The Same Coin [12/13]
Author's Note: This chapter is a long time in coming I know, and I apologize for the delay. I hit the wall so to speak, and it took a while for me to find a way over it. But I’m feeling very optimistic about completing this story although I think I’ll be sad to see it end. One more chapter to go, I hope you enjoy. Thank you for your patience and kind words
Title: The Same Coin
Shows: Supernatural/Stargate SG-1
Beta: i_paint_the_sky
Word Count: 6 841
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-
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven |
Dean blinked without really opening his eyes, the haze of sleep fading suddenly leaving him vaguely aware of his surroundings. He noticed immediately that his entire body ached right down to the bone; it was the familiar feeling of a hunt hard won. But Dean’s memories of the last few days filtered to the surface and he knew the hunt wasn’t over yet.
Opening his eyes Dean stared down at himself through blurred vision. The events of the night before were fast to return when he drew in a deep breath, eliciting a groan of pain. Dean let his eyes fall closed again wishing briefly for sleep as each ache and pain became more pronounced.
“Got to stop waking up like this,” he grumbled, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.
“Yeah you do,” Sam said matter-of-factly, coming into Dean’s line of sight from the left.
“Hey Sammy,” he muttered, dropping his head back against the pillow. “What time is it?” Green eyes glanced around the infirmary but couldn’t see a clock.
“About half past noon,” Sam answered and reached down for the bed controls raising the upper half.
Dean pulled a hand down his jaw hearing the whisk of his silver ring against course stubble. “Figures,” he mumbled into his palm. “I’m starving.” Dean looked up at his little brother, seeing a relieved smile touch Sam’s face.
Sam reaching down to the end of the bed and drew the table up across Dean's lap; a covered tray from the commissary rested on the center. "Jack wanted to wake you hours ago," he commented as Dean reached for the meal.
"Why?" Dean asked distractedly, more interested in his food than Sam's answer.
His brother shrugged. "Poor phrasing on Dr. Fraiser's part, she told O'Neill and the others that they were on stand down until you woke."
"Why?" Dean asked again, tearing his eyes off his half eaten sandwich. "You're perfectly capable of securing the demon yourself."
"I know," his brother nodded, folding arms across his chest. "She didn't mean you needed to be there, only she doesn't think we need to be doing anything until you could."
Dean took another bite of his sandwich, green eyes looking down the length of the infirmary to where Dr. Fraiser sat speaking softly on the phone. "We've got a job to do Sammy," Dean told his brother bluntly. "The sooner we get it done the better."
"Yeah," Sam nodded once, "and I'm pretty sure you know first hand that you don't want to piss her off," he jutted his chin towards the base's Chief Medical Officer.
Dean considered the good doctor for a moment; remembering clearly her reaction to seeing him back in her infirmary. For someone so small, Janet Fraiser did intimidation very well; she made it perfectly clear her first concern was the health of her patients. Dean hadn’t known how to respond to her apparent 'offense' that he’d been injured again. But one thing was for sure: he completely agreed with Sam's assessment of the situation.
Pushing that aside, Dean returned his gaze to Sam's face, noting for the first time the guarded look in his brother's eyes. He knew that expression all too well and it drew out flashes of pain and medication fogged memories from the night before. "So, what did you find at the house?"
Sam's expression sharpened for a second before he turned away, stepping over to the bed next to Dean's. "I found this," he said offering Dean the spiral bound sketchbook.
He accepted the book with his right hand, laying the spine against his thighs before letting the cover and several pages flip down against his legs. Dean started at the image of Jess pinned to the ceiling, the last of the two places he'd ever seen her. "Chloe had death visions too?" he asked glancing up at Sam.
"Not like mine," Sam said, pushing the table back down the bed so he could take a seat by Dean's knees. "At least I don't think so," he reached out a hand, flipping briefly to the next page and then the one after. "I mean check out the dates on these."
Dean saw a detailed sketch of Sam before his eyes landed on a near picture quality image of himself. There was a bandage on his neck, and an abrasion above his left eye. "Now that's a decent picture of me," he smirked.
"Look at the date," Sam said again, sounding a little exasperated.
He looked back down at the sketch; the date read: September 22 2005 9:45pm. Dean looked up at his brother feeling a little stunned. "That's from the hunt with the Wendigo."
"I think Chloe saw things as they happened," Sam explained, flipping several more pages in the sketchbook. "I'm pretty sure she also had visions of most of the psychics, possibly all of us."
There were several pages of faces Dean didn't recognize before he saw a portrait of Max Miller. More than a little curious himself, Dean flipped quickly through the pages, interested to see how many there actually were. He came to a dead stop when Dean came face to face with his dad.
There on a page like all the others stood John Winchester. He was smirking sarcastically as his eyes shone yellow. The color stood out sharply against the black and white of the sketch and Dean found himself swallowing thickly at the memory.
"Is everything alright?"
Dean slammed the sketchbook shut on reflex, looking up sharply to see Dr. Fraiser standing by the bed. He'd been so absorbed in the details of John's face that he hadn't even heard her approach. "Yeah, fine," he managed to say, clearing his throat.
"You look like you just saw a ghost," Janet said softly, eyeing him critically.
"Heh," Dean chuckled dryly, feeling a rueful smirk tug at his lips. "'fraid I see those all the time, doesn't have quite the same effect."
"No," she agreed slowly, "I suppose not."
Dean passed the sketchbook back to Sam as he brother stood from the edge of the bed before shifting himself. The movement caused pain to flare up in his body, stiff from sleep and just the general beating it had taken. He managed not to let a groan slip passed his lips but Dr. Fraiser had been watching him carefully.
"How're you feeling?" she asked, reaching into her breast pocket.
The hunter eyed the penlight darkly but didn't pull away when she moved to shine the blinding light across his eyes. "You mean besides a sudden headache?" he asked sarcastically.
She at least had the decency to look apologetic as she slipped the torture device away. "Yes, besides that," she encouraged, pressing two fingers against the inside of his wrist.
“Fine,” he responded automatically. He wasn’t in the habit of acknowledging every ache and pain. Injuries were a natural part of hunting; he and Sam were both relatively used to it by now so they worked around them and finished the job. “Can I get some clothes?” he asked a second later, once again not seeing his clothes lying within easy reach.
Dr. Fraiser was studying him intently. “I’ll get you something in a minute,” she told him after a long moment. “But you should be resting right now.”
“We’ve got a demon to take care of,” Dean pointed out though it should have been obvious.
“You suffered a concussion,” Janet was quick to return.
Dean offered her a disarming smile. “Not the first time,” he said in an attempt to brush the matter aside.
“All the more reason you should be taking it easy,” the doctor pointed out firmly.
“No heavily lifting,” Dean agreed tone completely serious. “I promise.”
Janet didn’t look the least bit impressed by his flip attitude but after a stern look relented. “Alright, finish your food; I’ll go get your clothes.”
Dean watched her leave before glancing back down at what was left of his sandwich and saw the sketchbook still clasped in Sam’s hands. “There’s something else isn’t there?” he asked looking up at Sam.
His brother blinked in surprise. “What makes you say that?”
“’Cause I know you Sammy, you’ve got that broody emo look going,” he pointed out before eating a little more of his meal.
“Do not,” Sam said indignantly, only serving to make Dean smirk.
“Hate to break it to you but you do,” Dean said completely unapologetic.
“Whatever,” Sam brushed the matter aside with a shake of his head and opened the sketchbook. “I missed this the first time through,” he said flipping to the last page.
Dean looked down at the sketch, clearly a work in progress. Green eyes narrowed as he worked to make sense of the loosely drawn lines, some of them beginning to take clear shape other still completely up in the air. “That isn’t…” he began feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
“Yeah pretty sure it is,” the younger hunter confirmed darkly.
“This girl’s nuts,” Dean said bluntly. “Why would anyone want to draw their own death?”
Sam shrugged clearly having no answer, not that Dean expected him to. Dr. Fraiser walked back into the room and Sam quickly reached for the sketchbook, closing it sharply before placing it on the bed behind him. The doctor came back over to Dean’s side putting his folded clothes down on the mattress near his calf. “I don’t want to see you back in here bleeding again,” she warned, taking his right hand so she could remove the IV.
“I’ll do my best,” he told her honestly.
She nodded but her expression said it all: she’d believe it when she saw it. “From what I understand from last night, when you take the artifact out of the case the demon will reappear.” Janet didn’t sound the least bit pleased. “How do you plan to stay safe?”
