elsewhere update
Title: Elsewhere
Author: Sorrel
Fandom(s): Stargate: Atlantis, Buffy: the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Pairings: Spike/Xander, Sam/McKay, Dean/Sheppard, Ronon/Teyla. Implied Sheppard/McKay and Dean/Sam.
Summary: Four demon hunters are sent to Atlantis as a backup combat team. Romantic tangles, asskicking, and leather pants ensue.
Previous Parts here.
Part V:
Ronon knew that a lot of people thought he was stupid. He figured that was their problem, and they’d find out their mistake the hard way sooner or later.
They thought he was some kind of barbarian. They saw his hair and his clothes and they sneered at him, safe inside their regulation uniforms. Trapped behind their illusions of superiority, they assumed that different meant inferior, and Ronon didn’t feel the need to disabuse them of the notion.
Teyla went about things a different way. She wore their uniform, used their weapons, learned their ways. She thought that if she acted enough like them, she would be accepted as one of them. Ronon could have told her that that never worked unless you were willing to let go of what made you different, but he didn’t bother because Teyla would never be able to do it. She was too strong, too much her own person. He loved her for it, but so many others looked down on her, like she was there to feed them information and train their soldiers and then should be put away like a child. There was nothing anyone could do to change that, but it didn’t ever stop her from trying.
Ronon didn’t even bother to try. He wore the mantle of “outsider” like a badge of honor, and he laughed to himself every time someone shrunk nervously away and looked at him like he was the inferior one. They had no clue, these little humans from Earth. They watched the twirl of his coat and sneered at his leather and didn’t understand just how much better equipped for survival he really was.
Not everyone thought that way. Sheppard had the common sense to see the unique qualities in everyone. Ronon knew that his team was the most unusual in Atlantis- no one else would have not one, but two “aliens” on the team, as well as McKay. McKay was an entirely different type of outsider, and Ronon didn’t understand him at all and never would. He didn’t have to get the man to value his uncanny ability to save them all at the last minute, every single time.
The new team, too. They were different. They had a unique status here on Atlantis. Just like he and Teyla, they weren’t really official Atlantis personnel, and they occupied some weird halfway phase all of their own. They’d been brought in as a combat unit, and every single one of them fought beautifully, but they weren’t military. They weren’t scientists, either, like the rest of the civilians on Atlantis, though the younger Winchester spent a lot of time in the labs. That had less to do with science and more to do with good old-fashioned chemistry- it was always McKay’s lab that he was wandering in and out of.
All four of them refused to wear any official uniforms. He’d heard that Weir was a little upset about it, but Sheppard, smart guy, cared more about their skills than their looks. When they were on Atlantis, they all wore pants made of a roughly woven blue fabric that they called “blue jeans,” along with a rainbow’s worth of t-shirts. Some of them had sayings on the front that sometimes made the others laugh, but he never understood what they meant. More Earth things, he knew, and didn’t bother to ask them to explain. The joke was never as funny secondhand.
When they were offworld, though, they had their own uniform. No Earth clothes here- they all wore leather trousers much like his, thick hide with more durability than flimsy cloth. The t-shirts stayed, though they were always black, and they all wore coats in the Athosian style, stitched-together hides dyed in dark mottled browns and greens to blend into the surroundings, to hide until they were ready to make their presence known with blades or bullets. Spike and Xander’s coats were long, like his, and the Winchester brothers wore theirs short, hip-length, but these differences didn’t mean a damn thing. When they were all standing together in front of the gate, waiting to go through and wreak their own brand of destruction, they were a fearsome sight. People drew away from them then, though they always seemed to forget later, when the men were laughing and joking and setting people at ease. They knew how to blend in, but Ronon never let himself forget the sight of them, dressed for battle and ready to kill, and he knew that they, too, were outsiders.
He respected them, and was fascinated by them. Not just because they were outsiders, no. Because they were hunters. He’d heard all the gossip, some of it wildly exaggerated in the way gossip always was, but every story had a common element, and he’d figured out what was true and what wasn’t. All four of them had been demon hunters, back on Earth, had lived their lives before Atlantis wandering around and killing creatures that preyed on the weak and helpless. They didn’t kill animals for sport, as Ronon understood so many hunters on Earth did- they found the ones that hunted their kind, and they hunted back.
It was a familiar story, and it made Ronon watch them, more closely than he would have otherwise. They were an odd group, no matter how you looked at it- two brothers, a seemingly gentle man who liked explosives, and a vampire.
Ronon had never seen a vampire before. They didn’t have vampires in the Pegasus Galaxy; they had the Wraith. Some of Spike’s semi-wistful stories disgusted him for that very reason- vampires were like the Wraith, feeding on humans like cattle. But Spike was different, a law unto himself, and Ronon had cautiously begun to trust him, even enjoy some small sense of comradeship with him, though he was careful never to fight him. Teyla enjoyed her battles with him, had told him once that it felt like dancing. But Ronon had learned the hard way that violence brought all the worst instincts to the surface in anyone, and he had no desire to be the one who woke up Spike’s inner Wraith.
