Here Tomorrow, Gone Today 7/8 (SGA/SPN Crossover AU)
Here Tomorrow, Gone Today 7/8 (SGA/SPN Crossover AU)
Author: Tari_roo
Rating: PG (Gen)
Fandom: SPN/SGA
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing. But if I did… there’d be less shirt-wearing, more punch ups and a larger special effects budget. Luckily, my brain doesn’t need one.
Summary: SGA/SPN Crossover AU. The world ended and not how any hunter would have imagined. A BSG-style fleet of refugees on the run. Spoilers: SG1 Season 9 and 10. SPN: Season 4 and 5
AN: I have decided that the Attack took place between 4.8 and 4.9 of SPN. Thus: Sam had stopped ‘whatever’ he was doing with Ruby, but Dean hadn’t told him yet about Hell. So early season 4 Winchesters and near the end of Season 9 SG1.
Previously on Here Tomorrow… The Winchesters traded devil’s traps for booze, and O’Neill found out. Enochian sigils bamboozle Priors but Daniel says that doesn’t make sense. Cas proves Sam’s point by face planting onto the table and then the Ori arrive. Oh, and Heaven has fallen.
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Jack had a plan. He really did. Everyday at least one person, worried about themselves or their family or Earth or their next meal, would track him down and ask him. Do you have a plan, General O’Neill? And the answer was always, yes. You bet. Definitely.
But that was all the answer you got. Nothing about what the plan actually was. Loose lips sink floating ancient cities, afterall. You could ask, but you’d leave feeling less than reassured. No amount of scathing looks or heated words could persuade Jack to reveal the details of ‘the plan’. It bounced off him like bugs on the Gate Iris.
Problem was, Jack did have a plan. A good plan. A great plan in fact. One that was a real winner and not the usual fly by the seat of your pants and hope Teal’c or Carter saves the day plan. It was stellar. Stalled, but stellar.
The command staff knew why secrecy was so important, they bought into it 100%. With hundreds of refugees, both civilian and military, it was difficult to trust, be certain that there was ‘no’ spy on board. Secrecy so paranoid it made the cold war look like a mild disagreement over toilet paper was the order of the day. But all the secrecy and secret missions and secret meetings and secret kitchen raids in the galaxy couldn’t get ‘the plan’ moving.
At first they had thought that tracking down Merlin’s lab would be fairly easy. However, fighting a running battle with the Combat Fleet and trying to keep the Civilian Fleet alive had made that a little more difficult than expected. Once everything had settled down and Atlantis found them, it should have been easy. It wasn’t. Merlin and his damn lab were still lost, as was their chance at taking out the Ori. Plan B was the Ark of Truth. Secret away missions 35 to 42 had given them the location of the Ark. The Ori galaxy. They didn’t have a lot of options, and the first attempt at the Supergate would be the only attempt. Teal’c had some of the Jaffa scouting the Supergate periodically, waiting for an opportunity. None had arisen. So... the Plan was ‘in limbo’. Just waiting for a break.
Too bad the Ori found them before the break did.
Jack had figured there was a good chance that this would end tragic and bloody. More than good. The Ori didn’t mess around and their persistence in hunting the Fleet hinted that they were worried too. You don’t leave live enemies behind you. And you certainly don’t leave your arch nemesis in a poorly constructed cage suspended over sharks with lasers on their heads and the key to the cage within MacGyvering distance. You shot him in the head. Or in the case of the Ori, hunted and pursued until you found them and attacked.
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To say that the situation on Atlantis was a little fraught was to be entirely inaccurate. Things were... extreme. Five Ori ships on their tail, so close behind them in hyperspace you could feel them breathing on your neck. And it seemed the Ori could transport themselves whilst travelling in hyperspace. If Sheppard hadn’t been fighting for his life, he’d be making mental notes for the argument with Rodney later.
It was only Priors so far, but that was like it being only one nuclear bomb. It sure as hell was enough.
He was hunkered down inside the makeshift school the handful of children on Atlantis used sporadically. Ronon was pressed flat on the opposite side of the doorway, trading shots with the Prior stalking down the hall. Ammunition was low, so Sheppard was waiting for his shot.
The engineering teams had been preparing for this day like good little boy scouts and there were Prior disruptors, hundreds of them, scattered all over the city. They just took time to work though and while the Priors weren’t the fastest off the draw, but they packed plenty of punch. The Prior outside though was slowing down, Ronon and the few Marines concerted stunner fire was taxing him as the disruptor worked. Sheppard spotted his chance and took the shot. The back of the Prior’s head exploded in a spray of blood and brain and he dropped like a stone. Leaving the body check to the Marines, Sheppard and Ronon ran off, heading towards the heat of the battle, the Gate Room.
There were no more drones, and Lorne was in the chair now, flying the City trying to eek a little more gumption from the old girl, urging her to pull away from the ships. The Ori had lost three ships already, but each one had been replaced and while all five were damaged, they were still in pursuit. But luckily their bombardment on the City was countered by the shield. It just didn’t stop them sending in boarding parties. They wanted something... someone maybe.
Sheppard spotted Teyla and her team of civilians laying down suppressing fire while a pair of Marines tried to take out a Prior. Ronon was already swerving unerringly towards them, his blaster red hot and firing steadily. The Prior went down in a hail of bullets as his shield collapsed, and then their reinforcements swelled from two to ten.
The chatter on the comm. was frantic as defence teams scrambled to protect pockets of civilians. Chuck was in full air traffic control mode, a steady calm voice of deployment in their ears. But there were too many teams not checking in and too many dead zones. Sheppard and his posse had to race up the stairs to reach the Gate Room, and by the time they grew close, Chuck was sounding strained, his voice breaking as he called for check ins.
Sheppard tapped his comm., “Sheppard and eleven others, five mins from the Gate room.”
“Hurry, Colonel,” was all Chuck had time to say, before more teams continued to check in.
“John,” Teyla was breathless, her face red with adrenalin and fear. Sheppard paused long enough to twist his lips into something that may have resembled a smile. Somewhere, maybe, Dave was alive. His brother was a practical man, not given overly much to religion. In order to survive, he’d convert to Origin, or appear to. Nancy though, and Greg the replacement husband were in all likelihood dead. Washington was a crater, as was Colorado Springs. Rodney had high hopes that Canada had escaped the severity of the US attacks, hoped that Jeannie and Madison were alive. Everyone on Atlantis had ridiculous, deluded hopes like that. But Teyla? Teyla knew with utter certainty that her family were safe, alive, well, on New Athos.
She’d never asked to go home, not once.
A deep, fierce love for her twisted Sheppard’s heart and he wished she had, just once.
He had no idea where Rodney was, and as they reached the Gate Room floor, he wished he was with them, and not somewhere trying to milk more power out of the hyperdrive engines. The Gate Room was controlled panic.
O’Neill and Jackson had placed the largest number of disruptors in the Gate Room, creating a killing zone. And it was just that. Priors were popping in steadily, beaming in from the ships outside and O’Neill had a hellfire welcoming party waiting for them.
Unfortunately, it was a welcoming party running out of ammunition. The moment they arrived, O’Neill’s sharp voice directed them to the gaps in the defence and Sheppard opened fire. Forced to defend themselves automatically and unable to ‘pop’ in anyway else but the space just before the Gate, the arriving Priors were standing on the bodies of those who fell. It was a race, whoever ran out of weapons first.
Sheppard couldn’t really see from his angle, but the doors to the conference room were still shut. He wasn’t the only one glancing up there, wondering. Sam Winchester was in the defensive line, firing steadily, calmly, normally. There was no sign of Dean. Or the angel.
The last Prior fell and was not replaced and stunned silence fell. His ears ringing in the aftermath of the noise, Sheppard didn’t even bother hoping. That was too easy.
