Supply and Demand: Stolen Part 9/10 (SPN/SGA AU Crossover)
Supply and Demand: Stolen Part 9/10 (SPN/SGA AU Crossover)
Author: Tari_Roo
Rating: PG13 (Gen)
Fandom: SPN/SGA
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing. Although if I had my way Sheppard and co would still on screen, Mitchell would have joined Atlantis and Dean and Sam would be shirtless more often.
Summary: SGA/SPN Crossover AU. When an impossibly locked door is keeping the Trust from treasures unknown, they arrange to steal an Empath so that their Kinetics can ‘crack the safe’. Unfortunately for Dean, he’s the unlucky Empath and the safe is in Pegasus.
Spoilers: set post Season 5 of SGA and assumes Atlantis returned to Pegasus, post ep 100 and AU for SPN (all seasons)
Chapter 9
-.-. .- -. / .. / ... - .- -.-- ..--..
When Teyla awoke, she was in the Infirmary and it took her awhile to recall the events leading up to this most recent visit. There had been a man behind a tree who had stepped out and opened fire and then... nothing.
Now though, the infirmary was bustling with activity and Jennifer ran past her, paused and said, “Oh, good, you’re awake. Be right with you.”
Presumably the mission to retrieve the escapees had been a success but such an assumption was dangerous, so Teyla lay quietly and watched her friends and colleagues. It seemed that there were very few injuries to Atlantis personnel but there were several strangers with hovering Marine guards in need of medical attention. Her radio was gone, but the general mood was upbeat, bar the sour expressions of the Trust people.
The bald man from Catastrophe, Augusto was laying in repose on a gurney, arms and feet restrained. Sheppard was nowhere to be seen, but he no doubt had much to do with this incursion and breach of security. McKay was bustling around, getting in the way, trailing Keller nagging her for something. Ronon was slouched against a wall, keeping Dean company.
Winchester looked odd in the heavy assault apparel. At one moment he seemed calm and competent, a perfect fit into military life. And in the next, he looked small and frail, lost. He was kicking his feet like an errant child in trouble, but he seemed calm enough even with the distance between them.
Teyla slowly, carefully got up, woozy from the after effects of the stunner and made her way over to Ronon and Dean. Ronon spotted her, and smiled and when Dean did so as well, his smile was blinding.
“You’re ok.”
Teyla cautiously clambered up onto the gurney with him, pressing her shoulder into his. “Yes. You?”
He shrugged, going for the same ‘don’t worry about me’ Sheppard tried so often. “No worse than before.”
“You had a snake in your head.”
Teyla stared at Ronon and then Dean, who looked bashful. “There was a Goua’ld?”
“Two,” Ronon growled. Ah, Sheppard would no doubt be very busy and very stressed. As would Woolsey.
“So you are here to be checked out?” Teyla prodded Dean again and he nodded. “Yeah, make sure it didn’t scramble my brains any more than they are already.”
Teyla studied Dean with deep intent and he blushed a little. “You are taking all of ‘this’ very well.” She incorporated the whole of Atlantis, aliens, space ships and spies in the ‘this’. Dean looked down at his feet and paused before replying, not really meeting her gaze. “In all honesty, still not the weirdest day in my life. It’s up there on the weirdo meter, but not the top slot.”
Sharing a look with Ronon was that pure interest, Teyla smiled, “I am curious as to what would be ‘weirder’ than today for you.”
Dean just smiled. And Carson came over and the moment was lost. Teyla though made a careful note to question him again. Soon.
Carson was all business, looking a little stressed but his personable manner did not diminish at all. “Well, lad. You’ve been here all of two days and already visited the Infirmary twice. Not the best start, I fear.”
Dean shrugged and Ronon interjected, “He had a snake in his head.”
Winchester rolled his eyes and Teyla smiled, while Carson nodded, “Aye, I know. Right then, Dean, off to the scanner with you. Let’s check out that noggin of yours.”
Dean clambered off the gurney and followed Carson who was still chatting away animatedly and Ronon took his place on the gurney. Teyla stretched and arched her back, mindful of the tension from the stun and said quietly, “He is a peculiar person.”
“Interesting though.”
To this Teyla nodded and smiled at Ronon, “Yes, but perhaps you should not be dragging him into firefights on his first day, Ronon.”
Ronon, who was so often quiet and non communicative, even now, shrugged again but said as quietly, “Sometimes you just need to shoot something. Or punch someone.”
“Or both?” Teyla smiled and Ronon nodded.
“Or both.”
s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*
“How is your head?”
Dean looked up from the bed under the scanner and murmured, “Fine.”
Carson didn’t turn around from the scanner reader but huffed loudly, “And by fine you mean killing you. That Goua’ld did quite the number on your nervous system.”
The sigh from the general direction of the scanner had Beckett turning around and ambling over to his patient. “Its handy this scanner, cuts through all the crap ‘I’m fines’. But there doesn’t appear to be anything permanent, you will just have to take things easy.”
Dean sat up slowly, plucking at the soft t-shirt, grimacing at the stickiness and grime. “So I can go?”
“You have an urgent meeting or something? Sit awhile...”
The mixed feelings of concern and worry were muted but still there and Beckett smiled gently, “Just a wee chat, Dean. Nothing serious.”
There was no response but Winchester stayed put and let Beckett help him with the shirt, exposing the bandages around his ribs, the purpling and yellowing bruises. Carson gently continued his examination, refusing to let any reaction show to the sharp pins and needles sensation touching Dean gave you. It wasn’t as severe as before, so either he was on the mend, or his empathic barriers were improving, or both.
Satisfied, Carson leant against the bed, and sighed, “I have some ... unpleasant news, Dean.”
“Yeah?”
“Alfred Taylor passed away this morning.”
The surge of anger and grief was intense, enough so that Carson gasped at the rush and then Dean was off the bed, backing away. “Shit!”
Carson stayed where he was, going for calm, trying to regain his own emotions, whilst Dean struggled with his. The initial surge was tapering off, buried under a film of determined indifference. The guy’s hands were shaking, and trembling, and he very pointedly was not looking at Carson.
“Hughes?”
Going for even calmer, less certain of Dean’s reaction, Carson replied, “Still in a coma. But he does not appear to be as ... severely injured.”
Dean was statue still, eyes gazing out of the window, arms wrapped around his chest, willing himself to be still no doubt. Carson let the silence stretch, the bustle of the infirmary outside white noise to the isolation and privacy of the scanner room.
Eventually, Winchester sighed, “Guess I killed him afterall.”
