Puddle Jumping Chap 8
Title:Puddle Jumping
Author:Calamityjim
Fandoms:Supernatura/SGA/SG1
Rating: Mature (Rating Jumped. Be aware)
Warnings: Supernatural-Spoilers to season 5, SG-1, to season 9, and SGA, all seasons. Also Violence, swearing, pairings, and aliens
Disclaimer:Stargate belongs to MGM, Supernatural to the CW
Distribution: Crossposted on fanfic.net
Summary: Gabriel's solution to the apocalypse was unorthodox. Now Sam and Dean are struggling to survive in a reality they don't understand against forces that take a little more than salt to kill. First Story in the Rebirth Verse the Atlantis Arc.
Chap Summary- In which this story concludes on a wet note.
AN- Last Chapter, which commemorates the first time I’ve ever finished a long fic. Woot woot, people!
Previous Chapter
Puddle Jumping
Chapter 8
Wake up Little Suzie
Elizabeth was certain Jack was going to fire her.
Though the events that had transpired were only her fault by the reasoning that as the leader of the expedition she was responsible for the well being of her people, it did not negate that she was still responsible. She felt responsible. It was her decisions that had allowed John to get loose, her reasoning that had had the boys in a more isolated sector of city. It was her oversight that allowed the boys to be both unguarded and unarmed. She had failed John, Dean, Jack, and Sam.
Especially Sam.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, the conversation with Carson echoing in her mind.
“We’re in the most technologically advanced city in the galaxy. Can’t you do something?”
Carson had leaned back in his chair, his eyes sad. “We can ease his pain as he goes.”
“Carson,” Elizabeth had pleaded, knowing it was unfair to the man but she was desperate for a solution, even if were just a one-in-a-million shot.
Carson sighed and Elizabeth recognized it as Rodney’s ‘I’m going to use little words because you just don’t get it’ sigh. The pair had been spending more time together than Elizabeth realized. “Elizabeth, Sam was disemboweled. The majority of the boy’s organs were destroyed and removed. He currently has no liver, no spleen, and no stomach. He has perhaps a third of a kidney left. His gall bladder and intestines were both perforated, which means that even if the rest of him were intact he’d still be at severe risk for sepsis and peritonitis. The only reason he’s still breathing is that diaphragm wasn’t punctured. We don’t have the ability to clone the organs needed. There’s nothing to do.” He shook his head. “I’m frankly surprised he’s still alive.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes. “Dean?”
Carson leaned forward, pulling out the scotch Elizabeth had seen him share with Rodney on occasion and two shot glasses. He began to pour as he listed off the injuries. “Three broken ribs, two dislocated shoulders but no torn ligaments, and minor throat swelling but not enough to ventilate. He’ll heal with rest.” He handed Elizabeth a glass. “As for the colonel, he’ll be right as rain in no time. His DNA is already mutating back and the puncture wound in his shoulder closed as soon as we removed the fork.”
“Right,” Elizabeth stared at the dark liquid. “Until he realizes what he did.”
Carson’s response was to shoot back his alcohol.
Since then Elizabeth had been hiding in her office. She knew it was cowardly of her, but she just couldn’t stand being in the infirmary, surrounded by the people she’d failed. Not yet.
She stared at the letter Jack had sent her, the one telling her to watch out for the boys because they were special. It didn’t mention how, but it clearly outlined to listen when Sam asked for things, no matter how strange they would be. How was she supposed to write in a report that the only thing he had ever asked of her was to be close to his brother? That that was the only thing he’d ever be able to ask?
Jack was going to fire her and she couldn’t help but agree with that decision.
x-x---x-x
“Dr. McKay?”
Rodney had been going… somewhere. He knew that. Knew he should keep walking. But the sight of John all blue and scaly and restrained had taken him by surprise.
“Dr. McKay?”
Oh, on an intellectual level he’d known. The colonel’s condition had been explained to him time and time again, but knowing what was going on and seeing the evidence that a bright man had been reduced to a killer insect in a matter of days were completely different things.
“Dr. McKay!” A hand on Rodney’s shoulder made him start and he found himself staring into the owlish glasses of Dr. … Kniveness? “Dr. McKay, you can’t loiter here.”
That spurred Rodney into action. “Loiter? Loiter?” Rodney sputtered with unfeigned rage. “I’m the Chief of Science! I don’t loiter! I don’t have time to loiter,” Rodney practically spat the word. “Where I am is where I’m supposed to be, doing my work which I’m not going to bother to explain to you because there is no way that your inferior intellect could even begin to grasp the magnitude of what I do!”
Dr. Nervous rolled his chocolate eyes. “As it stands, you still can’t be in here. The infirmary has been declared closed to all unnecessary personnel. Visiting hours are restricted until further notice by Dr. Beckett’s orders. ” Rodney narrowed his eyes, seeing Teyla sitting by John and spotting Ronon sitting on the end of a bed that was hidden by curtains. Dr. Navel caught Rodney’s glance. “They’re working security.” Translation: I’ve told them to leave and they told me they’d sooner tear my arms off and beat me to death with them.
“And I’m a patient!” Rodney declared loudly.
Dr. Nay scrutinized McKay, his eyes searching for a problem. “You look fine,” he stated sharply.
“I look fine?” Rodney scoffed. “What school of witchcraft did you get your degree from? Or did the elders grant it to you for dancing naked under the moon? I’ve met geese that are better qualified to make medical diagnoses than you! Now you will find me a real voodoo doctor so I can get some medical attention before I keel over dead from dealing with your vapid idiocy. Where’s Carson? Carson!” Rodney called, huffing.
Dr. Neanderthal opened his mouth to no doubt say something stupid but Teyla rose from where she had been guarding John to cut the man off. She placed a hand on the doctor’s arm and through whatever magic, whether it was Wraith DNA or the power of women, she caused the quack’s mouth to snap shut. “Dr. Nieves, perhaps it would be wisest for you to fetch Carson,” Teyla murmured softly. The idiot gave a sharp nod before wondering off.