Sure enough, as if she knew her timing, lines and part to a tee, the Orisi appeared with a concussive blast, knocking everyone flying. Teal’c was the first to recover and his staff weapon fired methodically at her. To no avail. With an idle flick of her first, the Orisi disarmed him and before anyone else could respond, she said sharply, “Enough. I wish to parlay.”
Like a jack rabbit, Jack’s head popped up from behind the console on the upper balcony and he yelled, “Parlay? You do know that means talk and no more fighting?”
Her smile was cold, inhuman, but she replied coolly with, “Yes. I do.”
“Chuck?”
Jack didn’t take his eyes off the Orisi, or stop pointing his P90 at her, as he waited for Chuck to respond. “All teams reporting in, sir. No Priors, er, alive or in sight.”
The perfectly beautiful eyebrow of disdain marked the Orisi’s impatience and Jack stood slowly, “Ok, so let’s parlay. My first question, are you a fan of Jack Sparrow?”
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Castiel was unconscious on the conference room table. Before all hell broke loose, Carson had been able to insert two IVs and check the man’s vital signs.
But as the battle heated up and help was needed elsewhere, first Carson, then Jackson and then Sam and Bobby left, leaving Dean alone with Castiel.
It was disconcerting being out of the loop, left behind, but Dean couldn’t quite bring himself to leave Castiel. The guy had made the last couple of months utterly miserable for Dean, but he kinda grew on you, in a nerdish, social leper kinda way.
So Dean kept watch, for what he didn’t know, but watch nonetheless he did. There was a lot of noise outside but no one had left him a comm., so he had no real idea what was happening. Sam though had left him with several guns, including one with salt rounds and a silver knife. If heaven had fallen then there wasn’t much a good knife could do, but Dean felt better for it. Priors had been seen in the City and that didn’t bode well.
Things were just starting to heat up outside, a steady stream of rapid machine gun fire and stunner blasts, when there was a barely audible knock on the conference room door and General Jack O’Neill stuck his head in. Half expecting the visit, Dean was on his feet, ready to meet whatever barrage that would follow. Jack scanned the room with its scrawled sigils and grinned darkly, “You got a minute?”
“Sure,” Dean replied and resisted the urge to take a step back. O’Neill though slipped in and quickly shut the door behind him, like he was nervous. Turning slowly, the General stared unabashedly at Castiel before saying, “I gotta say, of all of the plot twists out there, this one is the one I never expected.”
Dean had nothing to say to that, and Jack didn’t give him time to reply anyway. “God and I parted ways years ago, and I’m not convinced this means anything much for that. But we have more pressing issues, Winchester.”
“Yep,” Dean replied, unconsciously fingering the trigger on his colt. Jack sighed, “You have a visitor outside, who might I add nearly got himself shot. Falling out of the cupboard in my office has that effect on me.”
Caught off guard, Dean’s face crumpled in confusion and he stammered, “What?”
“I just.. wanted to.. he says he’s an old friend, and gave you a head’s up on aliens years ago. Kinda goofy looking.”
Several things clicked into place and Dean felt his anger rise but he nodded, because time really was of the essence. Jack opened the door a crack and sure enough, the Trickster slipped through, followed by an exotic looking lady who oozed ‘touch me and die, hell look at me wrong and I’ll eat you.”
“Well, howdy there, Dean. Long time no see,” the Trickster beamed, oily smile firmly in place. He closed the distance to the table and peered at Castiel, gleeful expression kinda slipping. He was decked out in camo gear, face smeared with paint. Dean though bit out, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Oh, the usual. On the run, laying low, playing it cool. You?” The Trickster idly ran a finger through the sharpie sigils on the table and smirked, “Cute.”
Dean though, and Jack who was looking curious but impatient, snapped, “Still wondering why you’re here and how you found us?” The woman, her expression dark snapped, “Stop wasting time, Loki. If they are of no use as usual, we must go. She’s coming.”
Smiling a doting puppy love grin at her, the Trickster crooned, “Kali, my love. My little kitten of death, would you just take a chill pill for five seconds?” Kali glowered, her red fingernails sharp and glinting, but the Trickster turned back to Dean and sighed, “Look, bucko. Castiel here has been talking up a storm for months, years, ok, only months that you and you human band of runaways have a plan. So... what’s the plan?”
“You know Cas?” Dean stammered, pointing his gun at both Cas and the Trickster, who rolled his eyes and made hurry up motions. “Stating the obvious is not helping the time issue, Deano. Yes, I know Cas. Kali knows Cas. Cas knows us. While you lot have been playing hide and seek with the floating toilet bowls, we’ve been a happy family of united resistance of all local deities back on the ole homestead.”
“I’ve met Loki. You’re not Loki,” Jack interrupted and the Trickster, Loki, flapped a hand at him. “Please, people have been impersonating me for years. Just because some pasty, bug eyed race of dying aliens pretended to be me, doesn’t mean I am not me. Where the hell do you think I got the slow dance idea from anyway?” The last question was directed at Dean, who scowled, but shrugged.
“So, you old God types have been fighting the Ori with Heaven?” Dean said, wincing at a particularly loud explosion outside. Kali growled, “Enough! They do not have a plan and unless we plan on dying with them we must go, Loki.”
Jack, ever the man of perfect timing, interjected, “There’s an ark. The Ark of Truth. It’s supposed to show people the truth about the Ori, get them to stop believing in Origin. The fewer people who believe in the Ori the better as their power decreases.”
A cunning sort of light gleamed in Loki’s eyes and he snapped his fingers. “Really? How very Raiders. So where is it and why aren’t you, you know, blue pilling the deluded masses?”
Resting his hands on the P90 hanging from his tac vest, Jack shrugged, “Because it’s on the Ori homeworld, in their galaxy and ...”
Loki, a bright, beautiful smile on his face clapped his hands together and grabbed Kali’s hand. “Dollface of Death, we got treasure to loot.” They were out the door and gone before Jack or Dean could gather enough air to protest or complain. Alone now with a sleeping angel between them, Jack stared at Dean and said, “They actually going to get it? You seem to know a lot of ... interesting people.”
In all honesty, Dean had no clue, so he just shrugged and then Jack was called away. He left, a lingering look promising a long detailed conversation if they survived.
Dean fully expected to never have that conversation.
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Bobby grabbed Sam as they left the conference room. Several Marines and soldiers nearly knocked them over as they ran past, and Bobby hauled Sam into a small corner, made all the more smaller for Sam’s bulk. “What, Bobby? We got incoming Priors.”
“Yeah, yeah, did you know, Sam?”
Sam’s face was blank for a second before he grimaced, “That Castiel was around, no.” Bobby sighed and ran a shaky hand over his beard. “Why the hell didn’t Dean say something?” Sam shrugged, a muted, contained anger in his eyes, his large frame vibrating with adrenalin. He snapped, “Who the hell knows, Bobby. Dean isn’t... hasn’t exactly been forthcoming about a lot of shit recently. He hardly sleeps, and he thinks I haven’t noticed. And it’s not just the workload, its nightmares and Hell and ...” Sam trailed off, suddenly looking lost and furious in the same instant.
“Yeah...” Bobby sighed, and watched the military folk scrambling, preparing for the coming attack. “We need... I...” Bobby stopped, gathered himself, shoved everything else aside and stared at Sam, firmly. “After this, we’re sitting him down and he’s talking. You got it?”
Sam nodded, “I got it.”
They clasped hands briefly before Bobby ran off. The transporter was still working, so he hopped in with a few other civilians and indicated where he needed to go. Everyone had a designated spot during an attack. The brass ran enough drills that even the kids knew where to go. And if you worked on a ship even sporadically, you got to practice their drills too.
Bobby was assigned to a protection detail and he sure as hell didn’t mind. Not vital enough to be in a strategic area, but competent enough to be armed and given a point to hold. As Bobby ran through the squat building assigned for his group of refugees, he felt his heart skip a little at the palpable fear inside the building. There were a few soldiers with him, mostly the walking wounded, along with a good bunch of armed civilians, but if the Ori sent soldiers directly at them, they didn’t really have a chance.