“You were hoping you hadn’t?”
Dean’s entire frame shook with the chuff of derisive laughter, “No. I was hoping I had, mostly but at the same time terrified I had as well.” Carson sat up onto the bed, lowering his head a little due to the scanner and asked, “Because of what it meant?”
Nodding, Dean replied, “Yeah. That I could do that. And what T&E would do when they found out.” Beckett didn’t really have an answer for that, especially not for the worry and fear one could have of the real darkness and danger that lay within. “Did you intend to kill him?”
It took Dean several deep breathes before he shrugged, “Maybe. No.”
“From what I know and saw, you were hardly in a position to argue or defend yourself. They had abducted you,” Carson stated firmly, settling into the bed, wincing at the stiffness of the mattress. At this Dean snorted, still not looking at Carson, and muttered, “No real difference to a normal day, actually.”
With the lights dimmed for the scan still, the space between them seemed distant and deep, a gulf of ‘you have no idea, man’. Wondering if he should say anything at all and then deciding that maybe Dean needed to hear it, Carson sighed and said, “I know what it’s like to be in an untenable situation, to have no control or say over anything. To be waiting for rescue, and nothing coming.”
At that, Dean whirled around, anger sparking and he growled, “You know shit, Doc!”
Matching ire with understanding, Beckett shook his head, “On the contrary lad, I know an awful lot. I even know what it’s like to be looked at with consideration and weight, people wondering about just how genuine you are. I am the clone of the very real, very dead Carson Beckett.”
Another conversation, another subject matter and Dean’s expression would have been comical, “Say what?”
“Aye lad, say what. True science fiction stuff this,” Carson smiled gently. Shaking his head, Dean snapped, “How? And why?”
“Long story involving people best forgotten but dinna change the fact that I’m not the person folks around here remember but I’m still me, the person they forgot about. So I think I kinda get what you might be feeling, just a bit.”
Dropping his arms, relaxing infinitesimally, Dean pursed his lips and sighed, “They found you didn’t they?”
Nodding, Carson replied, “Aye and we found you.”
Still distant, still isolated, Dean waved a hand at Carson, and said, “But you weren’t the cavalry I was hoping for.”
“And I didn’t expect to be the one everyone thought was dead. Take what you can get, lad. Might be the only luck you get.”
Dean seemed to be ruminating on that, eyes again anywhere but Carson, and Beckett chipped in again, “You play the cards you get dealt, Dean. There’s no use wondering and wishing for a better hand, all you can do is move forward.”
The look Dean sent his way was all non-verbal ‘move where?’ and Beckett shrugged, “There’s no use crying into your tea, wishing life was fair. I wish I remembered the two years the real Carson experienced on Atlantis and not the two years of hell I did have. I wish people wouldn’t look at me and think ‘You’re not him, not the real one.’ If wishes where horses, right?”
Dean snorted and drawled, “You got anymore useless clichés you want to drag out, Doc?”
Carson smiled, “No use crying over spilt milk? Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth?”
The small smile disappeared from Dean’s face and he shook his head, “I get what you’re saying Doc, I do. But it doesn’t change the fact that I killed Taylor. That the one guy who was supposed to come and find me and ... and save me, didn’t. And that ... I’m relying on the kindness of strangers here and that’s never worked out for me.”
For this though, Carson had a response and he stood and walked over to Dean and put a firm hand on his shoulder, never mind the prick of reciprocal pain, “You won’t find better strangers, lad. Give us a chance, ok?”
Outside in the Infirmary, McKay’s raucous laughter could be heard, Jennifer trying to get him to be quieter. Carson figured Dean could also see Ronon and Teyla, as they were at the right angle if they were where they had left them. Dean shrugged away from Carson’s hand and smirked, “Maybe.”
s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*
Woolsey rubbed his aching temples with deep determination to rid himself of the blinding headache. Years of taking depositions and cross examining witnesses had left him with a keen affinity for deception, interrogation techniques and seeking for the truth. However practiced and skilled the opponent, Woolsey prided himself on being able to ferret out the truth eventually.
Right now though, he had a headache. The Trust operatives currently languishing in his holdings cells were skilled liars, disgruntled with life and society and yet still determined to serve their country and planet to the best of their underhanded ability. They were a confusing mix. For some it was loyalty that kept them silent and others it was pure belligerence for the ‘Man’ who had deprived them of the legitimacy they sought. Either way it would take far longer than he had time to garner any information that wasn’t insults and governmental conspiracy theories.
Miles Augusto and the Goua’ld were sedated and restrained and Woolsey had every intention of leaving their interrogation to the Tok’ra back in the Milky Way. Whatever the history, and however much the SGC may have broken the back of the Goua’ld’s hold on the Milk Way, those bright white eyes still freaked him out and if he didn’t have to deal with it, them, all the better. And they had at least one other team of Trust operatives loose in Pegasus. It was going to be a busy few weeks.
There was one other ‘person’ he had to deal with though. Someone who was late.
The knock on his door was Murphy’s Law at its weakest and most trite. And door wasn’t the right word either. Elizabeth’s office, as most people still referred to it even Woolsey at times, did not have a door. It had glass. Fortunately for Dean Winchester, a tap on the glass is as effective as a knock on wood and hopefully as lucky.
“Come in, please, Mr Winchester.”
Dean Winchester nodded and stepped into the general space of the office and Woolsey wished for a moment, yet again, that he did actually have a door as some conversations were best kept private. But it was also late, most the staff at dinner, the early late shift just starting.
“Have a seat.”
Dean Winchester had a seat.
Richard hesitated, wondering if he should take the seat next to Winchester or the one behind the desk. The man wasn’t an employee, nor a criminal, more a guest and guests... well. Woolsey sat in the chair next to Winchester and hmmmed softly.
“Dr. Beckett has confirmed that you are mending well, with no adverse effects from the attempted Goua’ld possession.”
A small brief smirk crossed Winchester’s face, perhaps at the reference to his ‘smack down’ as it was colloquially being referred to. It also appeared that Carson’s report on Winchester getting his abilities under control was correct as well as Woolsey wasn’t feeling any emotional dissonance from the Empath.
In fact, the man looked positively cool, calm and collected to use the cliché, hardly bothered at all by the prospects of his immediate future. Perhaps the years of T&E control had undermined his free will. Disagreeing with that thought almost immediately, Woolsey leant back, steepled his fingers and said calmly, “You must be wondering about what happens next for you.”
Dean Winchester nodded.