Dean wasn’t surprised that was the doctor’s first concern and he glanced to Sam. He had a few ideas himself but Sam had had more time to think about it, he was interested to see what his brother might have come up with.
“We should be able to trap the demon in a devil’s trap,” Sam told her as Dean slid to the edge of the hospital bed and began to pull on his jeans.
“Couldn’t you just leave it inside the salt?” Janet asked then.
The older Winchester bit down on his lip, forcing himself to breathe through the pain of stiff muscles, bruised ribs and fresh stitches. “That may not be a permanent fix,” he supplied, voice betraying him by sounding thin.
“What would be?”
“Simple answer: killing the demon,” Sam said, making his way around the bed. “But finding out how to kill it, that’s the problem…”
His brother trailed off and Dean became painfully aware of two sets of eyes watching him closely as he worked to carefully pull the shirt provided over his head. He wasn’t about to give either of them anything to worry over. He’d suffered worse injuries before and other than the pain and stiffness he was fine. And he was determined to prove it.
“Isn’t there one surefire way?” Dr. Fraise asked after a moment.
“Yeah,” Dean said bluntly, pulling the black shirt down to his jeans. “But we don’t have it anymore,” he didn’t try to fight the bitter tone from entering his voice; nothing would make the Colt a pleasant subject.
Dean sat back down on the edge of the bed, turning his focus to pulling on his boots. When he looked back up, Sam was standing close by, a flannel shirt held out in his right hand. Dean accepted it, carefully pulling the warm shirt on. “Where’re the Colonel and the others?” he asked, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen.
“Daniel and Sam are more than likely in either of their labs. I believe Colonel O’Neill told me the artifact was being kept in Sam’s, I can bring you up there,” she offered, the black sling appearing in her hands.
“No,” Dean said suddenly. “Not that again.”
“Yes, that again,” Janet was quick to counter, moving to slip it over his head. “I’m not going to have you tearing those stitches again.”
Dean bit down on a sigh. “Didn’t work last night.”
“You weren’t wearing it last night,” she pointed out far too calmly as she tightened the strap.
The hunter rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t have done much good if I had,” he couldn’t help but state flatly.
Janet offered him a cool smile. “We’ll never know now, will we?”
---SPN/SG-1---
The phone on the corner of Jack’s desk rang suddenly and he was more than happy for the distraction from reviewing the mission report from SG-3. Picking up the receiver, Jack leaned back in his chair. “O’Neill,” he said.
“Sir,” Sam’s voice spoke over the line.
“Carter, tell me you’ve got good news,” Jack said, tossing the file on top of the pile.
“Yes, sir,” she replied immediately. “Dr. Fraiser just brought the Winchesters up to my office, we’re ready to get to work.”
“About time,” he groused, pushing his chair back form the desk. “How’s Dean?” he asked as nearly an afterthought. Jack had looked in on the kid once in the morning but he’d still been completely out of it.
“He seems fine, sir.”
The Colonel breathed a short sigh of relief. “Alright, I’ll be right down,” Jack said before returning the phone to its cradle. He strode from his office without looking back and fished his keycard from his pocket before reaching the elevator. His short ride to the nineteenth floor was halted briefly as the elevator doors slid aside to reveal Daniel waiting patiently on the other side.
“Daniel,” he greeted, noting the stacks of folders and loose papers the archeologist carried in his arms. “Any luck tracking this demon down?” With nothing better to do while they waited for Dean to wake, Jack knew Daniel had gone back to what little they already had on the artifact and began over looking it all again.
“Unfortunately, no,” he admitted, shifting through his notes absently. “Although the night vision image they managed to get is clearer than anything else out there, it’s just not enough for a positive identification.”
Jack stared at his friend for a moment. “Well, that sucks,” he said bluntly as the elevator doors opened. Together they walked down grey corridors to Carter’s lab only to hear the distinct sound of voices raised in anger.
“Absolutely not!” Janet’s voice carried out of the lab, her no nonsense attitude all too familiar to Jack.
“We know what we’re doing,” Sam Winchester responded in a calming voice as Jack and Daniel stepped inside the crowded lab. Teal’c nodded a greeting to the Colonel as Jack passed, his expression stoic as always despite the fire storm going on around him.
Dr. Fraiser shook her head. “You’re suggesting using yourselves as bait.”
Jack’s attention moved to Dean who subtly rolled his eyes before stepping in front of his younger brother. “Look, it wouldn’t be the first time,” he said and Jack knew that wasn’t going to help the situation.
Sure enough, Janet opened her mouth to respond. “What’s going on?” the Colonel asked lightly, casting his gaze over everyone in the room.
“Sir, before we take the artifact out of the box we need to secure the demon,” Captain Carter explained from where she stood at her desk with the salt filed case at her elbow.
“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” he directed this question to the Winchesters.
“We’re going to use a devil’s trap,” Sam explained, passing an opened book to Jack and indicated the black and white picture. “Once the demon’s inside it won’t be able to get out, unless someone breaks the trap.”
Jack stared at the odd symbols for a moment with Daniel leaning over his shoulder to study them as well. “And you’re sure this’ll work?” he asked dubiously.
“Positive,” Dean told him firmly as he leaned back against the countertop.
“I don’t see a problem so far,” Jack said looking to Dr. Fraiser.
Her eyes narrowed dangerously, an expression O’Neill recognized all too well. “That’s because neither of them have told you how they plan to get the demon inside the trap.”
Dean sighed audibly but simply looked away when Sam shot his brother a warning look. “Look, for obvious reason we don’t know where the demon will appear when we take the artifact out. So we can’t just assume it’ll appear inside the trap.”
“Then how exactly do you plan on getting it inside?” Daniel asked curiously.
“Even a person being possessed by a demon can be tricked; it’s even easier with a creature that’s reacting on base instincts,” the younger hunter explained.
The Colonel eyed the Winchesters with a raised brow; he knew they were dancing around the actual problem at hand and was getting a little impatient for a straight answer. Dean caught his eye and held his gaze for a moment before releasing a huffed breath.
“Alright, best bet,” Dean said sharply. “We put the devil’s trap on the ceiling of a storage room or one of your holding cells; release the demon with a target insight and it should walk straight into it.”
“Dean’s suggesting using himself as the target,” Fraiser pointed out darkly.
“The demon’s already come at me twice,” Dean replied, shrugging his right shoulder.
“And I had to patch you up both times,” Janet pointed out immediately, rounding on the hunter. “I thought we agreed when I released you that it wasn’t going to happen again.”
“It won’t,” Dean said firmly but Jack could tell Winchester wasn’t positive of that fact.
Daniel stepped forward, placing his papers down on the counter. “What other options are there?”
“We could find a soldier with a Native American background and put him in the room,” Dean said dryly, “but he’s going to be less safe than if I do it myself.”
Jack eyed the kid critically. Dean’s face was pale, dark bruising smudging the skin under his eyes but he appeared completely alert and ready. Other than the sling Janet had some how managed to get back on him, there were no outward signs that Dean had been injured the day before. “How sure are you that this will work?” he asked folding his arms across his chest. He didn’t particularly like having to take anything on blind faith.
“Hundred percent,” Dean answered immediately.
Sam shot his brother another look. “More like eighty-five,” the younger Winchester corrected.
“Fine,” Dean huffed with a sigh. “Ninety-five,” he pushed off the countertop and looked Jack directly in the eyes. “But once the demon’s trapped you won’t have anything to worry about and I know I can piss it off enough for it to attack me.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Colonel O’Neill replied with a brief smirk.
“Sir,” Dr. Fraiser spoke up suddenly, “there’s got to be a safer way to do this.”
“We’re going to take a lot of precautions,” Sam pointed out sincerely but Jack knew what Janet’s problem was. The Winchesters ideas of ‘precautions’ didn’t sound like they’d do much of anything; it was hard to believe that a simple line of salt could stop a demon in its tracks.
Jack drew in a breath. “Alright, we’ll use the storage room just down the hall.” He offered Janet an apologetic look. “I don’t see that we have all that many options, Doc. What supplies do you boys need?”
“Salt,” Dean answered quickly. “Lots of salt.”
“And uh, paint or chalk,” Sam added, “for the devil’s trap.”
“Chalk?” Daniel asked dubiously. “Couldn’t the demon just rub the marking out?”
Sam shook his head. “No they’re powerless to destroy it so long as they’re inside the trap.”
