Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye [PG-13] Dean, Sam, and John Winchester
Title: Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye
Author: keerawa
Challenge: Written for spn_cinema. Inspired by all the things the movie 'Starship Troopers' never showed us.
Genre: Gen sci-fi AU
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,800
Notes: No knowledge of 'Starship Troopers' is needed to appreciate this fic. Title from the traditional Irish anti-war, anti-recruiting song. You might enjoy the punk version performed by the Dropkick Murphies. Thanks to my beta, Stevie, for pointing out the gaping holes in my first draft.
Dedication: Given that it's Mother's Day, I'd like to dedicate this piece to mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, and every human being who does their best for their family.
Summary: One brother did everything his father asked. The other walked away. Today is the day they realize none of that matters anymore.
Dean jerked awake out of a sound sleep, feeling like someone had just called his name. He rolled out of bed, knife in hand, ready for anything.
The barracks was still in the grey pre-dawn light. Dad’s latest batch of recruits were sleeping like the dead. They’d collapsed into their racks just two hours ago after last night’s clusterfuck of an infiltration course.
Dean stashed the blade back under his pillow and scrubbed at his face. He normally felt a little ridiculous playing drill instructor, but these idiots really were the most pathetic bunch of apes he’d ever had the misfortune of training. He decided to give them another three hours to sleep, and then wake them up with an air horn.
Dean pulled on his jeans, boots, and a flannel before heading outside for a smoke. He was down to his last pack. If Dad didn’t get back in the next few days he’d need to head into the nearest town to stock up. Fog drifted along the ground, heavy with the scent of pine.
Dean nodded to the recruit standing fire watch. Jimenez was tall, skinny, and clutching his rifle like he thought Dean might snatch the weapon and club him over the head with it.
“Go on, catch some Z’s,” Dean told the kid. Yeah, he was the one who’d actually fallen in the lake, but it took an entire squad to screw the pooch that bad on an op. Jimenez scurried away without a word.
Something about the way he moved reminded Dean - before he woke up, he’d been dreaming about the night Sam left.
“So, Sam, you’re eighteen tomorrow,” Dean said over dinner, trying to break a week’s tense silence between Sam and Dad. “Got any special plans?”
Sam looked up from the plate where he’d been toying with limp greens and grade-D protein. “Yeah,” he said, baring his teeth in something that was no smile. “Thought I’d go down to the recruitment center in the morning and sign up for my term of service.”
Dean laughed nervously, trying to make it a joke. They both ignored him.
“No, you won’t,” Dad said dismissively. “You’ve got too much sense to join up with those jack-booted thugs.” Dad straightened his shoulders and launched into a speech. “When the revolution comes -”
“The revolution?” Sam interrupted. His chair scraped backwards across the cracked linoleum as he stood up. “I’ve been listening to your anti-government speeches for years, Dad. Hell, I’ve been writing them for you since I was twelve. And you’re right! The government is autocratic. The media’s pure propaganda. The childbirth restrictions are unfair, healthcare sucks for anyone who’s not a veteran, the planet’s wealth is being poured into subduing the colonies, and basic education is designed to funnel poor kids into the Mobile Infantry.”
Dad tried to speak.
Sam just kept going. “But you know what? You’ve been doing this for fifteen years. Making speeches, training ‘revolutionaries’ who’ll be back working minimum wage jobs in six months. Your militia isn’t a threat to the government. It’s not even a nuisance. It’s a safety valve! If I serve for two years, I’ll be a citizen. I can vote, go to college, maybe even go into politics. That’s the way to actually change things, not this, this…” Sam gestured at their barely edible dinner, the gun locker of ancient M-16s in the corner, the second-hand hardware they used to hack the data network.
Dad leaned across the table and snarled, “You think being a citizen will make a difference? We were citizens. Career Mobile Infantry. And your mother died choking on her own blood when those bastards opened the dome during the Martian food riots without even a 60 second evac warning.”
