put an arm around him, pulling him into his side.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean said. “I’ve got ya.”

“Mr. Smith,” the doctor said. “I’m Dr. Gates.”

Dean gave him a tight smile. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“As far as we know, the driver of the other car had a heart attack,” the doctor said. “His car ran a red light and crashed into the other vehicle.” He finished wrapping Arthur’s arm then leaned back, pulling his gloves off. “You’ve got one brave little boy there.”

“Yeah,” Dean said as he gave Arthur a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “I’m still not sure where he gets it from.”

“Well,” Dr. Gates said. “The worst of it is his arm. That’s a pretty nasty sprain. It will take a couple of weeks to heal. He’ll have to wear a sling in the mean time.”

“What about his head?” Dean asked. “I was told he hit it?”

“The bruise is from another kid,” Dr. Gates said. “Apparently she panicked at the scene and her foot connected with your son’s cheek. We did a CAT scan and there’s no sign of a concussion.” Dr. Gates stood and collected Arthur’s chart, making a few notes. “He was a bit confused when they brought him in, but that seems to have cleared up. I’ll send the nurse in with the discharge papers. Here’s his prescription. You can pick it up at the hospital pharmacy.” He handed Dean a piece of paper with unintelligible scribbles on it. “I suggest making an appointment with his regular doctor in the next few days, but if his symptoms worsen bring him back immediately.”

“Of course,” Dean said, making a mental note to call Castiel. If the doctors had missed anything serious, Castiel could take care of it.

It took Dean another hour before he was finished filling out paperwork and picking up the painkillers the doctors prescribed Arthur. By the time they got home, Dean was ready to sleep for a week, and Arthur was a limp weight in his arms.

Dean quickly got Arthur changed into his pajamas. He laid him in the bed and gently pulled the blanket up around Arthur. He smoothed his hair back from his forehead and settled onto the bed next to him.

“Looks like you got your first war wounds,” Dean said, a tight smile on his face. “You know, I’ve heard chicks dig scars.”

“His eyes were black,” Arthur whispered, a tear sliding down one cheek. “I didn’t see things. The driver just grinned at me and then a black cloud streamed out of his mouth.”

Dean swallowed down his own tears, feeling the burning rage filling his heart. They’d hurt his son. It would be the last thing those demons ever did.

“I know,” Dean said. He picked up the canister of salt he’d grabbed from the kitchen and showed it to Arthur. “I’m going to add this to your window and doorway. It will keep the black cloud out.”

“Positive?”

“Positive,” Dean said.

He stood and quickly added a layer of salt to the protection already on the room. He figured a physical reminder that he was safe would help Arthur feel better. Once finished he sat back down on the bed.

“I wasn’t seeing things?” Arthur asked and more tears spilled down his cheeks.

Dean had to fight to keep the rage from his voice. He didn’t want to scare Arthur.

“No,” Dean said, voice equally as quiet. “Arthur.” He paused and settled his hand on Arthur’s chest. He could feel his son’s heart beating, and that helped Dean calm his own.

“There are a lot of bad things out there, and most people don’t know they exist. But I do, and so does your Uncle Sam, and Uncle Cas. We help make sure they can’t hurt people. And I’m gonna make sure they never come near you again.”

Arthur nodded, his eyes dropping thanks to the stress and pain killers.

“Daddy,” Arthur said, voice filled with sleep despite his best efforts. “Can I help make the bad things go away too?”

Dean ran his fingers through his son’s hair and kissed him on the forehead.

“Yeah, when you’re bigger you can help.”

“I think I’m big enough now,” Arthur said. A yawn interrupted his words.

“We’ll see.”

Chapter Eight:

A week after Merlin’s arrival found Arthur hiding in his tree house, sword at his side, and a pillow over his head. The headache he’d woken up with this morning had been mild, nothing more than his allergies acting up due to the changing weather.

Once breakfast had been eaten, his Uncle Sam and Merlin had gone back to researching, piling stacks of old dusty books over every flat surface they could find. Arthur had some work he’d had to do for his dad so he’d spent the morning outside, buried in the hood of a car. When he’d come inside for lunch, his dad and best friend where in the middle of reenacting the Cold War.

He didn’t know how to make things better. He loved his dad, and Merlin was his other half, the person he’d trusted the most. And if they sniped at each other one more time, Arthur was going to bribe his Uncle Cas into locking them into the panic room, without weapons, or magic. His Uncle Cas was an angel, he was pretty sure he could pull it off.

A timid knock had Arthur scurrying to pull the blanket up over himself. He lay still, hardly breathing; hoping whoever was invading his privacy would be fooled into leaving.

The nudge where his foot rested dispelled that fantasy, but he refused to budge.

“Go away.” Arthur pulled the blanket tighter around himself.

“Tough,” his Uncle Sam said. The blanket was soon yanked off him, and he gave his uncle the deadliest glare he could manage. Sam only laughed harder at him. “If I have to suffer with them then so do you.”

Arthur shook his head and buried it under his pillow again. “Not if I go back to Avalon. I’m pretty sure I could talk Uncle Cas into taking me there.”

