The Same Coin [11/13]
I’m both surprised and pleased that I have this chapter ready for you. I had some serious doubts about completing it on time or at all. But here it is what I believe to be the third last chapter for this story. It’s a little depressing to think I’m so close to the end, but it was bound to happen sooner or later. I hope you enjoy this chapter!
One| Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten
Title: The Same Coin
Shows: Supernatural/Stargate SG-1
Beta: i_paint_the_sky
Word Count: 4 730
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Adventure/Hurt/Comfort
Spoilers: None for either show
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from either Supernatural or Stargate SG-1
Summary: Crossover with Stargate SG-1. Sam and Dean are on the hunt for a demon, what happens when the rash of unexplained deaths attracts the attention of the SGC? -Set during Season 2 of Supernatural-
Colonel O’Neill had taken the lead, forcing his way past Dean as they’d step inside the large deserted room. He felt more than a little ridiculous to be carrying around a shotgun loaded with rock salt. If he had a weapon Jack definitely preferred it to be lethal rather than annoying. But the Winchesters had insisted that these shells would be the only weapon of any real value if they came across the demon.
The demon; Jack rolled his eyes even as he cautiously swept the room for movement. He didn’t even want to get started on what he thought of that. He knew what he’d seen on the surveillance video; there was no denying the existence of the creature. What he was having a hard time accepting was where it had come from and that it couldn’t be killed by ordinary means. Jack was secretly a little curious to actually see this ‘demon’ face to face.
The humming whine of Dean’s EMF meter grew louder, blaring a sudden warning. Jack looked to Winchester having no idea of that’s how the device was supposed to react now that they were closer to their intended target. Dean’s eyes were fixed on a spot in front of him and Jack turned just in time to see the shadow solidify into the creature. Its shriek was piercing as it knocked him aside with humiliating ease.
Pain lanced across Jack’s forehead, the demon’s claw clipping his temple as he fell back skidding across the tiled floor. Years of intense training meant Jack maintained a firm hold on his weapon. The first shotgun blast was deafening in the open room, reverberating off the walls and mixing with the demon’s cries of pain. Jack winced as the sound only served to rise the ringing within his ears.
“Teal’c, get the artifact!” Dean shouted like this was nothing new at all.
O’Neill shook his head to clear his thoughts, military instincts forcing him back to his feet only to see the demon closing in on Dean. Winchester was quick, raising his gun and firing without a second’s hesitation. The demon, however, was faster.
“Look out!” the warning had barely formed in Jack’s head when Dean was tossed like a rag doll across the room, still the words shouted uselessly.
Jack winced as Dean’s body collided with unnatural force into one of the many tables strewn with bones and other artifacts. The kid landed hard on his left side before the table broke beneath the force. The demon completely ignored Jack and rushed towards Dean.
“Hey!” he shouted, offended anything would consider him not to be a threat. O’Neill fired his shotgun, blasting the demon’s back with rock salt; he immediately cocked the gun again expelling the spent round and fired again.
Dean snapped back to his feet like a spring; he wavered obviously but his focus extreme as he fought to reload his double barreled shotgun. “You alright, kid?” Jack demanded firing another round into the screaming demon.
---SPN/SG-1---
Dean’s lungs gasped for air suddenly as he snapped back to consciousness and he couldn’t stop the groan of pain that escaped him. Pain assaulted his body; the pounding in his head was almost enough to override the burning pain in his chest and back, almost. The demon’s shriek was all Dean needed to hear; it sent a surge or adrenaline coursed through his veins forcing him back to his feet.
The room wobbled in front of him, black spots swimming in front of Dean’s vision for a second before it cleared. What he saw was the demon closing in. Dean fumbled with his shotgun, pulling the barrel down so he could remove the spent rounds. Before he’d got the new shells in Dean heard another deafening blast from across the room.
“You alright, kid?” Jack called sharply.
“I’ll live,” he confirmed, snapping the barrel back into place and raising it to aim at the demonic creature.
“Any time now Teal’c!” the Colonel shouted, reloading his gun.
Dean fired both rounds at the demon as it leapt for him again. He glanced down the room just in time to see the Jaffa thrust the artifact inside the salt filled case. The demon shrieked in agony a second before vanishing back into the shadows. It took a moment before Dean allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief which only elicited a hiss of pain.
“Glad that worked,” he said, grimacing as he tried to straighten his body.
Jack stopped dead where he had been walking over. “You’re telling me you didn’t know it would?” O’Neill demanded incredulously.
“Heh,” Dean chuckled painfully. “When was the last time I faced a demon like this?” he asked rhetorically.
The Colonel swiped a hand down his face, smearing a trail of blood coming from his temple. “You’re a smart ass.”
“Yes, Sir,” he smirked tiredly; it’d been an exceptionally long day.
“Are you alright, O’Neill?” Teal’c asked, coming over to them the case held in his hands.
Jack touched his temple and shrugged. “Nothing a couple of aspirin can’t cure; what about you?” the Colonel asked, turning considering brown eyes back on Dean.
He thought the question for a moment; feeling every ache and pain in an overwhelming sea that caused the edges of his vision to blur. “We’d better get moving,” he said instead; the last thing they needed was security finding them.
“Right,” Jack agreed, motioning for Teal’c to lead the way.
Dean drew in a shallow breath, forcing himself to step confidently forward and follow O’Neill and the Jaffa from the room. He held his left arm against his ribs though it did nothing to ease the pain. Dean was pretty sure he’d ripped some, if not all, of the stitches Fraiser had put in his shoulder; he could feel his blood slowly trailing down his arm.
Jack stepped in front of Dean as they exited the building, his right hand held out towards Dean. “Give me your keys,” he ordered bluntly.
Dean blinked, trying to process the question; his head felt like it was trying to split apart. He glanced over the Colonel’s shoulder, seeing the Impala parked not far from where they stood. “Man, I hardly let Sammy drive,” Dean replied with a forced smirk. He stepped around Jack and continued on, standing still only gave his brain time to register how tired and sore he actually was.