Dean and Sam Winchester were easy to understand. They were very different men, but they were brothers to the bone, and there was nothing confusing there. Dean loved guns, booze, hanging out with Sheppard, and causing trouble with Spike. Simple.
Sam was different, just as much a thinker as a fighter, which probably explained his odd choice of McKay for a bedmate, of everyone on Atlantis. Then again, Ronon had firsthand experience with just how brave McKay could be. Maybe it wasn’t so odd, after all.
The true mystery of the four was Xander Harris. He seemed so completely normal, so gentle and harmless and fun, but he fought like an animal, teeth bared in menace, and he smelled like old blood and a storm coming in. If he met your eyes, you couldn’t quite look away.
Ronon had seen men like him on Sateda. They went out into the desert, where the mystics lived, and they came back different, not quite human, as if touched by the empty blue sky. Ronon thought that Xander Harris might be one of them, but he didn’t know how magic worked in the Milky Way. Maybe all men were like Xander, where he came from.
Maybe. But he didn’t think so.
Teyla trusted Xander. Not just to watch their backs offworld, but personally. He went with her all the time to the mainland, where he’d work in the fields and help build houses and barns like he was born to it. Teyla said that he was considered a wise and well-respected leader there, and that his counsel was as sought-after as hers.
Ronon didn’t know if he trusted Xander. You could never really depend on the sky-touched, because their souls weren’t tethered down. But then Ronon thought about Spike, and the way Xander watched the vampire when he thought no one was looking- with such desperate, hungry need, like Spike was everything he’d ever wanted. Ronon thought that maybe, Xander had found his tether. Either way, he wasn’t going anywhere.
The doors whispered open and he looked up to see Teyla there, smiling at him. “Come in,” he said, waving her over, and she came to bed and settled in next to him with a little sigh of contentment.
“What were you thinking of, just now?” she asked. “You seemed quite lost in thought.”
He glanced down at her, at her upturned, expectant face. There was nothing but curiosity in her expressive eyes and, not for the first time, he wondered whether to share his musings with her.
No, he thought. She wouldn’t understand. She was wise beyond her years and a wonderful leader to her people, but the hardships of her youth were nothing against the harsh lessons he’d learned in seven years on the run. She knew people, and she knew Xander, but she didn’t know what it was to need someone that deeply, as Xander needed Spike. As he needed her.
And she still didn’t understand that they would always be the outsiders in Atlantis.
“Nothing,” he said, drawing her close and pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s not important.”
Continued here.
Author: Sorrel
Fandom(s): Stargate: Atlantis, Buffy: the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Pairings: Spike/Xander, Sam/McKay, Dean/Sheppard, Ronon/Teyla. Implied Sheppard/McKay and Dean/Sam.
Summary: Four demon hunters are sent to Atlantis as a backup combat team. Romantic tangles, asskicking, and leather pants ensue.
Previous Parts here.
Part V:
Ronon knew that a lot of people thought he was stupid. He figured that was their problem, and they’d find out their mistake the hard way sooner or later.
They thought he was some kind of barbarian. They saw his hair and his clothes and they sneered at him, safe inside their regulation uniforms. Trapped behind their illusions of superiority, they assumed that different meant inferior, and Ronon didn’t feel the need to disabuse them of the notion.
Teyla went about things a different way. She wore their uniform, used their weapons, learned their ways. She thought that if she acted enough like them, she would be accepted as one of them. Ronon could have told her that that never worked unless you were willing to let go of what made you different, but he didn’t bother because Teyla would never be able to do it. She was too strong, too much her own person. He loved her for it, but so many others looked down on her, like she was there to feed them information and train their soldiers and then should be put away like a child. There was nothing anyone could do to change that, but it didn’t ever stop her from trying.
Ronon didn’t even bother to try. He wore the mantle of “outsider” like a badge of honor, and he laughed to himself every time someone shrunk nervously away and looked at him like he was the inferior one. They had no clue, these little humans from Earth. They watched the twirl of his coat and sneered at his leather and didn’t understand just how much better equipped for survival he really was.
Not everyone thought that way. Sheppard had the common sense to see the unique qualities in everyone. Ronon knew that his team was the most unusual in Atlantis- no one else would have not one, but two “aliens” on the team, as well as McKay. McKay was an entirely different type of outsider, and Ronon didn’t understand him at all and never would. He didn’t have to get the man to value his uncanny ability to save them all at the last minute, every single time.
The new team, too. They were different. They had a unique status here on Atlantis. Just like he and Teyla, they weren’t really official Atlantis personnel, and they occupied some weird halfway phase all of their own. They’d been brought in as a combat unit, and every single one of them fought beautifully, but they weren’t military. They weren’t scientists, either, like the rest of the civilians on Atlantis, though the younger Winchester spent a lot of time in the labs. That had less to do with science and more to do with good old-fashioned chemistry- it was always McKay’s lab that he was wandering in and out of.
