Faustian Hopscotch Chap 4
Title:Faustian Hopscotch
Author:Calamityjim
Fandoms:Supernatura/SGA
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Supernatural-Spoilers to season 5, SG-1, to season 9, and SGA, all seasons. Also Violence, swearing, pairings, sexual content, and aliens
Disclaimer:Stargate belongs to MGM, Supernatural to the CW
Distribution: Crossposted on fanfic.net
Summary: A routine training mission has everyone up in arms when a people Atlantis thought long gone decides to join the party. Dean, at least, is glad for the distraction from what everyone who knows wishes he didn't know. You know? Sequel to Puddle Jumping
Previous
Disclaimer- I's fan fic. 'nough said.
Faustian Hopscotch
Chapter 4
If I Had My Way
Everything was different.
Sam hadn't noticed right away, because whatever had changed was something that Ronon was immune to. That alone didn't reveal much because the word on Atlantis was that Ronon was impervious to the common cold, bullet wounds, and everything in between. Judging by the lack of angry marines and panicked scientists and sniffles, Sam figured this was an in between thing, but since Dean was still off being Dean he couldn't actually be sure.
The first inkling Sam had that things were different came when he showed up to his shift. The man who ran the sanitation department, a British fellow who was known only as Dr. Baker, was a detail oriented perfectionist that had traded his sense of humor for the ability to find fault with everything. Dr. Baker was one of those people who had managed to get through life by lecturing the parts he didn't enjoy to death, his monotone voice heavy like a mudslide as his flat brown eyes caught every guilty twitch with satisfied vindication. On days when Sam and Dean both managed to arrive early and in perfectly laundered uniforms, Dr. Baker had taken to criticizing Dean's lax grammar and Sam's slumped posture. Today, Sam was, thanks to Ronon's interference, late, out of uniform, and under-caffeinated. Just to add a cherry to the ice cream Sunday, Dean was nowhere in sight.
Sam approached to sign in, his eyes carefully glued to the floor as he prepared himself for a lecture that, for once, he deserved.
"Afternoon, Samuel," Dr. Baker greeted with something that could have almost been mistaken for enthusiasm by anyone who had never met the man.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Baker," Sam mumbled back, wincing as he realized he was only giving the man more ammunition.
He could feel Dr. Baker's eyes as they raked over him, taking in the disheveled appearance and no doubt fully aware of the time. "Where might your brother be at?" Sam slammed his hands into his pocket and shrugged, feeling like a kid called to the front of class to be reamed out by the teacher. Dr. Baker let out a knowing "Hmmm." Sam winced.
"It has been a rather trying day. The chemist department has been clumsier than usual in their haste to prepare for tomorrow's training, and xenobiology still has not been able to create a satisfactory pen for that beast the dragged back from PX4-2N2. Several of the hallways and a few of the catwalks have fallen victim to last night's impromptu revelry. There was also an altercation in the mess hall this morning when the staff ran out of muffins and resorted to serving a high-nutrient gruel to latecomers."
Sam swallowed as Dr. Baker's stare flicked back to him with a weight of its own. He tried not to let his anxiety show, but Sam knew there was no way he was going to get out of cleaning the xenobiology labs. It was the worst out of all the jobs left and had probably been saved just for the Winchesters. The labs smelled unpleasant at the best of times and the most recent addition to the specimen list was some sort of haired snake. The animal was boneless and the cartilage that served as its skeleton was one that the creature had the ability to digest in order to slip through small spaces. It had been graced with the unoriginal name of Houdini. Some of the scientists believed that nothing short of an airtight container could hold it, but none would test the theory because they didn't want to suffocate poor Houdini. Considering that Houdini marked it's territory by smearing a foul yellow bile that was produced in the stomach along border of its claimed land, Sam would have been more than happy to let the damn thing suffocate.