“Yeah,” Jack drawled coming up beside him. “But I’m not about to catch heat from Fraiser for letting you drive with a concussion.”
Green eyes narrowed; Dean had been both relieved and thrilled when the Colonel had reluctantly agreed to take the classic ride. Jack had appeared impressed by the well maintained ‘67 Impala but hadn’t seen the need to take it over one of the trucks on base. Sam had actually been the one with the convincing argument. If Dean’s plan for the case filled with salt failed their next best option was a devil’s trap and, quite conveniently, there was one already drawn on the inside of the Impala’s trunk.
“I’ll be fine,” he said firmly. Adrenalin from the fight was still flowed through him, taking the edge off the pain but leaving the world a little wobbly on the edges. So long as he could walk a straight line, Dean didn’t see any need to pass up his ride.
Stepping around O’Neill, Dean pressed on towards his car. Teal’c was waiting patiently by the trunk and Dean reached into his front pocket to fish out his keys. They’d no sooner seen the light of day when Jack moved to snatched them out of Dean’s hand. The hunter’s reaction time was slower than he’d been willing to admit but became all too clear as he futilely tried to maintain his hold.
“Hey!” Dean barked, just barely remembering to keep his voice down.
“Sorry, did I make it sound like this was open for debate?” O’Neill asked smoothly, slipping the key into the lock on the trunk.
Dean pulled his right hand down his jaw, wincing as his head throbbed all the harder; he sighed in defeat, too tired to fight out what he already knew was a loosing battle. Making his way to the passenger’s side door Dean climbed into the car, holding his breath as he settled back on the bench. Pain raked across his chest with every breath and he tipped his head back hoping to ease the oxygen into his lungs.
With hands that had slowly begun to shake-Dean thought the adrenalin was fast leaving his system-he pulled his leather jacket and button down shirt away from his side. “Fuck…” the word slipped from Dean’s mouth when green eyes landed on his bloodied, ruined shirt. Pale bone protruded from his left side near where his rib cage ended. He knew at a glance that it wasn’t his but that didn’t make it any less painful.
Dean breathed slowly through the renewed pain. He would have liked to know why seeing the damage always increased the level of pain the body felt; nothing had changed really. Dean swallowed thickly, right hand hesitating to touch the bone splinter he wanted to pull it out but knew better than to try.
Jack leaned across the front seat as he turned the key in the ignition. “What is it?” he asked left hand reaching across to pull Dean’s jacket aside.
“Just a little souvenir,” Dean breathed with a pained smirk.
“Ah dammit,” Jack swore and straightened back up in on the bench as the car accelerated away from the university. “Don’t touch it,” the Colonel warned.
“Does it look like I’m going to?” he demanded back, trying without success to relax his body. Tense muscles were doing nothing but telegraphing each bump and dip in the road up through his battered body.
---SPN/SG-1---
The drive back to Cheyenne Mountain was a silent one for Sam. He stared down at the closed sketchbook resting on his lap, the fingers of his right hand toying with its pointed edge. Sam didn’t need to open the book yet again to see the pictures drawn inside, especially not that of his girlfriend Jess. That sketch was as etched into his brain as the true memory of her death.
The more Sam thought about it, the stronger he came to believe that somehow Jess’ death had been the catalyst that started it all. She had been killed just to pull him back into this life but why? To leave him no other options but to hunt down the son of a bitch that killed her? How did that progress Yellow Eye’s plan? Sam doubted he’d find the answers he was looking for. All the while his powers and those of the other psychics grew; now they were starting to disappear without a trace.
Dark eyes blinked to see Jess’ terrified eyes staring back at him and Sam’s heart clenched in his chest. He hadn’t even realized he’d opened the book again. Sam tried to tear his eyes away but only made it as far as the date. Clicking on his flashlight, Sam sucked in a breath.
September 7th 2005. The night he’d first dreamt of her death.
Sam shut his eyes against the pain and guilt. He could have said something, should have. He’d regret his silence for the rest of his life but he knew dwelling on it now wasn’t going to solve anything. Dean had been right: the anger he bore at himself and the demon would have killed him.
“Sam?”
The hunter blinked in surprise, vision finally leaving the sketchbook only to see Daniel turned in his seat to watch him. “Yeah?” he asked, quickly closing the book. Neither Carter nor Daniel had asked Sam about the sketch of Jess, which he’d been grateful for only until he remembered they’d read the FBI file and details of Jess’ death had been in there.
“Could I take a look at the book?” Daniel asked, reaching a hand back across the seat.
Sam nodded, silently passing the book across to the archeologist. Samantha looked across the truck briefly as Daniel flipped the sketchbook open, switching his own flashlight on.
“How have you and Dean been tracking these psychics up till now?” Carter asked after a moment of silence.
Sam cleared his throat. “We uh, ran a nationwide search for deaths caused in nursery fires,” he began, rubbing both hands down his face.
“That couldn’t cover everyone,” Daniel said, looking up briefly from the sketchbook. “Up until yesterday both Chloe’s parents were alive.”
“No,” he confirmed with a sigh. “Most don’t fit that pattern, but at the time it’s all we had to go on.”
Captain Carter glanced back across the truck again. “So you have no clear idea of how many children there are?”
Sam briefly met Carter’s blue eyes through the review mirror and shook his head. That was another question Sam doubted he’d get an answer to.
“I take it this is the Yellow Eyed Demon?” Daniel asked, lifting the sketchbook to reveal a shadowed man, the only color on the page his yellow eyes. “He looks human,” the archeologist commented.
“Unlike the demon that attacked the base, Yellow Eye’s needs to possess a human body,” Sam explained.
“Why?” Carter asked.
Sam drew in a breath. “Outside of a human host, demons are little more than black smoke. There isn’t a lot they can do in that form.”
“What makes the one that attacked you and Dean different?” Samantha pressed, eyeing him with the review mirror.