Teyla turned her doey eyes on Rodney, studying his red face. “Come Rodney. I do not believe Carson would mind if you were sitting when he came.” Teyla grabbed his hand, dragging him to the open bed on John’s one side. When he had himself situated she moved back to her post on the other side, placing herself between John and a pale youth whose arms were practically tied to his chest. Before Rodney could ask what happened to the kid, ask if that was something John did, Carson appeared.
“All right Rodney,” Carson ran a hand over his pale face. “What did you do this time?”
Rodney’s eyes widened. “What did I do?” he cried indignantly. “I just swallowed a bunch of alien dirt. It’s what you did that’s the issue here!”
Carson glowered his accent thicker with fatigue. “Rodney, I dinnae have time to play games with you. If this is about the soil you can leave. You’ve already been cleared for that.”
Rodney hunched over in a sulk. “I think you cracked my ribs when you landed on me.”
Carson’s face pinched. He ordered Rodney out of his shirt, helping the scientist when the man admitted that he couldn’t lift his arms that high and sighing when he saw the dark mottling across the Canadian’s chest. His fingers prodded along the bone, coping with Rodney’s harsh snapping whenever he found a particularly sensitive spot.
When he was finished Carson shook his head. “I dinnae know why you didna come see me sooner.”
Rodney shrugged and winced as the action tugged at his chest. It wasn’t like he knew he’d need an excuse to be in the infirmary to watch over John. After all, wandering around with fractured ribs just to get admittance here would have been stupid; clever, sneaky and brilliant, but still stupid.
Carson shook his head, moving off to look for an Ancient scanner. While it wouldn’t fix the bones immediately it would reduce the healing time from a matter of months to a few weeks. Rodney sat quietly, absorbing John’s presence while steadfastly ignoring the strange coloring, knowing it would be gone in a matter of time and his John would be back with a rakish smirk and a sarcastic drawl.
The stillness of the infirmary was broken when the young man on the other side of John stirred.
“Sammy?” Rodney winced at the gravel scraped voice.
Teyla stood, leaning over the man. “Sh, Dean,” she murmured in his ear. “You are safe now.”
The man opened his eyes, blinking dumbly. “Where’s Sammy?” He turned his head, facing the curtain that Ronon was tucked behind. “No,” he muttered. “No, no, no,” he began to chant with growing fervor. He began to twist, trying to get enough momentum to roll himself over.
Teyla pushed down, trying to prevent Dean’s escape as she whispered soothing things. Instead of calming the man it seemed to intensify his struggles. Rodney watched as he jerked one arm from the brace, using it to knock Teyla back against John’s bed. Dean twisted himself out of the bed, staggering across the floor towards the curtain where he was intercepted by Ronon as the large alien wrapped his arms around the boy.
“No!” The man yelled. “Let me go or I’ll gut you!” Ronon just grunted, pulling back and lifting Dean’s feet clear the floor. Dean tried to twist but failed miserably as his traction was removed. “Sammy needs me,” the man pleaded, his broken tone at odds with his frenzied struggles.
Ronon didn’t even flinch. “He said it wasn’t your fault.”
Dean stilled in his arms. “No.” Dean went boneless and tears began to stream down his face. He took in several jagged breathes before letting out a piercing scream.
Rodney covered his ears as the scream reverberated through him. A mechanical whine cut through his hands and drilled deep into his brain as the lights in the infirmary flared into blinding brightness, like a nuclear flash. The sound seemed to go and on, as though it was trying to strip Rodney’s flesh from his very bones.
When it finally ended Rodney looked up to see Carson and Ronon lowering an unconscious Dean to the floor as Beckett carefully withdrew a needle from the man’s neck.
Ronon lifted the man bridal style, setting him back in the bed as medical personnel swarmed to re-brace his Dean’s arms and attach him to an IV, no doubt to try and keep him calm when he awoke.
As Rodney looked around numbly, taking in the now dulled lights, he couldn’t help but taste crow. It looked as though Zelenka hadn’t been lying about the strength of the city’s newest gene user.
x-x---x-x
Ronon sat by Sam, listening to the laboured breaths as the kid clung to life with the determination of a Satedan.
He should have been dead by now.
Everyone knew he should have been dead by now. Beckett was surprised enough that he’d begun to do tests on the blood that still seemed to be leaking from the gaping stomach wound, the one that had been covered by material to hide it from the rest of the world. The blood had been wiped from his face and washed from his hair, and pressure bandage had been fixed over the wound in the shoulder.
That bothered Ronon. It was typical of the Lantians to try and hide the sacrifices of their people but the Satedans had always displayed them by the victory, reminding the people just how precious it was. Then again, the Lantians didn’t know about Sam or what he could do. They were ignorant to the blessing the Ancestors had dropped in their lap and because of it Sam’s life had been exchanged for John’s.
Ronon didn’t know if it was an even trade or not.
He frowned as he heard a commotion kick up. Ronon turned away from Sam to search for the source of the noise and he found himself hoping that Dean was still unconscious. The man was strong but Ronon doubted his ability to watch his brother die and remain intact. Even then it was unlikely that Dean would ever be the man that Ronon had shared a beer with. Ronon had met enough womb pairs on Sateda to know that one could rarely carry on without the other.
But instead of Dean fighting his way to freedom Carson came, followed by a herd of his people. The doctor’s movements were as sharp and determined as a soldiers and he barked out orders like a general.
“Maria, get a saline solution set up. Anderson, I need three pints of O negative.” Carson didn’t look to see if he was being obeyed as he snapped on his white gloves. Instead he marched over to Sam’s still form, pulling off the blanket to expose the boy’s shoulder. He tore open a tiny packet, fishing out a wet white cloth that he wiped across the wound, his fingers prodding the skin as the followed the trail. The doctor’s shoulders melted into a position of ease and he leaned back with a relieved chuckle. Ronon craned his neck, trying to see what Carson saw.