Atlantis rocked as the first volley of shots from the Ori ships hit. A Prior materialised right in the middle of the corridor, and a wail of screams from those nearby rattled the walls along with the next volley. Bobby didn’t hesitate, he opened fire and he wasn’t the only one. The disruptor in the building worked and before the Prior could do more than wave his staff, he was down, full of bullet holes. But he wasn’t the last, and another appeared almost immediately.
Bobby had long since run out of ammunition when he made the call. Five dead priors and more dead soldiers and as the final Prior breathed its last, Bobby yelled, “Now, go go go.”
No one needed to be told again, and mothers picked up children too slow, and everyone ran. Bobby covered their rear. As the crowd of refugees turned a corner, Bobby caught a glimpse of one, and then two Priors appearing behind them, before they were lost to view. “Straight to the hangar, now.”
Bobby tapped his comm., and reported in, “Sector 2 retreating to secondary location.”
Chuck acknowledged, “Sector 2, avoid Buildings G and J, go around the Science block.”
By the time his group reached the large jumper hangar bay near the control tower, they weren’t the only group trying to get in. Bobby nearly lost his people in the press but once they were inside, he pulled them towards the rear, and his own workstation. The kids, old and young were crying, and clutching their parents. The noise level in the hangar was exploding as more people arrived. The population of Atlantis wasn’t all that big, and pretty soon everyone not directly fighting would be here.
Bobby hip checked his tool box and as the drawers sprung open, he pulled out handfuls of sharpie markers. Handing them to the kids, he pointed to the sigils all around the walls and said sharply, “Start drawing kids, everywhere you want. Copy it exactly. The Ori don’t like ‘em.”
The last group was in and a couple of military officers closed the doors behind them. No one said anything about the huge sigil drawn across the blue surface. The rumour mill on Atlantis was like lightning and while folk might not know the whole picture, they knew enough. There were a few screams as the building shuddered as Priors outside tried to blast their way in. Bobby picked up a can of grease and started painting a large sigil on the wall nearby. Dean had been paranoid and the hangar was covered in a variety of sigils.
Completing the curve and twist of a line, Bobby caught out of the corner of his eye, people copying him, painting with anything handy. Snorting to himself, Bobby yelled over the noise of the aerial bombardment, “It needs to be exact, just like this, ok?”
No one answered but it would have been difficult to hear if they did as a massive explosion rocked the City. Everyone paused, breathless with anticipation, clutching weapons and paint tins.
In the silence Bobby’s thoughts turned to Castiel. Then the world tipped on its head.
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“Dean Winchester?”
“Cas?”
“I ... hurt.”
“Well you kinda fell pretty hard there, buddy.”
“Fell?”
“Not that kind of fall, at least I don’t think.”
“Where?”
“Atlantis.”
Cas blinked long and slow, his thick black hair pressed against his forehead, curled into sweat induced spirals. “Ori...”
“Yeah, they’re on our ass. Guess you riled ‘em up.”
“Heaven...” Cas’s lips were broken and cracked, a long thick scab of blood breaking open, pale bright red blood welling on the edges.
“Fell, yeah... got that part. Little careless of you guys leaving the back door open.”
Another ponderous blink, like the change of seasons. “I locked the door.”
“What? Like the actual Pearly Gates? I thought....”
“Not always your strong point.”
“Nice.”
Long, blood stained fingers curled into a fist, uncurled as if indecisive, or pre-emptive. “For his freedom Lucifer promised the Keys to Heaven. His agent, Uriel, was tortured. The Ori... claimed the celestial plane, drove out the Host, but the Gates...”
“Still locked. And you have the key.”
A twitch of lips, a glint of bloody teeth. “Keys.”
Dean’s smile was broad and proud.
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Daniel hadn’t expected to miss Vala. He worried about her, wondered if she was safe, ok or even alive. But considering how annoying she had been, and the amount of the drama she had brought to his life, all of their lives, he found himself missing her at strange moments.
Watching Jack walk down the staircase to talk with the Orisi, Daniel couldn’t help wondering where Vala was. Was she on one of the ships outside? Atlantis was still hurtling through space, Major Lorne at the helm. They couldn’t meet up with the Fleet, not with the Ori in tow.
There was an uneasy shuffle of feet as the Marines made a path for the General and the Orisi looked down her long elegant nose at Jack, who beamed insincerely.
“You called this little party, lady. Start talking.”
No one was relaxing and both Sheppard and Mitchell were talking softly into their comms, ordering redeployments, taking advantage of the break. The Orisi’s knowing smile revealed their failed effort for secrecy, she was well aware of what they were up to. “General. The Ori have no wish to destroy you...”
“Oh, I find that hard to believe. You’ve been very persistent, Orisi.”
Her smile was vicious, pleased and she purred, “You’ve been very elusive. But pursuit does not mean intent to harm. We wished only to talk, to give you a chance to repent...”
“Cut the crap, lady,” Jack snapped, his face hard. A murmur of agreement rumbled through the gathered fighters and the Orisi smirked, unimpressed, unintimidated. “We wish the galaxy, all the galaxies to be united in peace, in the peace of Origin, General, I...”
Jack snapped up his P90, eyes thin with anger, “If all you’re going to do is preach, then I have my answer ready. Parlay, or take a hike.”
Her smile was sly, “You have a ... fugitive on board, General. A being from another plane. I require him.”
“No idea who you’re talking about. Let’s talk about you giving back Earth.” Jack smiled his own crocodile smile and the Orisi sighed. “Don’t be tiresome, Jack. Earth is ours. The galaxy is ours.”
“And yet here you are, asking for a favour. Tsk, tsk, losing your touch there, my dear.”
Sighing and adopting a very put upon air, the Orisi yawned broadly and Daniel felt the ground move beneath his feet, figuratively this time. Something was wrong. Heart thudding with sudden prescience, Daniel slipped out from behind cover and moved closer, ignoring the motions of the men and women around him to stay put and yelled, “She’s waiting for something, Jack!”
O’Neill was fast, but not fast enough and the Orisi laughed, sharp and high and the world tilted. Atlantis rocked to one side, engines still firing and then dying, and they dropped out of hyperspace. Daniel and everyone else on the upper level fell backwards, head first straight towards the massive doors and windows. There was sporadic shooting, a lot of yelling and when Atlantis finally righted herself, the deep black of space was pressing in at the windows. There was shouting and calls of ‘Let him go!’
Staggering to his feet, Daniel limped forward, rubbing his head, fumbling for his gun and stopped, frozen. The Orisi had Jack and a couple of men pinned to the staircase, slowly choking them with invisible hands. Sheppard, Ronon and Mitchell were on their feet, yelling at her to let them go, and the Orisi was just smiling.
Chuck, underneath a console was relaying reports of more Priors beaming in and Daniel was torn, caught in amber, between thought and action.
Ronon fired at the Orisi, she idly tossed him aside and the room filled with white, blinding light.
Half certain he’d wake up somewhere else, Daniel blinked to clear his vision and then blinked again for everything to make sense.
“Hello, mother. You’re not supposed to be here.”
Vala, resplendent in royal blue, poised, dignified and regal snorted loudly and spat, “Oh, bite me.”
The Orisi, still slow choking half the room, glared at her mother, and as she did so, realised Vala wasn’t alone. “You!”
A small man in camo grinned widely and flipped her the bird. “It’s been too long,” he smirked and opened a large box... an ark like box! Daniel took two long steps forward and snatched up a Prior staff, thinking ahead, hoping. As the room flooded with white light for the second time, Daniel sent up a silent prayer, to whoever was inclined to listen. The Orisi shrieked and he felt the staff shudder in response and light up, a brighter light even in the blinding haze.
It lasted a heartbeat, an age, a breath of a second, a millennium.
The room faded into view, the colours bleeding back into the world, blues and yellows and the bright, bright red of the Orisi’s dress. She was rattled, her composure gone, face pale, eyes black. “No, no, no... no!”