“Okay,” the hunter said, trying quickly to decide what all needed to be explained. “Demonic creatures like Daevas and Hell Hounds don’t need to possess a physical form in order to kill. Demons on the other hand…” he trailed off before shifting to sit on the edge of his seat. “Think of it like the difference between humans and animals, higher intelligence, completely different league.”
The truck slowed as they approached the first check station leading onto the base. “What happens to the human they’re possessing?” Daniel asked, turning in his seat so his back was to the door.
“Worst nightmare you could ever imagine,” he replied solemnly, memories of Meg flashing to the surface. “The host is awake for it all.”
“So it’s similar to Gou’ald possession,” Daniel commented as Carter pulled the truck to a stop inside the parking garage.
“At first glance,” Sam agreed, climbing out of the truck. “But demons don’t heal their hosts,” brown eyes searched down the row of cars for the familiar form of the Impala.
“So if their host dies?” Daniel asked, tucking the sketchbook under his arm.
Sam pulled a hand through his hair. “They remain alive so to speak, until the demon’s been exorcised.”
Captain Carter flashed her military ID and pushed her way inside the base before glancing back towards Sam. “Does the exorcism kill the demon?” she asked, leading the way to the elevator.
The hunter shook his head noting the strange looks he received striding along side Carter and Daniel. “I wish,” he exclaimed softly, making a point to keep the conversation between them. “Exorcising only sends the demon back to hell.”
“Captain,” a female officer spoke up as they passed her desk, “Colonel O’Neill left a message for you,” she continued, coming to her feet sharply a slip of paper held out in her right hand.
The Captain came to a stop, her expression looking surprised, “He and Teal’c have already returned?” she asked accepting the note.
“Yes ma’am, about fifteen minutes ago.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Samantha said, looking to the note.
Sam attempted to glance down at the note as they stepped inside the elevator. “Everything alright?”
“Colonel O’Neill wants us to meet in the infirmary,” she responded, the index finger of her left hand pressing the button for the twenty-first floor.
“Does it say why?” Sam asked worriedly, dark eyes skipping between the Captain and the changing number display.
Captain Carter shook her head. “No.”
Sam turned his attention back to the slowly rising number; he felt a cold sensation settle in the pit of his stomach. It didn’t take much to guess that they had been attacked by the demon while getting the artifact. Sam tried not to let his imagination run away from him; Dean might not have even been the one injured, though Sam couldn’t seem to convince himself of that.
The elevator came to a stop a moment later; Sam wanted to dodge off the machine and bolt down the hall but was forced to patiently follow Carter who stepped off ahead of him. The door to the infirmary stood open and Sam immediately saw Dean sitting stiffly on one of the beds. He sucked in a breath at his brother’s appearance.
The older Winchester looked pale and battered, dried blood staining his flesh in several places. He sat on the edge of the hospital bed in nothing more than his boxers, an IV line leading into the back of his hand. Dr. Fraiser stood in front of him, gloved hands checking the dressing on Dean’s left shoulder. Colonel O’Neill sat on the opposite bed; a fresh bandaged covered his left temple while a nurse checking his vitals.
“Dean,” Sam said stepping over to his brother. “What happened?”
“What do you think happened, Sammy?” both Dean and Jack said at the same time. Their tones sounding equally tired; only his name at the end differentiated the two.
“Colonel, are you alright?” Carter asked.
“Yeah just fine,” Jack said, standing up from the bed. “We’ve got the artifact; I want to know what it is and exactly what we’re dealing with.”
Dean straightened a little with a hiss of pain. “You take it out of that box and we’ll be dealing with the demon all over again,” he warned.
“Did you plan on leaving it in there forever?” Jack returned sarcastically.
“The thought had crossed my mind,” Dean admitted with a tired grin.
Daniel placed the sketchbook down on the end of the bed. “Then what would you suggest?”
“I can secure the room with a devil’s trap,” Sam offered, not eager to leave Dean until he was sure his brother would be alright. But he couldn’t risk the demon escaping on base.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” the Colonel demanded.
“Wait just a minute,” Janet spoke up sharply and all eyes immediately fell to her. “Now you’ve all been going for more than twenty-four hours straight. Will the salt hold until tomorrow?” she asked her attention turning to Sam and Dean.
Dean nodded once and Sam agreed. “If the demon hasn’t attacked since the artifact was put in the case, we should be safe.”
“Then I say leave it until tomorrow,” the doctor said firmly. “You all need rest.”
Carter opened her mouth as though to object but no word came out when she was met with a sharp look from Dr. Fraiser. “Do I need to make that a direct order?” Janet asked very calmly.
Sam’s attention focused in on Dean, when his older brother’s head began to droop. “Hey,” he said softly, drawing Dean’s eyes. “You alright?”
“I’m super,” Dean replied dryly.
“He’s got a mild concussion and lost a fair amount of blood, again,” Janet supplied, not sounding the least bit pleased.
The younger hunter stepped around the bed and took a seat on the bed Jack had been sitting on. Now looking at Dean head on, Sam got a better idea of the shape his brother was in. The left side of Dean’s chest displayed a mass of darkening bruises that looked like they stretched around to his back but they weren’t what caught Sam’s attention. There was a piece of bone protruding from Dean’s side. “How’d that happen?” he asked his brother catching Dean’s hooded gaze.
“Dr. Fraiser?” Sam vaguely heard a nurse come into the room. “Here are the x-rays you ordered.”
The hunter glanced down at his side eyeing the piece of bone. “S’not mine,” he replied, looking back up.
“Yeah, I figured that,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “Why’s it still in you?”
“I needed to make sure removing it wouldn’t cause more damage,” Dr. Fraiser spoke up, her attention focused on two chest x-rays that were lit up against the wall. “It wasn’t enough that you had to tear the stitches in your shoulder, you had to crack two ribs as well?” she asked, turning back towards her patient.
Dean met the doctor’s gaze, the corners of his lips twitching up into what could have been his best smile if he hadn’t looked so bloody tired. “Next time I’ll make sure there’s something softer to land on.”
