Puddle Jumping Chp 5
Title:Puddle Jumping
Author:Calamityjim
Fandoms:Supernatura/SGA/SG1
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Supernatural-Spoilers to season 5, SG-1, to season 9, and SGA, all seasons. Also Violence, swearing, pairings, and aliens
Disclaimer:Stargate belongs to MGM, Supernatural to the CW
Distribution: cross posted on fanfiction.net
Summary: Gabriel's solution to the apocalypse was unorthodox. Now Sam and Dean are struggling to survive in a reality they don't understand against forces that take a little more than salt to kill. First Story in the Rebirth Verse the Atlantis Arc.
Chp Summary: In which friends are not made.
AN-not my best chapter. It's been a really crappy month. Sorry it's late, but here you guys go. There have been some questions and yes, this is set during the episode of Conversion in season 2. I bumped up the rating because Dean's mouth got the better of me, and I have a gory chapter planned out. So yeah. Here she be for better or worse. Big thanks to Dhrachth for beta-ing.
Previous Chapter
Puddle Jumping
Chapter 5
New Kid Blues
The Winchesters were lying on their backs, the sweaty ocean air cooled by the deepening night. Sam was stretched out, his arms tucked behind his head with his ankles crossed. Dean's arms were laying spread at his side with his palms curled up to face the sky, as though he had been making a snow angel and got tired of flapping halfway through.
The two sat in silence, listening to the waves lap against the city. They stared at the stars and the occasional cloud that eclipsed them as it wandered through the night.
Dean tried to pretend the metallic chill seeping into his spine was the hood of the Impala, that he and Sam had pulled over to celebrate a job well done. One where no one had been injured or maimed and all the civilians had been fished out in one piece. It was hard though, when the stars above him were not his stars at all. It made Dean feel a little sad.
Sam was probably thinking the same thing, but geekier. Had Dean asked Sam probably would have said something epic and poetic about how the stars being different represent the final stages of their transition from the previous life to this one and that having them change finalized the idea that things would never be the same because it undercut that bullshit quote of 'standing under the same moon even though we are apart.' Dean snorted. Sam was such a girl.
"What's so funny?" Sam rolled onto an elbow, propping himself up so he could look at Dean.
Dean tried to shrug but laying on the ground it looked more like a nervous twitch than anything else, "Just thinking."
"Oh," Dean didn't need to see Sammy's face to know the mischievous smile that was sliding across it. "Here I thought that rotting smell was seaweed."
Dean gave the air a tentative sniff. It did smell like something had died. "I just thought you'd shit your pants again."
"Real mature, Dean."
"And yet you don't deny it."
Sam grumbled a weak girly insult and Dean smirked. Sam rolled into a sitting position to stare at the reflection of the night sky and the city in the ocean.
Another dark cloud ghosted over the foreign sky.
"Dean?"
"Yeah, Sammy?"
"Do you regret it?"
Dean winced, knowing that this was the lead in to chick flick prime time. He evaluated his options. He could answer the question, either seriously or with a joke, and be sucked into the emotional vortex of his little brother where he would be brutally confronted with either his or Sam's emotions.
Or he could toss his brother in the ocean.
It was close, but knowing Sam, if Dean did toss him in the ocean he'd be eaten by an alien guppy. Then that that Weir chick would figure out they'd snuck out of their rooms and Dean would spend the rest of his stay cleaning toilets or whatever it was people crapped in here. Dean made a mental note to ask Stackhouse about that. It could be important.
In all honesty Dean didn't mind the whole girl talk thing as much as he used too. Maybe it was because being a bleeding heart here wasn't going to get him eaten by a werewolf. Maybe it was because he understood that if John Winchester had decided to talk about things instead of practicing his own form of rage therapy Sam wouldn't have gone to college and not phoned for two years. Maybe it was because if Dean had spoken to Sam about Hell and about hurting and how fucked up everything was his brother wouldn't have gotten sucked into the demons' and angels' plot to start the apocalypse.
No matter what the reason for the change, it didn't alter the fact that Dean actually wanted to know where Sam was with everything that had been going on. They hadn't had a chance to get into the touchy feely stuff since Sam's visions had flared up again and Dean knew they had to be freaking the kid out even if he wasn't showing it.
"You mean eating that bean meat goop we had for lunch?" Dean finally asked. Just because Dean was willing to get into this didn't mean Sam needed to know.
"No. That was an obvious mistake." Overhead the stars twinkled. "I meant do you regret coming with me?"
"Dude? Seriously?" Dean shot Sam an incredulous stare. "You can't even cross the road without needing me to save your ass. Do you really think that I would have let you cross the galaxy by yourself?"
"That's not what I meant." Exasperation filled the night air and Dean could almost hear Sam scrub his hands through his hair. "I meant letting Gabriel do his… whatever. Following me here."
"Come on, Sammy. Where else was I going to go? Heaven?"
"Well, yeah."
Dean let out a derisive snort. "Dude, we've been there and it sucked."
"We had angels trying to maim us. Extenuating circumstances. Besides, Ash seemed to like it. I bet he'd have helped you. You could have been with everyone, forever. Mom, Dad, even Jo. Bobby would have shown up eventually. You could have had peace, Dean. And once again you gave it up for me. You're always giving up what makes you happy for me."
See? This is why Dean let chick flicks happen. Because his little brother was an idiot.
"Sam," Dean shifted, propping himself up until he was sitting next to Sam, shivering as the wet breeze cut through his shirt to slide against his skin. Still, he stared at his brother, waiting until Sam eyes had locked onto his before making his move.
Then Dean slugged him in the chest.
"Ow!" Sam bitched, rubbing at his shirt, but he didn't have time to say more as Dean grabbed his chin, wrenching his face so that Sam was forced to stare in his eyes, their foreheads mere inches apart.
"Listen up and listen good cause I am only gonna say this once. You. Are. My. Brother. For Christ's sake, I went to Hell for you-" Sam's jaw wiggled to stammer out another apology. Dean thrust up hard enough that Sam's teeth clicked together. "-And I would do it again in a heart beat. Fuck Heaven. And fuck Mary and John." Sam's eyes grew wide and Dean nodded grimly. "Yes. Fuck them both. Mary sold you to a fucking demon before you were even born and then tried to ignore it, tried to pretend that nothing was going to happen when she knew better. John was an absolute psycho who dumped all his shit on us, the entire time keeping a perfect little family hidden on the side so when he needed to go pretend he could, while we were holed up in a hotel not fit for roaches waiting for dad to come home for Christmas. He was a liar and a hypocrite and he either drove away or got the people close to him killed.
"Yeah, you and me had our fights and yeah, you fucked up. But so did I. And why wouldn't we? We've had Heaven and Hell fucking with us our entire lives, trying to push us into our destiny and pull us apart. It didn't work. Even when you ran off you came back. When I drove you away. You always came back. Sometimes it was 'cause I was dragging you back, but you came.
"It's you and me, Sammy. It's always been you and me. Then Gabriel showed up and made it so it will always be you and me. Eternity with my little brother. Not one trapped in memories doomed to play over and over, but forever with my actual little brother. And you think I gave up what makes me happy?" Dean slid his hand up, moving it so it went from cupping Sam's chin to resting lightly against his cheek, thumbing away the tears. Dean's were left for the wind to take. "For being a geek boy you can be pretty stupid. Besides," he grinned, "I can score intergalactic tail. How sweet is that?"
"More like an intergalactic STD," Sam murmured, leaning into Dean's touch as his brother pulled him into an embrace.
The two of them sat like that on the dock, resting within each other's presence until the first traces of a new day peeked over the horizon.
x-x-x-x
Something was wrong.
John knew it, but he didn't know how he knew because nothing felt wrong. In fact, he felt amazing. Alive. Tingly even. Everything about him was buzzing like he was flying, soaring through the air with purpose as a gale of bullets circled him even though his feet were firmly on the ground. His senses were on high alert. Smells were as vivid as color and colors were like touches. He was high on his own body.