She whirled, snarling and ugly and her imperious gesture sent Vala and the little man flying. If they didn’t travel as far as before, it made very little difference. They both landed with the sickening crunch. One second she was framed by the Gate and the next she was at the conference room door. Before Daniel or anyone could move, the Orisi raised a zat and fired once, twice, three times.
Daniel’s vantage point was just perfect. Right angle. Unobstructed view. As the doors disintegrated, and the Orisi moved forward, Dean Winchester rose from the floor with coiled grace and sank a long, silver spear into her chest.
Mouth open in a hollow of shock, the young Orisi clutched at the blade, beautiful delicate hands covering Winchester’s, flittering like struggling birds. The angel was sitting up, shirt in tatters, chest bloody, errant feathers dotting the table. Winchester’s expression was torn, jaw hard, lips thin, but eyes uncertain, darting across her face. No one moved in the frozen moment, no one but the Orisi who gasped. Vala made an aborted move forward, held back by the man in camo.
Hands stilled, mouth closed, eyes rolled back and the Orisi fell and Dean let her fall, a boneless sprawl of red within red, dress and blood pooling together.
It was Vala who broke the moment, a bitten off sob, hand over mouth and everyone breathed, gasped, as if released from a spell. Chuck, still jacked in, began relaying the news, and through his comm., Daniel heard the reports of Priors disappearing, collapsing.
Jack climbed to his feet, slowly, gingerly, rubbing his neck.
“Real dramatic, Deano. You got a real flair for it. See you ‘round.” The small man’s voice was loud, and he winked, pinched the butt of the bulky Marine next to him and vanished.
With impeccable timing, the Hammond flashed into view out of the window, the incoming hyperdrive cloud exceptionally close to the city and Daniel reflexively stepped back as the ship buzzed the Tower. More flashes as the rest of the Fleet dropped in, a sight for sore eyes. An Ori ship outside exploded as the Hammond fired and the others bugged out, but not before another exploded.
Jack tripped up the stairs and winced and Daniel caught him. Accepting the help, Jack straightened, pointed at Dean Winchester and growled, “You got a lot of ‘splaning to do, Lucy.”
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Castiel liked the infirmary. It was quiet, peaceful. Ordered even when there was chaos and motion. People knowing their place, doing what was required without being told, but still following orders.
There was no chaos now, just aftermath. People being quiet, grateful, offering up prayers. Castiel liked healers. Their compassion, warmth and affinity for grace. The little Scottish doctor confused him though. Castiel wanted to talk to Dean but Dr. Carson appeared to be deaf when it came to those requests. He spoke a great deal faster than Dean, filling the air with words, blurring together like a maze. His words were brisk, but his hands gentle. Nervous but fearless. Worried but self-assured.
No one else approached him and this Castiel understood, accepted. The lingering looks were to be expected, but he really wanted to speak to Dean. It was early morning, but since no one had actually slept bar the lucky few, it was a hushed, sleepy morning. Many injured, too many dead. A busy nursing staff. A people gathering themselves, picking up the pieces once again. Taking stock.
He stood head and shoulders over everyone, so Castiel had no trouble seeing him coming, but Sam Winchester was not the Winchester he wanted, needed to speak to. Perhaps he could summon Dean.
“Sam.”
“Castiel.”
The human was ill at ease, shifting about, but his forehead was furrowed, determination leaking through. “You doing ok?”
“I will heal. Eventually. It is ... an unusual experience, one that I am not enjoying.”
“Sure,” Sam nodded, fidgeting, biting his nails, and then realising what he was doing, stopped. “I, ah, Dean... there’s a lot of talking and explaining going on. We’ve stopped to ... have breakfast and Dean sent me...”
“I wish to speak to him, Sam Winchester.”
“You and everyone else.”
“I will wait then.”
Sam nodded again, slow, and sighed, “Can... is Heaven, er... ok?”
“I do not know, but I must believe it is secure for now. The Ori are diminished but not gone. You are returning to Earth?”
Sam shook his head, “No idea, maybe. I think General O’Neill wants to figure things out first but ah...”
“Say what is on your mind, Sam.”
All too knowing, weary eyes met Castiel’s and some of the pretence slipped away. Sam the hunter emerged, the man willing to sacrifice everything, even his own soul, stared back at him. The sheets were worn, smooth and they felt fragile beneath Castiel’s hands. “Is it true?”
Truth, despite human arrogance, is not relative. It is however, varied in depth and application. Castiel quirked an eyebrow, and Sam supplied clarification, “The whole thing, the apocalypse, Michael, Lucifer. That.”
Feeling an unexpected spark of amusement, Castiel murmured, “Dean is being as obstructive and obtuse as ever, I see.”
“Stubborn more like. Secretive.”
“Like you.”
Castiel met Sam’s heated gaze without flinching, unphased by the would-be vessel of Lucifer. “Lilith...”
“You are a fool, Sam Winchester to believe a demon over your own brother.” Sam’s eyes flared with anger but Castiel pressed on, “As was I, for doubting him.”
Sam turned on his heel, his hands clenched in his hair, mouth parted in deep emotion. “He won’t talk to me, Castiel. Not for weeks, months now. Small things, sure, but not what’s going on in his head or with you or...”
Castiel held up a hand, and blinked at the pain that ran through him and sighed, “Ignorance is preferable to error; and he is less remote from the truth who believes nothing, than he who believes what is wrong."
A quick quirk of a grin, and Sam asked, “Nieztch?”
“Thomas Jefferson.” Castiel shifted on the bed and yawned. Jaw snapping closed, he said carefully, steadily, “I am certain, Sam Winchester, that your brother will eventually tell you all, once he is ready. And I feel that there is more to this matter, these events, than he has revealed. A third player if you will.”
“Who?”
Castiel projected as much ignorance as he dared, “If I knew ...”
“You still wouldn’t tell me?”
Shaking his head, Castiel corrected, “Hopefully I would understand Dean better, too.”
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Sheppard found Rodney in the Chair Room. McKay was a mess, hair mimicking Zelenka’s, jacket sprayed with blood, and grease. He was staring at the Chair, running a tablet through his hands, turning it over and over, mind far away.
“McKay?”
The room was totalled, cables and crystals all over the place, some still sparking, reeking of smoke and ozone. “Why are we still alive, John?”
“Dumb luck?”
Rodney huffed, wrung out, worn out, “That wasn’t funny five years ago.”
Sheppard closed the distance between them, picking his way through the debris, feeling light headed and a little out of it. “The mess is pulling a breakfast together.”
“Bacon and eggs.”
“Only if you pretend very hard.”
McKay wilted a little and Sheppard draped an arm over his shoulders, “Come on. You and Carson can trade insults while you eat and he tries to practice his craft.”
“Are we going home, Sheppard?”
The tablet in his hands was cracked, broken beyond repair. There were no replacements, and Rodney, despite his protests to the contrary got quite attached to his toys. Sheppard gently took it from him and put it carefully on the ruined console. “I’m sure she’s ok, Rodney.”
“You don’t know that, not for certain.”
Nodding, unable and unwilling to deny it, John sighed, “Surprisingly enough, I’m finding it a little easier to have some faith right about now.”
McKay snorted, “Trust you needing an actual angel.” Rodney straightened, pulling himself together, patching over the holes in the armour, forcing a smile. “Oat porridge?”
“Only if you pretend real hard.”
“I hate you.”
“That really stings, McKay.”
“Go tell, Carson, I’m sure he has some alternative medicine mud to soothe your wounded pride.”
“Probably.”
They stood there a moment longer, staring at the Chair, listening to the buzz of life continuing on the comm. If Rodney was a little red eyed, and trembling, Sheppard ignored it and once McKay was ready, he snapped, “Coffee? Tell me there is coffee at least.”
“Only if you...”
“Shut up!”