“Yeah,” Sam answered with equal heat. “I know the story. I’ve been playing the poor little orphan boy in it my whole life. I never even got to know Mary Winchester, and I am sick of her ruining my life!”
Dean winced. Sam and Dad had been arguing for years, but that was below the belt. Career path in the military didn’t leave much time for family, so he and Sam had been mostly raised by Uncle Bobby. Mom’s four-month leave, when she came home to give birth to Sam, was Dean’s happiest childhood memory. He remembered her golden hair, the fierce red and black of her tattoo, the way she’d swing him through the air and sing him to sleep at night, curled up against her big belly. Sam was too young to remember the couple of weeks leave that Mom and Dad had spent with them when he was a baby. So Sam never did know Mom. Not really. That just made his words hit harder.
Dad was speechless, brick-red with rage. Sam took the opportunity to walk into the bedroom. He emerged a few seconds later with his day pack. Sam was trying to keep it together, but Dean could tell that his brother was freaking out.
Dad stood up and took a single, threatening step towards him. Sam skittered towards the door.
“You walk out that door,” Dad said in a hoarse voice, “don’t you even think about coming back.”
Sam froze, biting his lip, poised between tears and anger. Dean could see the moment anger won. “Fine,” Sam said. “I won’t.” He turned, walked through the door, and was gone.
Dean stood up to go after Sam, to bring him back.
Dad jerked his head and barked a command, “Don’t.”
Dean sat down. Dad went back to eating, his fork clattering on the plate as he stabbed at his food. Dad finished his meal, hit the head and showered, and went to bed without saying a word. Dean stayed at the table, staring down at his plate as the gravy slowly congealed, waiting for the door to creak open and Sam to sneak back in with his tail between his legs.
Dean never saw his brother again.
That was how it really happened.
But this morning, in Dean’s dream, after Sam walked out Dad looked tired and sad. Worn out, like he’d gotten this past year. “I didn’t mean it,” Dad said. And it was some crazy dream, because there were tears in Dad’s eyes. John Winchester never cried. Never. “I just wanted to keep him safe. Go after him, Dean. Watch your brother’s back. He’s gonna need you.”
In the dream, it didn’t sound like an order from Dean’s Commanding Officer. It reminded him of how Dad sounded in the video letter he’d sent Mom when he was headed into a combat mission, asking Mom to give Dean a hug for him. Dean kept that recording saved on his phone. He hadn’t watched it in years, but he liked knowing it was there.
Dean lit a cigarette and settled down on a rock to watch the most intense sunrise he’d ever seen; electric orange and scarlet reaching up into a blue sky dotted with pink clouds. Something about it struck him as wrong, unnatural.
Dean’s phone rang. “Yeah,” he answered it gruffly.
“Dean?” They hadn’t spoken in almost two years, but Dean still recognized his brother’s voice. And it was almost two years, the required term of service, so Dean had to ask.
“Sam! Are you done? You coming home?”
“Home? No. No, I can’t.” Sam sounded tense, kind of choked-up.
“Look, if it’s about Dad, don’t worry about it. He won’t mind.”
That was maybe stretching the truth. Dad acted like Sam had defected to the enemy. He wouldn’t even use Sam’s name after he left - just called him, ‘that brother of yours.’ He’d moved the training base to Camp Chitaqua, changed their procedures and codes, even their phone numbers. Dean had told Uncle Bobby to give Sam his new number, if he asked.
Still, Dean was sure he could talk Dad around, especially given the dream he’d woken up from. Dean tested high on the psy scale. Nowhere near as high as Sam, but high. This morning’s dream meant something, he was sure of it.
There was a weird, awkward silence. Dean could feel the pressure of all the things Sam wasn’t saying.
“What do you know about the Arachnids?” Sam asked abruptly.
That was out of nowhere. “Uh, that bug species on the other side of the galaxy? I heard they slaughtered a group of Mormons that tried to set-up a colony in their territory a few months ago.”