Jack raised a skeptical eyebrow at that, finding it a little hard to believe that symbols written in chalk of all things could contain a demon. “Seriously?” he couldn’t stop the disbelieving question.
Dean took a step towards him cocky smile plastered on his pale face. “Seriously,” he confirmed, right hand shifting to hold his left elbow through the sling. “We’ve done this a couple of times before.”
“Carter, get Sam what he needs,” O’Neill ordered with a shake of his head.
“Yes sir,” she said with a quick nod. “Come with me,” she bade, leading Sam from the room.
“Teal’c, give them a hand will you?” Jack said, drawing a quiet nod from the Jaffa before he followed Carter and Sam from the room.
Dr. Fraiser took a step forward, casting a serious expression first on Dean then Jack. “Sir, I intend to remain on hand,” she began firmly. “In case anything should go wrong.”
“Right,” Jack couldn’t deny the prudence in that. “Have your medical team on standby.”
She gave Dean one more stern look before turning to leave Carter’s lab.
“I take it she’s always like this,” Dean didn’t bother to make it a question.
“Oh yeah,” O’Neill drawled, casting a quick look at Daniel who was shifting through his notes absently.
“Where did my duffle go after we got back on base?” the hunter asked then, right hand brushing across the top of his head.
Jack actually had to think about that for a second, they’d been in quite a rush getting Dean to the infirmary. “Should be in the secondary armory,” he replied finally, having a clear memory of passing the weapons off to Teal’c to secure.
“We’re going to need them,” Dean said, shifting the strap of the sling without seeming to notice.
“Right,” the Colonel nodded once, leading the hunter from the room.
---SPN/SG-1---
Sam put down the thick piece of white chalk and glanced back up to the ceiling where he’d finished the large devil’s trap. He’d decided to be safe, to take the time to draw out the Key of Solomon; he wasn’t about to take any chances that the demon might break free, despite Colonel O’Neill’s impatience. Dusting off his hands, Sam rolled shoulders that were stiff from keeping his arms held above his head and turned to see Dean leaning against the door jam.
“Ready?” he asked, green eyes looking up at the ceiling.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“You think?” Jack spoke up, coming up behind Dean to also view Sam’s handy work.
The hunter shrugged, lips twitching upwards into a ghost of a smirk. “Ready as we’ll ever be,” he confirmed with a nod.
“Alright,” Dean breathed, stepping inside the storage room. He carried his double barrel shotgun tightly in his right hand.
Sam was about as thrilled as Dr. Fraiser to be using Dean as bait to snare the demon but, unlike the good doctor, Sam knew it was their best option. Janet had been keeping a careful eye on the older Winchester since releasing him from the infirmary, much to Dean’s dismay. Janet had already intercepted two attempts on Dean’s part to secure a much ‘needed’ cup of coffee, replacing the dark brew with a bottle of water instead. Sam hadn’t bothered to hide his amusement despite his brother’s glares. It was nice to know someone was watching out for Dean besides himself.
Dean made his way to the far side of the room, leaning his back calmly against the cement wall before giving Sam a curt nod. “Do it,” he ordered, shifting his stance and his grip on the gun.
The younger Winchester stepped out into the corridor. A good chunk of the hall had been cordoned off with thick lines of salt; they didn’t want to give the demon anywhere to go but exactly where they wanted it. Sam glanced to either side, seeing the medical personal to his right while SG-1 stood off to the left. The case containing the artifact already waited in the center of the hall, their battered duffel resting next to it. Reaching inside, Sam removed his own shotgun, placing it within easy reach before opening the latches on the case.
“Dude, any time now,” Dean barked impatiently.
Flipping open the lid, Sam plunged his left hand into the salt, feeling around for the artifact. Long fingers closed around the small box and he pulled it from its prison, placing it immediately on the floor. Sam got to his feet quickly, shotgun held at the ready before crossing outside the line of salt. He wasn’t a fan of not being able to see Dean but he waited, albeit impatiently for the demon to appear.
“What’s taking so long?” Jack demanded, glancing none too subtly at his wrist watch.
“Give it a minute,” Sam replied just as the lights in the hall began to flicker in warning.
The demon materialized out of the shadows a minute later, its piercing screech reverberating sharply across the hall. “C’mon, you son of a bitch,” Dean’s taunt was punctuated sharply by a blast of rock salt.
The demon screamed in rage, rushing the room just like Sam and Dean had predicted it would. Sam moved quickly behind it, tossing his shotgun to Jack while he grabbed up the case and dumped a thick line of salt across the storage room door. They couldn’t be too careful.
Looking up from the salt, Sam was relieved to see the demon trapped within the Key of Solomon. Its shadowed body rippled, the darkness of its existence seeming only to grow deeper as it clawed futilely to be free. Dean was smirking as he stepped away from the wall. “Gotcha,” he taunted making his way over to the door.
SG-1 crowded in behind Sam; Captain Carter, Dr. Jackson and Teal’c actually stepped inside the storage room to get a good long look at the demon. Jack leaned against the door frame for a moment before crouching down to scoop up a handful on the rock salt which lined the floor. “Easy as that huh?” he asked dryly, picking a single piece of salt from the palm of his hand.
Sam watched in surprised amusement as the Air Force Colonel proceeded to flick that large salt crystal at the trapped demon; a second before he selected another piece to do the same. The demon hissed in warning, blood red eyes glowing out of a pitch black face.
---SPN/SG-1---
Daniel stood near the door to the storage room, deep blue eyes shifting between the stalking demon and the Key of Solomon Sam had drawn on the ceiling. Several hours had passed since they’d trapped the demon and Daniel kept finding himself drawn back to the room. He was fascinated by the power these symbols held over the creature; there was no visible force field holding the demon back from attacking but try as it might it couldn’t make it past the outer edge of the circle.
The demon made a frustrated lunged at Daniel, not for the first time, and he still had to fight the urge to flinch away. No amount of light in the room could seem to penetrate the rippling blankness that was the demon. Its red eyes bore into him, appearing completely animalistic; Daniel wondered at the possible intelligence of the creature.
Stepping inside the room, Daniel made his way slowly around the outer edge of the devil’s trap, watching as the demon followed his movements carefully. He felt the demon’s eyes carefully following his every move and he thought for a second like there might have been something more there beyond blind rage.
“Can you speak?” he asked suddenly, coming to a stop so he was facing the demon.
The creature snarled a warning.
That was no clear indication one way or the other. “No, probably not…” he conceded slowly. “But you are intelligent.”
“Daniel,” Jack’s voice spoke up from the door. “Whatcha doing?” he asked in that sarcastically curious way only O’Neill could.
“Attempting to communicate with the demon,” he replied as though it should have been obvious.
Jack stepped inside the room, eyebrows creeping up on his forehead. “Why?”
Daniel blinked for a minute, confused by the question. “Why?” he repeated. “To learn of course.”
“Ah,” was Jack’s sarcastic reply. It amazed Daniel how those two letters could say so much coming from the Colonel. “What are you hoping to learn?” Jack continued eyeing the demon. “How best to kill people?”
The archeologist rolled his eyes. “You’re going to tell me you’re not the least bit interested in what might be in our afterlife?” Daniel had researched hundreds of religions during his studies, all with their own unique take on the afterlife, both heaven and hell. He hadn’t given too much thought to what might actually await him until now.
“Nope,” Jack quipped simply. “Mystery of life and all that, I don’t want to spoil the end.”
Daniel didn’t fight the amusement he felt at Jack’s answer; it was after all just what he’d expected from his friend. “Well I’d at least like to know why it kills,” Daniel said returning his attention to the creature.
“It kills, because that’s all it knows how to do,” Dean’s deep timber elicited a growl from the demon as the hunted walked into the storage room.
“Have you ever actually asked?” Daniel asked curiously.
“No,” Dean replied simply.
“When demons do talk, it’s usually only out of one side of their mouth,” Sam added, coming up behind his brother. “Captain Carter thinks she’s found something,” he announced.
Daniel stepped immediately towards the door. When he’d left Carter she’d been attempting to run a few detailed scans on the artifact, though none of them were expecting any decent results. The small box was simply producing too much EMF interference to get any clear readings. Walking into Sam’s lab Daniel saw the artifact resting on the center of the counter and moved towards it.
“What’ve you got, Carter?” Jack asked, slapping his hands together briskly.
The archeologist lifted the box into his hands and turned it over slowly trying to study it. He was forced to look away with a pained wince after only a few seconds. It felt like his eyes wanted to continually slide away from the artifact rather than focus on it, so it took a conscious effort to keep looking at it.