Where the skin had once been angry and torn it was now tanned and whole.
“Doc?” Ronon asked, suspicious of the apparent medical miracle.
Carson smiled at Ronon as he finished cleaning the shoulder, tossing the stained bandage into the nearest trash as his ice blue eyes shone with delight. “John bit the lad,” Carson practically sung with joy. Ronon’s face remained blank. Carson’s smile grew wider. “Ellia fed on John, which means she injected enzymes into his system. The enzymes carried the retrovirus into John’s system where it began to alter his tissues, which caused the wound to regenerate.” Carson ruffled Sam’s hair, as though congratulating the boy on a job well done. “Human saliva contains various enzymes that begin the digestive process. When John fed on the lad he filled the wound with those enzymes, infecting Sam with the retrovirus.”
Ronon gave Sam another glance, looking for blue tinges to the skin but finding none. “It’ll be enough to heal him?” Ronon asked doubtfully. John had just had a scrape to the arm. Sam had been eviscerated.
“It should, if we let the virus run its course.” Carson pulled down the blanket farther and began to pry at the gauze that hid the stomach wound. “Of course we’ll help him along. Dr. Osterhagen is fetching antibiotics to stave off sepsis and Dr. Anderson is getting a bit of spare blood. Hopefully it will be enough to help the boy hold on. Oi,” Carson exclaimed in wonder as he looked at the wound. “That’s amazing,” the doctor whispered.
“Are we going to need more eggs?” Ronon wasn’t averse to fetching more, but Rodney was going to have to make more of Dean’s super soakers if it was going to work.
“No,” Carson muttered, still distracted as he prodded the wound. “We have enough to whip up a second batch to cure Sam.”
Ronon stared at Sam as the boy drew another breath. He wanted to laugh or to shoot something. These Lantians were strange and bumbling, taking their most precious gifts for granted yet elevated the mundane of their world. But here Ronon was, sitting with them and letting himself be filled over and over with a feeling that had thought died on Sateda. What was worst of all was that he couldn’t even resent the Lantians for the ease and the ignorance they had because if it weren’t for that they wouldn’t be sharing their most precious gifts with the galaxy.
No, Ronon couldn’t resent them for the hope they had as they shared it with him freely, offering a little bit of fairness in a cruel existence, so he settled for standing guard as a corpse continued to live despite all odds and the world moved forward once again.
x-x---x-x
Physically, the second time Dean woke up in the Atlantis infirmary was very similar to the first. His throat was raw and hoarse, as though he’d been garbling broken glance and vinegar, and his arms were bound tightly against his chest, fire burning deep in his shoulder joints. His chest hurt, the familiar ache of broken bones and bruises that made him aware of every breath. Just as happened last time a woman appeared in his vision, her dark chestnut hair serving as a curtain as she leaned over him and tried to whisper comforting things.
Unlike last time there was no surprise that he had survived and no pounding fear as he looked for Sammy. Dean knew where his brother was. He could feel him off to the side, behind the damn curtain that had still been left up. It was the only thing Dean could feel through the pervading numbness.
Sammy was dying. Dean had failed again and after everything they had gone through to keep him safe Sammy was dying. The words Ronon had spoken in his ear were the familiar goodbye that Sam always left behind, tinged with his brother’s self righteous ‘I was doing what’s best.’ Once again Sammy hadn’t understood that leaving Dean was never the right choice.
The woman’s dark hand was on Dean’s face wiping away his tears and he hated her. He hated her for preventing him from seeing Sammy, for seeing his grief, for trying to soothe it.
“Dean,” she spoke his name as though he was a damaged child and he wanted to scream at her. He had never truly been a child. Not since Mary burst into flames after a demon baptized his brother in blood.
The woman pushed a glass against his lips. Dean turned his head. “Dean, you must drink,” she ordered, but Dean hadn’t been a mindless soldier ready to obey since Heaven betrayed him.
“He awake?” The question was from Ronon, who ducked though the curtain, giving Dean a brief glimpse of white blankets and shaggy hair.
“He does not seem to be aware,” the woman confessed, as though it was her fault that Sammy was dying. “I cannot get him to drink.”
Ronon grunted and Dean felt a little water splash onto his face as the cup changed hands. He didn’t blink, trying to stare through the curtain for one more look at his brother.
A firm hand grabbed his face, twisting it so that he was staring up at Ronon. “Dean.”
Dean blinked and shifted his eyes, trying to see the curtain.
Ronon gave his face a little shake, forcing Dean to look at the giant. “Drink.” The cup pressed against Dean’s lips and tipped, water dribbling over Dean’s closed lips to trickle down his face. Ronon growled a little, but it didn’t scare Dean. How could it? It’s not like he had anything to lose.
Dean shifted his eyes again to stare at the curtain that hid Sammy.
“You drink this cup and I’ll move you to sit by him.”
Dean’s eyes flicked up. “Promise?” he rasped.
The alien nodded his head. “Ronon!” The woman scolded. “Dr. Beckett said that Dean could not be moved.”
Ronon ignored her a tipped the cup. Dean opened his mouth and allowed the cool fluid to coat his throat and ease his pain. He swallowed rhythmically as Ronon continued to tilt the glass, draining the water into Dean.
The moment the last drop was gone Dean shifted, trying to sit up. Ronon pushed him down and Dean growled at the man. He moved to sit up again, and again Ronon pushed him down gently. Dean glared up but quit moving, determined to take a chunk of Ronon’s hand out with his teeth if it came close enough.
It didn’t. Instead of bringing and arm near Dean’s face Ronon hooked one under his knees while pushing the other one under his back. Dean’s panic must have shown because Ronon smirked. “I told you that I’d move you.” Then he lifted and all Dean could do was curse as his body exploded into pain.
Dean gasped as he was dropped into a chair. Not that Ronon dropped him hard, but, hey, cracked ribs.