"Samuel, seeing as how you have arrived alone today, it would be most prudent for you handle the mess hall." Sam blinked, his gaze shooting up in shock. Dr. Baker pretended not to notice. "While you are there you might as well grab something for yourself. I do not need Dr. Weir claiming that we treat our people the same way Dr. McKay treats his."
Sam stood there staring, wondering if Atlantis was starting a production of its own reality gag show in order to keep the people entertained. Dr. Baker raised his eyebrows and it was all Sam needed. He spun and went to grab his gear, still suspicious of the situation.
"Oh, and Samuel?" Sam bit back a sigh, knowing that this had to be the sound of the other shoe falling. "When you see your brother please pass on my admiration. That was quite the right hook."
The second sign took Sam longer to notice, but in his defense it was because he was obsessing over how downright friendly Dr. Baker had been. Sam was weighing the merits of an evil twin theory against exposure to illicit drug use when a hurrying marine popped out of the transporter, slamming into Sam's cleaning cart with a tumble. Both the marine and cart spilled to the ground and the contents of the cart took it as an opportunity to make their escape, skittering this way and that. Some of the items flew with enough forced to bounce down the corridor that Sam had just turned out of. With a sigh, Sam looked at the disaster. At least this time it was an accident, he though forlornly.
"You okay?" Sam asked the marine.
The woman waved a dismissive hand, which Sam caught and helped pull the guy up. "Handled worse during basic." She gave the scene a glance. "Shit, dude. I fucked up your day, eh? I'll help you clean it up."
Sam gave the girl a wary glance. "I can handle it."
The marine grinned like Sam said something funny. "I'm sure you can, but I'm already late. At least this way I'll have a good excuse." The friendly pat on the elbow had harmed Sam's balance more than the collision with his cart.
The conformation that things had changed didn't occur until Sam had finished scraping dried gruel out of the mess's walls. He stepped to study the job and make sure he didn't miss anything spots.
"That there is a good job." Sam blinked, but forced himself to not leap away from the marine who had appeared at his side. For the first time he was glad that Dean was making himself scarce because there was no way his brother would have been able to resist pointing out just how rusty Sam was if an old man in army boots could get the jump on him.
"Uh," Sam stuttered, feeling pressured into responding, "Do you see any spots I missed?"
The salt-and-pepper haired marine beside him snorted. "Boy, this here wall is probably cleaner than it was when the Ancients made the thing." The marine clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder, his old blue eyes sparkling his amusement. "Now you need to grab yourself a bite to eat." Sam was cut off before he even had a chance to open his mouth. "I've been here all day and I know you haven't made it here once yet. Even your brother managed to swagger his way in here a few times today, and he's been dodging the doctor just as hard as Carson's been looking for him." The marine gave a crusty chuckle and began to drag Sam towards a table, all the while continuing the conversation. "Now Heinrich has been experimenting with some of the local fares, and he thinks he's come up with something good. The problem is I trust the man about as far as I can throw him, and my own taste buds are shot to hell ever since I took a whiff of mustard gas up the ol' sniffer."
He maneuvered the bewilder Winchester into a chair and Sam was even more surprised to see that a tray with a meal had already been laid out. Any temptation Sam had to turn down the meal vanished at the sight of the coffee cup filled to the brim, it's color already indicating that someone had taken the time to add cream. He grabbed the cup, taking in a long, luxurious sip and was pleased to find that whoever had prepared it had come close to getting it just how he liked it.
The marine behind him chuckled. "I think you can handle it from here, but if you run into any trouble you just give me a holler. Name's Bert."
"Thanks Bert," Sam smiled, holding the coffee close. "I'm Sam."
Bart gave Sam a funny look, as though Sam had said something strange before heading back to the kitchen. Once he was out of sight Sam took a tentative first bite of the strange stew laid before him. He then proceeded to inhale the meal. While it wasn't fine dining by any stretch of the imagination, it certainly beat the diner and fast food that he and Dean were raised on. He mopped up the sauce with some type of tangy bread and was licking his fingers when Bert made a reappearance.