All four of them refused to wear any official uniforms. He’d heard that Weir was a little upset about it, but Sheppard, smart guy, cared more about their skills than their looks. When they were on Atlantis, they all wore pants made of a roughly woven blue fabric that they called “blue jeans,” along with a rainbow’s worth of t-shirts. Some of them had sayings on the front that sometimes made the others laugh, but he never understood what they meant. More Earth things, he knew, and didn’t bother to ask them to explain. The joke was never as funny secondhand.
When they were offworld, though, they had their own uniform. No Earth clothes here- they all wore leather trousers much like his, thick hide with more durability than flimsy cloth. The t-shirts stayed, though they were always black, and they all wore coats in the Athosian style, stitched-together hides dyed in dark mottled browns and greens to blend into the surroundings, to hide until they were ready to make their presence known with blades or bullets. Spike and Xander’s coats were long, like his, and the Winchester brothers wore theirs short, hip-length, but these differences didn’t mean a damn thing. When they were all standing together in front of the gate, waiting to go through and wreak their own brand of destruction, they were a fearsome sight. People drew away from them then, though they always seemed to forget later, when the men were laughing and joking and setting people at ease. They knew how to blend in, but Ronon never let himself forget the sight of them, dressed for battle and ready to kill, and he knew that they, too, were outsiders.
He respected them, and was fascinated by them. Not just because they were outsiders, no. Because they were hunters. He’d heard all the gossip, some of it wildly exaggerated in the way gossip always was, but every story had a common element, and he’d figured out what was true and what wasn’t. All four of them had been demon hunters, back on Earth, had lived their lives before Atlantis wandering around and killing creatures that preyed on the weak and helpless. They didn’t kill animals for sport, as Ronon understood so many hunters on Earth did- they found the ones that hunted their kind, and they hunted back.
It was a familiar story, and it made Ronon watch them, more closely than he would have otherwise. They were an odd group, no matter how you looked at it- two brothers, a seemingly gentle man who liked explosives, and a vampire.
Ronon had never seen a vampire before. They didn’t have vampires in the Pegasus Galaxy; they had the Wraith. Some of Spike’s semi-wistful stories disgusted him for that very reason- vampires were like the Wraith, feeding on humans like cattle. But Spike was different, a law unto himself, and Ronon had cautiously begun to trust him, even enjoy some small sense of comradeship with him, though he was careful never to fight him. Teyla enjoyed her battles with him, had told him once that it felt like dancing. But Ronon had learned the hard way that violence brought all the worst instincts to the surface in anyone, and he had no desire to be the one who woke up Spike’s inner Wraith.
Dean and Sam Winchester were easy to understand. They were very different men, but they were brothers to the bone, and there was nothing confusing there. Dean loved guns, booze, hanging out with Sheppard, and causing trouble with Spike. Simple.
Sam was different, just as much a thinker as a fighter, which probably explained his odd choice of McKay for a bedmate, of everyone on Atlantis. Then again, Ronon had firsthand experience with just how brave McKay could be. Maybe it wasn’t so odd, after all.
The true mystery of the four was Xander Harris. He seemed so completely normal, so gentle and harmless and fun, but he fought like an animal, teeth bared in menace, and he smelled like old blood and a storm coming in. If he met your eyes, you couldn’t quite look away.
Ronon had seen men like him on Sateda. They went out into the desert, where the mystics lived, and they came back different, not quite human, as if touched by the empty blue sky. Ronon thought that Xander Harris might be one of them, but he didn’t know how magic worked in the Milky Way. Maybe all men were like Xander, where he came from.
Maybe. But he didn’t think so.
Teyla trusted Xander. Not just to watch their backs offworld, but personally. He went with her all the time to the mainland, where he’d work in the fields and help build houses and barns like he was born to it. Teyla said that he was considered a wise and well-respected leader there, and that his counsel was as sought-after as hers.
Ronon didn’t know if he trusted Xander. You could never really depend on the sky-touched, because their souls weren’t tethered down. But then Ronon thought about Spike, and the way Xander watched the vampire when he thought no one was looking- with such desperate, hungry need, like Spike was everything he’d ever wanted. Ronon thought that maybe, Xander had found his tether. Either way, he wasn’t going anywhere.
The doors whispered open and he looked up to see Teyla there, smiling at him. “Come in,” he said, waving her over, and she came to bed and settled in next to him with a little sigh of contentment.
“What were you thinking of, just now?” she asked. “You seemed quite lost in thought.”
He glanced down at her, at her upturned, expectant face. There was nothing but curiosity in her expressive eyes and, not for the first time, he wondered whether to share his musings with her.
No, he thought. She wouldn’t understand. She was wise beyond her years and a wonderful leader to her people, but the hardships of her youth were nothing against the harsh lessons he’d learned in seven years on the run. She knew people, and she knew Xander, but she didn’t know what it was to need someone that deeply, as Xander needed Spike. As he needed her.
And she still didn’t understand that they would always be the outsiders in Atlantis.
“Nothing,” he said, drawing her close and pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s not important.”
Continued here.