Dean took one look at his baby brother and all the pain faded into the background as Sammy’s chest rose and fell in a slow even rhythm. That motion made it easy to ignore the hoses that sunk into Sammy’s arms, pumping fluids in and out of his brother’s body. Dean ignored the steady hum of the machine that seemed to be sucking up Sam’s blood only to give back to him cold. Instead he focused on Sammy, on how his stupid long hair was still in his eyes even though the hazel color was hidden by translucent lids. His brother’s face was chalky and sunken, under his eyes dark as they got when Sammy was stressed or sick. Sammy was such a girl when he was sick, always whining and cuddling.
Dean shifted, trying to grab one of Sammy’s pale hands, and cursed again as the fucking braces prevented him from giving his little brother physical comfort.
“Here.” Dean looked up as Ronon drew a knife and sliced through the material binding an arm, giving Dean enough freedom to grasp at Sam. Under Dean’s fingers Sam’s pulse beat steadily, if a bit weakly, as Sam continued to take in and release air. Dean couldn’t see where Sammy was hurt and knew that the blanket could be hiding all sorts of horrors. Dean didn’t look. He couldn’t stand to know why. At that moment it didn’t matter. All that matter was Sammy’s hand in his, two brothers together for now and for forever.
Ronon set his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Doc thinks he’ll make it.”
Dean closed his eyes, unashamed of the two tears the dripped from beneath his lashes. “Yeah?” he asked hoarsely, his voice choked with emotion.
“Yeah,” Ronon nodded. “John got him sick and that’s healing him. When he’s fixed himself Beckett’ll cure him and he’ll be on his feet in no time.” He gave Dean’s shoulder a gentle squeeze and Dean took comfort through the haze of pain it brought. “Call if you need anything. I’ll be by John.”
Dean didn’t nod or even acknowledge Ronon’s last statement. Sammy was tough. He was going to get better, going to be bitching about Dean’s socks all over the room even as he tossed them into a basket to be washed. Sammy was going to be okay.
How could Dean possibly need anything else?
x-x---x-x
He was floating.
That was the first thing he realized. He was floating on his back and he didn’t remember why. There couldn’t have been too many reasons. He wasn’t twisted or hanging, which meant that he hadn’t just fallen asleep in the tub, which was unfortunate because that would have been a nice neat explanation. He wasn’t cold or in pain, so it wasn’t likely that he’d sunk his boat. Well, Dad’s boat. Of course he hadn’t sunk Dad’s boat. He hadn’t been on the thing since before his father cut off contact.
Oh. Surfing. That made sense. He’d wiped out while surfing and was floating in the ocean under the California sun.
Proud he’d figured it out he let himself slip back into the darkness.
The next time he came back it wasn’t to physical sensation. It was to the incessant berating of McKay. He frowned, hoping it wasn’t directed at him. It was funny when it happened to other people but he didn’t like when McKay yelled at him. He laughed and then McKay got sulky and said no coffee, and more recently, no sex. John liked having sex. He really liked having sex with Rodney.
John drifted away from McKay’s voice, letting himself slide back down into himself where it was warm and safe.
The third time John surfaced he did so with a jolt. His eyes flew open and he found himself staring at the ceiling of Atlantis. He darted around, trying to place the room he was in. He spotted Rodney lying on the bed next to him, curled up around his laptop the way a child cradles a teddy bear. To the other side was another bed and beyond that a drawn curtain.
It was the infirmary. John should be dead and he was in the infirmary.
“John?” He looked down towards the foot of his bed, spotting Elizabeth as she stood up.
“Did I hurt anyone?” He hated himself for asking that question, for wanting her to deny what he already knew to be true.
Elizabeth moved closer, setting a hand on his chest. “Nothing that won’t heal.”
John closed his eyes and for a second all he could see was a kid begging for his life as John tore into his guts with his bare hand. “Don’t lie.” He swallowed down bile as screams echoed in his ears. “Not about this.”
“John.” Her voice went soft. It was something all the women of the world seemed to do to him when they thought he was about to break.
“I remember, Elizabeth.” He looked towards Rodney, his heart tight as he realized that he could have just as easily killed him. “What was his name?”
“His name is Sam,” she placed emphasis on the present tense, “And he’s currently doing better than you.”
“I tore out his insides. I highly doubt he’s okay after that.”
Elizabeth huffed the way she did when she was annoyed at how frustratingly stubborn McKay could be. “Give me a minute. I’ll be right back.” John turned back to her, watching the red of her uniform slip behind the curtain. A hushed conversation took place, leaving John on the fringes as he fought to hear the words.
Elizabeth came back into view as she tugged on the curtain, pulling it back to reveal the bed.
On a plastic chair wearing two braces, though only one of them properly, was a young man with piercing green eyes. Dean. The name floated across John’s mind as he hazily recalled meeting the kid with one of the marines. Possibly Stackhouse? But there was more. John swallowed hard, trying to prevent himself from retching as his mind whispered in broken pieces. Dean charging him. Dean flying down the hallway. Dean screaming as John purposely tore his arms loose from their sockets.
John flinched when Dean’s gaze met his, but instead of anger or hatred there was a strange look of understanding. John wasn’t sure what to make of it, so he averted his eyes, moving to look at the figure on the bed.
John’s breath caught in his chest.
Sitting on the bed was the hazel-eyed youth John remembered killing. The boy looked up from his makeshift table and gave John a soft smile and a little wave, as though they were old friends.
Dean poked Sam and muttered softly, jabbing the paper in Sam’s lap with finger. Sam rolled his eyes before making a quick mark, which was followed by a smile as Sam made another scratch before drawing a line.
“No fair, dude!” Dean exclaimed loudly, leaning in closer to study the paper. “You totally cheated!”
Sam frowned. “Dude, you picked all your own moves.”
John watched the scene with wonder as the two kids squabbled.
“No. I told you where I wanted to go. You’re the one who drew them in the wrong spot.”