The man's laugh lines deepened as Sam blushed, reaching for a napkin. "So Boy, is it edible?"
Sam gave a small smile. "It was pretty fantastic."
Bert snorted. "Don't be telling Heinrich that. The man already has an ego the size of Texas. The damn fool claims to be related to the family that invented pizza."
Sam frowned quizzically. "It could be true, couldn't it?"
Bert stared a moment before bursting into laughter. "Lord, no. Heinrich is completely Cree."
It was after Bert had finally let Sam escape the mess, shoving a bag of some sort of sliced fruit into Sam's hand before letting the kid get back to work, that Sam began to really watch. Everyone who made eye contact with him offered him some sort of greeting, usually just a nod of the head. A few people yielded their place in the transporter so he and his cleaning cart could go first. Sam was drawn into no less than four conversations about the weather, all of which led back to stories of the hurricane that had almost sunk the city. He was told who to contact about getting beer, passed the email of the city's resident matchmaker and given three names of people who would give him a proper hair cut for token favors.
By the time Sam's shift ended he was thoroughly freaked out. Finding Dean sprawled across Sam's bed like he owned the thing still wearing his boots was, for once, actually more relieving than it was irritating. Sam stood by the door, watching as his brother's chest rose and fell, trying to determine if he should bother to wake Dean up to figure out what the hell was going on, or to just go steal Dean's bed and hope the world righted itself overnight.
"Are you going to stand there all day basking in my glory?" Dean asked, his eyes still closed.
Sam frowned at his brother. "Something's wrong."
Dean lifted an eyelid. "Yeah?"
"Everyone has been being nice."
The other eyelid shot up. "And this is a bad thing because…?"
Sam scowled and stalked over to his trunk, pulling out a fresh shirt. "Because nobody is ever just nice to us."
Dean propped himself up on his elbows. "Are you saying we can't make friends?" He frowned, his tone clearly insulted by the thought that they were socially stunted.
Sam rolled his eyes as he rolled up his dirty shirt. "We make friends," he lied. "What we don't do is suddenly have an adoring fan base clamoring to play nice." Sam slipped the clean shirt on.
Dean smirked. "We commanded a lot of respect when we were in the big house."
"No," Sam turned on his brother, pointing a finger, "We made a lot of enemies."
Dean snorted. "You made enemies. I made friends." His glance turned thoughtful. "Of course, they all died off right away, but it was beautiful while it lasted." He turned a charming grin towards Sam.
"You are not taking this seriously!" Sam scrubbed a hand through his hair as he glared at his brother.
It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes. "Sam, I beat up two marines at the same time. That means everybody here now knows that, officially? We're awesome."
"Yeah," Sam approached the bed, his glare darkening. "Just what the hell was up with that? I thought we were supposed to be keeping a low profile. Play civilian. You know, blend in?"
Dean grimaced and rolled into a sitting position, his legs swinging to the side of the bed. "It was nothing, Sam."
"Oh?" Sam's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "The same nothing that has Dr. McKay paying Ronon in muffins to kick your ass?"
Dean cocked his head. "How many muffins did it cost?"
"Dean!"
"What?" Dean asked innocently. "I want to know how much my ass is worth."
"Dude." Sam shot his brother a flat look, one that screamed quit changing the subject. "What the hell is going on?"
Dean matched Sam's seriousness. "It's nothing."
"Dean," Sam sat beside his brother on the bed, frustration bleeding off him. "We're going off world tomorrow. If something is going on I need to know now."
Dean launched himself from the bed as though it were hot. "You think that, what? I'm hiding something that puts you in danger?" Dean's green eyes seemed to shift with his raging emotions. "Jesus, Sammy. You know I'd do anything to keep you safe! What the fuck, man?" Sam watched as Dean balled his fists, occasionally flexing his fingers like he needed to be squeezing the life out of something.