Richard paused for dramatic effect, those long ago court room days still fresh in his memory at times. “While you have not been officially briefed on the Stargate Programme, you can understand the inherent need for secrecy, yes?
“Sure, riots in the streets, panic at the disco.”
Richard nodded, sharing a small smile with Winchester, careful to keep his own emotions level. It wasn’t difficult to see the nerves, the tension in the muscles, the barest of flinches in his hands, the impulse to cross his arms. The man was nervous and that allowed Richard to feel more at ease. “Yet, I am sure there is a part of you that thinks maybe people should know, that they have a right to.”
And Dean’s answer surprised Woolsey. “Nah, sometimes it’s better when people don’t know the big dark scary secrets, the just how close they came to being alien slaves things. I get it.”
Wondering if there was an inherent desire or need to fit in, be ‘one’ with the unit, Woolsey mused, “Whatever our personal feelings though, the secrecy of the SGC and its programmes is of paramount importance.”
Another pause for dramatic effect. Woolsey was slightly gratified to see that Winchester was even more nervous but it was hardly fair to draw this conversation out even further. “I cannot allow you to return to Earth, Mr Winchester.”
The charge of mixed relief and regret was immediate and Woolsey gave himself a small pat on the back. He’d been right then on the suspicion of desperate control, on walls not really entirely there. Winchester was trying and good news was enough to let him slip. Richard continued, “The majority of the Trust operatives will be returned to the Milky Way but to our Beta site for further interrogation. However, it has been decided that sending you back would be too much of a security risk.”
“T&E?”
“Yes, invariably they would have questions on your whereabouts, the whereabouts of the kidnappers and their own secrecy and privacy laws are ... robust. We don’t need anyone else poking around Cheyenne Mountain and whatever back story we created could be destroyed the first time a Kinetic tried to connect with you.”
Dean just smiled, unashamedly pleased.
“The IOA and SGC Command all agree that you will remain on Atlantis for now. What the long term future holds... is undetermined. Your assistance though in finding and tracking the other Trust team may be in needed though.”
“Sure.”
Woolsey picked up a small, thin manila folder and opened it and as Winchester saw the mug shot and file, the temperature in the room dropped to panic and fear. Briefly. Regaining control, Winchester shifted in his seat.
Richard though did not look up, allowing a modicum of privacy. “As a former lawyer, I can see no legal way around your seven year sentence for failing to register as an Empath.”
The studded silence reeked of restrained nervousness.
Taking a deep breath, letting some of his own emotions through, Woolsey sighed, “However, had I been so inclined to pursue criminal law and had been a District Attorney, the array of charges held here as aggravating are ...spurious at best.”
“Huh?”
Looking up and smiling, Woolsey said, “They’d have been thrown out of court as they stand. Agent Hendricksen would have had the devil of a time proving any of these charges with any degree of certainty.”
Slight bemusement greeted Woolsey’s statement and Dean said, “I don’t want to poke a bear you’re not worried about, but seriously?”
Woolsey nodded, and continued to smile, lips thin and teeth bright, “It perhaps helps your case that two Federal Agents have insisted on letters of recommendation as it were, being placed on this file. Your file.”
Slight bemusement had devolved into genuine confusion and Woolsey happily continued, “An Agent A. Hotchner, of the BAU, maintains in his letter here that the criminal profile created on you was ill conceived and poorly constructed and shoe-horned to fit bizarre crimes. His letter and notes are extensive, Mr Winchester.”
“Hotch? Really?” The surprise was heartfelt and Winchester looked stunned as much as he radiated pleased.
“Also, an Agent Jethro Gibbs has a rather long letter in your file that is less clinical than Agent Hotchner’s but equally persuasive in his vouching for your instincts, professionalism and potential. He also says that the FBI’s case has, and I quote, ‘more holes than a fishnet stocking.’”
Dean didn’t say anything, he was slumped in the chair, blinking, a relieved smile on his face. “Mr Winchester, while these letters ease my mind, they were not the deciding factor. And while Earth no doubt holds much appeal to you, I feel fairly confident in saying that should you wish to remain here for the duration of your sentence, the justified one, we - I - would not be adverse.”
“You barely know me, Mr Woolsey.” Winchester was still slouched and lax but his face was serious, tone firm and Richard nodded. “Yes, true. But ... I find that Pegasus brings out the ... surprisingly accurate in people and well... what we have seen so far, we like. For now you have no choice in remaining, and could consider yourself a prisoner, but in effect, we are happy to have you.”
The huff of laughter was laced with disbelief, “You guys are like the weirdest club ever. Come on over, there’s death, danger and space vampires... why wouldn’t you want to stay?”
Woolsey laughed in reply, “Exactly. Why wouldn’t you?”
Dean leant forward, hand outstretched, “I’d say are you serious, but I know you are.”
Woolsey was pleased to realise his headache was gone as he shook the calloused hand of Dean Winchester, newest long term guest and oddity on Atlantis.
s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*
Leaving Woolsey’s office, Dean made a beeline for a quiet, isolated, spot. It was fairly easy to find one when you needed to and could sense the stream of emotion and just pick the least emotional area.
The ideal corridor turned out to be one in the general direction of the infirmary, and a small alcove in the outer wall, looking out across the ocean was ideal. Elbows on knees, chin propped up on his hands, Dean looked out at the endless ocean and considered the past two days. Between sleeping for hours on end in the Infirmary, Ronon andTeyla’s detailed and thorough tour of Atlantis, with copious stops for food, his taking it easy had been fairly entertaining. With the Bosses, Sheppard and Co all busy with the Trust people and plans and whatever else went on in Atlantis, Dean had lost himself in the blur of sleep, food and new friends.
Mostly he’d also been avoiding thinking about Taylor and the sensation of his thoughts and sound of his screams, of the life he’d snuffed out. And the soft hiss of the respirator keeping Hughes alive. The question mark around the date of his return to earth had also been enough of a motivation to ignore it all, and live in the moment. Asking to stay had seemed too much like asking for trouble, reminding the Powers That Be that he did not belong.
And any thought process around staying and wanting to stay and really kinda liking it on Atlantis had been soured by the very real worry about Sam. Where was he? Was he ok?
The need to know if Sam was ok, was strong. But so was his anger at being ‘ignored’ and left to the mercies of T&E and Agent Andrews. Dean didn’t know if he wanted to find Sam and punch him, or just know that he was ok. What Dean was certain of though, was that had it been Sam in T&E custody, he would have checked, and broken Sam out if necessary. Hell, even if it hadn’t been.