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TBC - one last time J
AN: I hope you liked this. Not as depressing, but I hope it all made sense. I fear it reflects my own despondent mood. There will be one last chapter, a lighter, happier one, and then... no more. J
Author: Tari_roo
Rating: PG (Gen)
Fandom: SPN/SGA
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing. But if I did… there’d be less shirt-wearing, more punch ups and a larger special effects budget. Luckily, my brain doesn’t need one.
Summary: SGA/SPN Crossover AU. The world ended and not how any hunter would have imagined. A BSG-style fleet of refugees on the run. Spoilers: SG1 Season 9 and 10. SPN: Season 4 and 5
AN: I have decided that the Attack took place between 4.8 and 4.9 of SPN. Thus: Sam had stopped ‘whatever’ he was doing with Ruby, but Dean hadn’t told him yet about Hell. So early season 4 Winchesters and near the end of Season 9 SG1.
Previously on Here Tomorrow… The Winchesters traded devil’s traps for booze, and O’Neill found out. Enochian sigils bamboozle Priors but Daniel says that doesn’t make sense. Cas proves Sam’s point by face planting onto the table and then the Ori arrive. Oh, and Heaven has fallen.
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Jack had a plan. He really did. Everyday at least one person, worried about themselves or their family or Earth or their next meal, would track him down and ask him. Do you have a plan, General O’Neill? And the answer was always, yes. You bet. Definitely.
But that was all the answer you got. Nothing about what the plan actually was. Loose lips sink floating ancient cities, afterall. You could ask, but you’d leave feeling less than reassured. No amount of scathing looks or heated words could persuade Jack to reveal the details of ‘the plan’. It bounced off him like bugs on the Gate Iris.
Problem was, Jack did have a plan. A good plan. A great plan in fact. One that was a real winner and not the usual fly by the seat of your pants and hope Teal’c or Carter saves the day plan. It was stellar. Stalled, but stellar.
The command staff knew why secrecy was so important, they bought into it 100%. With hundreds of refugees, both civilian and military, it was difficult to trust, be certain that there was ‘no’ spy on board. Secrecy so paranoid it made the cold war look like a mild disagreement over toilet paper was the order of the day. But all the secrecy and secret missions and secret meetings and secret kitchen raids in the galaxy couldn’t get ‘the plan’ moving.
At first they had thought that tracking down Merlin’s lab would be fairly easy. However, fighting a running battle with the Combat Fleet and trying to keep the Civilian Fleet alive had made that a little more difficult than expected. Once everything had settled down and Atlantis found them, it should have been easy. It wasn’t. Merlin and his damn lab were still lost, as was their chance at taking out the Ori. Plan B was the Ark of Truth. Secret away missions 35 to 42 had given them the location of the Ark. The Ori galaxy. They didn’t have a lot of options, and the first attempt at the Supergate would be the only attempt. Teal’c had some of the Jaffa scouting the Supergate periodically, waiting for an opportunity. None had arisen. So... the Plan was ‘in limbo’. Just waiting for a break.
Too bad the Ori found them before the break did.
Jack had figured there was a good chance that this would end tragic and bloody. More than good. The Ori didn’t mess around and their persistence in hunting the Fleet hinted that they were worried too. You don’t leave live enemies behind you. And you certainly don’t leave your arch nemesis in a poorly constructed cage suspended over sharks with lasers on their heads and the key to the cage within MacGyvering distance. You shot him in the head. Or in the case of the Ori, hunted and pursued until you found them and attacked.
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To say that the situation on Atlantis was a little fraught was to be entirely inaccurate. Things were... extreme. Five Ori ships on their tail, so close behind them in hyperspace you could feel them breathing on your neck. And it seemed the Ori could transport themselves whilst travelling in hyperspace. If Sheppard hadn’t been fighting for his life, he’d be making mental notes for the argument with Rodney later.
It was only Priors so far, but that was like it being only one nuclear bomb. It sure as hell was enough.
He was hunkered down inside the makeshift school the handful of children on Atlantis used sporadically. Ronon was pressed flat on the opposite side of the doorway, trading shots with the Prior stalking down the hall. Ammunition was low, so Sheppard was waiting for his shot.
The engineering teams had been preparing for this day like good little boy scouts and there were Prior disruptors, hundreds of them, scattered all over the city. They just took time to work though and while the Priors weren’t the fastest off the draw, but they packed plenty of punch. The Prior outside though was slowing down, Ronon and the few Marines concerted stunner fire was taxing him as the disruptor worked. Sheppard spotted his chance and took the shot. The back of the Prior’s head exploded in a spray of blood and brain and he dropped like a stone. Leaving the body check to the Marines, Sheppard and Ronon ran off, heading towards the heat of the battle, the Gate Room.
There were no more drones, and Lorne was in the chair now, flying the City trying to eek a little more gumption from the old girl, urging her to pull away from the ships. The Ori had lost three ships already, but each one had been replaced and while all five were damaged, they were still in pursuit. But luckily their bombardment on the City was countered by the shield. It just didn’t stop them sending in boarding parties. They wanted something... someone maybe.
Sheppard spotted Teyla and her team of civilians laying down suppressing fire while a pair of Marines tried to take out a Prior. Ronon was already swerving unerringly towards them, his blaster red hot and firing steadily. The Prior went down in a hail of bullets as his shield collapsed, and then their reinforcements swelled from two to ten.
The chatter on the comm. was frantic as defence teams scrambled to protect pockets of civilians. Chuck was in full air traffic control mode, a steady calm voice of deployment in their ears. But there were too many teams not checking in and too many dead zones. Sheppard and his posse had to race up the stairs to reach the Gate Room, and by the time they grew close, Chuck was sounding strained, his voice breaking as he called for check ins.
Sheppard tapped his comm., “Sheppard and eleven others, five mins from the Gate room.”
“Hurry, Colonel,” was all Chuck had time to say, before more teams continued to check in.
“John,” Teyla was breathless, her face red with adrenalin and fear. Sheppard paused long enough to twist his lips into something that may have resembled a smile. Somewhere, maybe, Dave was alive. His brother was a practical man, not given overly much to religion. In order to survive, he’d convert to Origin, or appear to. Nancy though, and Greg the replacement husband were in all likelihood dead. Washington was a crater, as was Colorado Springs. Rodney had high hopes that Canada had escaped the severity of the US attacks, hoped that Jeannie and Madison were alive. Everyone on Atlantis had ridiculous, deluded hopes like that. But Teyla? Teyla knew with utter certainty that her family were safe, alive, well, on New Athos.
She’d never asked to go home, not once.
A deep, fierce love for her twisted Sheppard’s heart and he wished she had, just once.
He had no idea where Rodney was, and as they reached the Gate Room floor, he wished he was with them, and not somewhere trying to milk more power out of the hyperdrive engines. The Gate Room was controlled panic.
O’Neill and Jackson had placed the largest number of disruptors in the Gate Room, creating a killing zone. And it was just that. Priors were popping in steadily, beaming in from the ships outside and O’Neill had a hellfire welcoming party waiting for them.
Unfortunately, it was a welcoming party running out of ammunition. The moment they arrived, O’Neill’s sharp voice directed them to the gaps in the defence and Sheppard opened fire. Forced to defend themselves automatically and unable to ‘pop’ in anyway else but the space just before the Gate, the arriving Priors were standing on the bodies of those who fell. It was a race, whoever ran out of weapons first.
Sheppard couldn’t really see from his angle, but the doors to the conference room were still shut. He wasn’t the only one glancing up there, wondering. Sam Winchester was in the defensive line, firing steadily, calmly, normally. There was no sign of Dean. Or the angel.
The last Prior fell and was not replaced and stunned silence fell. His ears ringing in the aftermath of the noise, Sheppard didn’t even bother hoping. That was too easy.
Sure enough, as if she knew her timing, lines and part to a tee, the Orisi appeared with a concussive blast, knocking everyone flying. Teal’c was the first to recover and his staff weapon fired methodically at her. To no avail. With an idle flick of her first, the Orisi disarmed him and before anyone else could respond, she said sharply, “Enough. I wish to parlay.”