Sam raised his hands in a pacifying gesture, his next words a whisper. "I know, Dean. I know how you've done for me. It's just that," Sam paused, choosing his next words carefully, "you have the tendency to be in the now and sometimes miss how things can…" Sam trailed off, searching for the right phrase.
"Come back to bite us in the ass?" Dean supplied, tossing his head ruefully. "I promise you this is not one of these times."
"Okay," Sam answered dubiously. "But if you are wrong you are doing laundry for a month."
"Your lack of faith hurts me, Sammy, right here." Dean clutched at his chest, grinning at Sam's scoff. "Now, speaking of planning for the future, you and I need go on a little shopping trip."
Sam straightened at the mischief in Dean's eyes. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Dean nodded gravely, his eyes still dancing with intention. "I'm short on some of the basics. You need anything?"
Sam chuckled. "I can think of a few things."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
John continually switched between staring at his marines and staring at the gate, alternately between pleased that the first didn't shift under his gaze and pissed that the latter hadn't yet sprung to life. His people had been due to start crossing twenty minutes ago and, while there could be a hundred reasons for the tardiness, it was a bad sign for how the rest of training was going to go. It was also uncomfortably away from the protection of the forest, and the sweat from the marines was beginning to lure all sorts of creepy crawlies out into the open. John repressed a shudder. He really hated bugs.
Finally, the gate groaned to life, it's spinning gradually picking up speed as more chevrons locked in. With a gasp the event horizon exploded and the marines prepped their weapons, just in case it wasn't their people who stepped through.
Ronon emerged first, followed closely by Teyla, and John felt something small inside him ease. Several marines that John knew and trusted popped through, eyes sharp and scanning for any sense of threat. Spotting John, they eased and, Cadman being Cadman, offered him a hearty wave.
In his vest, John's radio burst to life. "Atlantis, this is Major Stackhouse. We're in the arms of the welcome wagon."
Elizabeth's fuzzy voice responded. "Glad to hear that. We're sending the rest through now."
An irate Rodney burst through the gate, muttering and cursing as he emerged from the swirling blue glow of the event horizon. John frowned as he watched his favorite scientist stalk to the waiting area, his crooked lips drawn so tight they were no more than an angry slash in his face. John sidled over, burying his concern over an easy smile.
"Rodney," he acknowledge with a nod, turning to watch as more people slid through the gate. Many thought that the grading portion of the exercise was going to start after they set up camp, or after they were sent into the field. John started it with the first footstep on alien soil.
"John," Rodney spat, also watching as people began to pop through the gate in groups of two or three.
John shifted his weight. "You do know I was expecting you all a bit earlier than this," he drawled, lifting an eyebrow meaningfully at McKay.
Rodney snorted disdainfully. "And we would have been here earlier if the screening process to get into the SGC was more complicated inserting shaped blocks into the right slots. Though, technically, this is all your fault."
John blinked, turning to stare incredulously at Rodney. "My fault? How the hell is this my fault?"
Rodney scowled at John. "You tried to kill the wrong brother!" Rodney hissed, poking John in the chest.
John felt the blood leave his face. "Did he threaten you?" The kid could get John kicked off Atlantis. Would he use that information against Rodney? "McKay," John grabbed the scientist's arm. "Did he threaten you?"
Rodney waved a hand. "Threatened to drive me insane! He decided that he required an explanation of how the Stargate works a minute before we are due to go through and then gets everyone looking at the Stargate like it's a death trap! The marines had to waste time calming everyone down and then Rifle the shorter pipes up, 'So it's basically a magic whooshy circle, right?'" Rodney's eye gave a twitch. "He reduced the greatest discovery involving wormhole transportation to 'magic whooshy circle.' Is 'whooshy' even a word?"
"Huh."
Rodney snorted. " 'Huh' also isn't a word. It's what Americans use when their language fails them."
John frowned, turning to back to watch the gate. "Canadians use 'eh' all the time."
"That's different." Rodney's tone was dismissive, as though everybody should know that it was not the same thing at all.
"How so?" John muttered, his eyes taking in a marine who had passed through the gate and promptly passed out.