He'd also kissed Teyla. Forcibly. It had felt great, her body pressed under his, but it also wasn't really a 'John' thing to do. She had tasted so sweet, all sweat and fear, but he remembered that he wasn't supposed to make her afraid. They were like family.
But if she was truly family then she should have felt honored by that kiss. She wouldn't have tried to push him away. She would have squirmed underneath him in pleasure, not anger. She wouldn't have fought him, rejected him.
That bitch.
"Hey, Colonel Sheppard!"
For a moment John wanted to spin and snarl, but only for a moment. The voice wasn't the Bitch's. It wasn't a threat or a challenge. Its owner didn't need to be taught a lesson. So John rewarded the voice with a lazy grin. "Hey Stackhouse. What brings you to this part of the city? Finally sign up to let Teyla kick your ass?"
Stackhouse laughed. "No sir! I value my life. I'm actually playing tour guide today." Stackhouse smiled and stepped to the side, presenting two figures to John. "Meet the latest addition to the team."
John took in the figures being presented. The first thing he noticed was that they were big, tall. One was willowy, with lithe limbs that he handled as they flitted gracefully about him like wings he had been born with. The other had the bulk of a fighter, of a predator. Broad shoulders with arms loose at his side. Ready to strike. Ready to fight.
Ready to kill.
Both had watchful eyes. Sharp eyes that were looking and seeing instead of the dull glaze of eyes that imagined the world. Bird eyes.
They were like him. Predators. Killers. No. Not like him. They were strange, new. They didn't know that this was his city.
They would learn.
"Hey," John pulled his lips across his teeth as he stretched out his hand. "I'm Colonel Sheppard."
The short one stepped close, taking the hand. "I'm Dean." They shook and John could feel the bird bones screaming to be crushed, to be broken.
Not yet. They had a chance to learn. His job to teach them. Not yet.
"Dean," John rolled the name on his tongue. Dean watched. His eyes were the wrong color. Should have been gold. Weren't gold.
John held his hand out to the tall one, smiling, ready to shake. Ready to test. Ready to see if this birdie was a hunter or just scavenged off of Dean. Hand out. Ready. Waiting.
Dean flopped a wing against the tall one. "Tall, dark, and silent here is Sam." There was a growl. A growl that belonged to a cat, not a hawk. It was a screech, a warning. A marking of territory.
The hand fell back to his side. It wasn't shaken by Sam. It was shaking with fury.
No right. It was his city. His! Dean had no right to claim, to play alpha. Atlantis was John's home. John's kingdom. John's sky. There wasn't room for any more birds.
"I see you guys aren't in uniform yet. What division are you with?" John tilted back, leaning away. If he leaned forward he would touch them. It was too soon.
Dean smiled easily. It was tooth and claw and his voice was sweet like poison. "We aren't. Dr. Weir wanted to review our files before officially placing us anywhere."
"Ah. That's strange. Most people have a placement before they arrive."
Dean's eyes glinted. "We aren't most people."
They weren't.
"Huh," John drawled. "Well, let me know how that goes for you." He clapped Dean on the shoulder, squeezing to teach. Dean didn't flinch. Little bird wasn't afraid of pain. Not yet, anyway. "I'd better head back to my quarters. Teyla and I finished up and I'm beginning to smell a little ripe. Take care of the new guys, Stackhouse."
Stackhouse smiled like nothing was wrong. Wise choice. "Yes sir!"
"Sam," John nodded. "Dean." He walked off leaving only that warning. There would be more. Just…
Not yet.
x-x-x-x
Pleading fatigue from the abrupt schedule change of spaceship to planet side the Winchesters cut their tour with Stackhouse short. The moment the door slammed shut, giving the brothers a moment alone, Dean whirled on Sam.
"Did you see that? Tell me you fucking saw that!" Dean rubbed a hand over his shoulder, wincing as he touched a newly forming bruise and paced across the room with the heavy steps he usually saved for hospital worries.
Sam sat weakly on the bed, his own hands carding through his hair. "Yeah, Dean. I saw." It had been like looking in a cracked mirror.
"Fuck!" Dean screamed, launching a metal garbage can across the room. In his head gentle fingers tried to sooth his temper. Dean waved a hand as he mentally swatted them away. He didn't have time to figure out what the hell was playing with his brain and he certainly didn't have time to be calm.
Sam folded his hands, resting them in his lap as he set his elbows on his knees to lean forward. "So what do you think?"
Dean snorted, sagging bonelessly against the wall. "I think we're fucked, Sammy. That's what I think. Or did you miss the part where the commanding military officer is acting like he's high on-" Dean jerked, cutting himself off as a he slammed a fist into the cold steel of the city.
"Like he's high on demon blood?" Sam finished.
Dean pushed off from the wall, moving to sit by his brother on the bed. "Sam," Dean leaned over so his shoulder touched in apology. "I didn't mean it that way."
Sam shrugged. "I know, dude." And he did. "Doesn't mean it isn't true."
"Yeah," Dean pressed harder against Sam.
Sam took a shuddering breath. "His eyes were the same. They were like mine when it got bad, when I'd had too much. The only thing I could think about was finding a demon and blasting it back to Hell." He leaned into Dean, taking comfort in his brother's presence and the silvery presence in the back of his skull.
"Shit," Dean leaned over, shoving his head between his own legs. "Man, I thought he'd be cool." He sat up and kicked a foot out. "First Dad, then God, now New Dad. Why do we always get stuck with deadbeats?"
"I don't know Dean," Sam shook his head. "I think we're missing something here."
"Well, yeah. We're missing a proper dad. Didn't I just say that?" Dean grumbled and flopped back on the bed, glaring at the ceiling.
Sam rolled his eyes. "No, I mean I think this is new." He twisted, folding one leg on the bed and using the other to keep him balanced so he could meet Dean's eye as he spoke. "John's service record reads like he's an action hero. The black marks from his record are all from when he bucked authority to try and save lives. He managed to last an entire year as the military leader out here when they were stranded and alone without screwing up, so what now? What's different?"
Sam shook his head, answering his own question. "Nothing. Nothing has changed. I think that whatever is happening to him is new," Sam paused, licking his lips, "and I don't think that it's necessarily his fault."
"So you're thinking what? He accidentally got himself hooked on bad mojo?" Dean's face was skeptical.
"Or he's under the influence of an alien device or disease." Dean still looked unconvinced, so Sam poked his brother. "In the first year here they came across an alien mist that could control perceptions of reality, a nano virus that caused the brain to explode and telepathic aliens that suck your life out through their hands. You'd know this if you'd bothered to read the reports!"
"And deprive your geeky ass of the research?" Dean's tone was teasing but his eyes were serious as he mulled over the new information. He sat up and Sam could tell that his brother had come to some sort of conclusion. "All right, so we don't know what's going on but we know that it's something which may or may not be John's fault. Either way there isn't jack shit we can do about this. Unless you think an exorcism would help, I say we avoid him and let the experts figure this out." Dean stretched out his arms, his shoulder cracking. "Sound fair?"
Sam seized his opening. "And if it's not his fault, what are we going to do?" Dean opened his mouth, but Sam cut him off as he saw the corners of his brother's lips quirk. "Go ahead, make a joke, but you aren't getting out of this. We need to decide how to handle this. Are we going to tell him he's our dad?"
"Excuse me, princess. Who pissed in the royal cornflakes this morning?" Dean grumbled, shifting as he sat. "Sorry if I don't want to do the whole long lost relative drama. Sorry if I'm not looking for a new daddy. Sorry," sarcasm dripped from the word like ice cream from a cone on a hot summer day, "if I think that it's fine being just you and me."
"Okay."
"What?" Dean eyed Sam suspiciously and once again his little brother rolled his eyes.