Like a jack rabbit, Jack’s head popped up from behind the console on the upper balcony and he yelled, “Parlay? You do know that means talk and no more fighting?”
Her smile was cold, inhuman, but she replied coolly with, “Yes. I do.”
“Chuck?”
Jack didn’t take his eyes off the Orisi, or stop pointing his P90 at her, as he waited for Chuck to respond. “All teams reporting in, sir. No Priors, er, alive or in sight.”
The perfectly beautiful eyebrow of disdain marked the Orisi’s impatience and Jack stood slowly, “Ok, so let’s parlay. My first question, are you a fan of Jack Sparrow?”
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Castiel was unconscious on the conference room table. Before all hell broke loose, Carson had been able to insert two IVs and check the man’s vital signs.
But as the battle heated up and help was needed elsewhere, first Carson, then Jackson and then Sam and Bobby left, leaving Dean alone with Castiel.
It was disconcerting being out of the loop, left behind, but Dean couldn’t quite bring himself to leave Castiel. The guy had made the last couple of months utterly miserable for Dean, but he kinda grew on you, in a nerdish, social leper kinda way.
So Dean kept watch, for what he didn’t know, but watch nonetheless he did. There was a lot of noise outside but no one had left him a comm., so he had no real idea what was happening. Sam though had left him with several guns, including one with salt rounds and a silver knife. If heaven had fallen then there wasn’t much a good knife could do, but Dean felt better for it. Priors had been seen in the City and that didn’t bode well.
Things were just starting to heat up outside, a steady stream of rapid machine gun fire and stunner blasts, when there was a barely audible knock on the conference room door and General Jack O’Neill stuck his head in. Half expecting the visit, Dean was on his feet, ready to meet whatever barrage that would follow. Jack scanned the room with its scrawled sigils and grinned darkly, “You got a minute?”
“Sure,” Dean replied and resisted the urge to take a step back. O’Neill though slipped in and quickly shut the door behind him, like he was nervous. Turning slowly, the General stared unabashedly at Castiel before saying, “I gotta say, of all of the plot twists out there, this one is the one I never expected.”
Dean had nothing to say to that, and Jack didn’t give him time to reply anyway. “God and I parted ways years ago, and I’m not convinced this means anything much for that. But we have more pressing issues, Winchester.”
“Yep,” Dean replied, unconsciously fingering the trigger on his colt. Jack sighed, “You have a visitor outside, who might I add nearly got himself shot. Falling out of the cupboard in my office has that effect on me.”
Caught off guard, Dean’s face crumpled in confusion and he stammered, “What?”
“I just.. wanted to.. he says he’s an old friend, and gave you a head’s up on aliens years ago. Kinda goofy looking.”
Several things clicked into place and Dean felt his anger rise but he nodded, because time really was of the essence. Jack opened the door a crack and sure enough, the Trickster slipped through, followed by an exotic looking lady who oozed ‘touch me and die, hell look at me wrong and I’ll eat you.”
“Well, howdy there, Dean. Long time no see,” the Trickster beamed, oily smile firmly in place. He closed the distance to the table and peered at Castiel, gleeful expression kinda slipping. He was decked out in camo gear, face smeared with paint. Dean though bit out, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Oh, the usual. On the run, laying low, playing it cool. You?” The Trickster idly ran a finger through the sharpie sigils on the table and smirked, “Cute.”
Dean though, and Jack who was looking curious but impatient, snapped, “Still wondering why you’re here and how you found us?” The woman, her expression dark snapped, “Stop wasting time, Loki. If they are of no use as usual, we must go. She’s coming.”
Smiling a doting puppy love grin at her, the Trickster crooned, “Kali, my love. My little kitten of death, would you just take a chill pill for five seconds?” Kali glowered, her red fingernails sharp and glinting, but the Trickster turned back to Dean and sighed, “Look, bucko. Castiel here has been talking up a storm for months, years, ok, only months that you and you human band of runaways have a plan. So... what’s the plan?”
“You know Cas?” Dean stammered, pointing his gun at both Cas and the Trickster, who rolled his eyes and made hurry up motions. “Stating the obvious is not helping the time issue, Deano. Yes, I know Cas. Kali knows Cas. Cas knows us. While you lot have been playing hide and seek with the floating toilet bowls, we’ve been a happy family of united resistance of all local deities back on the ole homestead.”
“I’ve met Loki. You’re not Loki,” Jack interrupted and the Trickster, Loki, flapped a hand at him. “Please, people have been impersonating me for years. Just because some pasty, bug eyed race of dying aliens pretended to be me, doesn’t mean I am not me. Where the hell do you think I got the slow dance idea from anyway?” The last question was directed at Dean, who scowled, but shrugged.
“So, you old God types have been fighting the Ori with Heaven?” Dean said, wincing at a particularly loud explosion outside. Kali growled, “Enough! They do not have a plan and unless we plan on dying with them we must go, Loki.”
Jack, ever the man of perfect timing, interjected, “There’s an ark. The Ark of Truth. It’s supposed to show people the truth about the Ori, get them to stop believing in Origin. The fewer people who believe in the Ori the better as their power decreases.”
A cunning sort of light gleamed in Loki’s eyes and he snapped his fingers. “Really? How very Raiders. So where is it and why aren’t you, you know, blue pilling the deluded masses?”
Resting his hands on the P90 hanging from his tac vest, Jack shrugged, “Because it’s on the Ori homeworld, in their galaxy and ...”
Loki, a bright, beautiful smile on his face clapped his hands together and grabbed Kali’s hand. “Dollface of Death, we got treasure to loot.” They were out the door and gone before Jack or Dean could gather enough air to protest or complain. Alone now with a sleeping angel between them, Jack stared at Dean and said, “They actually going to get it? You seem to know a lot of ... interesting people.”
In all honesty, Dean had no clue, so he just shrugged and then Jack was called away. He left, a lingering look promising a long detailed conversation if they survived.
Dean fully expected to never have that conversation.
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Bobby grabbed Sam as they left the conference room. Several Marines and soldiers nearly knocked them over as they ran past, and Bobby hauled Sam into a small corner, made all the more smaller for Sam’s bulk. “What, Bobby? We got incoming Priors.”
“Yeah, yeah, did you know, Sam?”
Sam’s face was blank for a second before he grimaced, “That Castiel was around, no.” Bobby sighed and ran a shaky hand over his beard. “Why the hell didn’t Dean say something?” Sam shrugged, a muted, contained anger in his eyes, his large frame vibrating with adrenalin. He snapped, “Who the hell knows, Bobby. Dean isn’t... hasn’t exactly been forthcoming about a lot of shit recently. He hardly sleeps, and he thinks I haven’t noticed. And it’s not just the workload, its nightmares and Hell and ...” Sam trailed off, suddenly looking lost and furious in the same instant.
“Yeah...” Bobby sighed, and watched the military folk scrambling, preparing for the coming attack. “We need... I...” Bobby stopped, gathered himself, shoved everything else aside and stared at Sam, firmly. “After this, we’re sitting him down and he’s talking. You got it?”
Sam nodded, “I got it.”
They clasped hands briefly before Bobby ran off. The transporter was still working, so he hopped in with a few other civilians and indicated where he needed to go. Everyone had a designated spot during an attack. The brass ran enough drills that even the kids knew where to go. And if you worked on a ship even sporadically, you got to practice their drills too.
Bobby was assigned to a protection detail and he sure as hell didn’t mind. Not vital enough to be in a strategic area, but competent enough to be armed and given a point to hold. As Bobby ran through the squat building assigned for his group of refugees, he felt his heart skip a little at the palpable fear inside the building. There were a few soldiers with him, mostly the walking wounded, along with a good bunch of armed civilians, but if the Ori sent soldiers directly at them, they didn’t really have a chance.
