Chapter Four: Supernatural


One Hour Earlier…

Sam opened his eyes and found that he was definitely not in Kansas anymore.

He scrambled to his feet, "Dean?" He called, and okay, at least it seemed that he wasn't being held prisoner anywhere or something. He had been lying in the middle of an alleyway, and it was midday, but not exactly sunny. "Dean!" He yelled, stumbling toward the mouth of the alley.

What the hell.

Sam jumped back as a horse-drawn carriage rushed by him. Then came an old-fashioned car whose driver was wearing goggles and holy crap.

Sam blinked.

The street was cobble stone, the people wore Victorian-era clothing and oh God –they were speaking with British accents!

"Sam!"

He turned to find Castiel and Dean hurrying toward him from a little ways down the sidewalk.

"Dude," Sam sputtered, "I think we got, like, zapped back to England or something."

"Yeah," Dean said breathlessly, and held up an old newspaper. "London, England, and get this -1891."

Sam snatched up the paper and checked the date.

Yup. Eighteen-freakin'-ninety-one.

Jesus Christ.

"Cas, can't you take us back?" Sam asked. He wasn't very optimistic about the answer.

The angel shook his head. "No. It takes much energy on my part to simply take us back twenty years. This is over one hundred." He frowned.

"Shit, what happened? I swear, Dean, it was the angel statues, but… how?"

"Possessed statues?" Dean attempted to fathom the situation, decided it made his head hurt, and quickly gave up with a shrug. He glanced at Castiel for any suggestions.

The angel had an expression of extreme concentration.

It was pretty intense.

Dean and Sam watched him for a few minutes before Sam realized Castiel was just staring at something down the sidewalk. Specifically, a blue police box stationed on the edge of the sidewalk.

Sam sighed and grabbed Dean by the arm and dragged him down the way, "Come on, we can at least stop drawing attention to ourselves by standing in the middle of the sidewalk."

"Ow!" Dean protested, stumbling along and getting hit in the shoulder by the obstructive police box. He pulled out of Sam's grip and rolled his shoulder, making a face. "Goddammit, Sam."

"That is blasphemy," Castiel responded automatically, but not with nearly as much irritation has he'd had the first time Dean had been taking the Lord's name in vain.

"No, that thing is blasphemous," Dean said, shooting daggers at the blue box while he continued to rub his shoulder. "Also, Sam." He found a week-old parking ticket in his pocket and decided it would be a good idea to slap it onto the window of the so called 'Police Box'.

What was a police box, anyway?

Sam figured it was something like a telephone booth where maybe you called the police when you were in trouble or … no, fuck it, he had no idea.

Besides, there were more serious things to think about at the moment. For example: How the hell did they get to London, England? How could they get back? What sent them there? And while they were researching or whatever, would Dean maybe allow Sam to do a little bit of sight-seeing? They were, after all, in London, England.

Now…

Sam isn't allowed to do any sightseeing.

"We have to get back," Dean had reminded him, and Sam knows but come on! They may've traveled all over the back roads and small towns of America, but they'd never been out of the country. Heaven and Hell, but not another country!

Sam is quite certain his disappointment is reasonable, even if Dean doesn't see it that way.

At the moment, they're sitting in a café, where the waitress is shooting them dirty looks because they've been 'looking at the menu' for the past forty-five minutes, and also because they're dressed strangely and they stick out like sore thumbs. Dean is legitimately trying to pretend he can't decide what to order, while Castiel stares intently at the table, deep in thought, or perhaps just extremely enthralled by the pattern of the wood top. Sam, who has given up for the time being and has let his attention wander to the street outside, suspects the former.

There's a sudden tapping on the glass that makes Sam straighten up in his seat, startled.

Lucifer waves impishly from the other side of the glass and presses his hand up to the window. "Hi Sam," he mouths.

Sam scowls and looks away.

"Aw, come on," Lucifer is suddenly leaning over Sam, one hand resting on his shoulder.

Sam shifts, shrugging the hand away.

Dean glances up at him for a moment before looking away again.

"So, London, England?' Lucifer says, appearing in an empty seat at a table nearby.

Sam frowns.

"No way to get back… don't know how you got here… Outlook isn't looking too bright, huh, Sammy?" This earns the Devil a glare. "Hey. I'm telling it how it is."

"Dean," Sam says loudly, ignoring Lucifer, "I think we should move out. We don't have any money –useful money –so there's no point staying until they call the cops on us."

Dean nods and puts the menu down and stands up.

"I have been trying to reach out to Heaven," Castiel tells them as they exit the café. "So far, no one has answered me."

Dean looks ready to make a comment about how the angels up there are being dickwads, but is cut off my Castiel, who continues; "I suspect that this city is cut-off from Heaven's view, so even if my brothers could hear me, it would be only a faint call they would be unable to find the location of."

"That sucks." Dean huffs.

"What if we left London?" Sam asks, "Step out from under the blanket, so to speak?"

"It's worth a try," Castiel looks dubious though, "Unfortunately, we do not know how far this veil extends…"

"Hey!" Lucifer exclaims, a bit sarcastic, "Why don't you just find other people who've taken a trip back in time, too?"

Sam doesn't so much as turn his head to look at him.

Lucifer sighs heavily, "You're going the wrong way." He grumbles, "The police box is the other way,"

This time, Sam can't help but frown slightly and glance over.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," Lucifer breaks into a grin and begins to skip along beside them down the street, "Sam! And I thought you were supposed to be the smart one! Remember those terrible old cop movies you used to watch?" He's just being a smug little bastard now, "The police boxes, Sam, they were-"

"Dean, wait," Sam stops suddenly.

"Dude, what?"

"What year is it? 1891? Dude, that thing was from the 60s!"

"What thing? Sam!" Dean calls as Sam turns and rushes back down the street to where they had originally arrived.

He crosses the street and narrowly avoids getting run over by a horse-drawn carriage. Two cars honk at him as he dashes across the rest of the road.

The police box is still sitting in the middle of the sidewalk where it was earlier and Sam trips over his own stumbling feet on his way over.

"Sam!" Dean yells as he and Castiel cross the street.

Sam's sitting on his butt and Dean and Cas have just made it over when the door of the police box suddenly flies open.

"Aha," says the man standing in the doorway. He's wearing a brown suit, a bowtie, and the delighted grin that Sam can imagine Gabriel wearing in a candy shop. "You must be our lost Americans." He holds out his hand to help Sam up, "Hello, I'm the Doctor."