But now, Woolsey’s implied invitation and the enforced billion light years of distance weighed on him. Going home, going to Earth wasn’t an option, yet. And maybe Carson was right, maybe he should take what he had and make the best of it. And even if at the time, he’d failed to persuade Hotch and Gibbs to do anything more than complain, both Agents had done what they could. The letters had been a nice surprise though.
Wherever Sam was, Dean hoped he was ok, but there was nothing he could do about it right now.
“There you are.”
Dean looked up at Ronon who closed the distance fast and the big guy growled, “We’re going to be late.”
“Huh?” Looking around, realising night had fallen, and feeling a little out of it, Dean let Ronon grab his arm and haul him away. “Sheppard’s saving us a seat.”
“For what?”
Ronon just grinned and frog marched him off. Going with the flow, because ‘what the hell’ he was here for now, Dean followed Ronon through the press of people heading towards the mess hall. A large screen had been set up, and the lights were dimmed and as Ronon dragged him over to Sheppard, Dean figured it was probably movie night or something.
Turned out he was right.
And the reason Ronon was so keen to get there early was the hot cinnamon rolls and buttered popcorn. They were screening back to back Die Hard I and III. The mess hall had been turned into a drive in come theatre and Sheppard’s seat saving skills sucked. Sheppard was sprawled across several seats and seemed disinclined to move, so Dean ended up on the floor, leaning against a couch that had been dragged in from the rec room.
Ronon had made his own space, moving everyone around him by sheer presence. McKay was tapping away on a laptop, ear phones in and Teyla was going to join them later, once Torren was down.
It felt utterly surreal, sitting in a crowded room on an ancient alien city, on a planet in another galaxy, watching Bruce Willis curl his toes in the long pile carpet. Munching steadily through his second roll, Dean let it all wash over him, his own emotions and everyone elses and just let it be.
Sam would have to keep, for now.
Feeling a spike of interest, Dean turned slightly and caught the considering gaze of a blonde woman behind him. She was dressed in BDUs and was surrounded by a few other women, but her attention was on him and not the movie. Dean winked, and shifted, making space next to him.
Her smile was pretty damn inviting in return.
s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*
Everything friggin hurt, everything. From the back of his teeth to the soles of his feet. Drenched in sweat and shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, Dean pulled futilely on the restraints in the prep chair less out of habit and more out of desperate need to just get away, away from the pain.
Andrew’s presence on the edge of his awareness as a thorn and a knife, scratching away, itching and digging endlessly. The Tech, someone new this time, less inclined towards sympathy finally gave the nod, made the last note on his incredibly thick file.
But the Tech didn’t remove the electrodes, didn’t take the rubber mouthguard out, didn’t turn off the machines, and Dean yanked at the restraints, rocking the chair a little, but not enough. No, no, no, they were going to do more, they weren’t done and as tired and wrung out as he was, the surge of adrenaline, the spike of nauseating fear was huge, enough that the Tech stepped back, and Andrews stepped forward.
That damn smile was in place, the one that Dean dreamed about slicing off his face over and over again. Cool, clammy hands on his already chilled and sweaty skin and Dean tried to find the ‘buzz’ to shock Andrews, enough juice to send him into a wall, but there was nothing there yet, everything still all over the place, picking up emotions and vibes from half a dozen people.
Andrews’s steady stream of satisfaction and sick pleasure momentarily overwhelmed him, and Dean gagged against the rubber mouth guard, bit down hard and tried to block it out, tried to fend off the sea of emotions.
“Steady as she goes, Dean. Deep breathes.”
Vision still blurry, sweat and tears still coating eyelashes and making everything look like it was underwater, let alone the screaming headache tearing through his brain, but Dean managed to send as much hate and fury at Andrews as he could. But being blown wide open, it was uncoordinated, and fairly general, but Andrews flinched nonetheless.
“Getting to pack quite the punch it seems,” Andrews smirked, his hands still resting gently, but oh so possessively on Dean’s arm. Dean tried to shake him off, but between the restraint on his wrist and Andrew’s overly firm grip, there was no budging him.
At Andrews’ nod, the Tech loosened the straps on Dean’s neck and forehead, and then pulled out the mouthguard. Opening his mouth, feeling the pull of dried, cracked skin on his lips, Dean felt the sharp crack and taste of blood as his lips started to bleed again.
And he didn’t even need to look over at Andrews to know exactly what he was about to say. The Tech was dismissed with another nod, and once they were alone, Andrews’ smile moved from slimy, to chilling.
“This could all be over, you know that, right? I haven’t fried that brain too hard and long, yet.”
“Hey!”
A soft, warm hand was tapping his face and Dean blinked away the dream, opening blurry eyes to warm sunlight, and the smell of salty air. The solid presence of a body next to him, touching, near, was reassuring and Dean turned into the warmth.
“Hey, you with me?”
Nodding, chasing the images away, locking them away, Dean mumbled, “Yeah.”
Anne Teldy smiled at him in return and leant in for a kiss. Pulling away she said, “As awesome as last night was, I really don’t want to feel whatever nightmare that was. So... snap out of it.”
“Sorry,” Dean mumbled and he shifted, pulling her close, liking the emotions rolling off her. Teldy rolled her eyes but ran her hand over his chest, his finger skirting his ribs and stomach. “You ok?”
“Never better,” Dean smiled and Teldy laughed. “Well, I hate to break up the party, but I’m on duty in fifteen minutes so...”
“So?”
Twisting away, gently, Anne rolled up and out of bed, and began pulling on her underwear. “And I’m hoping this isn’t going to get awkward, Winchester.”
Leaning back, relishing the lingering warmth in the sheets, Dean shook his head, a small smile on his lips, “Nah. One time thing... I know.”
Grabbing her towel, Teldy shook her head, “Oh, no. I.... Look, the casual sexual encounters list is kinda short on Atlantis, especially for the handful of female officers. Its nerds or subordinates really and ... that doesn’t end well.”
Dean chuckled, turning on to his side, fingering the stubble on his chin. “You mean my odds of success are pretty high?”
Laughing too, Anne threw a condom at him, “Winchester, you better stock up. You’re the light in the tunnel for a few of us and frankly, most of us just want the sex.”
“In that case I feel cheap and used.”
“Whatever! Now get up and out, I am going to be late.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As Anne hurried into the bathroom and the shower turned on, Dean hunted for his briefs, a stupid smile on his face. Nightmare and worries about Sam aside, Dean had a sneaky suspicion he was going to enjoy his stay on Atlantis.