“Yeah,” Sam said grimly. “They attacked Earth, Dean. Hurled an asteroid right at us. And I ... I had a vision of it hitting D.C., two hours before it happened. My rating’s off the charts and that’s all I got. Two fucking hours warning. They only removed ‘high-value’ military and government targets from the blast-zone. They said there was no point in even trying to evacuate the population.”
Dean took a deep breath. “Sam, Dad’s recruiting in Baltimore this week.”
“I know,” Sam said, so quiet Dean could hardly hear him.
“You gotta warn him!”
“I tried!” Sam said. “I swear, I tried. He wouldn’t answer his phone. I sent a squad to his location, and he dodged them. They barely made it out in time. I even tried to get my partner, Carl, to implant a suggestion, but the stubborn bastard has a head like a rock!”
“Fuck. Okay,” Dean said, running for his flier. Screw the pre-flight; he could be in the air in 90 seconds. “How long’ve I got?” No answer. “Sam? How long?”
“I knew you’d try to go in, as soon as I told you. Even if it was too late. I couldn’t … so I didn’t tell you.”
Dean stopped, hand out-stretched to open his flier’s hatch. Rested his forehead against her, instead.
“Impact was twenty minutes ago,” Sam said.
Twenty minutes ago Dean woke from a dream, feeling like someone was calling his name. Twenty minutes ago, Dad died.
Sam was still talking. “- at war, Dean. Humanity’s at war. They’re already planning a strike against the Arachnids. Look, we don’t have a lot of time. All the crap in the upper atmosphere will be affecting communications soon. Please, just say you’ll do it.”
“Do what?” asked Dean numbly.
“Report to Palo Alto.”
“The training center? You want me to go to boot camp?”
“Dude, I think you completed boot when you were ten. No, you need some specialized training. My intelligence unit will be going in with the first wave. And I want you on my team when we do. I’ve got this feeling that I’m going to need you there, watching my back.”
‘Go after him, Dean’, Dad had said in the dream. ‘Watch your brother’s back. He’s gonna need you.’
“Yeah, okay Sammy. I’ll be there tomorrow.” The connection disappeared in a hiss of static.
The Winchesters were going to war.
Author: keerawa
Challenge: Written for spn_cinema. Inspired by all the things the movie 'Starship Troopers' never showed us.
Genre: Gen sci-fi AU
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,800
Notes: No knowledge of 'Starship Troopers' is needed to appreciate this fic. Title from the traditional Irish anti-war, anti-recruiting song. You might enjoy the punk version performed by the Dropkick Murphies. Thanks to my beta, Stevie, for pointing out the gaping holes in my first draft.
Dedication: Given that it's Mother's Day, I'd like to dedicate this piece to mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, and every human being who does their best for their family.
Summary: One brother did everything his father asked. The other walked away. Today is the day they realize none of that matters anymore.
Dean jerked awake out of a sound sleep, feeling like someone had just called his name. He rolled out of bed, knife in hand, ready for anything.
The barracks was still in the grey pre-dawn light. Dad’s latest batch of recruits were sleeping like the dead. They’d collapsed into their racks just two hours ago after last night’s clusterfuck of an infiltration course.
Dean stashed the blade back under his pillow and scrubbed at his face. He normally felt a little ridiculous playing drill instructor, but these idiots really were the most pathetic bunch of apes he’d ever had the misfortune of training. He decided to give them another three hours to sleep, and then wake them up with an air horn.
Dean pulled on his jeans, boots, and a flannel before heading outside for a smoke. He was down to his last pack. If Dad didn’t get back in the next few days he’d need to head into the nearest town to stock up. Fog drifted along the ground, heavy with the scent of pine.
Dean nodded to the recruit standing fire watch. Jimenez was tall, skinny, and clutching his rifle like he thought Dean might snatch the weapon and club him over the head with it.
“Go on, catch some Z’s,” Dean told the kid. Yeah, he was the one who’d actually fallen in the lake, but it took an entire squad to screw the pooch that bad on an op. Jimenez scurried away without a word.
Something about the way he moved reminded Dean - before he woke up, he’d been dreaming about the night Sam left.