"I said, 'okay.' I wasn't trying to launch a family bonding campaign. I just wanted to know where you stood, man." Dean looked flabbergasted and Sam couldn't help but feel slightly proud. It wasn't often that he took Dean by surprise, though he was surprised that Dean was surprised.
"That's it?" Dean's brows knitted together in confusion. "No big speech on how a girl needs to know her dad?"
Sam swatted his brother. "No, jerk. As you said, it's fine being just you and me."
"Damn straight, bitch!" Dean replied with enthusiasm but Sam could see the rays of relief creeping across his face. "So how'd you get John's service records, anyway? I asked and they wouldn't let me take a glance."
It was Sam's turn to shift. He could feel the soft heat of flush creeping into his face. "I, uh, sorta didn't ask."
Dean blinked. "You hacked the SGC?" Sam nodded. "After we were pardoned?" Sam lowered his gaze and stared guiltily at his boot.
He knew that he'd risked all the good will General O'Neill had been sending their way, but he felt like he needed to know. He needed to understand the man who was, at least in this reality, their father. While he wasn't looking for emotional acknowledgement from Sheppard, part of Sam needed to understand the man, like trying to figure out where a lost puzzle piece would fit without actually filling the gap. He didn't know if Dean would get that, though. He was expecting his brother to be a little pissed.
Instead of yelling, Dean laughed and reached over to ruffle Sam's hair. "Devious, little brother. Seems I'll make a proper Winchester out of you yet."
x-x-x-x
Ronon had spent seven years alone and on the run. Seven years of never speaking to anyone, never trusting them not to hand him over to the Wraith the first chance they had.
The Lantians would call that paranoia, but they were soft. Spoiled. They were children who had found themselves in the middle of a war. Ronon admired the determination with which they threw themselves into fight he knew they didn't understand. Still, they didn't get that every enemy they let walk away would be one they would have to face later, except then the enemy would be stronger, carrying a grudge, and fully aware of what the Lantians were capable of. They trusted first, only drawing back when that faith had been broken. They left themselves open to betrayal and many took advantage of that, yet they still approached people with a naivety that Ronon had never known. They moved through the world with unabashed curiosity that even the harshness of the Wraith couldn't destroy, risking their own lives to answer questions that Ronon and his people had never even thought to ask.
They were strange, different from anyone that Ronon had ever met on such a fundamental level that there were days when the Runner questioned his own sanity, wondering if perhaps his mind had just snapped under the pressures of life or maybe he'd eaten a toxic plant that was rotting away his brain. This line of reasoning was usually quickly abandoned. There was no way his own imagination could come up with the antics of these people.
But as odd and as foolish as these people were, they had saved him. They had invited him to become one of their own, sharing what they had without asking for more than friendship in return. They had given him a home, and while it would never replace the one he had lost it was something worth protecting, and since the Lantians didn't truly understand how dangerous the world was it fell to Ronon and Teyla to provide that protection.
It was that need, that unspoken vow, that had Ronon staring at the men who had just entered the mess hall.
For a moment he thought they were allies that Dr. Weir was trying to woo. It took him a moment to place their form of dress as Lantian Casual, which was unusual in itself. Despite the now open trade routes, Earth clothing was still hard to come by. It was bulky, not a necessity, and the Daedalus only had so much space. Casual dress was saved only for very special occasions, and there were few to be had.
But while the clothing identified the strangers as Earthlings, the way they moved screamed otherwise. Ronon could tell that the Lantians didn't see. Even the man who had led them in was oblivious to the way the strangers' eyes swept through the room, taking in potential threats, exits, and weapons as naturally as their lungs drew breath. The Lantians didn't see the way their shoulders hung loose, not in a state of relaxation but in a state of readiness, so that there would be no tension to slow down the drawing of a weapon.
But the Lantians also weren't practicing their usual acceptance, either. There was a definite tension in the air, a resentment of the strangers' presence. They were given wide berth as they stood in line for food, and the tables around them remained empty as they consumed their meal with only their guard for company. Ronon could tell by the way the leader touched his knife as he ate his pudding that he was well aware of the silent hostility in the room.
Suddenly the stranger looked up, his eye catching Ronon's. The man threw the Runner a smirk and a wink before turning to his companion, whispering something that made the other man roll his eyes. The exasperation of the gesture was undercut by a fond smile.
Ronon would have continued to observe if things had just stayed like that. Despite his time on Atlantis the Runner knew he didn't fully understand the ways of these people and until he had a firmer grasp of the situation any action he could take could cause more harm than good, despite his best intentions. Teyla would be likely to know who these people were and how they should be handled. At the very least she would help him watch them.
"Hey, Herskowitz!" The call cut through the cafeteria like a war cry and Ronon noticed that a few diners took it as a cue to leave, some of them dumping their unfinished meals before scurry away as though McKay were on a rampage.
The man guarding the strangers turned at the sound, his face splitting into a grin as he saw three men coming near to his table. He called greeting to the leader. "Rousseau! I thought you were headed off world today."
Rousseau shook his head, falling into a seat as though he'd been invited. "Everyone's grounded until this shit with the colonel gets figured out." The men who had flanked Rousseau moved in. One claimed the empty chair by Rousseau while the other settled himself in the free chair by the taller of the strangers. "But maybe that's not so bad." He nodded a chin at the strangers. "Winchesters, right?"
"Like the rifle." The winker smirked like it was a private joke.
Rousseau leaned forward. "You got first names to go with that?"
"You show me yours I'll show you mine." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"I'm Sam," the other one cut in, his tone soothing as he tried to defuse the situation, "and this is Dean. Dean, this is Captain Eliot Rousseau."
"And how the fuck did you know that?" Rousseau snarled.
Dean's face contorted into a mock pout. "Awe, someone sad 'cause our clearance is higher?"
"I wasn't talking to you, pretty boy."
Dean opened his mouth to retort, but Sam's fingers subtly brushed against his sleeve. None of the Marines noticed. Ronon frowned as the two made eye contact, his brows furrowing as Dean closed his jaw and eased back into his chair. The Runner didn't fail to notice that the knife Dean had been caressing earlier was suddenly nowhere to be seen.
Sam dropped his hand before he turned. He gave a dismissive shrug. "I read all the mission reports. Your team did some great work with the Nepheens. Single handedly evacuating an entire planet?" Sam shook his head in amazement. "That was incredible. Your name happened to stick." Sam offered a shy smile tinged with a bit of hero worship.
"That's right," Rousseau growled. "My team and I have what it takes because we fucking earned our position here."
"Eliot, calm down." Herskowitz cautioned, finally catching on to his friend's true motives for approaching.
"Shut up, Tim. I spent years working towards a position under the mountain. Do you have any fucking clue what I had to survive to earn a trip to Atlantis? I worked my way here! We all did. But you," he spat the words. "You two show up out of fucking nowhere and when you get here there is nothing for you to fucking do. So what, Daddy pay for you to go sightseeing or did you suck your way here using that pretty little mouth of yours?"
Sam cocked his head to the side. "You think I'm pretty?"
Dean frowned thoughtfully. "I dunno, Sam. I think you can do better."
Rousseau slammed his hands down on the table. "You think this is a fucking joke? You have no idea what we do out here, what we've sacrificed out here!"
"Don't you dare talk to me about sacrifice!" Dean snarled, standing and leaning over the table. "Don't you fucking dare. You have no idea who we are or what we've done and frankly it isn't any of your fucking business. Go back to playing soldier, Eliot, because a detective you are fucking not." Dean straightened. "Come on, Sam."
Sam moved to stand, but the Marine sitting nearest to him grabbed his wrist and pulled him back into the chair. "We ain't done talking to you yet," the Marine drawled in a heavy Southern accent.
"Get your fucking hands off him before I rip your lungs out." Dean's voice was quiet and for a moment Ronon found himself wondering if the man could actually do it. Then he remembered the missing knife and all doubt vanished.
"Whoa!" Herskowitz stood, waving his hands passively. "Everyone back it off a notch! Anyone here gets hurt and it's gonna be my head that rolls!"