“Well sir, most of the scans were useless like we suspected. We can’t get any clear readings with the equipment because of the elector magnetic interference,” the Captain began.
“Not what we don’t have,” Jack said with a sigh.
Daniel stepped over to a magnify glass and switched on the light before slipping the artifact beneath it. The fingers on his right hand felt along the top edge, feeling more than seeing the edge of what he could only assume was a lid.
“Of course, sir,” Sam said quickly. “I ran an analysis of the artifact and found that it was made of dentine.”
“Something of this size was more than likely carved from a tusk,” Daniel mused, looking up at the rest of the people in the room.
“Tusk?” Dean asked surprised, “What, like from an elephant?”
“Possibly,” Carter confirmed.
“Though how it ended up in this mass grave in the middle of Colorado…” the archeologist trailed off as it suddenly occurred to Daniel how he might best be able to see the symbols on the artifact. Moving the magnify glass aside, Daniel put the artifact down quickly reaching for a piece of paper. “Sam, have you got charcoal or a pencil?”
“Daniel,” Jack spoke his name with extreme patience, “care to share with the rest of the class?”
“Uh, high tech isn’t working for us right?” he began, accepting a sharpened pencil from physicist. “So why not go low tech?” Daniel scrubbed the tip of the pencil across the surface of the paper producing a clear rubbing of the symbol on the box.
---SPN/SG-1---
Dean opened his eyes to stare up at the unfamiliar ceiling. The room was dark around him, only the light from the hall creeping under the door offered any sort of illumination. He and Sam had been escorted to the guest quarters late in the evening after Dr. Fraiser had appeared to call an end to the day. He wondered briefly what rank she had within the Air Force that she could order around Colonel O’Neill without concern. But he supposed it had more to do with her position as Chief Medical Officer than anything else. Dean had just been relieved he wasn’t being forced to stay in the infirmary for another night.
Shifting on the large bed elicited a hiss of pain and Dean forced his body to relax back against the mattress. What sleep he’d managed to get had given his muscles a chance to stiffen up on him again. He listened for a moment to the sound of Sam’s deep even breaths from across the room and knew his brother was still fast asleep.
Dean was a little surprised that Sam had found sleep so quickly. His brother had been completely engrossed in studying the symbols Daniel had managed to pull from the artifact. Dean was a little amused it had taken so many intelligent people to come up with the very simple idea of charcoal rubbings. But it had produced an amazing find. What Dean had originally thought was simply one symbol had actually turned out to be several smaller ones. With the way the artifact messed with the eyes it had been impossible to see on its own.
Drawing a quick breath, Dean forced himself into a sitting position, biting his lip to contain a groan. A digital clock on the nightstand proclaimed it to be 6:30 AM and despite the early hour Dean knew he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep. He fumbled in the dark for his jeans which he’d left draped over the end of the bed. Dean dressed as quickly as stiff muscles would allow, feeling the knots begin to loosen as the blood flowed; the only downside, it caused the pain in his shoulder and chest to flare noticeably. He reached for the bottle of pills in his pocket as he opened to door to the room.
“Sir?” one of the guards stationed outside their room spoke up immediately.
Dean squinted against the bright lights in the hall and quickly pulled the door closed behind him. “Mind taking me up to Dr. Jackson lab?” he asked popping two pills into his mouth and dry swallowing them. The Marine looked a little unsure at the request. Dean could understand why: their presence on the base clearly wasn’t normal and their status among base personal still appeared to be up in the air, so he decided to make it easier for the man. “He called asked me to give him a hand.” Lying was after all second nature to Dean.
“Right this way, sir” the officer said stepping down the grey hall.
‘Sir.’ Hearing that term in regards to himself made Dean smirk every time. It just didn’t seem to fit unless he was playing at being in a position of authority, something he clearly didn’t have within the walls of the SGC. He watched as the Marine swiped his keycard through the reader at the elevator before motioning him to step inside first. Dean had made a point to remember where everything was within the base; with the grey corridors and even the paint marked floors it could all end up looking the exact same.
Dean leaned back against the wall of the elevator and adjusted the position of the sling’s strap across his shoulder. He was a little surprised that he’d decided to put it back on that morning and told himself firmly that it wasn’t for fear of incurring Dr. Fraiser wrath; it was noticeably less painful than letting his arm rest normally.
Stepping out on the eighteenth floor, Dean once again followed the soldier down the near empty halls. Dean didn’t think the base ever actually slept but this was still clearly a quiet time. As they approached the opened door to Daniel’s lab, Dean held his breath hoping the archeologist might actually be in. He had a strong feeling that Daniel wouldn’t be able to stay away from the research for long and was relieved to see the man seated at his desk.
He rapped his knuckles lightly against the door before stepping inside, drawing Daniel’s sharp blue eyes to him a second later. “Dean,” he said surprised. “What time is it?”
“Early,” Dean replied not bothering to hide the disgust from his voice.
“Couldn’t sleep?” the archeologist asked with a rueful smirk.
“Clearly not the only one,” Dean returned with a smirk of his own. He drew in a breath his senses suddenly sharpening. “Is that coffee I smell?” he asked, mouth already watering at the thought.
Daniel laughed. “Help yourself. I’ll deny any knowledge if Janet asks.”
Dean moved like a moth to flame over to Daniel’s personal coffeemaker and quickly poured himself a cup, choosing to drink it black as that was quickest. “So,” he asked after a few slow sips. “What have you found?”
“Well,” Daniel said turned away from his desk, “I think it’s a form of Inuit language.”
“Seriously?” he asked, eyebrows coming together in surprise.
Daniel nodded getting to his feet and stepped over to a chalk board where he’d carefully drawn out the symbols in neat rows. “It would make sense considering the artifact is made out of a tusk, more than likely a walrus or narwhal,” he explained, pointing to the small box resting on the center of the table.
“Kind of far from home isn’t it?” Dean’s green eyes swept over the black board before returning to Daniel.
“A little,” the archeologist agreed. “But it makes more sense than the box coming for some African tribe.”
There was no denying that. Dean hadn’t done a great deal of studying on Native American tribes, just what little was covered in school, and he knew there was a lot he didn’t know. Perhaps at one time there had been a trade rout between the two nations. “At least if the box is Inuit that gives us a place to look for demons,” he mused.
“There’s still more than a dozen possibilities,” Daniel said, removing his glasses to dust them off with the hem of his shirt.
“Do you have a list?” he asked, glancing about the cluttered room.
“Uh, yeah,” Daniel said absently, stepping back over to his desk.
Dean accepted the piece of paper, quickly reading over the list of Inuit creatures and spirits; nothing jumped out at him until Dean reached Kigatilik. That name stirred a memory within him but faded before he could catch hold of it. “I’ve seen that name before…” he muttered to himself, repeating it again and again in his mind.
“Which one?” Daniel asked curiously.
“Kigatilik,” Dean replied, tipping his head back as he sought the memory again. “Where have I heard that name?”
The other man began sifting through papers and books on his desk. “I think it might be from your dad’s journal,” he said, producing the battered book from beneath a pile of loose papers.
The memory rose to the surface and Dean nodded in satisfaction. “It was a hellspawn, he’d been hunting in California,” Dean remembered the brief note in John’s journal clearly now. “He believed it was a demon, one of the Claw People. In his research he turned up a possible connection to a little known demon called Kigatilik.”
“You think that’s what we’ve got trapped in the other room?” Daniel asked, though his attention was on John’s journal as he flipped to the desired entry.
“Definitely seem to fit,” Dean confirmed. “What little my dad was able to find on the Kigatilik said they were vicious killers.”
Daniel put aside the journal and returned to his desk, fingers dancing over the keys of his computer as he searched out information on the demon. Reaching out with his right hand, Dean picked up his dad’s journal and pulled it back to him running his thumb across the warn leather.
“It says here that the Kigatilik is especially known for killing shaman,” Daniel read aloud.
“Could be how it all started,” the hunter mused, leaning against the countertop. “A couple hundred years trapped in the dirt could widen any grudge.”
“Does knowing what the demon is give you a better idea of how to destroy it?” he asked curiously.
“It’ll definitely help,” Dean confirmed.
The archeologist turned in his seat to regard Dean. “I discovered another symbol, different from the others on the bottom of the artifact,” he said reaching across his desk for one of the charcoal rubbings he’d made the day before. “I wondered what you could make of it.”