Sam stood from the bed. “Is he going to be alright?”
“Yes, Sammy,” Dean sighed with exasperation.
Dr. Fraiser offered him a reassuring smile. “He’ll be fine once he’s had rest and some fluids.” She stepped up to Dean’s side, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. “I’m going to need you to lie back,” she instructed.
Sam stepped in to help pull the blankets down the bed, before lifting Dean’s legs onto the mattress. It was a testament to how tired Dean was that he didn’t say anything in complaint.
“Alright, Karen,” Janet said, nodding to the nurse who sat at the far end of the room. Karen stood quickly and wheeled over a table laden with medical supplies.
“Hey,” Dean said catching Sam’s attention. “You find what you were looking for?”
The younger Winchester stepped around the doctor and leaned against the wall by the head of the bed. “Yeah,” he replied slowly, noting the heavy lids Dean was fighting to keep open. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
“That bad?” his brother asked, forcing his eyes to open more.
Sam looked towards the end of the other bed, to the sketchbook Daniel had left behind, and was suddenly struck with the realization that he hadn’t noticed any of them leave. Blowing out a breath, Sam pulled a hand through his hair. “When has it ever been good?” he asked, the question becoming rhetorical when he realized Dean had lost his battle for consciousness.
---SPN/SG-1---
Janet glanced up from the file she’d been reviewing, only to see Sam Winchester sitting on the edge of his brother’s bed. The younger Winchester hadn’t left his brother’s side since returning to the base. It had been clear from the moment she’d met them-and it hardly felt like it had been less than twenty-four hours-that they were closer than most siblings their age. Janet had taken the time to read the FBI’s files on both of them and could gather, even if most of the information was inaccurate, that they’d grown up in a tough situation.
Having several chances to quietly watch them both on their own and interacting with others had been rather revealing. The Winchesters were both cautious of their surroundings, weary of the people who came to close. But at the exact same time they both could put on an easy charm that made you forget they were ready for anything.
She glanced down at her watch before quietly getting to her feet. It had been more than two hours since Dean had given into sleep; it was about time she checked on him and saw to getting Sam off to bed. Janet’s lips curved slightly at the strong maternal instinct she had begun to feel towards the boys. It had started the minute she’d laid eyes on Dean gripping his brother’s arm tightly while Sam and Colonel O’Neill struggled to staunch the flow of blood. They didn’t have anyone else but each other. It was clear they’d come to rely on nothing else, which only made Janet want to help them all the more.
Stepping over to the hospital bed, palely lit by a dim overhead light, Janet caught Sam’s attention. “Dean’s going to be just fine, Sam,” she said softly offering him a reassuring smile.
Sam looked at her for a moment before dark eyes returned to his brother’s face. “He always is,” the words were spoken darkly, almost bitter and he glanced back up to offer her a smile of his own. “Even when he isn’t,” he tone was softer now, making him appear far older than he was.
Dr. Fraiser didn’t know what to say; she knew without having to ask that there was more to his words than just what he’d said. There was a struggle in his eyes that Sam quickly hid by looking away. She wanted to ask him about it but knew instinctively that he wouldn’t want to talk; perhaps he’d already said too much.
“You should get some sleep,” she tried instead, noting clearly the dark circles under the young man’s eyes.
“I’m alright,” he said and those words sounded as worn out as Dean’s. ‘I’m fine.’
Janet ducked her head so she was looking Sam in the eyes. “That wasn’t a suggestion,” she told him firmly and watched as his eyes widened a little before a ghost of a smirk crossed his lips. “Take the bed there,” she said indicating the bed next to Dean. “I’ll wake you if anything changes.”
Sam was silent for a moment and for a second Janet was sure she was going to have a fight on her hands. But the hunter finally nodded in resignation and shifted over to the other bed. He stretched out fully clothed on top of the blankets, head turned so he could see Dean before he finally let his eyes fall closed.
She watched him for a few minutes, smiling in satisfaction when she caught the change in his breathing. She doubted Sam had realized just how tired he was before he’d lain down. With one problem taken care of, Janet turned her focus on Dean. The older Winchester looked pale against the white sheets and she quickly checked his IV line, making sure the flow hadn’t been disrupted.
When Teal’c and Jack had brought Dean in, dazed and bloody, Janet hadn’t been able to decide who she was madder at: Dean for tearing her earlier work, or Jack for insisting Dean go along with them. In the back of her mind she did acknowledge that it was odd the demon truly responsible never entered the equation. As much as she thought Dean should have been taking it easy, she hadn’t been able to argue with the fact that there were only two people on base who truly knew how to deal with a demon. That fact alone had overruled her medical advice.
With a shake of her head, Dr. Fraiser refocused her attention on her patient. “Dean?” she called his name softly and received an incoherent groan for her troubles. Reaching out a hand Janet lightly touched Dean’s shoulder and spoke his name again.
The young man jerked awake; unfocused green eyes flying wide searching for the threat as muscles tensed sharply. “Sammy?” he mumbled hoarsely.
“It’s alright,” the doctor soothed, drawing Dean’s attention as she placed a hand on his forehead. “Can you tell me your name?”
Dean stared at her for a long minute confusion playing out on his face. “Dean,” he said finally, swallowing hard.
“Do you know where you are?” she continued, beginning a quick cursory exam.
“Where’s Sammy?” Dean asked instead, eyes trying to see around her.
“He’s right over there,” Janet replied, pointing to the other bed.
Dean visibly relaxed when he saw his sleeping brother. “He alright?” was the hunter’s next question as he returned his gaze to Janet.
She didn’t fight the smile that tugged at her lips. “He’s fine, worried about you,” she answered.
“S’my job to take care of him,” Dean said with a tiny shake of his head.
“It doesn’t go both ways?” she asked curiously.
Dean’s eyelids dropped heavily. “S’noying when he does it…”
Janet smiled again and pulled the blankets up over Dean’s chest as he slipped back into sleep. She stared at the two sleeping men for a moment before crossing the infirmary to a small supply room. Retrieving an extra blanket she quickly covered Sam’s lanky frame, before returning to her paper work.
Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed!
Go to: Ten | Twelve
One| Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten
Title: The Same Coin
Shows: Supernatural/Stargate SG-1
Beta: i_paint_the_sky
Word Count: 4 730
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Adventure/Hurt/Comfort
Spoilers: None for either show
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from either Supernatural or Stargate SG-1
Summary: Crossover with Stargate SG-1. Sam and Dean are on the hunt for a demon, what happens when the rash of unexplained deaths attracts the attention of the SGC? -Set during Season 2 of Supernatural-
Colonel O’Neill had taken the lead, forcing his way past Dean as they’d step inside the large deserted room. He felt more than a little ridiculous to be carrying around a shotgun loaded with rock salt. If he had a weapon Jack definitely preferred it to be lethal rather than annoying. But the Winchesters had insisted that these shells would be the only weapon of any real value if they came across the demon.
The demon; Jack rolled his eyes even as he cautiously swept the room for movement. He didn’t even want to get started on what he thought of that. He knew what he’d seen on the surveillance video; there was no denying the existence of the creature. What he was having a hard time accepting was where it had come from and that it couldn’t be killed by ordinary means. Jack was secretly a little curious to actually see this ‘demon’ face to face.
The humming whine of Dean’s EMF meter grew louder, blaring a sudden warning. Jack looked to Winchester having no idea of that’s how the device was supposed to react now that they were closer to their intended target. Dean’s eyes were fixed on a spot in front of him and Jack turned just in time to see the shadow solidify into the creature. Its shriek was piercing as it knocked him aside with humiliating ease.
Pain lanced across Jack’s forehead, the demon’s claw clipping his temple as he fell back skidding across the tiled floor. Years of intense training meant Jack maintained a firm hold on his weapon. The first shotgun blast was deafening in the open room, reverberating off the walls and mixing with the demon’s cries of pain. Jack winced as the sound only served to rise the ringing within his ears.
“Teal’c, get the artifact!” Dean shouted like this was nothing new at all.
O’Neill shook his head to clear his thoughts, military instincts forcing him back to his feet only to see the demon closing in on Dean. Winchester was quick, raising his gun and firing without a second’s hesitation. The demon, however, was faster.
“Look out!” the warning had barely formed in Jack’s head when Dean was tossed like a rag doll across the room, still the words shouted uselessly.
Jack winced as Dean’s body collided with unnatural force into one of the many tables strewn with bones and other artifacts. The kid landed hard on his left side before the table broke beneath the force. The demon completely ignored Jack and rushed towards Dean.
“Hey!” he shouted, offended anything would consider him not to be a threat. O’Neill fired his shotgun, blasting the demon’s back with rock salt; he immediately cocked the gun again expelling the spent round and fired again.
Dean snapped back to his feet like a spring; he wavered obviously but his focus extreme as he fought to reload his double barreled shotgun. “You alright, kid?” Jack demanded firing another round into the screaming demon.
---SPN/SG-1---
Dean’s lungs gasped for air suddenly as he snapped back to consciousness and he couldn’t stop the groan of pain that escaped him. Pain assaulted his body; the pounding in his head was almost enough to override the burning pain in his chest and back, almost. The demon’s shriek was all Dean needed to hear; it sent a surge or adrenaline coursed through his veins forcing him back to his feet.
The room wobbled in front of him, black spots swimming in front of Dean’s vision for a second before it cleared. What he saw was the demon closing in. Dean fumbled with his shotgun, pulling the barrel down so he could remove the spent rounds. Before he’d got the new shells in Dean heard another deafening blast from across the room.
“You alright, kid?” Jack called sharply.
“I’ll live,” he confirmed, snapping the barrel back into place and raising it to aim at the demonic creature.
“Any time now Teal’c!” the Colonel shouted, reloading his gun.
Dean fired both rounds at the demon as it leapt for him again. He glanced down the room just in time to see the Jaffa thrust the artifact inside the salt filled case. The demon shrieked in agony a second before vanishing back into the shadows. It took a moment before Dean allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief which only elicited a hiss of pain.
“Glad that worked,” he said, grimacing as he tried to straighten his body.
Jack stopped dead where he had been walking over. “You’re telling me you didn’t know it would?” O’Neill demanded incredulously.
“Heh,” Dean chuckled painfully. “When was the last time I faced a demon like this?” he asked rhetorically.
The Colonel swiped a hand down his face, smearing a trail of blood coming from his temple. “You’re a smart ass.”
“Yes, Sir,” he smirked tiredly; it’d been an exceptionally long day.
“Are you alright, O’Neill?” Teal’c asked, coming over to them the case held in his hands.
Jack touched his temple and shrugged. “Nothing a couple of aspirin can’t cure; what about you?” the Colonel asked, turning considering brown eyes back on Dean.
He thought the question for a moment; feeling every ache and pain in an overwhelming sea that caused the edges of his vision to blur. “We’d better get moving,” he said instead; the last thing they needed was security finding them.
“Right,” Jack agreed, motioning for Teal’c to lead the way.
Dean drew in a shallow breath, forcing himself to step confidently forward and follow O’Neill and the Jaffa from the room. He held his left arm against his ribs though it did nothing to ease the pain. Dean was pretty sure he’d ripped some, if not all, of the stitches Fraiser had put in his shoulder; he could feel his blood slowly trailing down his arm.
Jack stepped in front of Dean as they exited the building, his right hand held out towards Dean. “Give me your keys,” he ordered bluntly.
Dean blinked, trying to process the question; his head felt like it was trying to split apart. He glanced over the Colonel’s shoulder, seeing the Impala parked not far from where they stood. “Man, I hardly let Sammy drive,” Dean replied with a forced smirk. He stepped around Jack and continued on, standing still only gave his brain time to register how tired and sore he actually was.
“Yeah,” Jack drawled coming up beside him. “But I’m not about to catch heat from Fraiser for letting you drive with a concussion.”