"Please," Rousseau waved a hand dismissively. "Nobody cares what happens to these faggots."
"Yeah," Deep South drawled. "They're sharing a room. Bet they're fucking each other up the ass every night."
Dean leaned back and crossed his arms. "Sorry Alabama. Everyone but your parents got the memo that incest was icky."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "At least they furthered the cause by showing the danger to the offspring." Sam's smirk barely flickered into a wince as the man squeezed his wrist, but Dean still noticed it.
"Let go of my brother."
Ronon was moving before the idiot Marine had finished uttering "make me."
He launched himself over the two tables that were between him and the Marines, landing at the shoulder of the man holding Sam. Dean's step forward slid smoothly into a defensive stance as he took in Ronon's full height and state of dress. The guy wasn't counting on Ronon being friendly.
Wise decision. "Friendly" wasn't a word people used in regard to the former Runner.
Everyone else at the table had also spun to see who had entered the equation. Herskowitz had paled at the sight of the larger man, pushing out of his chair and scrambling to get to the safety of the sidelines. Rousseau looked amused. The silent one looked perturbed, as though he hadn't seen Ronon in the mess hall when he agreed to be part of this. Knowing the Lantians he probably hadn't.
Deep South hadn't bothered to look. Sam had attempted once again to stand and the Marine had let the guy almost rise before tugging on him hard enough to send him into the table. The kid didn't shout as he slammed into the metal edge hard enough to move the damn thing several inches but it obviously had hurt. His brother had fisted a hand onto Sam's shoulder, ready to pull Sam behind him in case Ronon decided to attack. Looking at Sam's tray, which was also missing cutlery, Ronon knew that the only reason Deep South still had a good grip was because Sam was giving him a chance to walk away with his fingers intact.
"Hey." Deep South stiffened at the sound of Ronon's voice and Sam hissed, the grip on his wrist tightening further. "Let go."
The moment the grip loosened Sam was off the floor and behind his brother, though that had to do more with the way Dean pulled him back than Sam scurrying into a retreat.
"Ronon," Rousseau's smile was anything but cordial. "What brings you over to our side of the world?"
"No manhandling civilians."
"Or what?" Rousseau rose from his seat, crossing his arms. He was a member of the original expedition and he refused to be cowed by Ronon's presence. "You're going to tell Sheppard on me? The man has bigger concerns than these dickweeds. Of course, you could go see Colonel Cadwell. I hear he's in charge until this blows over." Dean paled at the statement but didn't shift his stance. "I hear he has a bone to pick with one of these boys." Rousseau raised an eyebrow. "Or are you planning on making me play nice?"
"I'll tell McKay." Ronon wasn't above tattling. Rousseau may not have been afraid of Ronon, but that didn't mean he wasn't afraid of anyone. The best way to defeat an enemy was to go for his weakness, and everyone who had been on base for more than a week knew that you didn't fuck with McKay in the city. On the battlefield the man was practically useless, but in Atlantis? There was nothing he couldn't and, when properly motivated, wouldn't do. McKay had destroyed a solar system out of curiosity.
Rousseau held his hands up in surrender. "All right. Cool your jets there. We were just having a little fun. No harm, no foul." He gave a slimy smile worthy of the Genii before slinking off, his cronies following him.
Once they were gone Ronon turned on Herskowitz. The man was a fairly new recruit and still hadn't set foot off world. The only threatening quality about him was his inexperience, which was the most likely thing to get other people killed. "Clean up the trays. They're coming with me."
The man shook his head and Ronon found himself giving the man points for having guts. "I can't. Sergeant Stackhouse assigned me to watch them."
Ronon stared.
Herskowitz licked his lips nervously.
Ronon continued to stare.
"Uh, maybe I'll go clean the trays up?"
Ronon continued to stare.
"Right," Herskowitz mumbled. "I'll go clean up the trays." He managed a dignified turn before he breaking into a scuttle to get to Ronon's abandoned table.
The Satedan turned on his newest charges, wondering what to do with them and just what the hell he had been thinking hen he intervened.
x-x-x-x
Dean was walking shoulder to shoulder with an alien. A real life alien. Sure, Teal'c was one but the dude had spent way too much time with Earthlings. He'd lost his intra-galactic freshness. There had been a less acclimatized alien on the Daedalus but Dean had been in no shape to track the thing down to stare. Besides, this one wore pants.
The entire scenario made Dean want to slow dance. Or something.
For being an alien the dude wasn't overly strange, though Dean knew he shouldn't be disappointed. The reports he had read -okay, skimmed (he couldn't let Sammy be the only one who knew what was going on, but he still wasn't a geek) -had said that most alien life was human. The thing that had tipped Dean off about his new friends relationship status to Earth was the puzzled look he'd shot Winchester when he'd asked him to teach him to perform jedi mind tricks. It was like dealing with Castiel all over again. At least Ronon was wearing a kickass outfit that didn't include a trench coat. It was all… alien… and stuff.
Okay, Dean didn't give a shit about Ronon's outfit. It was the giant ass gun hanging by his thigh that had caught Dean's eye.
It was also said gun that had convinced Dean to leave the cafeteria with his newest friend.
Ronon hadn't pulled the thing and started waving it about while cursing in an exotic tongue, which once again left Dean with a vague sense of dissatisfaction, but instead had tried to use his hypnotic stare to do… something. Whatever it was, it clearly hadn't worked.
Dean had snarled about not being a princess in need of rescue and Ronon had shrugged and told him he didn't want Sheppard's men dying while the colonel was off duty. He'd then offered to take the boys to the shooting range because he didn't have anything else better to do. What could Dean say? Dinner and a movie was a lethal combination and he was a sucker for flattery. He had even been willing to give back the knife he'd slid up his sleeve, making Sam do the same. His little brother had put up a token resistance, but that had more to do with the fact that if he hadn't the alien probably would have figured out they'd snagged their forks as well.
Sam was absolutely lethal with a fork.
"So," Dean started. Yeah, Ronon seemed all badass and shit but the dude was quiet. Like, eerily quiet. Unless it was to soon be interrupted by gunshots and explosions Dean didn't do silence. "Alien, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Any advice for surviving on Atlantis?"
"Don't screw up and I won't have to gut you."
Dean took in a deep breath and began slowly counting to ten. That's what Larry, the coordinator of Dean's anger management program had set. Count to ten to give yourself time to think of a better solution as you calm down. Focus on the numbers before you focus on the anger.
Dean made it to three.
"What the fuck is everybody's problem?" He slammed the side of his hand into the nearest wall, relishing in the pain it sent up his arm.
"Dean." Calm down. It was written all over Sam's face even as his wide eyes tracked the alien, waiting for a reaction.
Dean wanted to laugh. Considering the situation he was calm. He was fucking zen. "No, seriously? What is it? Is there a secret handshake we were supposed to know or does everyone here just get off on being a dick?
"I get that this is a exclusive joint and me and Sam's invites got lost in the mail, but we're here and you are all gonna just have to learn to fucking cope with it because we don't have anywhere else to be. So fine. Have your pissy little bitch fit but I swear to God that the next person who decides to do more than just talk is going to find my foot shoved so far up their ass they'll be tasting leather. You catching me Conan, or do I need to doodle you a cave drawing for you to figure this out?"
Ronon tilted his head. "You done?" Dean gave a nod. "Good. Shooting range is this way." The alien headed off with out a second glance.
Sam walked up to Dean, leaning in close. "Feel better?" he asked sarcastically before hurrying off to follow their guide.
Dean couldn't help but grin. He did feel better.
X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X
Confusion Clear Ups
Sam and Dean in Heaven- The Darkside of the Moon, season 5
McKay blowing up a solar system-Episode Trinity, season 2.