Dean took the paper, green eyes focusing in on symbol which was immediately familiar to him. “Ah fuck…” he muttered with a sigh.
I hope you enjoyed!
Go to: Eleven | Thirteen[a]
Title: The Same Coin
Shows: Supernatural/Stargate SG-1
Beta: i_paint_the_sky
Word Count: 6 841
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-
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven |
Dean blinked without really opening his eyes, the haze of sleep fading suddenly leaving him vaguely aware of his surroundings. He noticed immediately that his entire body ached right down to the bone; it was the familiar feeling of a hunt hard won. But Dean’s memories of the last few days filtered to the surface and he knew the hunt wasn’t over yet.
Opening his eyes Dean stared down at himself through blurred vision. The events of the night before were fast to return when he drew in a deep breath, eliciting a groan of pain. Dean let his eyes fall closed again wishing briefly for sleep as each ache and pain became more pronounced.
“Got to stop waking up like this,” he grumbled, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.
“Yeah you do,” Sam said matter-of-factly, coming into Dean’s line of sight from the left.
“Hey Sammy,” he muttered, dropping his head back against the pillow. “What time is it?” Green eyes glanced around the infirmary but couldn’t see a clock.
“About half past noon,” Sam answered and reached down for the bed controls raising the upper half.
Dean pulled a hand down his jaw hearing the whisk of his silver ring against course stubble. “Figures,” he mumbled into his palm. “I’m starving.” Dean looked up at his little brother, seeing a relieved smile touch Sam’s face.
Sam reaching down to the end of the bed and drew the table up across Dean's lap; a covered tray from the commissary rested on the center. "Jack wanted to wake you hours ago," he commented as Dean reached for the meal.
"Why?" Dean asked distractedly, more interested in his food than Sam's answer.
His brother shrugged. "Poor phrasing on Dr. Fraiser's part, she told O'Neill and the others that they were on stand down until you woke."
"Why?" Dean asked again, tearing his eyes off his half eaten sandwich. "You're perfectly capable of securing the demon yourself."
"I know," his brother nodded, folding arms across his chest. "She didn't mean you needed to be there, only she doesn't think we need to be doing anything until you could."
Dean took another bite of his sandwich, green eyes looking down the length of the infirmary to where Dr. Fraiser sat speaking softly on the phone. "We've got a job to do Sammy," Dean told his brother bluntly. "The sooner we get it done the better."
"Yeah," Sam nodded once, "and I'm pretty sure you know first hand that you don't want to piss her off," he jutted his chin towards the base's Chief Medical Officer.
Dean considered the good doctor for a moment; remembering clearly her reaction to seeing him back in her infirmary. For someone so small, Janet Fraiser did intimidation very well; she made it perfectly clear her first concern was the health of her patients. Dean hadn’t known how to respond to her apparent 'offense' that he’d been injured again. But one thing was for sure: he completely agreed with Sam's assessment of the situation.
Pushing that aside, Dean returned his gaze to Sam's face, noting for the first time the guarded look in his brother's eyes. He knew that expression all too well and it drew out flashes of pain and medication fogged memories from the night before. "So, what did you find at the house?"
Sam's expression sharpened for a second before he turned away, stepping over to the bed next to Dean's. "I found this," he said offering Dean the spiral bound sketchbook.
He accepted the book with his right hand, laying the spine against his thighs before letting the cover and several pages flip down against his legs. Dean started at the image of Jess pinned to the ceiling, the last of the two places he'd ever seen her. "Chloe had death visions too?" he asked glancing up at Sam.
"Not like mine," Sam said, pushing the table back down the bed so he could take a seat by Dean's knees. "At least I don't think so," he reached out a hand, flipping briefly to the next page and then the one after. "I mean check out the dates on these."
Dean saw a detailed sketch of Sam before his eyes landed on a near picture quality image of himself. There was a bandage on his neck, and an abrasion above his left eye. "Now that's a decent picture of me," he smirked.
"Look at the date," Sam said again, sounding a little exasperated.
He looked back down at the sketch; the date read: September 22 2005 9:45pm. Dean looked up at his brother feeling a little stunned. "That's from the hunt with the Wendigo."
"I think Chloe saw things as they happened," Sam explained, flipping several more pages in the sketchbook. "I'm pretty sure she also had visions of most of the psychics, possibly all of us."
There were several pages of faces Dean didn't recognize before he saw a portrait of Max Miller. More than a little curious himself, Dean flipped quickly through the pages, interested to see how many there actually were. He came to a dead stop when Dean came face to face with his dad.
There on a page like all the others stood John Winchester. He was smirking sarcastically as his eyes shone yellow. The color stood out sharply against the black and white of the sketch and Dean found himself swallowing thickly at the memory.
"Is everything alright?"
Dean slammed the sketchbook shut on reflex, looking up sharply to see Dr. Fraiser standing by the bed. He'd been so absorbed in the details of John's face that he hadn't even heard her approach. "Yeah, fine," he managed to say, clearing his throat.
"You look like you just saw a ghost," Janet said softly, eyeing him critically.
"Heh," Dean chuckled dryly, feeling a rueful smirk tug at his lips. "'fraid I see those all the time, doesn't have quite the same effect."
"No," she agreed slowly, "I suppose not."
Dean passed the sketchbook back to Sam as he brother stood from the edge of the bed before shifting himself. The movement caused pain to flare up in his body, stiff from sleep and just the general beating it had taken. He managed not to let a groan slip passed his lips but Dr. Fraiser had been watching him carefully.
"How're you feeling?" she asked, reaching into her breast pocket.
The hunter eyed the penlight darkly but didn't pull away when she moved to shine the blinding light across his eyes. "You mean besides a sudden headache?" he asked sarcastically.
She at least had the decency to look apologetic as she slipped the torture device away. "Yes, besides that," she encouraged, pressing two fingers against the inside of his wrist.
“Fine,” he responded automatically. He wasn’t in the habit of acknowledging every ache and pain. Injuries were a natural part of hunting; he and Sam were both relatively used to it by now so they worked around them and finished the job. “Can I get some clothes?” he asked a second later, once again not seeing his clothes lying within easy reach.
Dr. Fraiser was studying him intently. “I’ll get you something in a minute,” she told him after a long moment. “But you should be resting right now.”
“We’ve got a demon to take care of,” Dean pointed out though it should have been obvious.
“You suffered a concussion,” Janet was quick to return.
Dean offered her a disarming smile. “Not the first time,” he said in an attempt to brush the matter aside.
“All the more reason you should be taking it easy,” the doctor pointed out firmly.
“No heavily lifting,” Dean agreed tone completely serious. “I promise.”
Janet didn’t look the least bit impressed by his flip attitude but after a stern look relented. “Alright, finish your food; I’ll go get your clothes.”
Dean watched her leave before glancing back down at what was left of his sandwich and saw the sketchbook still clasped in Sam’s hands. “There’s something else isn’t there?” he asked looking up at Sam.
His brother blinked in surprise. “What makes you say that?”
“’Cause I know you Sammy, you’ve got that broody emo look going,” he pointed out before eating a little more of his meal.
“Do not,” Sam said indignantly, only serving to make Dean smirk.
“Hate to break it to you but you do,” Dean said completely unapologetic.
“Whatever,” Sam brushed the matter aside with a shake of his head and opened the sketchbook. “I missed this the first time through,” he said flipping to the last page.
Dean looked down at the sketch, clearly a work in progress. Green eyes narrowed as he worked to make sense of the loosely drawn lines, some of them beginning to take clear shape other still completely up in the air. “That isn’t…” he began feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
“Yeah pretty sure it is,” the younger hunter confirmed darkly.
“This girl’s nuts,” Dean said bluntly. “Why would anyone want to draw their own death?”
Sam shrugged clearly having no answer, not that Dean expected him to. Dr. Fraiser walked back into the room and Sam quickly reached for the sketchbook, closing it sharply before placing it on the bed behind him. The doctor came back over to Dean’s side putting his folded clothes down on the mattress near his calf. “I don’t want to see you back in here bleeding again,” she warned, taking his right hand so she could remove the IV.
“I’ll do my best,” he told her honestly.
She nodded but her expression said it all: she’d believe it when she saw it. “From what I understand from last night, when you take the artifact out of the case the demon will reappear.” Janet didn’t sound the least bit pleased. “How do you plan to stay safe?”
Dean wasn’t surprised that was the doctor’s first concern and he glanced to Sam. He had a few ideas himself but Sam had had more time to think about it, he was interested to see what his brother might have come up with.