“So, Sam, you’re eighteen tomorrow,” Dean said over dinner, trying to break a week’s tense silence between Sam and Dad. “Got any special plans?”
Sam looked up from the plate where he’d been toying with limp greens and grade-D protein. “Yeah,” he said, baring his teeth in something that was no smile. “Thought I’d go down to the recruitment center in the morning and sign up for my term of service.”
Dean laughed nervously, trying to make it a joke. They both ignored him.
“No, you won’t,” Dad said dismissively. “You’ve got too much sense to join up with those jack-booted thugs.” Dad straightened his shoulders and launched into a speech. “When the revolution comes -”
“The revolution?” Sam interrupted. His chair scraped backwards across the cracked linoleum as he stood up. “I’ve been listening to your anti-government speeches for years, Dad. Hell, I’ve been writing them for you since I was twelve. And you’re right! The government is autocratic. The media’s pure propaganda. The childbirth restrictions are unfair, healthcare sucks for anyone who’s not a veteran, the planet’s wealth is being poured into subduing the colonies, and basic education is designed to funnel poor kids into the Mobile Infantry.”
Dad tried to speak.
Sam just kept going. “But you know what? You’ve been doing this for fifteen years. Making speeches, training ‘revolutionaries’ who’ll be back working minimum wage jobs in six months. Your militia isn’t a threat to the government. It’s not even a nuisance. It’s a safety valve! If I serve for two years, I’ll be a citizen. I can vote, go to college, maybe even go into politics. That’s the way to actually change things, not this, this…” Sam gestured at their barely edible dinner, the gun locker of ancient M-16s in the corner, the second-hand hardware they used to hack the data network.
Dad leaned across the table and snarled, “You think being a citizen will make a difference? We were citizens. Career Mobile Infantry. And your mother died choking on her own blood when those bastards opened the dome during the Martian food riots without even a 60 second evac warning.”
“Yeah,” Sam answered with equal heat. “I know the story. I’ve been playing the poor little orphan boy in it my whole life. I never even got to know Mary Winchester, and I am sick of her ruining my life!”
Dean winced. Sam and Dad had been arguing for years, but that was below the belt. Career path in the military didn’t leave much time for family, so he and Sam had been mostly raised by Uncle Bobby. Mom’s four-month leave, when she came home to give birth to Sam, was Dean’s happiest childhood memory. He remembered her golden hair, the fierce red and black of her tattoo, the way she’d swing him through the air and sing him to sleep at night, curled up against her big belly. Sam was too young to remember the couple of weeks leave that Mom and Dad had spent with them when he was a baby. So Sam never did know Mom. Not really. That just made his words hit harder.
Dad was speechless, brick-red with rage. Sam took the opportunity to walk into the bedroom. He emerged a few seconds later with his day pack. Sam was trying to keep it together, but Dean could tell that his brother was freaking out.
Dad stood up and took a single, threatening step towards him. Sam skittered towards the door.
“You walk out that door,” Dad said in a hoarse voice, “don’t you even think about coming back.”
Sam froze, biting his lip, poised between tears and anger. Dean could see the moment anger won. “Fine,” Sam said. “I won’t.” He turned, walked through the door, and was gone.
Dean stood up to go after Sam, to bring him back.
Dad jerked his head and barked a command, “Don’t.”
Dean sat down. Dad went back to eating, his fork clattering on the plate as he stabbed at his food. Dad finished his meal, hit the head and showered, and went to bed without saying a word. Dean stayed at the table, staring down at his plate as the gravy slowly congealed, waiting for the door to creak open and Sam to sneak back in with his tail between his legs.
Dean never saw his brother again.
That was how it really happened.
But this morning, in Dean’s dream, after Sam walked out Dad looked tired and sad. Worn out, like he’d gotten this past year. “I didn’t mean it,” Dad said. And it was some crazy dream, because there were tears in Dad’s eyes. John Winchester never cried. Never. “I just wanted to keep him safe. Go after him, Dean. Watch your brother’s back. He’s gonna need you.”