A lot.
s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n
to be concluded in chapter 10
Author: Tari_Roo
Rating: PG13 (Gen)
Fandom: SPN/SGA
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing. Although if I had my way Sheppard and co would still on screen, Mitchell would have joined Atlantis and Dean and Sam would be shirtless more often.
Summary: SGA/SPN Crossover AU. When an impossibly locked door is keeping the Trust from treasures unknown, they arrange to steal an Empath so that their Kinetics can ‘crack the safe’. Unfortunately for Dean, he’s the unlucky Empath and the safe is in Pegasus.
Spoilers: set post Season 5 of SGA and assumes Atlantis returned to Pegasus, post ep 100 and AU for SPN (all seasons)
Chapter 9
-.-. .- -. / .. / ... - .- -.-- ..--..
When Teyla awoke, she was in the Infirmary and it took her awhile to recall the events leading up to this most recent visit. There had been a man behind a tree who had stepped out and opened fire and then... nothing.
Now though, the infirmary was bustling with activity and Jennifer ran past her, paused and said, “Oh, good, you’re awake. Be right with you.”
Presumably the mission to retrieve the escapees had been a success but such an assumption was dangerous, so Teyla lay quietly and watched her friends and colleagues. It seemed that there were very few injuries to Atlantis personnel but there were several strangers with hovering Marine guards in need of medical attention. Her radio was gone, but the general mood was upbeat, bar the sour expressions of the Trust people.
The bald man from Catastrophe, Augusto was laying in repose on a gurney, arms and feet restrained. Sheppard was nowhere to be seen, but he no doubt had much to do with this incursion and breach of security. McKay was bustling around, getting in the way, trailing Keller nagging her for something. Ronon was slouched against a wall, keeping Dean company.
Winchester looked odd in the heavy assault apparel. At one moment he seemed calm and competent, a perfect fit into military life. And in the next, he looked small and frail, lost. He was kicking his feet like an errant child in trouble, but he seemed calm enough even with the distance between them.
Teyla slowly, carefully got up, woozy from the after effects of the stunner and made her way over to Ronon and Dean. Ronon spotted her, and smiled and when Dean did so as well, his smile was blinding.
“You’re ok.”
Teyla cautiously clambered up onto the gurney with him, pressing her shoulder into his. “Yes. You?”
He shrugged, going for the same ‘don’t worry about me’ Sheppard tried so often. “No worse than before.”
“You had a snake in your head.”
Teyla stared at Ronon and then Dean, who looked bashful. “There was a Goua’ld?”
“Two,” Ronon growled. Ah, Sheppard would no doubt be very busy and very stressed. As would Woolsey.
“So you are here to be checked out?” Teyla prodded Dean again and he nodded. “Yeah, make sure it didn’t scramble my brains any more than they are already.”
Teyla studied Dean with deep intent and he blushed a little. “You are taking all of ‘this’ very well.” She incorporated the whole of Atlantis, aliens, space ships and spies in the ‘this’. Dean looked down at his feet and paused before replying, not really meeting her gaze. “In all honesty, still not the weirdest day in my life. It’s up there on the weirdo meter, but not the top slot.”
Sharing a look with Ronon was that pure interest, Teyla smiled, “I am curious as to what would be ‘weirder’ than today for you.”
Dean just smiled. And Carson came over and the moment was lost. Teyla though made a careful note to question him again. Soon.
Carson was all business, looking a little stressed but his personable manner did not diminish at all. “Well, lad. You’ve been here all of two days and already visited the Infirmary twice. Not the best start, I fear.”
Dean shrugged and Ronon interjected, “He had a snake in his head.”
Winchester rolled his eyes and Teyla smiled, while Carson nodded, “Aye, I know. Right then, Dean, off to the scanner with you. Let’s check out that noggin of yours.”
Dean clambered off the gurney and followed Carson who was still chatting away animatedly and Ronon took his place on the gurney. Teyla stretched and arched her back, mindful of the tension from the stun and said quietly, “He is a peculiar person.”
“Interesting though.”
To this Teyla nodded and smiled at Ronon, “Yes, but perhaps you should not be dragging him into firefights on his first day, Ronon.”
Ronon, who was so often quiet and non communicative, even now, shrugged again but said as quietly, “Sometimes you just need to shoot something. Or punch someone.”
“Or both?” Teyla smiled and Ronon nodded.
“Or both.”
s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*
“How is your head?”
Dean looked up from the bed under the scanner and murmured, “Fine.”
Carson didn’t turn around from the scanner reader but huffed loudly, “And by fine you mean killing you. That Goua’ld did quite the number on your nervous system.”
The sigh from the general direction of the scanner had Beckett turning around and ambling over to his patient. “Its handy this scanner, cuts through all the crap ‘I’m fines’. But there doesn’t appear to be anything permanent, you will just have to take things easy.”
Dean sat up slowly, plucking at the soft t-shirt, grimacing at the stickiness and grime. “So I can go?”
“You have an urgent meeting or something? Sit awhile...”
The mixed feelings of concern and worry were muted but still there and Beckett smiled gently, “Just a wee chat, Dean. Nothing serious.”
There was no response but Winchester stayed put and let Beckett help him with the shirt, exposing the bandages around his ribs, the purpling and yellowing bruises. Carson gently continued his examination, refusing to let any reaction show to the sharp pins and needles sensation touching Dean gave you. It wasn’t as severe as before, so either he was on the mend, or his empathic barriers were improving, or both.
Satisfied, Carson leant against the bed, and sighed, “I have some ... unpleasant news, Dean.”
“Yeah?”
“Alfred Taylor passed away this morning.”
The surge of anger and grief was intense, enough so that Carson gasped at the rush and then Dean was off the bed, backing away. “Shit!”
Carson stayed where he was, going for calm, trying to regain his own emotions, whilst Dean struggled with his. The initial surge was tapering off, buried under a film of determined indifference. The guy’s hands were shaking, and trembling, and he very pointedly was not looking at Carson.
“Hughes?”
Going for even calmer, less certain of Dean’s reaction, Carson replied, “Still in a coma. But he does not appear to be as ... severely injured.”
Dean was statue still, eyes gazing out of the window, arms wrapped around his chest, willing himself to be still no doubt. Carson let the silence stretch, the bustle of the infirmary outside white noise to the isolation and privacy of the scanner room.
Eventually, Winchester sighed, “Guess I killed him afterall.”
“You were hoping you hadn’t?”