Sentient Fog-Home, season 1
Nanovirus-Hot Zone, season 1
Slow dancing Aliens- Tall Tales, season 2 of supernatural
Next Chapter
Author:Calamityjim
Fandoms:Supernatura/SGA/SG1
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Supernatural-Spoilers to season 5, SG-1, to season 9, and SGA, all seasons. Also Violence, swearing, pairings, and aliens
Disclaimer:Stargate belongs to MGM, Supernatural to the CW
Distribution: cross posted on fanfiction.net
Summary: Gabriel's solution to the apocalypse was unorthodox. Now Sam and Dean are struggling to survive in a reality they don't understand against forces that take a little more than salt to kill. First Story in the Rebirth Verse the Atlantis Arc.
Chp Summary: In which friends are not made.
AN-not my best chapter. It's been a really crappy month. Sorry it's late, but here you guys go. There have been some questions and yes, this is set during the episode of Conversion in season 2. I bumped up the rating because Dean's mouth got the better of me, and I have a gory chapter planned out. So yeah. Here she be for better or worse. Big thanks to Dhrachth for beta-ing.
Previous Chapter
Puddle Jumping
Chapter 5
New Kid Blues
The Winchesters were lying on their backs, the sweaty ocean air cooled by the deepening night. Sam was stretched out, his arms tucked behind his head with his ankles crossed. Dean's arms were laying spread at his side with his palms curled up to face the sky, as though he had been making a snow angel and got tired of flapping halfway through.
The two sat in silence, listening to the waves lap against the city. They stared at the stars and the occasional cloud that eclipsed them as it wandered through the night.
Dean tried to pretend the metallic chill seeping into his spine was the hood of the Impala, that he and Sam had pulled over to celebrate a job well done. One where no one had been injured or maimed and all the civilians had been fished out in one piece. It was hard though, when the stars above him were not his stars at all. It made Dean feel a little sad.
Sam was probably thinking the same thing, but geekier. Had Dean asked Sam probably would have said something epic and poetic about how the stars being different represent the final stages of their transition from the previous life to this one and that having them change finalized the idea that things would never be the same because it undercut that bullshit quote of 'standing under the same moon even though we are apart.' Dean snorted. Sam was such a girl.
"What's so funny?" Sam rolled onto an elbow, propping himself up so he could look at Dean.
Dean tried to shrug but laying on the ground it looked more like a nervous twitch than anything else, "Just thinking."
"Oh," Dean didn't need to see Sammy's face to know the mischievous smile that was sliding across it. "Here I thought that rotting smell was seaweed."
Dean gave the air a tentative sniff. It did smell like something had died. "I just thought you'd shit your pants again."
"Real mature, Dean."
"And yet you don't deny it."
Sam grumbled a weak girly insult and Dean smirked. Sam rolled into a sitting position to stare at the reflection of the night sky and the city in the ocean.
Another dark cloud ghosted over the foreign sky.
"Dean?"
"Yeah, Sammy?"
"Do you regret it?"
Dean winced, knowing that this was the lead in to chick flick prime time. He evaluated his options. He could answer the question, either seriously or with a joke, and be sucked into the emotional vortex of his little brother where he would be brutally confronted with either his or Sam's emotions.
Or he could toss his brother in the ocean.
It was close, but knowing Sam, if Dean did toss him in the ocean he'd be eaten by an alien guppy. Then that that Weir chick would figure out they'd snuck out of their rooms and Dean would spend the rest of his stay cleaning toilets or whatever it was people crapped in here. Dean made a mental note to ask Stackhouse about that. It could be important.
In all honesty Dean didn't mind the whole girl talk thing as much as he used too. Maybe it was because being a bleeding heart here wasn't going to get him eaten by a werewolf. Maybe it was because he understood that if John Winchester had decided to talk about things instead of practicing his own form of rage therapy Sam wouldn't have gone to college and not phoned for two years. Maybe it was because if Dean had spoken to Sam about Hell and about hurting and how fucked up everything was his brother wouldn't have gotten sucked into the demons' and angels' plot to start the apocalypse.
No matter what the reason for the change, it didn't alter the fact that Dean actually wanted to know where Sam was with everything that had been going on. They hadn't had a chance to get into the touchy feely stuff since Sam's visions had flared up again and Dean knew they had to be freaking the kid out even if he wasn't showing it.
"You mean eating that bean meat goop we had for lunch?" Dean finally asked. Just because Dean was willing to get into this didn't mean Sam needed to know.
"No. That was an obvious mistake." Overhead the stars twinkled. "I meant do you regret coming with me?"
"Dude? Seriously?" Dean shot Sam an incredulous stare. "You can't even cross the road without needing me to save your ass. Do you really think that I would have let you cross the galaxy by yourself?"
"That's not what I meant." Exasperation filled the night air and Dean could almost hear Sam scrub his hands through his hair. "I meant letting Gabriel do his… whatever. Following me here."
"Come on, Sammy. Where else was I going to go? Heaven?"
"Well, yeah."
Dean let out a derisive snort. "Dude, we've been there and it sucked."
"We had angels trying to maim us. Extenuating circumstances. Besides, Ash seemed to like it. I bet he'd have helped you. You could have been with everyone, forever. Mom, Dad, even Jo. Bobby would have shown up eventually. You could have had peace, Dean. And once again you gave it up for me. You're always giving up what makes you happy for me."
See? This is why Dean let chick flicks happen. Because his little brother was an idiot.
"Sam," Dean shifted, propping himself up until he was sitting next to Sam, shivering as the wet breeze cut through his shirt to slide against his skin. Still, he stared at his brother, waiting until Sam eyes had locked onto his before making his move.
Then Dean slugged him in the chest.
"Ow!" Sam bitched, rubbing at his shirt, but he didn't have time to say more as Dean grabbed his chin, wrenching his face so that Sam was forced to stare in his eyes, their foreheads mere inches apart.
"Listen up and listen good cause I am only gonna say this once. You. Are. My. Brother. For Christ's sake, I went to Hell for you-" Sam's jaw wiggled to stammer out another apology. Dean thrust up hard enough that Sam's teeth clicked together. "-And I would do it again in a heart beat. Fuck Heaven. And fuck Mary and John." Sam's eyes grew wide and Dean nodded grimly. "Yes. Fuck them both. Mary sold you to a fucking demon before you were even born and then tried to ignore it, tried to pretend that nothing was going to happen when she knew better. John was an absolute psycho who dumped all his shit on us, the entire time keeping a perfect little family hidden on the side so when he needed to go pretend he could, while we were holed up in a hotel not fit for roaches waiting for dad to come home for Christmas. He was a liar and a hypocrite and he either drove away or got the people close to him killed.
"Yeah, you and me had our fights and yeah, you fucked up. But so did I. And why wouldn't we? We've had Heaven and Hell fucking with us our entire lives, trying to push us into our destiny and pull us apart. It didn't work. Even when you ran off you came back. When I drove you away. You always came back. Sometimes it was 'cause I was dragging you back, but you came.
"It's you and me, Sammy. It's always been you and me. Then Gabriel showed up and made it so it will always be you and me. Eternity with my little brother. Not one trapped in memories doomed to play over and over, but forever with my actual little brother. And you think I gave up what makes me happy?" Dean slid his hand up, moving it so it went from cupping Sam's chin to resting lightly against his cheek, thumbing away the tears. Dean's were left for the wind to take. "For being a geek boy you can be pretty stupid. Besides," he grinned, "I can score intergalactic tail. How sweet is that?"
"More like an intergalactic STD," Sam murmured, leaning into Dean's touch as his brother pulled him into an embrace.
The two of them sat like that on the dock, resting within each other's presence until the first traces of a new day peeked over the horizon.
x-x-x-x
Something was wrong.
John knew it, but he didn't know how he knew because nothing felt wrong. In fact, he felt amazing. Alive. Tingly even. Everything about him was buzzing like he was flying, soaring through the air with purpose as a gale of bullets circled him even though his feet were firmly on the ground. His senses were on high alert. Smells were as vivid as color and colors were like touches. He was high on his own body.