" 'Huh' is rude."
"Your face is rude."
It was Rodney's turn to look shocked. "Really? That's the best response you've got?" Rodney tossed his hands toward the heavens, exasperation cutting through every gesture. "Great! That's just lovely. I'm trapped with a bunch of idiots being supervised by a five year old."
"It'll be fine, Rodney."
Speak of the devil, it was finally the Winchesters' turn to emerge from the gate. Dean materialized first, stumbling a bit as he tried to stagger out of the way, looking shaky and pale. Sam came after, stumbling through the gate and for a moment John thought he was going to be sick. A few deep breathes and both of them seemed to recover, following the directions of the marines with little trouble. Well, Dean with less trouble than Sam, who seemed to be struggling with the weight of his pack. John and Rodney watched as a few marines circled the pair, offering claps on the back. Dean's laughter cut through the clearing.
Rodney's voice was oddly calm, his hands strangely still. "No, John, it won't."
x-x-x-x-x-x
Emerald light filtered down the trees, bathing the forest in a soft, ethereal glow. A dew-kissed breeze snuck out through the leaves, its fingers rustling them as it slid by like a distracted child. Wild mushrooms shyly poked their heads from little mounds of moss while curious wild flowers twisted around the trees. Somewhere nearby a river mindlessly babbled, its voice fading into the soothing chaos of the forest.
And in the arms of the trees, Teyla took aim. A soft pop indicated the discharging of her weapon. The pellet moved slow enough that Teyla could watch it as it sailed through the air, curving at the last moment and splattering against a tree. The man had begun to react at the sound of her shot, but he hadn't located her. He scrambled for cover. Before he found it Teyla had pulled the trigger three more times, peppering the man in hues of blue and purple.
With a sigh the trainee raised his gun, stuffing a barrel plug into the tip and holding it above his head, indicating to those who couldn't see the color across his uniform that he was out of the game. He laid down on the forest floor and had glared heartily as Teyla stripped his gun for extra ammo, but had offered no more protest than that.
Teyla appreciated the fair play. The last time she had participated in this exercise one of the marines had dumped his spare ammo across the forest floor, both preventing Teyla from scavenging it and giving away her position. John had made the man spend the night searching for loose paintballs for the violation.
John was a puzzle, and despite having known him for a year, he was one that Teyla had yet to solve. John was a man who told jokes, albeit bad ones mostly at Rodney's expense, but jokes nonetheless, under heavy fire when the enemy seemed sure to prevail, but he treated training exercises with the utmost seriousness that he could manage. This exercise in particular was given all of John's attention, despite the simplicity of it.
Teyla and Ronon were given paintball guns, radios, and a device Rodney called a thumbstick, despite the fact it was neither made of wood nor shaped like a thumb. They were given a ten minute head start into the forest. The Lantians were divided into teams of ten and then released into the forest to pursue Teyla and Ronon, ten minutes after the previous. Lantians were killed by a single shot while Teyla and Ronon had to take three to be considered dead. John had reasoned it was because the Wraith were at least three times as hard to kill as a person, so three shots were needed.
The game ended when either all of the teams were defeated or when the thumbsticks were acquired by the Lantians. So far, Teyla and Ronon had always won. When Teyla had pointed this out to John, with her concern of the effectiveness of the exercise, John had smirked.
"On Earth, the biggest, baddest, and most deadly of all the animals out there is a marine with a gun, and they all know it. Here? It's you with sticks. And they need to know it." She had not argued with him, had not pointed out that her sticks had never destroyed a Wraith Ship, because in his eyes she could see the reflection of the first night he had encountered the Wraith. She could remember the marines being slaughtered like sheep as they scrambled in terror in from an enemy they did not understand. As a leader she could appreciate John's need to ensure that such events were never repeated.
So she cut through the forest as though she truly were being pursued by enemies, ghosting through the trees with no more than a whisper to indicate her passing. She shot John's people almost lazily, noting who had tried to work in teams, who had split up, and who had panicked.