Dean’s entire frame shook with the chuff of derisive laughter, “No. I was hoping I had, mostly but at the same time terrified I had as well.” Carson sat up onto the bed, lowering his head a little due to the scanner and asked, “Because of what it meant?”
Nodding, Dean replied, “Yeah. That I could do that. And what T&E would do when they found out.” Beckett didn’t really have an answer for that, especially not for the worry and fear one could have of the real darkness and danger that lay within. “Did you intend to kill him?”
It took Dean several deep breathes before he shrugged, “Maybe. No.”
“From what I know and saw, you were hardly in a position to argue or defend yourself. They had abducted you,” Carson stated firmly, settling into the bed, wincing at the stiffness of the mattress. At this Dean snorted, still not looking at Carson, and muttered, “No real difference to a normal day, actually.”
With the lights dimmed for the scan still, the space between them seemed distant and deep, a gulf of ‘you have no idea, man’. Wondering if he should say anything at all and then deciding that maybe Dean needed to hear it, Carson sighed and said, “I know what it’s like to be in an untenable situation, to have no control or say over anything. To be waiting for rescue, and nothing coming.”
At that, Dean whirled around, anger sparking and he growled, “You know shit, Doc!”
Matching ire with understanding, Beckett shook his head, “On the contrary lad, I know an awful lot. I even know what it’s like to be looked at with consideration and weight, people wondering about just how genuine you are. I am the clone of the very real, very dead Carson Beckett.”
Another conversation, another subject matter and Dean’s expression would have been comical, “Say what?”
“Aye lad, say what. True science fiction stuff this,” Carson smiled gently. Shaking his head, Dean snapped, “How? And why?”
“Long story involving people best forgotten but dinna change the fact that I’m not the person folks around here remember but I’m still me, the person they forgot about. So I think I kinda get what you might be feeling, just a bit.”
Dropping his arms, relaxing infinitesimally, Dean pursed his lips and sighed, “They found you didn’t they?”
Nodding, Carson replied, “Aye and we found you.”
Still distant, still isolated, Dean waved a hand at Carson, and said, “But you weren’t the cavalry I was hoping for.”
“And I didn’t expect to be the one everyone thought was dead. Take what you can get, lad. Might be the only luck you get.”
Dean seemed to be ruminating on that, eyes again anywhere but Carson, and Beckett chipped in again, “You play the cards you get dealt, Dean. There’s no use wondering and wishing for a better hand, all you can do is move forward.”
The look Dean sent his way was all non-verbal ‘move where?’ and Beckett shrugged, “There’s no use crying into your tea, wishing life was fair. I wish I remembered the two years the real Carson experienced on Atlantis and not the two years of hell I did have. I wish people wouldn’t look at me and think ‘You’re not him, not the real one.’ If wishes where horses, right?”
Dean snorted and drawled, “You got anymore useless clichés you want to drag out, Doc?”
Carson smiled, “No use crying over spilt milk? Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth?”
The small smile disappeared from Dean’s face and he shook his head, “I get what you’re saying Doc, I do. But it doesn’t change the fact that I killed Taylor. That the one guy who was supposed to come and find me and ... and save me, didn’t. And that ... I’m relying on the kindness of strangers here and that’s never worked out for me.”
For this though, Carson had a response and he stood and walked over to Dean and put a firm hand on his shoulder, never mind the prick of reciprocal pain, “You won’t find better strangers, lad. Give us a chance, ok?”
Outside in the Infirmary, McKay’s raucous laughter could be heard, Jennifer trying to get him to be quieter. Carson figured Dean could also see Ronon and Teyla, as they were at the right angle if they were where they had left them. Dean shrugged away from Carson’s hand and smirked, “Maybe.”
s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*
Woolsey rubbed his aching temples with deep determination to rid himself of the blinding headache. Years of taking depositions and cross examining witnesses had left him with a keen affinity for deception, interrogation techniques and seeking for the truth. However practiced and skilled the opponent, Woolsey prided himself on being able to ferret out the truth eventually.
Right now though, he had a headache. The Trust operatives currently languishing in his holdings cells were skilled liars, disgruntled with life and society and yet still determined to serve their country and planet to the best of their underhanded ability. They were a confusing mix. For some it was loyalty that kept them silent and others it was pure belligerence for the ‘Man’ who had deprived them of the legitimacy they sought. Either way it would take far longer than he had time to garner any information that wasn’t insults and governmental conspiracy theories.
Miles Augusto and the Goua’ld were sedated and restrained and Woolsey had every intention of leaving their interrogation to the Tok’ra back in the Milky Way. Whatever the history, and however much the SGC may have broken the back of the Goua’ld’s hold on the Milk Way, those bright white eyes still freaked him out and if he didn’t have to deal with it, them, all the better. And they had at least one other team of Trust operatives loose in Pegasus. It was going to be a busy few weeks.
There was one other ‘person’ he had to deal with though. Someone who was late.
The knock on his door was Murphy’s Law at its weakest and most trite. And door wasn’t the right word either. Elizabeth’s office, as most people still referred to it even Woolsey at times, did not have a door. It had glass. Fortunately for Dean Winchester, a tap on the glass is as effective as a knock on wood and hopefully as lucky.
“Come in, please, Mr Winchester.”
Dean Winchester nodded and stepped into the general space of the office and Woolsey wished for a moment, yet again, that he did actually have a door as some conversations were best kept private. But it was also late, most the staff at dinner, the early late shift just starting.
“Have a seat.”
Dean Winchester had a seat.
Richard hesitated, wondering if he should take the seat next to Winchester or the one behind the desk. The man wasn’t an employee, nor a criminal, more a guest and guests... well. Woolsey sat in the chair next to Winchester and hmmmed softly.
“Dr. Beckett has confirmed that you are mending well, with no adverse effects from the attempted Goua’ld possession.”
A small brief smirk crossed Winchester’s face, perhaps at the reference to his ‘smack down’ as it was colloquially being referred to. It also appeared that Carson’s report on Winchester getting his abilities under control was correct as well as Woolsey wasn’t feeling any emotional dissonance from the Empath.
In fact, the man looked positively cool, calm and collected to use the cliché, hardly bothered at all by the prospects of his immediate future. Perhaps the years of T&E control had undermined his free will. Disagreeing with that thought almost immediately, Woolsey leant back, steepled his fingers and said calmly, “You must be wondering about what happens next for you.”
Dean Winchester nodded.
Richard paused for dramatic effect, those long ago court room days still fresh in his memory at times. “While you have not been officially briefed on the Stargate Programme, you can understand the inherent need for secrecy, yes?