Atlantis rocked as the first volley of shots from the Ori ships hit. A Prior materialised right in the middle of the corridor, and a wail of screams from those nearby rattled the walls along with the next volley. Bobby didn’t hesitate, he opened fire and he wasn’t the only one. The disruptor in the building worked and before the Prior could do more than wave his staff, he was down, full of bullet holes. But he wasn’t the last, and another appeared almost immediately.
Bobby had long since run out of ammunition when he made the call. Five dead priors and more dead soldiers and as the final Prior breathed its last, Bobby yelled, “Now, go go go.”
No one needed to be told again, and mothers picked up children too slow, and everyone ran. Bobby covered their rear. As the crowd of refugees turned a corner, Bobby caught a glimpse of one, and then two Priors appearing behind them, before they were lost to view. “Straight to the hangar, now.”
Bobby tapped his comm., and reported in, “Sector 2 retreating to secondary location.”
Chuck acknowledged, “Sector 2, avoid Buildings G and J, go around the Science block.”
By the time his group reached the large jumper hangar bay near the control tower, they weren’t the only group trying to get in. Bobby nearly lost his people in the press but once they were inside, he pulled them towards the rear, and his own workstation. The kids, old and young were crying, and clutching their parents. The noise level in the hangar was exploding as more people arrived. The population of Atlantis wasn’t all that big, and pretty soon everyone not directly fighting would be here.
Bobby hip checked his tool box and as the drawers sprung open, he pulled out handfuls of sharpie markers. Handing them to the kids, he pointed to the sigils all around the walls and said sharply, “Start drawing kids, everywhere you want. Copy it exactly. The Ori don’t like ‘em.”
The last group was in and a couple of military officers closed the doors behind them. No one said anything about the huge sigil drawn across the blue surface. The rumour mill on Atlantis was like lightning and while folk might not know the whole picture, they knew enough. There were a few screams as the building shuddered as Priors outside tried to blast their way in. Bobby picked up a can of grease and started painting a large sigil on the wall nearby. Dean had been paranoid and the hangar was covered in a variety of sigils.
Completing the curve and twist of a line, Bobby caught out of the corner of his eye, people copying him, painting with anything handy. Snorting to himself, Bobby yelled over the noise of the aerial bombardment, “It needs to be exact, just like this, ok?”
No one answered but it would have been difficult to hear if they did as a massive explosion rocked the City. Everyone paused, breathless with anticipation, clutching weapons and paint tins.
In the silence Bobby’s thoughts turned to Castiel. Then the world tipped on its head.
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“Dean Winchester?”
“Cas?”
“I ... hurt.”
“Well you kinda fell pretty hard there, buddy.”
“Fell?”
“Not that kind of fall, at least I don’t think.”
“Where?”
“Atlantis.”
Cas blinked long and slow, his thick black hair pressed against his forehead, curled into sweat induced spirals. “Ori...”
“Yeah, they’re on our ass. Guess you riled ‘em up.”
“Heaven...” Cas’s lips were broken and cracked, a long thick scab of blood breaking open, pale bright red blood welling on the edges.
“Fell, yeah... got that part. Little careless of you guys leaving the back door open.”
Another ponderous blink, like the change of seasons. “I locked the door.”
“What? Like the actual Pearly Gates? I thought....”
“Not always your strong point.”
“Nice.”
Long, blood stained fingers curled into a fist, uncurled as if indecisive, or pre-emptive. “For his freedom Lucifer promised the Keys to Heaven. His agent, Uriel, was tortured. The Ori... claimed the celestial plane, drove out the Host, but the Gates...”
“Still locked. And you have the key.”
A twitch of lips, a glint of bloody teeth. “Keys.”
Dean’s smile was broad and proud.
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Daniel hadn’t expected to miss Vala. He worried about her, wondered if she was safe, ok or even alive. But considering how annoying she had been, and the amount of the drama she had brought to his life, all of their lives, he found himself missing her at strange moments.
Watching Jack walk down the staircase to talk with the Orisi, Daniel couldn’t help wondering where Vala was. Was she on one of the ships outside? Atlantis was still hurtling through space, Major Lorne at the helm. They couldn’t meet up with the Fleet, not with the Ori in tow.
There was an uneasy shuffle of feet as the Marines made a path for the General and the Orisi looked down her long elegant nose at Jack, who beamed insincerely.
“You called this little party, lady. Start talking.”
No one was relaxing and both Sheppard and Mitchell were talking softly into their comms, ordering redeployments, taking advantage of the break. The Orisi’s knowing smile revealed their failed effort for secrecy, she was well aware of what they were up to. “General. The Ori have no wish to destroy you...”
“Oh, I find that hard to believe. You’ve been very persistent, Orisi.”
Her smile was vicious, pleased and she purred, “You’ve been very elusive. But pursuit does not mean intent to harm. We wished only to talk, to give you a chance to repent...”
“Cut the crap, lady,” Jack snapped, his face hard. A murmur of agreement rumbled through the gathered fighters and the Orisi smirked, unimpressed, unintimidated. “We wish the galaxy, all the galaxies to be united in peace, in the peace of Origin, General, I...”
Jack snapped up his P90, eyes thin with anger, “If all you’re going to do is preach, then I have my answer ready. Parlay, or take a hike.”
Her smile was sly, “You have a ... fugitive on board, General. A being from another plane. I require him.”
“No idea who you’re talking about. Let’s talk about you giving back Earth.” Jack smiled his own crocodile smile and the Orisi sighed. “Don’t be tiresome, Jack. Earth is ours. The galaxy is ours.”
“And yet here you are, asking for a favour. Tsk, tsk, losing your touch there, my dear.”
Sighing and adopting a very put upon air, the Orisi yawned broadly and Daniel felt the ground move beneath his feet, figuratively this time. Something was wrong. Heart thudding with sudden prescience, Daniel slipped out from behind cover and moved closer, ignoring the motions of the men and women around him to stay put and yelled, “She’s waiting for something, Jack!”
O’Neill was fast, but not fast enough and the Orisi laughed, sharp and high and the world tilted. Atlantis rocked to one side, engines still firing and then dying, and they dropped out of hyperspace. Daniel and everyone else on the upper level fell backwards, head first straight towards the massive doors and windows. There was sporadic shooting, a lot of yelling and when Atlantis finally righted herself, the deep black of space was pressing in at the windows. There was shouting and calls of ‘Let him go!’
Staggering to his feet, Daniel limped forward, rubbing his head, fumbling for his gun and stopped, frozen. The Orisi had Jack and a couple of men pinned to the staircase, slowly choking them with invisible hands. Sheppard, Ronon and Mitchell were on their feet, yelling at her to let them go, and the Orisi was just smiling.
Chuck, underneath a console was relaying reports of more Priors beaming in and Daniel was torn, caught in amber, between thought and action.
Ronon fired at the Orisi, she idly tossed him aside and the room filled with white, blinding light.
Half certain he’d wake up somewhere else, Daniel blinked to clear his vision and then blinked again for everything to make sense.
“Hello, mother. You’re not supposed to be here.”
Vala, resplendent in royal blue, poised, dignified and regal snorted loudly and spat, “Oh, bite me.”
The Orisi, still slow choking half the room, glared at her mother, and as she did so, realised Vala wasn’t alone. “You!”
A small man in camo grinned widely and flipped her the bird. “It’s been too long,” he smirked and opened a large box... an ark like box! Daniel took two long steps forward and snatched up a Prior staff, thinking ahead, hoping. As the room flooded with white light for the second time, Daniel sent up a silent prayer, to whoever was inclined to listen. The Orisi shrieked and he felt the staff shudder in response and light up, a brighter light even in the blinding haze.
It lasted a heartbeat, an age, a breath of a second, a millennium.
The room faded into view, the colours bleeding back into the world, blues and yellows and the bright, bright red of the Orisi’s dress. She was rattled, her composure gone, face pale, eyes black. “No, no, no... no!”