Sam jutted out his chin. “I did not. You just suck.”
“Bite me, bitch.”
Sam reached over and slapped Dean across the head. “Language!” He tilted his head towards Elizabeth meaningfully.
It was Dean’s turn to roll his eyes. “Dude, she works on a base full of marines. I bet she’s heard worse. I bet she’s said worse.”
“Not the point, Dean.”
“In fact,” Dean’s voice grew louder to drown out his brother, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s called someone a fucking cu-”
Sam slapped a hand over Dean’s mouth. “Sorry,” he apologized to Elizabeth. “Most days he gets his age confused with his shoe size.”
Elizabeth gave a silvery laugh before turning back to John, her smile promising him that everything was all right. John gave her a shaky smile back.
x-x---x-x
Elizabeth was sifting through potential missions trying to best determine which teams to send when she heard a knock on her office door. She looked up to see Carson standing outside with a harried air surrounding the usually calm doctor. She cleared her tablet and set it to the side before waving the man in.
“Carson, what can I do for you?” She asked with a smile.
The doctor did not return it nor did he sit when she offered him a chair.
“Elizabeth,” Carson started primly, “Am I or am I not the Chief Medical Officer of Atlantis?”
Elizabeth gave him a sideways glance. “You are,” she responded hesitantly, unsure of where this was going.
“And as Chief Medical Officer are people required to obey the decisions I make in regards to their health?”
“They are,” Elizabeth responded with the same hesitancy, noting how a vein was beginning to bulge on Beckett’s forehead.
“Then I am requesting a security team.”
Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, puzzled. “Carson, what exactly is this about?”
“This?” Carson waved a hand around her office. “Oh, this is just about tracking down four of my patients who decided that they happen to know more about their health than there own doctor. Never mind that they’ve only had a fortnight to recover when they need twice that. Oh no. They’re all perfectly fine to go gallivanting wherever they please with broken ribs and Iratus DNA. Never mind that young Samuel is the first person I’ve heard of to survive being disemboweled. They’re fine to wander off and go do whatever they want!” Carson’s face crimson by the time he finished his tirade and the vein was beginning to look like it had a life of its own.
Elizabeth bit back a smile, amused more at the doctor’s response than she was by the antics of his patients. “Have you tried reaching them on their coms?”
Carson gave Elizabeth a flat look. “John and Rodney’s are disabled and the Winchesters hae nae been assigned any. And before ye ask, yes I tried to track ’em using the city life sign detectors but Rodney went and messed with the system. Dr. Zelenka cannae use it to track individuals and he cannae seem to bypass Rodney’s work.”
“I’ll give you Ronon to go find them.”
Carson shook his head vehemently. “He’s a fellow conspirator. He provided the distraction for them to escape.”
Elizabeth was surprised. “He helped John and Rodney?”
“No,” Carson growled. “John and Rodney just ran like they always do. He helped the Winchesters.”
x-x---x-x
John sighed as he took in the scene on the deck. The Winchesters were sitting side-by-side, legs dangling off the pier as they watched the sunset. But it was the figure behind them that plucked at John’s annoyance. “So that’s where my beer’s disappearing to.”
“Yup.” Ronon continued to haul up the net unabashedly.
Beside John Rodney squawked. “You have a stash of beer and you never told me about it?” Rodney had the offended look down pat.
John stared at Rodney. “Where do you keep your coffee beans?”
Rodney flushed at looked down, muttering something about exceptions and ambrosia of the intellectual pantheon. John smiled in exasperation and walked to the Winchesters, wordlessly taking a seat. Rodney whined about catching pneumonia as he scrambled down beside John, settling himself to watching the sinking sun. Ronon took his seat on the far side of the boys, seating himself by Sam as he began to pass the beer down the line.
John passed one down to Rodney before cracking his own and drinking deep, enjoying the bitter liquid as it warmed his guts.
Other than the rustle of clothes and the sound of the waves the pier remained silent and uncomfortably so. Rodney kept opening his mouth to say something before closing it again with a snap as though having thought better of it. Ronon was his usually stoic self, staring off in the pose of a warrior at rest. Dean and Sam kept shifting, occasionally looking at one another and smirking but not saying a thing.
It wasn’t until the sun was halfway gone and John had finished his fourth beer that he dared speak. “So, about the whole trying to kill you thing-”
Dean cut him off with a snort. “Seriously, dude?”
John frowned, unsure of where he went wrong. “What?” he asked defensively.
Dean raised his eyebrows. “We’re drinking beer and you want to have a chick flick moment? Now? Dude, uncool.”
“Chick flick?” Rodney asked, curious about the term.
“Talking about feelings and weeping over each other about shit that was beyond your control. Chick. Flick.” Dean wrinkled his nose as he infused the words with disdain.
“I’m not asking you to do my nails,” John groused. “I’m apologizing for trying to kill you. Besides, are you even old enough to drink?”
The elder Winchester ignored the question. “While you were a bug. Out of your control. Therefore chick flick.” Dean spoke with finality.
“Though Dean is a great manicurist,” Sam chimed in with a devious tone. “He doesn’t like to admit it but he’s really mastered the art of nail painting.”
“Sammy,” Dean grated, clearly not amused. “Shut up.”
Sam held up a hand defensively. “I’m telling them what Brittney told me. I can’t believe she made you paint your toenails before having sex.”
“Sammy, your beer empty?”
Sam frowned in confusion, obviously a little drunk. Not that John was surprised with the number of cans stacked on the deck. “Yeah. Why? Gonna get me another?”
Dean grinned. “Not quite.” He leaned back and shoved a palm into Sam’s spine, sending the youngster into the water. Sam flailed in the air, hooking a hand on his brother’s leg as he descended. “Shi-” Dean cursed before disappearing into the waves with his brother.
John frowned at the ocean. “Should they be swimming after drinking?”
Rodney shook his head. “Nah. That’s eating.”
“Oh.”