He'd also kissed Teyla. Forcibly. It had felt great, her body pressed under his, but it also wasn't really a 'John' thing to do. She had tasted so sweet, all sweat and fear, but he remembered that he wasn't supposed to make her afraid. They were like family.
But if she was truly family then she should have felt honored by that kiss. She wouldn't have tried to push him away. She would have squirmed underneath him in pleasure, not anger. She wouldn't have fought him, rejected him.
That bitch.
"Hey, Colonel Sheppard!"
For a moment John wanted to spin and snarl, but only for a moment. The voice wasn't the Bitch's. It wasn't a threat or a challenge. Its owner didn't need to be taught a lesson. So John rewarded the voice with a lazy grin. "Hey Stackhouse. What brings you to this part of the city? Finally sign up to let Teyla kick your ass?"
Stackhouse laughed. "No sir! I value my life. I'm actually playing tour guide today." Stackhouse smiled and stepped to the side, presenting two figures to John. "Meet the latest addition to the team."
John took in the figures being presented. The first thing he noticed was that they were big, tall. One was willowy, with lithe limbs that he handled as they flitted gracefully about him like wings he had been born with. The other had the bulk of a fighter, of a predator. Broad shoulders with arms loose at his side. Ready to strike. Ready to fight.
Ready to kill.
Both had watchful eyes. Sharp eyes that were looking and seeing instead of the dull glaze of eyes that imagined the world. Bird eyes.
They were like him. Predators. Killers. No. Not like him. They were strange, new. They didn't know that this was his city.
They would learn.
"Hey," John pulled his lips across his teeth as he stretched out his hand. "I'm Colonel Sheppard."
The short one stepped close, taking the hand. "I'm Dean." They shook and John could feel the bird bones screaming to be crushed, to be broken.
Not yet. They had a chance to learn. His job to teach them. Not yet.
"Dean," John rolled the name on his tongue. Dean watched. His eyes were the wrong color. Should have been gold. Weren't gold.
John held his hand out to the tall one, smiling, ready to shake. Ready to test. Ready to see if this birdie was a hunter or just scavenged off of Dean. Hand out. Ready. Waiting.
Dean flopped a wing against the tall one. "Tall, dark, and silent here is Sam." There was a growl. A growl that belonged to a cat, not a hawk. It was a screech, a warning. A marking of territory.
The hand fell back to his side. It wasn't shaken by Sam. It was shaking with fury.
No right. It was his city. His! Dean had no right to claim, to play alpha. Atlantis was John's home. John's kingdom. John's sky. There wasn't room for any more birds.
"I see you guys aren't in uniform yet. What division are you with?" John tilted back, leaning away. If he leaned forward he would touch them. It was too soon.
Dean smiled easily. It was tooth and claw and his voice was sweet like poison. "We aren't. Dr. Weir wanted to review our files before officially placing us anywhere."
"Ah. That's strange. Most people have a placement before they arrive."
Dean's eyes glinted. "We aren't most people."
They weren't.
"Huh," John drawled. "Well, let me know how that goes for you." He clapped Dean on the shoulder, squeezing to teach. Dean didn't flinch. Little bird wasn't afraid of pain. Not yet, anyway. "I'd better head back to my quarters. Teyla and I finished up and I'm beginning to smell a little ripe. Take care of the new guys, Stackhouse."
Stackhouse smiled like nothing was wrong. Wise choice. "Yes sir!"
"Sam," John nodded. "Dean." He walked off leaving only that warning. There would be more. Just…
Not yet.
x-x-x-x
Pleading fatigue from the abrupt schedule change of spaceship to planet side the Winchesters cut their tour with Stackhouse short. The moment the door slammed shut, giving the brothers a moment alone, Dean whirled on Sam.
"Did you see that? Tell me you fucking saw that!" Dean rubbed a hand over his shoulder, wincing as he touched a newly forming bruise and paced across the room with the heavy steps he usually saved for hospital worries.
Sam sat weakly on the bed, his own hands carding through his hair. "Yeah, Dean. I saw." It had been like looking in a cracked mirror.
"Fuck!" Dean screamed, launching a metal garbage can across the room. In his head gentle fingers tried to sooth his temper. Dean waved a hand as he mentally swatted them away. He didn't have time to figure out what the hell was playing with his brain and he certainly didn't have time to be calm.
Sam folded his hands, resting them in his lap as he set his elbows on his knees to lean forward. "So what do you think?"
Dean snorted, sagging bonelessly against the wall. "I think we're fucked, Sammy. That's what I think. Or did you miss the part where the commanding military officer is acting like he's high on-" Dean jerked, cutting himself off as a he slammed a fist into the cold steel of the city.
"Like he's high on demon blood?" Sam finished.
Dean pushed off from the wall, moving to sit by his brother on the bed. "Sam," Dean leaned over so his shoulder touched in apology. "I didn't mean it that way."
Sam shrugged. "I know, dude." And he did. "Doesn't mean it isn't true."
"Yeah," Dean pressed harder against Sam.
Sam took a shuddering breath. "His eyes were the same. They were like mine when it got bad, when I'd had too much. The only thing I could think about was finding a demon and blasting it back to Hell." He leaned into Dean, taking comfort in his brother's presence and the silvery presence in the back of his skull.
"Shit," Dean leaned over, shoving his head between his own legs. "Man, I thought he'd be cool." He sat up and kicked a foot out. "First Dad, then God, now New Dad. Why do we always get stuck with deadbeats?"
"I don't know Dean," Sam shook his head. "I think we're missing something here."
"Well, yeah. We're missing a proper dad. Didn't I just say that?" Dean grumbled and flopped back on the bed, glaring at the ceiling.
Sam rolled his eyes. "No, I mean I think this is new." He twisted, folding one leg on the bed and using the other to keep him balanced so he could meet Dean's eye as he spoke. "John's service record reads like he's an action hero. The black marks from his record are all from when he bucked authority to try and save lives. He managed to last an entire year as the military leader out here when they were stranded and alone without screwing up, so what now? What's different?"
Sam shook his head, answering his own question. "Nothing. Nothing has changed. I think that whatever is happening to him is new," Sam paused, licking his lips, "and I don't think that it's necessarily his fault."
"So you're thinking what? He accidentally got himself hooked on bad mojo?" Dean's face was skeptical.
"Or he's under the influence of an alien device or disease." Dean still looked unconvinced, so Sam poked his brother. "In the first year here they came across an alien mist that could control perceptions of reality, a nano virus that caused the brain to explode and telepathic aliens that suck your life out through their hands. You'd know this if you'd bothered to read the reports!"
"And deprive your geeky ass of the research?" Dean's tone was teasing but his eyes were serious as he mulled over the new information. He sat up and Sam could tell that his brother had come to some sort of conclusion. "All right, so we don't know what's going on but we know that it's something which may or may not be John's fault. Either way there isn't jack shit we can do about this. Unless you think an exorcism would help, I say we avoid him and let the experts figure this out." Dean stretched out his arms, his shoulder cracking. "Sound fair?"
Sam seized his opening. "And if it's not his fault, what are we going to do?" Dean opened his mouth, but Sam cut him off as he saw the corners of his brother's lips quirk. "Go ahead, make a joke, but you aren't getting out of this. We need to decide how to handle this. Are we going to tell him he's our dad?"
"Excuse me, princess. Who pissed in the royal cornflakes this morning?" Dean grumbled, shifting as he sat. "Sorry if I don't want to do the whole long lost relative drama. Sorry if I'm not looking for a new daddy. Sorry," sarcasm dripped from the word like ice cream from a cone on a hot summer day, "if I think that it's fine being just you and me."
"Okay."
"What?" Dean eyed Sam suspiciously and once again his little brother rolled his eyes.