“We should be able to trap the demon in a devil’s trap,” Sam told her as Dean slid to the edge of the hospital bed and began to pull on his jeans.
“Couldn’t you just leave it inside the salt?” Janet asked then.
The older Winchester bit down on his lip, forcing himself to breathe through the pain of stiff muscles, bruised ribs and fresh stitches. “That may not be a permanent fix,” he supplied, voice betraying him by sounding thin.
“What would be?”
“Simple answer: killing the demon,” Sam said, making his way around the bed. “But finding out how to kill it, that’s the problem…”
His brother trailed off and Dean became painfully aware of two sets of eyes watching him closely as he worked to carefully pull the shirt provided over his head. He wasn’t about to give either of them anything to worry over. He’d suffered worse injuries before and other than the pain and stiffness he was fine. And he was determined to prove it.
“Isn’t there one surefire way?” Dr. Fraise asked after a moment.
“Yeah,” Dean said bluntly, pulling the black shirt down to his jeans. “But we don’t have it anymore,” he didn’t try to fight the bitter tone from entering his voice; nothing would make the Colt a pleasant subject.
Dean sat back down on the edge of the bed, turning his focus to pulling on his boots. When he looked back up, Sam was standing close by, a flannel shirt held out in his right hand. Dean accepted it, carefully pulling the warm shirt on. “Where’re the Colonel and the others?” he asked, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen.
“Daniel and Sam are more than likely in either of their labs. I believe Colonel O’Neill told me the artifact was being kept in Sam’s, I can bring you up there,” she offered, the black sling appearing in her hands.
“No,” Dean said suddenly. “Not that again.”
“Yes, that again,” Janet was quick to counter, moving to slip it over his head. “I’m not going to have you tearing those stitches again.”
Dean bit down on a sigh. “Didn’t work last night.”
“You weren’t wearing it last night,” she pointed out far too calmly as she tightened the strap.
The hunter rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t have done much good if I had,” he couldn’t help but state flatly.
Janet offered him a cool smile. “We’ll never know now, will we?”
---SPN/SG-1---
The phone on the corner of Jack’s desk rang suddenly and he was more than happy for the distraction from reviewing the mission report from SG-3. Picking up the receiver, Jack leaned back in his chair. “O’Neill,” he said.
“Sir,” Sam’s voice spoke over the line.
“Carter, tell me you’ve got good news,” Jack said, tossing the file on top of the pile.
“Yes, sir,” she replied immediately. “Dr. Fraiser just brought the Winchesters up to my office, we’re ready to get to work.”
“About time,” he groused, pushing his chair back form the desk. “How’s Dean?” he asked as nearly an afterthought. Jack had looked in on the kid once in the morning but he’d still been completely out of it.
“He seems fine, sir.”
The Colonel breathed a short sigh of relief. “Alright, I’ll be right down,” Jack said before returning the phone to its cradle. He strode from his office without looking back and fished his keycard from his pocket before reaching the elevator. His short ride to the nineteenth floor was halted briefly as the elevator doors slid aside to reveal Daniel waiting patiently on the other side.
“Daniel,” he greeted, noting the stacks of folders and loose papers the archeologist carried in his arms. “Any luck tracking this demon down?” With nothing better to do while they waited for Dean to wake, Jack knew Daniel had gone back to what little they already had on the artifact and began over looking it all again.
“Unfortunately, no,” he admitted, shifting through his notes absently. “Although the night vision image they managed to get is clearer than anything else out there, it’s just not enough for a positive identification.”
Jack stared at his friend for a moment. “Well, that sucks,” he said bluntly as the elevator doors opened. Together they walked down grey corridors to Carter’s lab only to hear the distinct sound of voices raised in anger.
“Absolutely not!” Janet’s voice carried out of the lab, her no nonsense attitude all too familiar to Jack.
“We know what we’re doing,” Sam Winchester responded in a calming voice as Jack and Daniel stepped inside the crowded lab. Teal’c nodded a greeting to the Colonel as Jack passed, his expression stoic as always despite the fire storm going on around him.
Dr. Fraiser shook her head. “You’re suggesting using yourselves as bait.”
Jack’s attention moved to Dean who subtly rolled his eyes before stepping in front of his younger brother. “Look, it wouldn’t be the first time,” he said and Jack knew that wasn’t going to help the situation.
Sure enough, Janet opened her mouth to respond. “What’s going on?” the Colonel asked lightly, casting his gaze over everyone in the room.
“Sir, before we take the artifact out of the box we need to secure the demon,” Captain Carter explained from where she stood at her desk with the salt filed case at her elbow.
“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” he directed this question to the Winchesters.
“We’re going to use a devil’s trap,” Sam explained, passing an opened book to Jack and indicated the black and white picture. “Once the demon’s inside it won’t be able to get out, unless someone breaks the trap.”
Jack stared at the odd symbols for a moment with Daniel leaning over his shoulder to study them as well. “And you’re sure this’ll work?” he asked dubiously.
“Positive,” Dean told him firmly as he leaned back against the countertop.
“I don’t see a problem so far,” Jack said looking to Dr. Fraiser.
Her eyes narrowed dangerously, an expression O’Neill recognized all too well. “That’s because neither of them have told you how they plan to get the demon inside the trap.”
Dean sighed audibly but simply looked away when Sam shot his brother a warning look. “Look, for obvious reason we don’t know where the demon will appear when we take the artifact out. So we can’t just assume it’ll appear inside the trap.”
“Then how exactly do you plan on getting it inside?” Daniel asked curiously.
“Even a person being possessed by a demon can be tricked; it’s even easier with a creature that’s reacting on base instincts,” the younger hunter explained.
The Colonel eyed the Winchesters with a raised brow; he knew they were dancing around the actual problem at hand and was getting a little impatient for a straight answer. Dean caught his eye and held his gaze for a moment before releasing a huffed breath.
“Alright, best bet,” Dean said sharply. “We put the devil’s trap on the ceiling of a storage room or one of your holding cells; release the demon with a target insight and it should walk straight into it.”
“Dean’s suggesting using himself as the target,” Fraiser pointed out darkly.
“The demon’s already come at me twice,” Dean replied, shrugging his right shoulder.
“And I had to patch you up both times,” Janet pointed out immediately, rounding on the hunter. “I thought we agreed when I released you that it wasn’t going to happen again.”
“It won’t,” Dean said firmly but Jack could tell Winchester wasn’t positive of that fact.
Daniel stepped forward, placing his papers down on the counter. “What other options are there?”
“We could find a soldier with a Native American background and put him in the room,” Dean said dryly, “but he’s going to be less safe than if I do it myself.”
Jack eyed the kid critically. Dean’s face was pale, dark bruising smudging the skin under his eyes but he appeared completely alert and ready. Other than the sling Janet had some how managed to get back on him, there were no outward signs that Dean had been injured the day before. “How sure are you that this will work?” he asked folding his arms across his chest. He didn’t particularly like having to take anything on blind faith.
“Hundred percent,” Dean answered immediately.
Sam shot his brother another look. “More like eighty-five,” the younger Winchester corrected.
“Fine,” Dean huffed with a sigh. “Ninety-five,” he pushed off the countertop and looked Jack directly in the eyes. “But once the demon’s trapped you won’t have anything to worry about and I know I can piss it off enough for it to attack me.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Colonel O’Neill replied with a brief smirk.
“Sir,” Dr. Fraiser spoke up suddenly, “there’s got to be a safer way to do this.”
“We’re going to take a lot of precautions,” Sam pointed out sincerely but Jack knew what Janet’s problem was. The Winchesters ideas of ‘precautions’ didn’t sound like they’d do much of anything; it was hard to believe that a simple line of salt could stop a demon in its tracks.
Jack drew in a breath. “Alright, we’ll use the storage room just down the hall.” He offered Janet an apologetic look. “I don’t see that we have all that many options, Doc. What supplies do you boys need?”
“Salt,” Dean answered quickly. “Lots of salt.”
“And uh, paint or chalk,” Sam added, “for the devil’s trap.”
“Chalk?” Daniel asked dubiously. “Couldn’t the demon just rub the marking out?”
Sam shook his head. “No they’re powerless to destroy it so long as they’re inside the trap.”
Jack raised a skeptical eyebrow at that, finding it a little hard to believe that symbols written in chalk of all things could contain a demon. “Seriously?” he couldn’t stop the disbelieving question.