Green eyes narrowed; Dean had been both relieved and thrilled when the Colonel had reluctantly agreed to take the classic ride. Jack had appeared impressed by the well maintained ‘67 Impala but hadn’t seen the need to take it over one of the trucks on base. Sam had actually been the one with the convincing argument. If Dean’s plan for the case filled with salt failed their next best option was a devil’s trap and, quite conveniently, there was one already drawn on the inside of the Impala’s trunk.
“I’ll be fine,” he said firmly. Adrenalin from the fight was still flowed through him, taking the edge off the pain but leaving the world a little wobbly on the edges. So long as he could walk a straight line, Dean didn’t see any need to pass up his ride.
Stepping around O’Neill, Dean pressed on towards his car. Teal’c was waiting patiently by the trunk and Dean reached into his front pocket to fish out his keys. They’d no sooner seen the light of day when Jack moved to snatched them out of Dean’s hand. The hunter’s reaction time was slower than he’d been willing to admit but became all too clear as he futilely tried to maintain his hold.
“Hey!” Dean barked, just barely remembering to keep his voice down.
“Sorry, did I make it sound like this was open for debate?” O’Neill asked smoothly, slipping the key into the lock on the trunk.
Dean pulled his right hand down his jaw, wincing as his head throbbed all the harder; he sighed in defeat, too tired to fight out what he already knew was a loosing battle. Making his way to the passenger’s side door Dean climbed into the car, holding his breath as he settled back on the bench. Pain raked across his chest with every breath and he tipped his head back hoping to ease the oxygen into his lungs.
With hands that had slowly begun to shake-Dean thought the adrenalin was fast leaving his system-he pulled his leather jacket and button down shirt away from his side. “Fuck…” the word slipped from Dean’s mouth when green eyes landed on his bloodied, ruined shirt. Pale bone protruded from his left side near where his rib cage ended. He knew at a glance that it wasn’t his but that didn’t make it any less painful.
Dean breathed slowly through the renewed pain. He would have liked to know why seeing the damage always increased the level of pain the body felt; nothing had changed really. Dean swallowed thickly, right hand hesitating to touch the bone splinter he wanted to pull it out but knew better than to try.
Jack leaned across the front seat as he turned the key in the ignition. “What is it?” he asked left hand reaching across to pull Dean’s jacket aside.
“Just a little souvenir,” Dean breathed with a pained smirk.
“Ah dammit,” Jack swore and straightened back up in on the bench as the car accelerated away from the university. “Don’t touch it,” the Colonel warned.
“Does it look like I’m going to?” he demanded back, trying without success to relax his body. Tense muscles were doing nothing but telegraphing each bump and dip in the road up through his battered body.
---SPN/SG-1---
The drive back to Cheyenne Mountain was a silent one for Sam. He stared down at the closed sketchbook resting on his lap, the fingers of his right hand toying with its pointed edge. Sam didn’t need to open the book yet again to see the pictures drawn inside, especially not that of his girlfriend Jess. That sketch was as etched into his brain as the true memory of her death.
The more Sam thought about it, the stronger he came to believe that somehow Jess’ death had been the catalyst that started it all. She had been killed just to pull him back into this life but why? To leave him no other options but to hunt down the son of a bitch that killed her? How did that progress Yellow Eye’s plan? Sam doubted he’d find the answers he was looking for. All the while his powers and those of the other psychics grew; now they were starting to disappear without a trace.
Dark eyes blinked to see Jess’ terrified eyes staring back at him and Sam’s heart clenched in his chest. He hadn’t even realized he’d opened the book again. Sam tried to tear his eyes away but only made it as far as the date. Clicking on his flashlight, Sam sucked in a breath.
September 7th 2005. The night he’d first dreamt of her death.
Sam shut his eyes against the pain and guilt. He could have said something, should have. He’d regret his silence for the rest of his life but he knew dwelling on it now wasn’t going to solve anything. Dean had been right: the anger he bore at himself and the demon would have killed him.
“Sam?”
The hunter blinked in surprise, vision finally leaving the sketchbook only to see Daniel turned in his seat to watch him. “Yeah?” he asked, quickly closing the book. Neither Carter nor Daniel had asked Sam about the sketch of Jess, which he’d been grateful for only until he remembered they’d read the FBI file and details of Jess’ death had been in there.
“Could I take a look at the book?” Daniel asked, reaching a hand back across the seat.
Sam nodded, silently passing the book across to the archeologist. Samantha looked across the truck briefly as Daniel flipped the sketchbook open, switching his own flashlight on.
“How have you and Dean been tracking these psychics up till now?” Carter asked after a moment of silence.
Sam cleared his throat. “We uh, ran a nationwide search for deaths caused in nursery fires,” he began, rubbing both hands down his face.
“That couldn’t cover everyone,” Daniel said, looking up briefly from the sketchbook. “Up until yesterday both Chloe’s parents were alive.”
“No,” he confirmed with a sigh. “Most don’t fit that pattern, but at the time it’s all we had to go on.”
Captain Carter glanced back across the truck again. “So you have no clear idea of how many children there are?”
Sam briefly met Carter’s blue eyes through the review mirror and shook his head. That was another question Sam doubted he’d get an answer to.
“I take it this is the Yellow Eyed Demon?” Daniel asked, lifting the sketchbook to reveal a shadowed man, the only color on the page his yellow eyes. “He looks human,” the archeologist commented.
“Unlike the demon that attacked the base, Yellow Eye’s needs to possess a human body,” Sam explained.
“Why?” Carter asked.
Sam drew in a breath. “Outside of a human host, demons are little more than black smoke. There isn’t a lot they can do in that form.”
“What makes the one that attacked you and Dean different?” Samantha pressed, eyeing him with the review mirror.
“Okay,” the hunter said, trying quickly to decide what all needed to be explained. “Demonic creatures like Daevas and Hell Hounds don’t need to possess a physical form in order to kill. Demons on the other hand…” he trailed off before shifting to sit on the edge of his seat. “Think of it like the difference between humans and animals, higher intelligence, completely different league.”