Sam’s head emerged, thick dark hair plastered to his face. Dean was right behind him. “You’re such a jerk, Dean,” he sputtered in the water, splashing at his brother.
“Shut up, bitch!” Dean splashed back and John smiled. It sounded like an old exchange.
“Can you swim?” Ronon asked curiously as he stood, beginning to stretch out his long limbs.
Rodney sniffed disdainfully. “I was a Fort McMurray Eager Beaver.”
John shrugged. “My dad owns a boat.”
“So that’s a yes?”
Rodney rolled his eyes. “Yes, that’s a yes.” McKay frowned in afterthought. “Why?”
Ronon took a few steps, shaking out his legs until he stood behind John and Rodney. “Cause I wanted to do this.” He placed a hand on both their shoulders and John was already being pulled down as the Satedan jumped, dragging the Lantians with him into the ocean.
Rodney emerged with an angry sputter. “Are you crazy? Do you even know what lives down here? What if we’re eaten by a whale?”
“Well,” Dean’s voice came in from somewhere over John’s left, “then there is only one thing to do.”
Rodney sputtered more water as he treaded. “Get out?”
“Pft, no!” Dean sounded as though Rodney had asked for a manicure.
“We get him!” Sam’s voice came from in front as the Winchester popped out of the ocean right behind Ronon, pushing the Satedan’s head under.
It broke out into a water brawl with everyone versus Ronon. They had a hope of winning until Sam changed sides, the traitor, and dunked John. By the time they dragged themselves onto the deck the water was lit by the lights of Atlantis and by stars. They all flopped onto the metal, laughing as the adrenaline and beer wore off and the chill from the night air set in.
“Oh crap,” Rodney moaned. “Beckett’s going to kill us.”
“Worth it,” Dean responded immediately. Sam let out a content sigh to voice his agreement.
John just rolled onto his back, looking at the stars that watched over his city. He fully realized that Beckett was going to kill them when he found out about his, but he agreed with Dean.
It was totally worth it.
X_X_X_X_X_X
Confusion Clear Ups
Title-Lyrics from Wake Up Little Suzie by the Everlet Brothers
Sepsis-blood infection. When caused by waste from the intestines can be fatal within minutes.
Peritonitis-basically the swelling of everything.
Nieves-pronounced NYAY-vess
Funky Machine Sam was attached to- Dialysis. Basically mechanical kidneys used to clean the blood.
Caron’s accent gets thicker when he’s upset because I say so. Here’s the interpretation guide.
Dinnae- Do not
Didna- Did not
Hae-Have
Nae-Not
Cannae- cannot
Fort Mac Eager Beaver-True to canon, believe it or not, which means Rodney lived in Alberta for part of his childhood.
Final Words-So thanks for sticking with me through this. It’s been fun and a really positive experience.
Story continued here in the Sequel Faustian Hopscotch!
Author:Calamityjim
Fandoms:Supernatura/SGA/SG1
Rating: Mature (Rating Jumped. Be aware)
Warnings: Supernatural-Spoilers to season 5, SG-1, to season 9, and SGA, all seasons. Also Violence, swearing, pairings, and aliens
Disclaimer:Stargate belongs to MGM, Supernatural to the CW
Distribution: Crossposted on fanfic.net
Summary: Gabriel's solution to the apocalypse was unorthodox. Now Sam and Dean are struggling to survive in a reality they don't understand against forces that take a little more than salt to kill. First Story in the Rebirth Verse the Atlantis Arc.
Chap Summary- In which this story concludes on a wet note.
AN- Last Chapter, which commemorates the first time I’ve ever finished a long fic. Woot woot, people!
Previous Chapter
Puddle Jumping
Chapter 8
Wake up Little Suzie
Elizabeth was certain Jack was going to fire her.
Though the events that had transpired were only her fault by the reasoning that as the leader of the expedition she was responsible for the well being of her people, it did not negate that she was still responsible. She felt responsible. It was her decisions that had allowed John to get loose, her reasoning that had had the boys in a more isolated sector of city. It was her oversight that allowed the boys to be both unguarded and unarmed. She had failed John, Dean, Jack, and Sam.
Especially Sam.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, the conversation with Carson echoing in her mind.
“We’re in the most technologically advanced city in the galaxy. Can’t you do something?”
Carson had leaned back in his chair, his eyes sad. “We can ease his pain as he goes.”
“Carson,” Elizabeth had pleaded, knowing it was unfair to the man but she was desperate for a solution, even if were just a one-in-a-million shot.
Carson sighed and Elizabeth recognized it as Rodney’s ‘I’m going to use little words because you just don’t get it’ sigh. The pair had been spending more time together than Elizabeth realized. “Elizabeth, Sam was disemboweled. The majority of the boy’s organs were destroyed and removed. He currently has no liver, no spleen, and no stomach. He has perhaps a third of a kidney left. His gall bladder and intestines were both perforated, which means that even if the rest of him were intact he’d still be at severe risk for sepsis and peritonitis. The only reason he’s still breathing is that diaphragm wasn’t punctured. We don’t have the ability to clone the organs needed. There’s nothing to do.” He shook his head. “I’m frankly surprised he’s still alive.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes. “Dean?”
Carson leaned forward, pulling out the scotch Elizabeth had seen him share with Rodney on occasion and two shot glasses. He began to pour as he listed off the injuries. “Three broken ribs, two dislocated shoulders but no torn ligaments, and minor throat swelling but not enough to ventilate. He’ll heal with rest.” He handed Elizabeth a glass. “As for the colonel, he’ll be right as rain in no time. His DNA is already mutating back and the puncture wound in his shoulder closed as soon as we removed the fork.”
“Right,” Elizabeth stared at the dark liquid. “Until he realizes what he did.”
Carson’s response was to shoot back his alcohol.
Since then Elizabeth had been hiding in her office. She knew it was cowardly of her, but she just couldn’t stand being in the infirmary, surrounded by the people she’d failed. Not yet.