Dean took a step towards him cocky smile plastered on his pale face. “Seriously,” he confirmed, right hand shifting to hold his left elbow through the sling. “We’ve done this a couple of times before.”
“Carter, get Sam what he needs,” O’Neill ordered with a shake of his head.
“Yes sir,” she said with a quick nod. “Come with me,” she bade, leading Sam from the room.
“Teal’c, give them a hand will you?” Jack said, drawing a quiet nod from the Jaffa before he followed Carter and Sam from the room.
Dr. Fraiser took a step forward, casting a serious expression first on Dean then Jack. “Sir, I intend to remain on hand,” she began firmly. “In case anything should go wrong.”
“Right,” Jack couldn’t deny the prudence in that. “Have your medical team on standby.”
She gave Dean one more stern look before turning to leave Carter’s lab.
“I take it she’s always like this,” Dean didn’t bother to make it a question.
“Oh yeah,” O’Neill drawled, casting a quick look at Daniel who was shifting through his notes absently.
“Where did my duffle go after we got back on base?” the hunter asked then, right hand brushing across the top of his head.
Jack actually had to think about that for a second, they’d been in quite a rush getting Dean to the infirmary. “Should be in the secondary armory,” he replied finally, having a clear memory of passing the weapons off to Teal’c to secure.
“We’re going to need them,” Dean said, shifting the strap of the sling without seeming to notice.
“Right,” the Colonel nodded once, leading the hunter from the room.
---SPN/SG-1---
Sam put down the thick piece of white chalk and glanced back up to the ceiling where he’d finished the large devil’s trap. He’d decided to be safe, to take the time to draw out the Key of Solomon; he wasn’t about to take any chances that the demon might break free, despite Colonel O’Neill’s impatience. Dusting off his hands, Sam rolled shoulders that were stiff from keeping his arms held above his head and turned to see Dean leaning against the door jam.
“Ready?” he asked, green eyes looking up at the ceiling.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“You think?” Jack spoke up, coming up behind Dean to also view Sam’s handy work.
The hunter shrugged, lips twitching upwards into a ghost of a smirk. “Ready as we’ll ever be,” he confirmed with a nod.
“Alright,” Dean breathed, stepping inside the storage room. He carried his double barrel shotgun tightly in his right hand.
Sam was about as thrilled as Dr. Fraiser to be using Dean as bait to snare the demon but, unlike the good doctor, Sam knew it was their best option. Janet had been keeping a careful eye on the older Winchester since releasing him from the infirmary, much to Dean’s dismay. Janet had already intercepted two attempts on Dean’s part to secure a much ‘needed’ cup of coffee, replacing the dark brew with a bottle of water instead. Sam hadn’t bothered to hide his amusement despite his brother’s glares. It was nice to know someone was watching out for Dean besides himself.
Dean made his way to the far side of the room, leaning his back calmly against the cement wall before giving Sam a curt nod. “Do it,” he ordered, shifting his stance and his grip on the gun.
The younger Winchester stepped out into the corridor. A good chunk of the hall had been cordoned off with thick lines of salt; they didn’t want to give the demon anywhere to go but exactly where they wanted it. Sam glanced to either side, seeing the medical personal to his right while SG-1 stood off to the left. The case containing the artifact already waited in the center of the hall, their battered duffel resting next to it. Reaching inside, Sam removed his own shotgun, placing it within easy reach before opening the latches on the case.
“Dude, any time now,” Dean barked impatiently.
Flipping open the lid, Sam plunged his left hand into the salt, feeling around for the artifact. Long fingers closed around the small box and he pulled it from its prison, placing it immediately on the floor. Sam got to his feet quickly, shotgun held at the ready before crossing outside the line of salt. He wasn’t a fan of not being able to see Dean but he waited, albeit impatiently for the demon to appear.
“What’s taking so long?” Jack demanded, glancing none too subtly at his wrist watch.
“Give it a minute,” Sam replied just as the lights in the hall began to flicker in warning.
The demon materialized out of the shadows a minute later, its piercing screech reverberating sharply across the hall. “C’mon, you son of a bitch,” Dean’s taunt was punctuated sharply by a blast of rock salt.
The demon screamed in rage, rushing the room just like Sam and Dean had predicted it would. Sam moved quickly behind it, tossing his shotgun to Jack while he grabbed up the case and dumped a thick line of salt across the storage room door. They couldn’t be too careful.
Looking up from the salt, Sam was relieved to see the demon trapped within the Key of Solomon. Its shadowed body rippled, the darkness of its existence seeming only to grow deeper as it clawed futilely to be free. Dean was smirking as he stepped away from the wall. “Gotcha,” he taunted making his way over to the door.
SG-1 crowded in behind Sam; Captain Carter, Dr. Jackson and Teal’c actually stepped inside the storage room to get a good long look at the demon. Jack leaned against the door frame for a moment before crouching down to scoop up a handful on the rock salt which lined the floor. “Easy as that huh?” he asked dryly, picking a single piece of salt from the palm of his hand.
Sam watched in surprised amusement as the Air Force Colonel proceeded to flick that large salt crystal at the trapped demon; a second before he selected another piece to do the same. The demon hissed in warning, blood red eyes glowing out of a pitch black face.
---SPN/SG-1---
Daniel stood near the door to the storage room, deep blue eyes shifting between the stalking demon and the Key of Solomon Sam had drawn on the ceiling. Several hours had passed since they’d trapped the demon and Daniel kept finding himself drawn back to the room. He was fascinated by the power these symbols held over the creature; there was no visible force field holding the demon back from attacking but try as it might it couldn’t make it past the outer edge of the circle.
The demon made a frustrated lunged at Daniel, not for the first time, and he still had to fight the urge to flinch away. No amount of light in the room could seem to penetrate the rippling blankness that was the demon. Its red eyes bore into him, appearing completely animalistic; Daniel wondered at the possible intelligence of the creature.
Stepping inside the room, Daniel made his way slowly around the outer edge of the devil’s trap, watching as the demon followed his movements carefully. He felt the demon’s eyes carefully following his every move and he thought for a second like there might have been something more there beyond blind rage.
“Can you speak?” he asked suddenly, coming to a stop so he was facing the demon.
The creature snarled a warning.
That was no clear indication one way or the other. “No, probably not…” he conceded slowly. “But you are intelligent.”
“Daniel,” Jack’s voice spoke up from the door. “Whatcha doing?” he asked in that sarcastically curious way only O’Neill could.
“Attempting to communicate with the demon,” he replied as though it should have been obvious.
Jack stepped inside the room, eyebrows creeping up on his forehead. “Why?”
Daniel blinked for a minute, confused by the question. “Why?” he repeated. “To learn of course.”
“Ah,” was Jack’s sarcastic reply. It amazed Daniel how those two letters could say so much coming from the Colonel. “What are you hoping to learn?” Jack continued eyeing the demon. “How best to kill people?”
The archeologist rolled his eyes. “You’re going to tell me you’re not the least bit interested in what might be in our afterlife?” Daniel had researched hundreds of religions during his studies, all with their own unique take on the afterlife, both heaven and hell. He hadn’t given too much thought to what might actually await him until now.
“Nope,” Jack quipped simply. “Mystery of life and all that, I don’t want to spoil the end.”
Daniel didn’t fight the amusement he felt at Jack’s answer; it was after all just what he’d expected from his friend. “Well I’d at least like to know why it kills,” Daniel said returning his attention to the creature.
“It kills, because that’s all it knows how to do,” Dean’s deep timber elicited a growl from the demon as the hunted walked into the storage room.
“Have you ever actually asked?” Daniel asked curiously.
“No,” Dean replied simply.
“When demons do talk, it’s usually only out of one side of their mouth,” Sam added, coming up behind his brother. “Captain Carter thinks she’s found something,” he announced.
Daniel stepped immediately towards the door. When he’d left Carter she’d been attempting to run a few detailed scans on the artifact, though none of them were expecting any decent results. The small box was simply producing too much EMF interference to get any clear readings. Walking into Sam’s lab Daniel saw the artifact resting on the center of the counter and moved towards it.
“What’ve you got, Carter?” Jack asked, slapping his hands together briskly.
The archeologist lifted the box into his hands and turned it over slowly trying to study it. He was forced to look away with a pained wince after only a few seconds. It felt like his eyes wanted to continually slide away from the artifact rather than focus on it, so it took a conscious effort to keep looking at it.
“Well sir, most of the scans were useless like we suspected. We can’t get any clear readings with the equipment because of the elector magnetic interference,” the Captain began.