“Come on,” Sam said, stealing his pillow too. “Give them a break. Everyone is just worried.”

“Worried?” Arthur said with a disgusted snort. He sat up and ran his hand through his hair. “Dad is ready to unleash his own version of the Great Purge, and the last time I saw Merlin that twitchy was right before Camlann.”

“The Great Purge?” Sam asked as he settled on the futon next to Arthur.

“When I was born,” Arthur said, voice soft. He kept his eyes downcast and picked at the seam of his jeans “The first time, my mother died and my father blamed magic. He committed genocide.”

“I see,” Sam said. “Sounds like your grandfather, minus the innocents getting slaughtered.”

Arthur sighed and, buried his face in his hands. “Why can’t they just pretend to get along?”

Sam snorted and patted Arthur’s shoulder.

“This is your dad and your best friend we’re talking about here. They both want the same thing, they’ve just got different ideas on how to achieve it.”

“Merlin believes in destiny,” Arthur said. “Every time he tried to defy it, the prophecies ended up coming true.”

“And your dad and I turned destiny on its head,” Sam said.

“How’d you do it?” Arthur asked.

“It wasn’t easy,” Sam said. “We lost a lot a good people.”

“But you did it,” Arthur said.

“For us, to give in would have caused more harm than defying it,” Sam said. “And we didn’t give up on each other.”

Arthur sighed. “I wish Gwen was here. She’d make sure they behaved.”

“Guinevere?”

“Yeah,” Arthur said. “She always knew what to say.”

“Arthur.” Merlin’s shout had them both looking up. His head followed through the trap door. “We’ve found something.”

Arthur jumped up, and headed out of the tree house. He met Merlin at the bottom and they both took off, not waiting for Sam to meet them. Soon they were in the kitchen, his dad standing off by the sink, something alcoholic filling his glass. Arthur felt his stomach fall to his feet. He’d never seen his dad looking so lost before. Coming up to his side, Arthur nudged him, his eyebrow raised in question.

Dean downed his drink, placing it in the sink, before turning away and heading towards the table. Arthur felt his worry increase.

“Dad?” Arthur asked just as his Uncle Sam ran in.

“Great,” Dean said, clapping his hands. “The gang’s all here.”

“What’d you guys find out?” Sam asked coming over to the table.

Merlin pushed a book forward and pointed to a passage written in faded ink.

“This describes a ritual to harness the world’s magic,” Merlin said. He cast a look at Dean, and Arthur felt his shoulders stiffen.

“What does it do?” Arthur asked. They remained silent and Arthur felt his irritation grow. “Merlin?”

“It’s possible Zachariah could use the extra power to crack Lucifer’s cage open.” Dean now had the bottle in hand and he gave a mirthless cheer. “The world’s ending again, Sammy, and the duchebags wanna use my son to do it.”

“It calls for the willing sacrifice of a child of magic,” Merlin said.

“But I wasn’t born of magic,” Arthur said. “Not this time anyway.”

Merlin shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re the Once and Future King.”

“Wouldn’t it work with someone like Merlin?” Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. “We asked Cas already.”

“I’m a creature of magic,” Merlin said. “If he used me in the ritual the power would be lost.”

“So, what do we do?”

“I vote for killing Zachariah,” Dean said, taking a drink from his bottle. He slammed it down on the table, looking each of them in the eyes. “Who’s with me?”

“I need to seal off the Crystal Cave,” Merlin said dragging more books towards him. “Make sure this can’t happen again.”

“How do you plan on doing that?” Sam asked.

“I’ll think of something,” Merlin said. “It won’t be the first time I’ve made up a spell.”

“Can my sword kill an angel?” Arthur asked.

“It’ll kill Zachariah,” Dean said. “But not an archangel.”

“Good,” Arthur said. He straightened his shoulders and looked around the room. Grim, determined looks greeted him and he could almost feel the phantom weight of his crown. “Let’s get this over with.”

They spent the next few days getting everything ready. Plans were made and discarded while Merlin and Castiel traveled around the world looking for the ingredients Merlin would need for his spell.

The day they arrived at the cave it was mid afternoon. Arthur looked around, a confused frown on his face. Trees, lush and green surrounded them, the cave itself hard to spot unless one was looking for it. Sunlight drifted down through the canopy, lighting patches of leaf covered ground.

“I remember this place,” Arthur said as a hazy memory fought its way to the surface.

“You should,” Merlin said as he began to unload his supplies. Normally he wouldn’t need anything to cast a spell, but he wanted to make sure no one could abuse the power of the cave ever again. “You got shot with an arrow over there once.” Merlin nodded towards a narrow incline, surrounded by trees and rocky walls.

“What?” Dean asked, eyes wide.

“Oh,” Merlin said. “Don’t worry. This was back when he was still a prince.” He gave Arthur a glaring look. “I saved your royal ass then too.”

“Merlin.” Arthur had his arms crossed over his chest, Excalibur hanging at his side.

“Shut up?”