She stared at the letter Jack had sent her, the one telling her to watch out for the boys because they were special. It didn’t mention how, but it clearly outlined to listen when Sam asked for things, no matter how strange they would be. How was she supposed to write in a report that the only thing he had ever asked of her was to be close to his brother? That that was the only thing he’d ever be able to ask?
Jack was going to fire her and she couldn’t help but agree with that decision.
x-x---x-x
“Dr. McKay?”
Rodney had been going… somewhere. He knew that. Knew he should keep walking. But the sight of John all blue and scaly and restrained had taken him by surprise.
“Dr. McKay?”
Oh, on an intellectual level he’d known. The colonel’s condition had been explained to him time and time again, but knowing what was going on and seeing the evidence that a bright man had been reduced to a killer insect in a matter of days were completely different things.
“Dr. McKay!” A hand on Rodney’s shoulder made him start and he found himself staring into the owlish glasses of Dr. … Kniveness? “Dr. McKay, you can’t loiter here.”
That spurred Rodney into action. “Loiter? Loiter?” Rodney sputtered with unfeigned rage. “I’m the Chief of Science! I don’t loiter! I don’t have time to loiter,” Rodney practically spat the word. “Where I am is where I’m supposed to be, doing my work which I’m not going to bother to explain to you because there is no way that your inferior intellect could even begin to grasp the magnitude of what I do!”
Dr. Nervous rolled his chocolate eyes. “As it stands, you still can’t be in here. The infirmary has been declared closed to all unnecessary personnel. Visiting hours are restricted until further notice by Dr. Beckett’s orders. ” Rodney narrowed his eyes, seeing Teyla sitting by John and spotting Ronon sitting on the end of a bed that was hidden by curtains. Dr. Navel caught Rodney’s glance. “They’re working security.” Translation: I’ve told them to leave and they told me they’d sooner tear my arms off and beat me to death with them.
“And I’m a patient!” Rodney declared loudly.
Dr. Nay scrutinized McKay, his eyes searching for a problem. “You look fine,” he stated sharply.
“I look fine?” Rodney scoffed. “What school of witchcraft did you get your degree from? Or did the elders grant it to you for dancing naked under the moon? I’ve met geese that are better qualified to make medical diagnoses than you! Now you will find me a real voodoo doctor so I can get some medical attention before I keel over dead from dealing with your vapid idiocy. Where’s Carson? Carson!” Rodney called, huffing.
Dr. Neanderthal opened his mouth to no doubt say something stupid but Teyla rose from where she had been guarding John to cut the man off. She placed a hand on the doctor’s arm and through whatever magic, whether it was Wraith DNA or the power of women, she caused the quack’s mouth to snap shut. “Dr. Nieves, perhaps it would be wisest for you to fetch Carson,” Teyla murmured softly. The idiot gave a sharp nod before wondering off.
Teyla turned her doey eyes on Rodney, studying his red face. “Come Rodney. I do not believe Carson would mind if you were sitting when he came.” Teyla grabbed his hand, dragging him to the open bed on John’s one side. When he had himself situated she moved back to her post on the other side, placing herself between John and a pale youth whose arms were practically tied to his chest. Before Rodney could ask what happened to the kid, ask if that was something John did, Carson appeared.
“All right Rodney,” Carson ran a hand over his pale face. “What did you do this time?”
Rodney’s eyes widened. “What did I do?” he cried indignantly. “I just swallowed a bunch of alien dirt. It’s what you did that’s the issue here!”
Carson glowered his accent thicker with fatigue. “Rodney, I dinnae have time to play games with you. If this is about the soil you can leave. You’ve already been cleared for that.”
Rodney hunched over in a sulk. “I think you cracked my ribs when you landed on me.”
Carson’s face pinched. He ordered Rodney out of his shirt, helping the scientist when the man admitted that he couldn’t lift his arms that high and sighing when he saw the dark mottling across the Canadian’s chest. His fingers prodded along the bone, coping with Rodney’s harsh snapping whenever he found a particularly sensitive spot.
When he was finished Carson shook his head. “I dinnae know why you didna come see me sooner.”
Rodney shrugged and winced as the action tugged at his chest. It wasn’t like he knew he’d need an excuse to be in the infirmary to watch over John. After all, wandering around with fractured ribs just to get admittance here would have been stupid; clever, sneaky and brilliant, but still stupid.
Carson shook his head, moving off to look for an Ancient scanner. While it wouldn’t fix the bones immediately it would reduce the healing time from a matter of months to a few weeks. Rodney sat quietly, absorbing John’s presence while steadfastly ignoring the strange coloring, knowing it would be gone in a matter of time and his John would be back with a rakish smirk and a sarcastic drawl.
The stillness of the infirmary was broken when the young man on the other side of John stirred.
“Sammy?” Rodney winced at the gravel scraped voice.
Teyla stood, leaning over the man. “Sh, Dean,” she murmured in his ear. “You are safe now.”
The man opened his eyes, blinking dumbly. “Where’s Sammy?” He turned his head, facing the curtain that Ronon was tucked behind. “No,” he muttered. “No, no, no,” he began to chant with growing fervor. He began to twist, trying to get enough momentum to roll himself over.
Teyla pushed down, trying to prevent Dean’s escape as she whispered soothing things. Instead of calming the man it seemed to intensify his struggles. Rodney watched as he jerked one arm from the brace, using it to knock Teyla back against John’s bed. Dean twisted himself out of the bed, staggering across the floor towards the curtain where he was intercepted by Ronon as the large alien wrapped his arms around the boy.
“No!” The man yelled. “Let me go or I’ll gut you!” Ronon just grunted, pulling back and lifting Dean’s feet clear the floor. Dean tried to twist but failed miserably as his traction was removed. “Sammy needs me,” the man pleaded, his broken tone at odds with his frenzied struggles.
Ronon didn’t even flinch. “He said it wasn’t your fault.”