The truck slowed as they approached the first check station leading onto the base. “What happens to the human they’re possessing?” Daniel asked, turning in his seat so his back was to the door.
“Worst nightmare you could ever imagine,” he replied solemnly, memories of Meg flashing to the surface. “The host is awake for it all.”
“So it’s similar to Gou’ald possession,” Daniel commented as Carter pulled the truck to a stop inside the parking garage.
“At first glance,” Sam agreed, climbing out of the truck. “But demons don’t heal their hosts,” brown eyes searched down the row of cars for the familiar form of the Impala.
“So if their host dies?” Daniel asked, tucking the sketchbook under his arm.
Sam pulled a hand through his hair. “They remain alive so to speak, until the demon’s been exorcised.”
Captain Carter flashed her military ID and pushed her way inside the base before glancing back towards Sam. “Does the exorcism kill the demon?” she asked, leading the way to the elevator.
The hunter shook his head noting the strange looks he received striding along side Carter and Daniel. “I wish,” he exclaimed softly, making a point to keep the conversation between them. “Exorcising only sends the demon back to hell.”
“Captain,” a female officer spoke up as they passed her desk, “Colonel O’Neill left a message for you,” she continued, coming to her feet sharply a slip of paper held out in her right hand.
The Captain came to a stop, her expression looking surprised, “He and Teal’c have already returned?” she asked accepting the note.
“Yes ma’am, about fifteen minutes ago.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Samantha said, looking to the note.
Sam attempted to glance down at the note as they stepped inside the elevator. “Everything alright?”
“Colonel O’Neill wants us to meet in the infirmary,” she responded, the index finger of her left hand pressing the button for the twenty-first floor.
“Does it say why?” Sam asked worriedly, dark eyes skipping between the Captain and the changing number display.
Captain Carter shook her head. “No.”
Sam turned his attention back to the slowly rising number; he felt a cold sensation settle in the pit of his stomach. It didn’t take much to guess that they had been attacked by the demon while getting the artifact. Sam tried not to let his imagination run away from him; Dean might not have even been the one injured, though Sam couldn’t seem to convince himself of that.
The elevator came to a stop a moment later; Sam wanted to dodge off the machine and bolt down the hall but was forced to patiently follow Carter who stepped off ahead of him. The door to the infirmary stood open and Sam immediately saw Dean sitting stiffly on one of the beds. He sucked in a breath at his brother’s appearance.
The older Winchester looked pale and battered, dried blood staining his flesh in several places. He sat on the edge of the hospital bed in nothing more than his boxers, an IV line leading into the back of his hand. Dr. Fraiser stood in front of him, gloved hands checking the dressing on Dean’s left shoulder. Colonel O’Neill sat on the opposite bed; a fresh bandaged covered his left temple while a nurse checking his vitals.
“Dean,” Sam said stepping over to his brother. “What happened?”
“What do you think happened, Sammy?” both Dean and Jack said at the same time. Their tones sounding equally tired; only his name at the end differentiated the two.
“Colonel, are you alright?” Carter asked.
“Yeah just fine,” Jack said, standing up from the bed. “We’ve got the artifact; I want to know what it is and exactly what we’re dealing with.”
Dean straightened a little with a hiss of pain. “You take it out of that box and we’ll be dealing with the demon all over again,” he warned.
“Did you plan on leaving it in there forever?” Jack returned sarcastically.
“The thought had crossed my mind,” Dean admitted with a tired grin.
Daniel placed the sketchbook down on the end of the bed. “Then what would you suggest?”
“I can secure the room with a devil’s trap,” Sam offered, not eager to leave Dean until he was sure his brother would be alright. But he couldn’t risk the demon escaping on base.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” the Colonel demanded.
“Wait just a minute,” Janet spoke up sharply and all eyes immediately fell to her. “Now you’ve all been going for more than twenty-four hours straight. Will the salt hold until tomorrow?” she asked her attention turning to Sam and Dean.
Dean nodded once and Sam agreed. “If the demon hasn’t attacked since the artifact was put in the case, we should be safe.”
“Then I say leave it until tomorrow,” the doctor said firmly. “You all need rest.”
Carter opened her mouth as though to object but no word came out when she was met with a sharp look from Dr. Fraiser. “Do I need to make that a direct order?” Janet asked very calmly.
Sam’s attention focused in on Dean, when his older brother’s head began to droop. “Hey,” he said softly, drawing Dean’s eyes. “You alright?”
“I’m super,” Dean replied dryly.
“He’s got a mild concussion and lost a fair amount of blood, again,” Janet supplied, not sounding the least bit pleased.
The younger hunter stepped around the bed and took a seat on the bed Jack had been sitting on. Now looking at Dean head on, Sam got a better idea of the shape his brother was in. The left side of Dean’s chest displayed a mass of darkening bruises that looked like they stretched around to his back but they weren’t what caught Sam’s attention. There was a piece of bone protruding from Dean’s side. “How’d that happen?” he asked his brother catching Dean’s hooded gaze.
“Dr. Fraiser?” Sam vaguely heard a nurse come into the room. “Here are the x-rays you ordered.”
The hunter glanced down at his side eyeing the piece of bone. “S’not mine,” he replied, looking back up.
“Yeah, I figured that,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “Why’s it still in you?”
“I needed to make sure removing it wouldn’t cause more damage,” Dr. Fraiser spoke up, her attention focused on two chest x-rays that were lit up against the wall. “It wasn’t enough that you had to tear the stitches in your shoulder, you had to crack two ribs as well?” she asked, turning back towards her patient.
Dean met the doctor’s gaze, the corners of his lips twitching up into what could have been his best smile if he hadn’t looked so bloody tired. “Next time I’ll make sure there’s something softer to land on.”
Sam stood from the bed. “Is he going to be alright?”
“Yes, Sammy,” Dean sighed with exasperation.