“Not what we don’t have,” Jack said with a sigh.
Daniel stepped over to a magnify glass and switched on the light before slipping the artifact beneath it. The fingers on his right hand felt along the top edge, feeling more than seeing the edge of what he could only assume was a lid.
“Of course, sir,” Sam said quickly. “I ran an analysis of the artifact and found that it was made of dentine.”
“Something of this size was more than likely carved from a tusk,” Daniel mused, looking up at the rest of the people in the room.
“Tusk?” Dean asked surprised, “What, like from an elephant?”
“Possibly,” Carter confirmed.
“Though how it ended up in this mass grave in the middle of Colorado…” the archeologist trailed off as it suddenly occurred to Daniel how he might best be able to see the symbols on the artifact. Moving the magnify glass aside, Daniel put the artifact down quickly reaching for a piece of paper. “Sam, have you got charcoal or a pencil?”
“Daniel,” Jack spoke his name with extreme patience, “care to share with the rest of the class?”
“Uh, high tech isn’t working for us right?” he began, accepting a sharpened pencil from physicist. “So why not go low tech?” Daniel scrubbed the tip of the pencil across the surface of the paper producing a clear rubbing of the symbol on the box.
---SPN/SG-1---
Dean opened his eyes to stare up at the unfamiliar ceiling. The room was dark around him, only the light from the hall creeping under the door offered any sort of illumination. He and Sam had been escorted to the guest quarters late in the evening after Dr. Fraiser had appeared to call an end to the day. He wondered briefly what rank she had within the Air Force that she could order around Colonel O’Neill without concern. But he supposed it had more to do with her position as Chief Medical Officer than anything else. Dean had just been relieved he wasn’t being forced to stay in the infirmary for another night.
Shifting on the large bed elicited a hiss of pain and Dean forced his body to relax back against the mattress. What sleep he’d managed to get had given his muscles a chance to stiffen up on him again. He listened for a moment to the sound of Sam’s deep even breaths from across the room and knew his brother was still fast asleep.
Dean was a little surprised that Sam had found sleep so quickly. His brother had been completely engrossed in studying the symbols Daniel had managed to pull from the artifact. Dean was a little amused it had taken so many intelligent people to come up with the very simple idea of charcoal rubbings. But it had produced an amazing find. What Dean had originally thought was simply one symbol had actually turned out to be several smaller ones. With the way the artifact messed with the eyes it had been impossible to see on its own.
Drawing a quick breath, Dean forced himself into a sitting position, biting his lip to contain a groan. A digital clock on the nightstand proclaimed it to be 6:30 AM and despite the early hour Dean knew he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep. He fumbled in the dark for his jeans which he’d left draped over the end of the bed. Dean dressed as quickly as stiff muscles would allow, feeling the knots begin to loosen as the blood flowed; the only downside, it caused the pain in his shoulder and chest to flare noticeably. He reached for the bottle of pills in his pocket as he opened to door to the room.
“Sir?” one of the guards stationed outside their room spoke up immediately.
Dean squinted against the bright lights in the hall and quickly pulled the door closed behind him. “Mind taking me up to Dr. Jackson lab?” he asked popping two pills into his mouth and dry swallowing them. The Marine looked a little unsure at the request. Dean could understand why: their presence on the base clearly wasn’t normal and their status among base personal still appeared to be up in the air, so he decided to make it easier for the man. “He called asked me to give him a hand.” Lying was after all second nature to Dean.
“Right this way, sir” the officer said stepping down the grey hall.
‘Sir.’ Hearing that term in regards to himself made Dean smirk every time. It just didn’t seem to fit unless he was playing at being in a position of authority, something he clearly didn’t have within the walls of the SGC. He watched as the Marine swiped his keycard through the reader at the elevator before motioning him to step inside first. Dean had made a point to remember where everything was within the base; with the grey corridors and even the paint marked floors it could all end up looking the exact same.
Dean leaned back against the wall of the elevator and adjusted the position of the sling’s strap across his shoulder. He was a little surprised that he’d decided to put it back on that morning and told himself firmly that it wasn’t for fear of incurring Dr. Fraiser wrath; it was noticeably less painful than letting his arm rest normally.
Stepping out on the eighteenth floor, Dean once again followed the soldier down the near empty halls. Dean didn’t think the base ever actually slept but this was still clearly a quiet time. As they approached the opened door to Daniel’s lab, Dean held his breath hoping the archeologist might actually be in. He had a strong feeling that Daniel wouldn’t be able to stay away from the research for long and was relieved to see the man seated at his desk.
He rapped his knuckles lightly against the door before stepping inside, drawing Daniel’s sharp blue eyes to him a second later. “Dean,” he said surprised. “What time is it?”
“Early,” Dean replied not bothering to hide the disgust from his voice.
“Couldn’t sleep?” the archeologist asked with a rueful smirk.
“Clearly not the only one,” Dean returned with a smirk of his own. He drew in a breath his senses suddenly sharpening. “Is that coffee I smell?” he asked, mouth already watering at the thought.
Daniel laughed. “Help yourself. I’ll deny any knowledge if Janet asks.”
Dean moved like a moth to flame over to Daniel’s personal coffeemaker and quickly poured himself a cup, choosing to drink it black as that was quickest. “So,” he asked after a few slow sips. “What have you found?”
“Well,” Daniel said turned away from his desk, “I think it’s a form of Inuit language.”
“Seriously?” he asked, eyebrows coming together in surprise.
Daniel nodded getting to his feet and stepped over to a chalk board where he’d carefully drawn out the symbols in neat rows. “It would make sense considering the artifact is made out of a tusk, more than likely a walrus or narwhal,” he explained, pointing to the small box resting on the center of the table.
“Kind of far from home isn’t it?” Dean’s green eyes swept over the black board before returning to Daniel.
“A little,” the archeologist agreed. “But it makes more sense than the box coming for some African tribe.”
There was no denying that. Dean hadn’t done a great deal of studying on Native American tribes, just what little was covered in school, and he knew there was a lot he didn’t know. Perhaps at one time there had been a trade rout between the two nations. “At least if the box is Inuit that gives us a place to look for demons,” he mused.
“There’s still more than a dozen possibilities,” Daniel said, removing his glasses to dust them off with the hem of his shirt.
“Do you have a list?” he asked, glancing about the cluttered room.
“Uh, yeah,” Daniel said absently, stepping back over to his desk.
Dean accepted the piece of paper, quickly reading over the list of Inuit creatures and spirits; nothing jumped out at him until Dean reached Kigatilik. That name stirred a memory within him but faded before he could catch hold of it. “I’ve seen that name before…” he muttered to himself, repeating it again and again in his mind.
“Which one?” Daniel asked curiously.
“Kigatilik,” Dean replied, tipping his head back as he sought the memory again. “Where have I heard that name?”
The other man began sifting through papers and books on his desk. “I think it might be from your dad’s journal,” he said, producing the battered book from beneath a pile of loose papers.
The memory rose to the surface and Dean nodded in satisfaction. “It was a hellspawn, he’d been hunting in California,” Dean remembered the brief note in John’s journal clearly now. “He believed it was a demon, one of the Claw People. In his research he turned up a possible connection to a little known demon called Kigatilik.”
“You think that’s what we’ve got trapped in the other room?” Daniel asked, though his attention was on John’s journal as he flipped to the desired entry.
“Definitely seem to fit,” Dean confirmed. “What little my dad was able to find on the Kigatilik said they were vicious killers.”
Daniel put aside the journal and returned to his desk, fingers dancing over the keys of his computer as he searched out information on the demon. Reaching out with his right hand, Dean picked up his dad’s journal and pulled it back to him running his thumb across the warn leather.
“It says here that the Kigatilik is especially known for killing shaman,” Daniel read aloud.
“Could be how it all started,” the hunter mused, leaning against the countertop. “A couple hundred years trapped in the dirt could widen any grudge.”
“Does knowing what the demon is give you a better idea of how to destroy it?” he asked curiously.
“It’ll definitely help,” Dean confirmed.
The archeologist turned in his seat to regard Dean. “I discovered another symbol, different from the others on the bottom of the artifact,” he said reaching across his desk for one of the charcoal rubbings he’d made the day before. “I wondered what you could make of it.”
Dean took the paper, green eyes focusing in on symbol which was immediately familiar to him. “Ah fuck…” he muttered with a sigh.
I hope you enjoyed!
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