“Sure, riots in the streets, panic at the disco.”
Richard nodded, sharing a small smile with Winchester, careful to keep his own emotions level. It wasn’t difficult to see the nerves, the tension in the muscles, the barest of flinches in his hands, the impulse to cross his arms. The man was nervous and that allowed Richard to feel more at ease. “Yet, I am sure there is a part of you that thinks maybe people should know, that they have a right to.”
And Dean’s answer surprised Woolsey. “Nah, sometimes it’s better when people don’t know the big dark scary secrets, the just how close they came to being alien slaves things. I get it.”
Wondering if there was an inherent desire or need to fit in, be ‘one’ with the unit, Woolsey mused, “Whatever our personal feelings though, the secrecy of the SGC and its programmes is of paramount importance.”
Another pause for dramatic effect. Woolsey was slightly gratified to see that Winchester was even more nervous but it was hardly fair to draw this conversation out even further. “I cannot allow you to return to Earth, Mr Winchester.”
The charge of mixed relief and regret was immediate and Woolsey gave himself a small pat on the back. He’d been right then on the suspicion of desperate control, on walls not really entirely there. Winchester was trying and good news was enough to let him slip. Richard continued, “The majority of the Trust operatives will be returned to the Milky Way but to our Beta site for further interrogation. However, it has been decided that sending you back would be too much of a security risk.”
“T&E?”
“Yes, invariably they would have questions on your whereabouts, the whereabouts of the kidnappers and their own secrecy and privacy laws are ... robust. We don’t need anyone else poking around Cheyenne Mountain and whatever back story we created could be destroyed the first time a Kinetic tried to connect with you.”
Dean just smiled, unashamedly pleased.
“The IOA and SGC Command all agree that you will remain on Atlantis for now. What the long term future holds... is undetermined. Your assistance though in finding and tracking the other Trust team may be in needed though.”
“Sure.”
Woolsey picked up a small, thin manila folder and opened it and as Winchester saw the mug shot and file, the temperature in the room dropped to panic and fear. Briefly. Regaining control, Winchester shifted in his seat.
Richard though did not look up, allowing a modicum of privacy. “As a former lawyer, I can see no legal way around your seven year sentence for failing to register as an Empath.”
The studded silence reeked of restrained nervousness.
Taking a deep breath, letting some of his own emotions through, Woolsey sighed, “However, had I been so inclined to pursue criminal law and had been a District Attorney, the array of charges held here as aggravating are ...spurious at best.”
“Huh?”
Looking up and smiling, Woolsey said, “They’d have been thrown out of court as they stand. Agent Hendricksen would have had the devil of a time proving any of these charges with any degree of certainty.”
Slight bemusement greeted Woolsey’s statement and Dean said, “I don’t want to poke a bear you’re not worried about, but seriously?”
Woolsey nodded, and continued to smile, lips thin and teeth bright, “It perhaps helps your case that two Federal Agents have insisted on letters of recommendation as it were, being placed on this file. Your file.”
Slight bemusement had devolved into genuine confusion and Woolsey happily continued, “An Agent A. Hotchner, of the BAU, maintains in his letter here that the criminal profile created on you was ill conceived and poorly constructed and shoe-horned to fit bizarre crimes. His letter and notes are extensive, Mr Winchester.”
“Hotch? Really?” The surprise was heartfelt and Winchester looked stunned as much as he radiated pleased.
“Also, an Agent Jethro Gibbs has a rather long letter in your file that is less clinical than Agent Hotchner’s but equally persuasive in his vouching for your instincts, professionalism and potential. He also says that the FBI’s case has, and I quote, ‘more holes than a fishnet stocking.’”
Dean didn’t say anything, he was slumped in the chair, blinking, a relieved smile on his face. “Mr Winchester, while these letters ease my mind, they were not the deciding factor. And while Earth no doubt holds much appeal to you, I feel fairly confident in saying that should you wish to remain here for the duration of your sentence, the justified one, we - I - would not be adverse.”
“You barely know me, Mr Woolsey.” Winchester was still slouched and lax but his face was serious, tone firm and Richard nodded. “Yes, true. But ... I find that Pegasus brings out the ... surprisingly accurate in people and well... what we have seen so far, we like. For now you have no choice in remaining, and could consider yourself a prisoner, but in effect, we are happy to have you.”
The huff of laughter was laced with disbelief, “You guys are like the weirdest club ever. Come on over, there’s death, danger and space vampires... why wouldn’t you want to stay?”
Woolsey laughed in reply, “Exactly. Why wouldn’t you?”
Dean leant forward, hand outstretched, “I’d say are you serious, but I know you are.”
Woolsey was pleased to realise his headache was gone as he shook the calloused hand of Dean Winchester, newest long term guest and oddity on Atlantis.
s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*
Leaving Woolsey’s office, Dean made a beeline for a quiet, isolated, spot. It was fairly easy to find one when you needed to and could sense the stream of emotion and just pick the least emotional area.
The ideal corridor turned out to be one in the general direction of the infirmary, and a small alcove in the outer wall, looking out across the ocean was ideal. Elbows on knees, chin propped up on his hands, Dean looked out at the endless ocean and considered the past two days. Between sleeping for hours on end in the Infirmary, Ronon andTeyla’s detailed and thorough tour of Atlantis, with copious stops for food, his taking it easy had been fairly entertaining. With the Bosses, Sheppard and Co all busy with the Trust people and plans and whatever else went on in Atlantis, Dean had lost himself in the blur of sleep, food and new friends.
Mostly he’d also been avoiding thinking about Taylor and the sensation of his thoughts and sound of his screams, of the life he’d snuffed out. And the soft hiss of the respirator keeping Hughes alive. The question mark around the date of his return to earth had also been enough of a motivation to ignore it all, and live in the moment. Asking to stay had seemed too much like asking for trouble, reminding the Powers That Be that he did not belong.
And any thought process around staying and wanting to stay and really kinda liking it on Atlantis had been soured by the very real worry about Sam. Where was he? Was he ok?
The need to know if Sam was ok, was strong. But so was his anger at being ‘ignored’ and left to the mercies of T&E and Agent Andrews. Dean didn’t know if he wanted to find Sam and punch him, or just know that he was ok. What Dean was certain of though, was that had it been Sam in T&E custody, he would have checked, and broken Sam out if necessary. Hell, even if it hadn’t been.