In the dream, it didn’t sound like an order from Dean’s Commanding Officer. It reminded him of how Dad sounded in the video letter he’d sent Mom when he was headed into a combat mission, asking Mom to give Dean a hug for him. Dean kept that recording saved on his phone. He hadn’t watched it in years, but he liked knowing it was there.
Dean lit a cigarette and settled down on a rock to watch the most intense sunrise he’d ever seen; electric orange and scarlet reaching up into a blue sky dotted with pink clouds. Something about it struck him as wrong, unnatural.
Dean’s phone rang. “Yeah,” he answered it gruffly.
“Dean?” They hadn’t spoken in almost two years, but Dean still recognized his brother’s voice. And it was almost two years, the required term of service, so Dean had to ask.
“Sam! Are you done? You coming home?”
“Home? No. No, I can’t.” Sam sounded tense, kind of choked-up.
“Look, if it’s about Dad, don’t worry about it. He won’t mind.”
That was maybe stretching the truth. Dad acted like Sam had defected to the enemy. He wouldn’t even use Sam’s name after he left - just called him, ‘that brother of yours.’ He’d moved the training base to Camp Chitaqua, changed their procedures and codes, even their phone numbers. Dean had told Uncle Bobby to give Sam his new number, if he asked.
Still, Dean was sure he could talk Dad around, especially given the dream he’d woken up from. Dean tested high on the psy scale. Nowhere near as high as Sam, but high. This morning’s dream meant something, he was sure of it.
There was a weird, awkward silence. Dean could feel the pressure of all the things Sam wasn’t saying.
“What do you know about the Arachnids?” Sam asked abruptly.
That was out of nowhere. “Uh, that bug species on the other side of the galaxy? I heard they slaughtered a group of Mormons that tried to set-up a colony in their territory a few months ago.”
“Yeah,” Sam said grimly. “They attacked Earth, Dean. Hurled an asteroid right at us. And I ... I had a vision of it hitting D.C., two hours before it happened. My rating’s off the charts and that’s all I got. Two fucking hours warning. They only removed ‘high-value’ military and government targets from the blast-zone. They said there was no point in even trying to evacuate the population.”
Dean took a deep breath. “Sam, Dad’s recruiting in Baltimore this week.”
“I know,” Sam said, so quiet Dean could hardly hear him.
“You gotta warn him!”
“I tried!” Sam said. “I swear, I tried. He wouldn’t answer his phone. I sent a squad to his location, and he dodged them. They barely made it out in time. I even tried to get my partner, Carl, to implant a suggestion, but the stubborn bastard has a head like a rock!”
“Fuck. Okay,” Dean said, running for his flier. Screw the pre-flight; he could be in the air in 90 seconds. “How long’ve I got?” No answer. “Sam? How long?”
“I knew you’d try to go in, as soon as I told you. Even if it was too late. I couldn’t … so I didn’t tell you.”
Dean stopped, hand out-stretched to open his flier’s hatch. Rested his forehead against her, instead.
“Impact was twenty minutes ago,” Sam said.
Twenty minutes ago Dean woke from a dream, feeling like someone was calling his name. Twenty minutes ago, Dad died.
Sam was still talking. “- at war, Dean. Humanity’s at war. They’re already planning a strike against the Arachnids. Look, we don’t have a lot of time. All the crap in the upper atmosphere will be affecting communications soon. Please, just say you’ll do it.”
“Do what?” asked Dean numbly.
“Report to Palo Alto.”
“The training center? You want me to go to boot camp?”
“Dude, I think you completed boot when you were ten. No, you need some specialized training. My intelligence unit will be going in with the first wave. And I want you on my team when we do. I’ve got this feeling that I’m going to need you there, watching my back.”
‘Go after him, Dean’, Dad had said in the dream. ‘Watch your brother’s back. He’s gonna need you.’
“Yeah, okay Sammy. I’ll be there tomorrow.” The connection disappeared in a hiss of static.
The Winchesters were going to war.