She whirled, snarling and ugly and her imperious gesture sent Vala and the little man flying. If they didn’t travel as far as before, it made very little difference. They both landed with the sickening crunch. One second she was framed by the Gate and the next she was at the conference room door. Before Daniel or anyone could move, the Orisi raised a zat and fired once, twice, three times.
Daniel’s vantage point was just perfect. Right angle. Unobstructed view. As the doors disintegrated, and the Orisi moved forward, Dean Winchester rose from the floor with coiled grace and sank a long, silver spear into her chest.
Mouth open in a hollow of shock, the young Orisi clutched at the blade, beautiful delicate hands covering Winchester’s, flittering like struggling birds. The angel was sitting up, shirt in tatters, chest bloody, errant feathers dotting the table. Winchester’s expression was torn, jaw hard, lips thin, but eyes uncertain, darting across her face. No one moved in the frozen moment, no one but the Orisi who gasped. Vala made an aborted move forward, held back by the man in camo.
Hands stilled, mouth closed, eyes rolled back and the Orisi fell and Dean let her fall, a boneless sprawl of red within red, dress and blood pooling together.
It was Vala who broke the moment, a bitten off sob, hand over mouth and everyone breathed, gasped, as if released from a spell. Chuck, still jacked in, began relaying the news, and through his comm., Daniel heard the reports of Priors disappearing, collapsing.
Jack climbed to his feet, slowly, gingerly, rubbing his neck.
“Real dramatic, Deano. You got a real flair for it. See you ‘round.” The small man’s voice was loud, and he winked, pinched the butt of the bulky Marine next to him and vanished.
With impeccable timing, the Hammond flashed into view out of the window, the incoming hyperdrive cloud exceptionally close to the city and Daniel reflexively stepped back as the ship buzzed the Tower. More flashes as the rest of the Fleet dropped in, a sight for sore eyes. An Ori ship outside exploded as the Hammond fired and the others bugged out, but not before another exploded.
Jack tripped up the stairs and winced and Daniel caught him. Accepting the help, Jack straightened, pointed at Dean Winchester and growled, “You got a lot of ‘splaning to do, Lucy.”
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Castiel liked the infirmary. It was quiet, peaceful. Ordered even when there was chaos and motion. People knowing their place, doing what was required without being told, but still following orders.
There was no chaos now, just aftermath. People being quiet, grateful, offering up prayers. Castiel liked healers. Their compassion, warmth and affinity for grace. The little Scottish doctor confused him though. Castiel wanted to talk to Dean but Dr. Carson appeared to be deaf when it came to those requests. He spoke a great deal faster than Dean, filling the air with words, blurring together like a maze. His words were brisk, but his hands gentle. Nervous but fearless. Worried but self-assured.
No one else approached him and this Castiel understood, accepted. The lingering looks were to be expected, but he really wanted to speak to Dean. It was early morning, but since no one had actually slept bar the lucky few, it was a hushed, sleepy morning. Many injured, too many dead. A busy nursing staff. A people gathering themselves, picking up the pieces once again. Taking stock.
He stood head and shoulders over everyone, so Castiel had no trouble seeing him coming, but Sam Winchester was not the Winchester he wanted, needed to speak to. Perhaps he could summon Dean.
“Sam.”
“Castiel.”
The human was ill at ease, shifting about, but his forehead was furrowed, determination leaking through. “You doing ok?”
“I will heal. Eventually. It is ... an unusual experience, one that I am not enjoying.”
“Sure,” Sam nodded, fidgeting, biting his nails, and then realising what he was doing, stopped. “I, ah, Dean... there’s a lot of talking and explaining going on. We’ve stopped to ... have breakfast and Dean sent me...”
“I wish to speak to him, Sam Winchester.”
“You and everyone else.”
“I will wait then.”
Sam nodded again, slow, and sighed, “Can... is Heaven, er... ok?”
“I do not know, but I must believe it is secure for now. The Ori are diminished but not gone. You are returning to Earth?”
Sam shook his head, “No idea, maybe. I think General O’Neill wants to figure things out first but ah...”
“Say what is on your mind, Sam.”
All too knowing, weary eyes met Castiel’s and some of the pretence slipped away. Sam the hunter emerged, the man willing to sacrifice everything, even his own soul, stared back at him. The sheets were worn, smooth and they felt fragile beneath Castiel’s hands. “Is it true?”
Truth, despite human arrogance, is not relative. It is however, varied in depth and application. Castiel quirked an eyebrow, and Sam supplied clarification, “The whole thing, the apocalypse, Michael, Lucifer. That.”
Feeling an unexpected spark of amusement, Castiel murmured, “Dean is being as obstructive and obtuse as ever, I see.”
“Stubborn more like. Secretive.”
“Like you.”
Castiel met Sam’s heated gaze without flinching, unphased by the would-be vessel of Lucifer. “Lilith...”
“You are a fool, Sam Winchester to believe a demon over your own brother.” Sam’s eyes flared with anger but Castiel pressed on, “As was I, for doubting him.”
Sam turned on his heel, his hands clenched in his hair, mouth parted in deep emotion. “He won’t talk to me, Castiel. Not for weeks, months now. Small things, sure, but not what’s going on in his head or with you or...”
Castiel held up a hand, and blinked at the pain that ran through him and sighed, “Ignorance is preferable to error; and he is less remote from the truth who believes nothing, than he who believes what is wrong."
A quick quirk of a grin, and Sam asked, “Nieztch?”
“Thomas Jefferson.” Castiel shifted on the bed and yawned. Jaw snapping closed, he said carefully, steadily, “I am certain, Sam Winchester, that your brother will eventually tell you all, once he is ready. And I feel that there is more to this matter, these events, than he has revealed. A third player if you will.”
“Who?”
Castiel projected as much ignorance as he dared, “If I knew ...”
“You still wouldn’t tell me?”
Shaking his head, Castiel corrected, “Hopefully I would understand Dean better, too.”
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Sheppard found Rodney in the Chair Room. McKay was a mess, hair mimicking Zelenka’s, jacket sprayed with blood, and grease. He was staring at the Chair, running a tablet through his hands, turning it over and over, mind far away.
“McKay?”
The room was totalled, cables and crystals all over the place, some still sparking, reeking of smoke and ozone. “Why are we still alive, John?”
“Dumb luck?”
Rodney huffed, wrung out, worn out, “That wasn’t funny five years ago.”
Sheppard closed the distance between them, picking his way through the debris, feeling light headed and a little out of it. “The mess is pulling a breakfast together.”
“Bacon and eggs.”
“Only if you pretend very hard.”
McKay wilted a little and Sheppard draped an arm over his shoulders, “Come on. You and Carson can trade insults while you eat and he tries to practice his craft.”
“Are we going home, Sheppard?”
The tablet in his hands was cracked, broken beyond repair. There were no replacements, and Rodney, despite his protests to the contrary got quite attached to his toys. Sheppard gently took it from him and put it carefully on the ruined console. “I’m sure she’s ok, Rodney.”
“You don’t know that, not for certain.”
Nodding, unable and unwilling to deny it, John sighed, “Surprisingly enough, I’m finding it a little easier to have some faith right about now.”
McKay snorted, “Trust you needing an actual angel.” Rodney straightened, pulling himself together, patching over the holes in the armour, forcing a smile. “Oat porridge?”
“Only if you pretend real hard.”
“I hate you.”
“That really stings, McKay.”
“Go tell, Carson, I’m sure he has some alternative medicine mud to soothe your wounded pride.”
“Probably.”
They stood there a moment longer, staring at the Chair, listening to the buzz of life continuing on the comm. If Rodney was a little red eyed, and trembling, Sheppard ignored it and once McKay was ready, he snapped, “Coffee? Tell me there is coffee at least.”
“Only if you...”
“Shut up!”
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TBC - one last time J
AN: I hope you liked this. Not as depressing, but I hope it all made sense. I fear it reflects my own despondent mood. There will be one last chapter, a lighter, happier one, and then... no more. J