"I said, 'okay.' I wasn't trying to launch a family bonding campaign. I just wanted to know where you stood, man." Dean looked flabbergasted and Sam couldn't help but feel slightly proud. It wasn't often that he took Dean by surprise, though he was surprised that Dean was surprised.
"That's it?" Dean's brows knitted together in confusion. "No big speech on how a girl needs to know her dad?"
Sam swatted his brother. "No, jerk. As you said, it's fine being just you and me."
"Damn straight, bitch!" Dean replied with enthusiasm but Sam could see the rays of relief creeping across his face. "So how'd you get John's service records, anyway? I asked and they wouldn't let me take a glance."
It was Sam's turn to shift. He could feel the soft heat of flush creeping into his face. "I, uh, sorta didn't ask."
Dean blinked. "You hacked the SGC?" Sam nodded. "After we were pardoned?" Sam lowered his gaze and stared guiltily at his boot.
He knew that he'd risked all the good will General O'Neill had been sending their way, but he felt like he needed to know. He needed to understand the man who was, at least in this reality, their father. While he wasn't looking for emotional acknowledgement from Sheppard, part of Sam needed to understand the man, like trying to figure out where a lost puzzle piece would fit without actually filling the gap. He didn't know if Dean would get that, though. He was expecting his brother to be a little pissed.
Instead of yelling, Dean laughed and reached over to ruffle Sam's hair. "Devious, little brother. Seems I'll make a proper Winchester out of you yet."
x-x-x-x
Ronon had spent seven years alone and on the run. Seven years of never speaking to anyone, never trusting them not to hand him over to the Wraith the first chance they had.
The Lantians would call that paranoia, but they were soft. Spoiled. They were children who had found themselves in the middle of a war. Ronon admired the determination with which they threw themselves into fight he knew they didn't understand. Still, they didn't get that every enemy they let walk away would be one they would have to face later, except then the enemy would be stronger, carrying a grudge, and fully aware of what the Lantians were capable of. They trusted first, only drawing back when that faith had been broken. They left themselves open to betrayal and many took advantage of that, yet they still approached people with a naivety that Ronon had never known. They moved through the world with unabashed curiosity that even the harshness of the Wraith couldn't destroy, risking their own lives to answer questions that Ronon and his people had never even thought to ask.
They were strange, different from anyone that Ronon had ever met on such a fundamental level that there were days when the Runner questioned his own sanity, wondering if perhaps his mind had just snapped under the pressures of life or maybe he'd eaten a toxic plant that was rotting away his brain. This line of reasoning was usually quickly abandoned. There was no way his own imagination could come up with the antics of these people.
But as odd and as foolish as these people were, they had saved him. They had invited him to become one of their own, sharing what they had without asking for more than friendship in return. They had given him a home, and while it would never replace the one he had lost it was something worth protecting, and since the Lantians didn't truly understand how dangerous the world was it fell to Ronon and Teyla to provide that protection.
It was that need, that unspoken vow, that had Ronon staring at the men who had just entered the mess hall.
For a moment he thought they were allies that Dr. Weir was trying to woo. It took him a moment to place their form of dress as Lantian Casual, which was unusual in itself. Despite the now open trade routes, Earth clothing was still hard to come by. It was bulky, not a necessity, and the Daedalus only had so much space. Casual dress was saved only for very special occasions, and there were few to be had.
But while the clothing identified the strangers as Earthlings, the way they moved screamed otherwise. Ronon could tell that the Lantians didn't see. Even the man who had led them in was oblivious to the way the strangers' eyes swept through the room, taking in potential threats, exits, and weapons as naturally as their lungs drew breath. The Lantians didn't see the way their shoulders hung loose, not in a state of relaxation but in a state of readiness, so that there would be no tension to slow down the drawing of a weapon.
But the Lantians also weren't practicing their usual acceptance, either. There was a definite tension in the air, a resentment of the strangers' presence. They were given wide berth as they stood in line for food, and the tables around them remained empty as they consumed their meal with only their guard for company. Ronon could tell by the way the leader touched his knife as he ate his pudding that he was well aware of the silent hostility in the room.
Suddenly the stranger looked up, his eye catching Ronon's. The man threw the Runner a smirk and a wink before turning to his companion, whispering something that made the other man roll his eyes. The exasperation of the gesture was undercut by a fond smile.
Ronon would have continued to observe if things had just stayed like that. Despite his time on Atlantis the Runner knew he didn't fully understand the ways of these people and until he had a firmer grasp of the situation any action he could take could cause more harm than good, despite his best intentions. Teyla would be likely to know who these people were and how they should be handled. At the very least she would help him watch them.
"Hey, Herskowitz!" The call cut through the cafeteria like a war cry and Ronon noticed that a few diners took it as a cue to leave, some of them dumping their unfinished meals before scurry away as though McKay were on a rampage.
The man guarding the strangers turned at the sound, his face splitting into a grin as he saw three men coming near to his table. He called greeting to the leader. "Rousseau! I thought you were headed off world today."
Rousseau shook his head, falling into a seat as though he'd been invited. "Everyone's grounded until this shit with the colonel gets figured out." The men who had flanked Rousseau moved in. One claimed the empty chair by Rousseau while the other settled himself in the free chair by the taller of the strangers. "But maybe that's not so bad." He nodded a chin at the strangers. "Winchesters, right?"
"Like the rifle." The winker smirked like it was a private joke.
Rousseau leaned forward. "You got first names to go with that?"
"You show me yours I'll show you mine." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"I'm Sam," the other one cut in, his tone soothing as he tried to defuse the situation, "and this is Dean. Dean, this is Captain Eliot Rousseau."
"And how the fuck did you know that?" Rousseau snarled.
Dean's face contorted into a mock pout. "Awe, someone sad 'cause our clearance is higher?"
"I wasn't talking to you, pretty boy."
Dean opened his mouth to retort, but Sam's fingers subtly brushed against his sleeve. None of the Marines noticed. Ronon frowned as the two made eye contact, his brows furrowing as Dean closed his jaw and eased back into his chair. The Runner didn't fail to notice that the knife Dean had been caressing earlier was suddenly nowhere to be seen.
Sam dropped his hand before he turned. He gave a dismissive shrug. "I read all the mission reports. Your team did some great work with the Nepheens. Single handedly evacuating an entire planet?" Sam shook his head in amazement. "That was incredible. Your name happened to stick." Sam offered a shy smile tinged with a bit of hero worship.
"That's right," Rousseau growled. "My team and I have what it takes because we fucking earned our position here."
"Eliot, calm down." Herskowitz cautioned, finally catching on to his friend's true motives for approaching.
"Shut up, Tim. I spent years working towards a position under the mountain. Do you have any fucking clue what I had to survive to earn a trip to Atlantis? I worked my way here! We all did. But you," he spat the words. "You two show up out of fucking nowhere and when you get here there is nothing for you to fucking do. So what, Daddy pay for you to go sightseeing or did you suck your way here using that pretty little mouth of yours?"
Sam cocked his head to the side. "You think I'm pretty?"
Dean frowned thoughtfully. "I dunno, Sam. I think you can do better."
Rousseau slammed his hands down on the table. "You think this is a fucking joke? You have no idea what we do out here, what we've sacrificed out here!"
"Don't you dare talk to me about sacrifice!" Dean snarled, standing and leaning over the table. "Don't you fucking dare. You have no idea who we are or what we've done and frankly it isn't any of your fucking business. Go back to playing soldier, Eliot, because a detective you are fucking not." Dean straightened. "Come on, Sam."
Sam moved to stand, but the Marine sitting nearest to him grabbed his wrist and pulled him back into the chair. "We ain't done talking to you yet," the Marine drawled in a heavy Southern accent.
"Get your fucking hands off him before I rip your lungs out." Dean's voice was quiet and for a moment Ronon found himself wondering if the man could actually do it. Then he remembered the missing knife and all doubt vanished.
"Whoa!" Herskowitz stood, waving his hands passively. "Everyone back it off a notch! Anyone here gets hurt and it's gonna be my head that rolls!"