Then someone finally fired first.
He caught her in the shoulder and her surprise washed away the sharp sting. Teyla dove for cover, rolling and twisting herself so she was deep under a log and safe from the enemy fire that splattered gently like raindrops against the wood. She took in a deep breath, cursing the safety mask John forced everyone wear as the echo of her own breath distorted the sounds of the forest around her, making it hard to discern his location. So Teyla waited.
It didn't take long before the soft rustle of stirring leaves whispered from her left. The sound was careful, hesitant, and revealed that whoever had shot Teyla was experienced with stealth but not with forests. The sharp snap of twig was like an explosion that heralded silence, the man obviously checking to see how much damage the sound had done.
It was enough.
Teyla rolled, firing as the world twisted upside down and back again. She felt the bite of a paintball across her stomach, but the enemy fire ceased.
"Damn! I'm out! I'm out!" called the shooter.
Teyla continued to roll, transferring the dynamic motion into a twist and rising to her feet in a roll that was deceptively graceful. A few small steps took her to the cover of a tree, and she pushed her bank against the trunk like a long time lover. A small lean was all that was required to see her opponent. Teyla looked first for the telltale paint splatters that revealed him as out, ensuring that she wasn't about to walk into a crude trap. Three bursts of purple across his chest set her at ease as he plopped cross-legged onto the ground and began fiddling with his gear.
As she slid like a shadow out of her cover she was surprised at which familiar face emerged from under the safety equipment.
"Samuel Winchester?"
The boy looked up, wrinkling his nose. "God no. It's Sam." His grin was light and charming and his eyes recognized her from his time spent with John in the infirmary. "I suppose you are going to want my ammo before you go?" he asked ruefully.
Teyla let herself give him a small smile. "You are quite perceptive." Sam's grin grew wry. He eased the canister off of his gun, elastics holding the lid shut as he turned the container upside-down and held it out for Teyla.
She had only seconds between her instincts to flaring in warning and the third impact across her back. She would had several hours to berate herself for missing out on one vital clue.
Where there was Sam, there was Dean.
They must have been waiting for her, or perhaps Ronon. It was the only explanation for how someone so prone to making noise could have been quiet. Dean's every move as he untangled himself from the tree branches where he had been hiding were like thunder.
If thunder swore.
"Hey," he smirked at Teyla as he finally hit the ground with the sound of a stampede. "I believe you owe me a present." He reached his hand out like an eager child. Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's antics but his expectation still hung in the air. The trap they had established had been effective and unexpected from the pair. In a show of defeat Teyla reached to the cord around her neck.
Dean convulsed in a shimmer of red, folding to the ground like a paper doll. Ronon stepped out of the shadows of the forest, holding his own gun pointed and primed. He glared meaningfully at Sam before thrusting the gun into the holster and fading back into the forest like a phantom.
Teyla glanced down at the fallen Winchester before looking to the other one with questions in her eyes. Sam looked down at his brother, a picture of exasperation. His half-hearted shrug was half an explanation. The rest was a casual, "my brother's an idiot."
Teyla decided that this? Was John's problem.
X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_
Confusion Clear Up
Dean and Sam stint in jail: Supernatural Episode Folsom Prison Blues Season 3.
AN- Sorry for the wait and sorry that this was still a bit of exposition. Shit should get real in the next chapter. I also offer no promises on when it will be released. For those of you who don't stalk me on LJ, I've been diagnosed as being bipolar level II. What this means for you is that I have very little means to cope with stress factors in my life while my medications get sorted out, which can take months. So I can only seem to write in spurts. The estimated time of completion on this story has increased, but only that. I will get this story done. I still know where I want it to go and how I'm going to get there. It's just actually being in a state where I can type that all out is rarer that I would like.
Thank you for your patience.
Also- since I believe education is the key to a better world, if anyone has any questions about bipolar disorder, fell free to ask.
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