But now, Woolsey’s implied invitation and the enforced billion light years of distance weighed on him. Going home, going to Earth wasn’t an option, yet. And maybe Carson was right, maybe he should take what he had and make the best of it. And even if at the time, he’d failed to persuade Hotch and Gibbs to do anything more than complain, both Agents had done what they could. The letters had been a nice surprise though.
Wherever Sam was, Dean hoped he was ok, but there was nothing he could do about it right now.
“There you are.”
Dean looked up at Ronon who closed the distance fast and the big guy growled, “We’re going to be late.”
“Huh?” Looking around, realising night had fallen, and feeling a little out of it, Dean let Ronon grab his arm and haul him away. “Sheppard’s saving us a seat.”
“For what?”
Ronon just grinned and frog marched him off. Going with the flow, because ‘what the hell’ he was here for now, Dean followed Ronon through the press of people heading towards the mess hall. A large screen had been set up, and the lights were dimmed and as Ronon dragged him over to Sheppard, Dean figured it was probably movie night or something.
Turned out he was right.
And the reason Ronon was so keen to get there early was the hot cinnamon rolls and buttered popcorn. They were screening back to back Die Hard I and III. The mess hall had been turned into a drive in come theatre and Sheppard’s seat saving skills sucked. Sheppard was sprawled across several seats and seemed disinclined to move, so Dean ended up on the floor, leaning against a couch that had been dragged in from the rec room.
Ronon had made his own space, moving everyone around him by sheer presence. McKay was tapping away on a laptop, ear phones in and Teyla was going to join them later, once Torren was down.
It felt utterly surreal, sitting in a crowded room on an ancient alien city, on a planet in another galaxy, watching Bruce Willis curl his toes in the long pile carpet. Munching steadily through his second roll, Dean let it all wash over him, his own emotions and everyone elses and just let it be.
Sam would have to keep, for now.
Feeling a spike of interest, Dean turned slightly and caught the considering gaze of a blonde woman behind him. She was dressed in BDUs and was surrounded by a few other women, but her attention was on him and not the movie. Dean winked, and shifted, making space next to him.
Her smile was pretty damn inviting in return.
s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*
Everything friggin hurt, everything. From the back of his teeth to the soles of his feet. Drenched in sweat and shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, Dean pulled futilely on the restraints in the prep chair less out of habit and more out of desperate need to just get away, away from the pain.
Andrew’s presence on the edge of his awareness as a thorn and a knife, scratching away, itching and digging endlessly. The Tech, someone new this time, less inclined towards sympathy finally gave the nod, made the last note on his incredibly thick file.
But the Tech didn’t remove the electrodes, didn’t take the rubber mouthguard out, didn’t turn off the machines, and Dean yanked at the restraints, rocking the chair a little, but not enough. No, no, no, they were going to do more, they weren’t done and as tired and wrung out as he was, the surge of adrenaline, the spike of nauseating fear was huge, enough that the Tech stepped back, and Andrews stepped forward.
That damn smile was in place, the one that Dean dreamed about slicing off his face over and over again. Cool, clammy hands on his already chilled and sweaty skin and Dean tried to find the ‘buzz’ to shock Andrews, enough juice to send him into a wall, but there was nothing there yet, everything still all over the place, picking up emotions and vibes from half a dozen people.
Andrews’s steady stream of satisfaction and sick pleasure momentarily overwhelmed him, and Dean gagged against the rubber mouth guard, bit down hard and tried to block it out, tried to fend off the sea of emotions.
“Steady as she goes, Dean. Deep breathes.”
Vision still blurry, sweat and tears still coating eyelashes and making everything look like it was underwater, let alone the screaming headache tearing through his brain, but Dean managed to send as much hate and fury at Andrews as he could. But being blown wide open, it was uncoordinated, and fairly general, but Andrews flinched nonetheless.
“Getting to pack quite the punch it seems,” Andrews smirked, his hands still resting gently, but oh so possessively on Dean’s arm. Dean tried to shake him off, but between the restraint on his wrist and Andrew’s overly firm grip, there was no budging him.
At Andrews’ nod, the Tech loosened the straps on Dean’s neck and forehead, and then pulled out the mouthguard. Opening his mouth, feeling the pull of dried, cracked skin on his lips, Dean felt the sharp crack and taste of blood as his lips started to bleed again.
And he didn’t even need to look over at Andrews to know exactly what he was about to say. The Tech was dismissed with another nod, and once they were alone, Andrews’ smile moved from slimy, to chilling.
“This could all be over, you know that, right? I haven’t fried that brain too hard and long, yet.”
“Hey!”
A soft, warm hand was tapping his face and Dean blinked away the dream, opening blurry eyes to warm sunlight, and the smell of salty air. The solid presence of a body next to him, touching, near, was reassuring and Dean turned into the warmth.
“Hey, you with me?”
Nodding, chasing the images away, locking them away, Dean mumbled, “Yeah.”
Anne Teldy smiled at him in return and leant in for a kiss. Pulling away she said, “As awesome as last night was, I really don’t want to feel whatever nightmare that was. So... snap out of it.”
“Sorry,” Dean mumbled and he shifted, pulling her close, liking the emotions rolling off her. Teldy rolled her eyes but ran her hand over his chest, his finger skirting his ribs and stomach. “You ok?”
“Never better,” Dean smiled and Teldy laughed. “Well, I hate to break up the party, but I’m on duty in fifteen minutes so...”
“So?”
Twisting away, gently, Anne rolled up and out of bed, and began pulling on her underwear. “And I’m hoping this isn’t going to get awkward, Winchester.”
Leaning back, relishing the lingering warmth in the sheets, Dean shook his head, a small smile on his lips, “Nah. One time thing... I know.”
Grabbing her towel, Teldy shook her head, “Oh, no. I.... Look, the casual sexual encounters list is kinda short on Atlantis, especially for the handful of female officers. Its nerds or subordinates really and ... that doesn’t end well.”
Dean chuckled, turning on to his side, fingering the stubble on his chin. “You mean my odds of success are pretty high?”
Laughing too, Anne threw a condom at him, “Winchester, you better stock up. You’re the light in the tunnel for a few of us and frankly, most of us just want the sex.”
“In that case I feel cheap and used.”
“Whatever! Now get up and out, I am going to be late.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As Anne hurried into the bathroom and the shower turned on, Dean hunted for his briefs, a stupid smile on his face. Nightmare and worries about Sam aside, Dean had a sneaky suspicion he was going to enjoy his stay on Atlantis.
A lot.
s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n
to be concluded in chapter 10