"Please," Rousseau waved a hand dismissively. "Nobody cares what happens to these faggots."
"Yeah," Deep South drawled. "They're sharing a room. Bet they're fucking each other up the ass every night."
Dean leaned back and crossed his arms. "Sorry Alabama. Everyone but your parents got the memo that incest was icky."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "At least they furthered the cause by showing the danger to the offspring." Sam's smirk barely flickered into a wince as the man squeezed his wrist, but Dean still noticed it.
"Let go of my brother."
Ronon was moving before the idiot Marine had finished uttering "make me."
He launched himself over the two tables that were between him and the Marines, landing at the shoulder of the man holding Sam. Dean's step forward slid smoothly into a defensive stance as he took in Ronon's full height and state of dress. The guy wasn't counting on Ronon being friendly.
Wise decision. "Friendly" wasn't a word people used in regard to the former Runner.
Everyone else at the table had also spun to see who had entered the equation. Herskowitz had paled at the sight of the larger man, pushing out of his chair and scrambling to get to the safety of the sidelines. Rousseau looked amused. The silent one looked perturbed, as though he hadn't seen Ronon in the mess hall when he agreed to be part of this. Knowing the Lantians he probably hadn't.
Deep South hadn't bothered to look. Sam had attempted once again to stand and the Marine had let the guy almost rise before tugging on him hard enough to send him into the table. The kid didn't shout as he slammed into the metal edge hard enough to move the damn thing several inches but it obviously had hurt. His brother had fisted a hand onto Sam's shoulder, ready to pull Sam behind him in case Ronon decided to attack. Looking at Sam's tray, which was also missing cutlery, Ronon knew that the only reason Deep South still had a good grip was because Sam was giving him a chance to walk away with his fingers intact.
"Hey." Deep South stiffened at the sound of Ronon's voice and Sam hissed, the grip on his wrist tightening further. "Let go."
The moment the grip loosened Sam was off the floor and behind his brother, though that had to do more with the way Dean pulled him back than Sam scurrying into a retreat.
"Ronon," Rousseau's smile was anything but cordial. "What brings you over to our side of the world?"
"No manhandling civilians."
"Or what?" Rousseau rose from his seat, crossing his arms. He was a member of the original expedition and he refused to be cowed by Ronon's presence. "You're going to tell Sheppard on me? The man has bigger concerns than these dickweeds. Of course, you could go see Colonel Cadwell. I hear he's in charge until this blows over." Dean paled at the statement but didn't shift his stance. "I hear he has a bone to pick with one of these boys." Rousseau raised an eyebrow. "Or are you planning on making me play nice?"
"I'll tell McKay." Ronon wasn't above tattling. Rousseau may not have been afraid of Ronon, but that didn't mean he wasn't afraid of anyone. The best way to defeat an enemy was to go for his weakness, and everyone who had been on base for more than a week knew that you didn't fuck with McKay in the city. On the battlefield the man was practically useless, but in Atlantis? There was nothing he couldn't and, when properly motivated, wouldn't do. McKay had destroyed a solar system out of curiosity.
Rousseau held his hands up in surrender. "All right. Cool your jets there. We were just having a little fun. No harm, no foul." He gave a slimy smile worthy of the Genii before slinking off, his cronies following him.
Once they were gone Ronon turned on Herskowitz. The man was a fairly new recruit and still hadn't set foot off world. The only threatening quality about him was his inexperience, which was the most likely thing to get other people killed. "Clean up the trays. They're coming with me."
The man shook his head and Ronon found himself giving the man points for having guts. "I can't. Sergeant Stackhouse assigned me to watch them."
Ronon stared.
Herskowitz licked his lips nervously.
Ronon continued to stare.
"Uh, maybe I'll go clean the trays up?"
Ronon continued to stare.
"Right," Herskowitz mumbled. "I'll go clean up the trays." He managed a dignified turn before he breaking into a scuttle to get to Ronon's abandoned table.
The Satedan turned on his newest charges, wondering what to do with them and just what the hell he had been thinking hen he intervened.
x-x-x-x
Dean was walking shoulder to shoulder with an alien. A real life alien. Sure, Teal'c was one but the dude had spent way too much time with Earthlings. He'd lost his intra-galactic freshness. There had been a less acclimatized alien on the Daedalus but Dean had been in no shape to track the thing down to stare. Besides, this one wore pants.
The entire scenario made Dean want to slow dance. Or something.
For being an alien the dude wasn't overly strange, though Dean knew he shouldn't be disappointed. The reports he had read -okay, skimmed (he couldn't let Sammy be the only one who knew what was going on, but he still wasn't a geek) -had said that most alien life was human. The thing that had tipped Dean off about his new friends relationship status to Earth was the puzzled look he'd shot Winchester when he'd asked him to teach him to perform jedi mind tricks. It was like dealing with Castiel all over again. At least Ronon was wearing a kickass outfit that didn't include a trench coat. It was all… alien… and stuff.
Okay, Dean didn't give a shit about Ronon's outfit. It was the giant ass gun hanging by his thigh that had caught Dean's eye.
It was also said gun that had convinced Dean to leave the cafeteria with his newest friend.
Ronon hadn't pulled the thing and started waving it about while cursing in an exotic tongue, which once again left Dean with a vague sense of dissatisfaction, but instead had tried to use his hypnotic stare to do… something. Whatever it was, it clearly hadn't worked.
Dean had snarled about not being a princess in need of rescue and Ronon had shrugged and told him he didn't want Sheppard's men dying while the colonel was off duty. He'd then offered to take the boys to the shooting range because he didn't have anything else better to do. What could Dean say? Dinner and a movie was a lethal combination and he was a sucker for flattery. He had even been willing to give back the knife he'd slid up his sleeve, making Sam do the same. His little brother had put up a token resistance, but that had more to do with the fact that if he hadn't the alien probably would have figured out they'd snagged their forks as well.
Sam was absolutely lethal with a fork.
"So," Dean started. Yeah, Ronon seemed all badass and shit but the dude was quiet. Like, eerily quiet. Unless it was to soon be interrupted by gunshots and explosions Dean didn't do silence. "Alien, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Any advice for surviving on Atlantis?"
"Don't screw up and I won't have to gut you."
Dean took in a deep breath and began slowly counting to ten. That's what Larry, the coordinator of Dean's anger management program had set. Count to ten to give yourself time to think of a better solution as you calm down. Focus on the numbers before you focus on the anger.
Dean made it to three.
"What the fuck is everybody's problem?" He slammed the side of his hand into the nearest wall, relishing in the pain it sent up his arm.
"Dean." Calm down. It was written all over Sam's face even as his wide eyes tracked the alien, waiting for a reaction.
Dean wanted to laugh. Considering the situation he was calm. He was fucking zen. "No, seriously? What is it? Is there a secret handshake we were supposed to know or does everyone here just get off on being a dick?
"I get that this is a exclusive joint and me and Sam's invites got lost in the mail, but we're here and you are all gonna just have to learn to fucking cope with it because we don't have anywhere else to be. So fine. Have your pissy little bitch fit but I swear to God that the next person who decides to do more than just talk is going to find my foot shoved so far up their ass they'll be tasting leather. You catching me Conan, or do I need to doodle you a cave drawing for you to figure this out?"
Ronon tilted his head. "You done?" Dean gave a nod. "Good. Shooting range is this way." The alien headed off with out a second glance.
Sam walked up to Dean, leaning in close. "Feel better?" he asked sarcastically before hurrying off to follow their guide.
Dean couldn't help but grin. He did feel better.
X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X
Confusion Clear Ups
Sam and Dean in Heaven- The Darkside of the Moon, season 5
McKay blowing up a solar system-Episode Trinity, season 2.
Sentient Fog-Home, season 1
Nanovirus-Hot Zone, season 1
Slow dancing Aliens- Tall Tales, season 2 of supernatural
Next Chapter