“You’re finally learning,” Arthur said. “And it only took you well over a thousand years.”

“Very funny,” Merlin said.

Dean came to stand next to Arthur and placed an arm around his shoulders.

“You sure about this?” Dean asked.

“Despite what I’ve said, Merlin does know what he’s doing,” Arthur said.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” Dean replied, voice rough with worry.

“And if we don’t do this,” Arthur said. “They’ll just keep trying. We have to stop it now before it gets worse.”

“I know,” Dean said. He took a deep breath and pulled Arthur into a hard hug. “I just don’t like it.” He held on for a moment longer before letting Arthur go. “I guess I just wanted you to have the life your uncle and I never got.”

“Oh sweet,” Zachariah said, voice dripping with insincerity. “Such a touching family moment. I think I’m going to be sick.”

The next instant they were all flung away from the cave and a bright flash of light caused his Uncle Cas to be banished. Arthur hit the wall of the gully, rocks digging into his back, his breath leaving his body. He tried to get back up, but another hit forced him back to the earth. When he looked up he saw his dad, held aloft in Zachariah’s hand. His Uncle Sam lay against the opposite wall. Arthur couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

“You wait your turn,” Zachariah said, a vicious snarl curling his lips.

A quick twist sent a loud crack through the air and he watched in horror as his dad fell dead to the ground.

A second later, Zachariah filled up his line of sight, a dark specter against the bright blue of the sky. He twisted his hand, and Arthur’s insides clenched, like someone had reached inside of him and was ripping his organs apart.

“You will full fill your destiny,” Zachariah said as he bent forward. Arthur could feel his breath ghosting over his cheeks, could see the madness lighting up his eyes. “It is what is written, Your Highness, now commit.”

“No,” Arthur ground out, blood dribbling from his mouth.

Another wave of agony ripped through his body, and he closed his eyes, rearing back as he couldn’t help the cry of pain that fell from his lips.

A far away part of his mind picked up movement, but the pain was too much. It clouded his thoughts, and narrowed his world down to just pain, and the blood filling his mouth, clogging his throat.

“Leave him alone.”

A blast of magic filled the area. It was so bright Arthur had to turn his head away from the sight.

His eyes stung, and his lungs burned, but he could breathe again. Opening his eyes, he found his sword nearby. His hand curled around the hilt and he struggled to his feet.

Merlin was in a standoff with Zachariah, eyes burning gold, hands held before him. No spells fell from his lips, just endless blast of magic against angelic power.

After a few missteps, he finally made his feet, sword in hand.

A blast of power sent Merlin tumbling to the earth, blood spilling from his nose.

The sight enraged Arthur, filling him with a fury he hadn’t felt since Morgana had tried to destroy him and Gwen. His dad was dead, his Uncle Sam wasn’t moving, he had no idea what had become of his Uncle Cas, and Zachariah was trying to kill Merlin.

He didn’t know how he covered so much ground so quickly, but the next thing he knew his sword was buried in Zachariah’s body, the tip angled towards the sky.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” Arthur ground out, twisting the blade.

Zachariah’s mouth hung open, shock written on his face. Light began to bleed from his body and Arthur turned his head away, squeezing his eyes shut.

The resulting shockwave knocked Arthur back, the heat causing his skin to tingle. He hit the ground with a bone crunching force and the world went black.

Epilogue:

They stood on the shores of the lake, a fine mist falling. His hair was damp, and the cuffs of his jeans were dark with bits of grass clinging to them. Arthur shivered in the slight breeze, huddled in the old leather jacket, Merlin’s magic keeping the locals from noticing anything out of the ordinary.

To the people who lived in the village, the monument on the island was nothing more than crumbled stone, but Arthur could see the splendor of Avalon, could feel its magic singing out to him. He remembered how peaceful it had been, how he’d slept, knowing deep inside that everyone he cared about was safe.

A hand settling on his shoulder drew him from his thoughts and he turned to face Merlin, his own expression filled with grief both new and old.

“It’s time.”

Arthur nodded. “Let’s get this done.”

Merlin held his hand out, then turned to face Arthur.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” Arthur said. “We’ve only delayed them for now.”

Merlin nodded and lifted his hand once more and his eyes flashed.

“It’s done,” Merlin said. He lowered his hand. “They’ll be remembering soon.”

“How do you know that?”

Merlin gave him a look, one that showed the ages he’d lived through, the knowledge that came with being Emrys.

“You are the Once and Future King,” Merlin said. “Our destinies are intertwined with yours.”

Arthur took a deep breath, gathered his jacket around him and straightened his shoulders. He could feel Excalibur resting comfortably across his back and Merlin was a steady presence at his side. The honking of a car horn had him turning. His dad gave him a cheeky look while his Uncle Sam rolled his eyes.

“Come on, Merlin,” Arthur said. He could still feel the power Merlin had sent out, knew that his call was being answered. “We’ve got work to do.”

Comments

[silentflux]

This was so much fun :) I really enjoyed the journey, and the characterizations were great - awesome job!

[lady_yashka]

Thank you! I'm so glad you liked it. :D