Dr. Fraiser offered him a reassuring smile. “He’ll be fine once he’s had rest and some fluids.” She stepped up to Dean’s side, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. “I’m going to need you to lie back,” she instructed.
Sam stepped in to help pull the blankets down the bed, before lifting Dean’s legs onto the mattress. It was a testament to how tired Dean was that he didn’t say anything in complaint.
“Alright, Karen,” Janet said, nodding to the nurse who sat at the far end of the room. Karen stood quickly and wheeled over a table laden with medical supplies.
“Hey,” Dean said catching Sam’s attention. “You find what you were looking for?”
The younger Winchester stepped around the doctor and leaned against the wall by the head of the bed. “Yeah,” he replied slowly, noting the heavy lids Dean was fighting to keep open. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
“That bad?” his brother asked, forcing his eyes to open more.
Sam looked towards the end of the other bed, to the sketchbook Daniel had left behind, and was suddenly struck with the realization that he hadn’t noticed any of them leave. Blowing out a breath, Sam pulled a hand through his hair. “When has it ever been good?” he asked, the question becoming rhetorical when he realized Dean had lost his battle for consciousness.
---SPN/SG-1---
Janet glanced up from the file she’d been reviewing, only to see Sam Winchester sitting on the edge of his brother’s bed. The younger Winchester hadn’t left his brother’s side since returning to the base. It had been clear from the moment she’d met them-and it hardly felt like it had been less than twenty-four hours-that they were closer than most siblings their age. Janet had taken the time to read the FBI’s files on both of them and could gather, even if most of the information was inaccurate, that they’d grown up in a tough situation.
Having several chances to quietly watch them both on their own and interacting with others had been rather revealing. The Winchesters were both cautious of their surroundings, weary of the people who came to close. But at the exact same time they both could put on an easy charm that made you forget they were ready for anything.
She glanced down at her watch before quietly getting to her feet. It had been more than two hours since Dean had given into sleep; it was about time she checked on him and saw to getting Sam off to bed. Janet’s lips curved slightly at the strong maternal instinct she had begun to feel towards the boys. It had started the minute she’d laid eyes on Dean gripping his brother’s arm tightly while Sam and Colonel O’Neill struggled to staunch the flow of blood. They didn’t have anyone else but each other. It was clear they’d come to rely on nothing else, which only made Janet want to help them all the more.
Stepping over to the hospital bed, palely lit by a dim overhead light, Janet caught Sam’s attention. “Dean’s going to be just fine, Sam,” she said softly offering him a reassuring smile.
Sam looked at her for a moment before dark eyes returned to his brother’s face. “He always is,” the words were spoken darkly, almost bitter and he glanced back up to offer her a smile of his own. “Even when he isn’t,” he tone was softer now, making him appear far older than he was.
Dr. Fraiser didn’t know what to say; she knew without having to ask that there was more to his words than just what he’d said. There was a struggle in his eyes that Sam quickly hid by looking away. She wanted to ask him about it but knew instinctively that he wouldn’t want to talk; perhaps he’d already said too much.
“You should get some sleep,” she tried instead, noting clearly the dark circles under the young man’s eyes.
“I’m alright,” he said and those words sounded as worn out as Dean’s. ‘I’m fine.’
Janet ducked her head so she was looking Sam in the eyes. “That wasn’t a suggestion,” she told him firmly and watched as his eyes widened a little before a ghost of a smirk crossed his lips. “Take the bed there,” she said indicating the bed next to Dean. “I’ll wake you if anything changes.”
Sam was silent for a moment and for a second Janet was sure she was going to have a fight on her hands. But the hunter finally nodded in resignation and shifted over to the other bed. He stretched out fully clothed on top of the blankets, head turned so he could see Dean before he finally let his eyes fall closed.
She watched him for a few minutes, smiling in satisfaction when she caught the change in his breathing. She doubted Sam had realized just how tired he was before he’d lain down. With one problem taken care of, Janet turned her focus on Dean. The older Winchester looked pale against the white sheets and she quickly checked his IV line, making sure the flow hadn’t been disrupted.
When Teal’c and Jack had brought Dean in, dazed and bloody, Janet hadn’t been able to decide who she was madder at: Dean for tearing her earlier work, or Jack for insisting Dean go along with them. In the back of her mind she did acknowledge that it was odd the demon truly responsible never entered the equation. As much as she thought Dean should have been taking it easy, she hadn’t been able to argue with the fact that there were only two people on base who truly knew how to deal with a demon. That fact alone had overruled her medical advice.
With a shake of her head, Dr. Fraiser refocused her attention on her patient. “Dean?” she called his name softly and received an incoherent groan for her troubles. Reaching out a hand Janet lightly touched Dean’s shoulder and spoke his name again.
The young man jerked awake; unfocused green eyes flying wide searching for the threat as muscles tensed sharply. “Sammy?” he mumbled hoarsely.
“It’s alright,” the doctor soothed, drawing Dean’s attention as she placed a hand on his forehead. “Can you tell me your name?”
Dean stared at her for a long minute confusion playing out on his face. “Dean,” he said finally, swallowing hard.
“Do you know where you are?” she continued, beginning a quick cursory exam.
“Where’s Sammy?” Dean asked instead, eyes trying to see around her.
“He’s right over there,” Janet replied, pointing to the other bed.
Dean visibly relaxed when he saw his sleeping brother. “He alright?” was the hunter’s next question as he returned his gaze to Janet.
She didn’t fight the smile that tugged at her lips. “He’s fine, worried about you,” she answered.
“S’my job to take care of him,” Dean said with a tiny shake of his head.
“It doesn’t go both ways?” she asked curiously.
Dean’s eyelids dropped heavily. “S’noying when he does it…”
Janet smiled again and pulled the blankets up over Dean’s chest as he slipped back into sleep. She stared at the two sleeping men for a moment before crossing the infirmary to a small supply room. Retrieving an extra blanket she quickly covered Sam’s lanky frame, before returning to her paper work.
Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed!
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