Dean stilled in his arms. “No.” Dean went boneless and tears began to stream down his face. He took in several jagged breathes before letting out a piercing scream.
Rodney covered his ears as the scream reverberated through him. A mechanical whine cut through his hands and drilled deep into his brain as the lights in the infirmary flared into blinding brightness, like a nuclear flash. The sound seemed to go and on, as though it was trying to strip Rodney’s flesh from his very bones.
When it finally ended Rodney looked up to see Carson and Ronon lowering an unconscious Dean to the floor as Beckett carefully withdrew a needle from the man’s neck.
Ronon lifted the man bridal style, setting him back in the bed as medical personnel swarmed to re-brace his Dean’s arms and attach him to an IV, no doubt to try and keep him calm when he awoke.
As Rodney looked around numbly, taking in the now dulled lights, he couldn’t help but taste crow. It looked as though Zelenka hadn’t been lying about the strength of the city’s newest gene user.
x-x---x-x
Ronon sat by Sam, listening to the laboured breaths as the kid clung to life with the determination of a Satedan.
He should have been dead by now.
Everyone knew he should have been dead by now. Beckett was surprised enough that he’d begun to do tests on the blood that still seemed to be leaking from the gaping stomach wound, the one that had been covered by material to hide it from the rest of the world. The blood had been wiped from his face and washed from his hair, and pressure bandage had been fixed over the wound in the shoulder.
That bothered Ronon. It was typical of the Lantians to try and hide the sacrifices of their people but the Satedans had always displayed them by the victory, reminding the people just how precious it was. Then again, the Lantians didn’t know about Sam or what he could do. They were ignorant to the blessing the Ancestors had dropped in their lap and because of it Sam’s life had been exchanged for John’s.
Ronon didn’t know if it was an even trade or not.
He frowned as he heard a commotion kick up. Ronon turned away from Sam to search for the source of the noise and he found himself hoping that Dean was still unconscious. The man was strong but Ronon doubted his ability to watch his brother die and remain intact. Even then it was unlikely that Dean would ever be the man that Ronon had shared a beer with. Ronon had met enough womb pairs on Sateda to know that one could rarely carry on without the other.
But instead of Dean fighting his way to freedom Carson came, followed by a herd of his people. The doctor’s movements were as sharp and determined as a soldiers and he barked out orders like a general.
“Maria, get a saline solution set up. Anderson, I need three pints of O negative.” Carson didn’t look to see if he was being obeyed as he snapped on his white gloves. Instead he marched over to Sam’s still form, pulling off the blanket to expose the boy’s shoulder. He tore open a tiny packet, fishing out a wet white cloth that he wiped across the wound, his fingers prodding the skin as the followed the trail. The doctor’s shoulders melted into a position of ease and he leaned back with a relieved chuckle. Ronon craned his neck, trying to see what Carson saw.
Where the skin had once been angry and torn it was now tanned and whole.
“Doc?” Ronon asked, suspicious of the apparent medical miracle.
Carson smiled at Ronon as he finished cleaning the shoulder, tossing the stained bandage into the nearest trash as his ice blue eyes shone with delight. “John bit the lad,” Carson practically sung with joy. Ronon’s face remained blank. Carson’s smile grew wider. “Ellia fed on John, which means she injected enzymes into his system. The enzymes carried the retrovirus into John’s system where it began to alter his tissues, which caused the wound to regenerate.” Carson ruffled Sam’s hair, as though congratulating the boy on a job well done. “Human saliva contains various enzymes that begin the digestive process. When John fed on the lad he filled the wound with those enzymes, infecting Sam with the retrovirus.”
Ronon gave Sam another glance, looking for blue tinges to the skin but finding none. “It’ll be enough to heal him?” Ronon asked doubtfully. John had just had a scrape to the arm. Sam had been eviscerated.
“It should, if we let the virus run its course.” Carson pulled down the blanket farther and began to pry at the gauze that hid the stomach wound. “Of course we’ll help him along. Dr. Osterhagen is fetching antibiotics to stave off sepsis and Dr. Anderson is getting a bit of spare blood. Hopefully it will be enough to help the boy hold on. Oi,” Carson exclaimed in wonder as he looked at the wound. “That’s amazing,” the doctor whispered.
“Are we going to need more eggs?” Ronon wasn’t averse to fetching more, but Rodney was going to have to make more of Dean’s super soakers if it was going to work.
“No,” Carson muttered, still distracted as he prodded the wound. “We have enough to whip up a second batch to cure Sam.”
Ronon stared at Sam as the boy drew another breath. He wanted to laugh or to shoot something. These Lantians were strange and bumbling, taking their most precious gifts for granted yet elevated the mundane of their world. But here Ronon was, sitting with them and letting himself be filled over and over with a feeling that had thought died on Sateda. What was worst of all was that he couldn’t even resent the Lantians for the ease and the ignorance they had because if it weren’t for that they wouldn’t be sharing their most precious gifts with the galaxy.
No, Ronon couldn’t resent them for the hope they had as they shared it with him freely, offering a little bit of fairness in a cruel existence, so he settled for standing guard as a corpse continued to live despite all odds and the world moved forward once again.
x-x---x-x
Physically, the second time Dean woke up in the Atlantis infirmary was very similar to the first. His throat was raw and hoarse, as though he’d been garbling broken glance and vinegar, and his arms were bound tightly against his chest, fire burning deep in his shoulder joints. His chest hurt, the familiar ache of broken bones and bruises that made him aware of every breath. Just as happened last time a woman appeared in his vision, her dark chestnut hair serving as a curtain as she leaned over him and tried to whisper comforting things.
Unlike last time there was no surprise that he had survived and no pounding fear as he looked for Sammy. Dean knew where his brother was. He could feel him off to the side, behind the damn curtain that had still been left up. It was the only thing Dean could feel through the pervading numbness.
Sammy was dying. Dean had failed again and after everything they had gone through to keep him safe Sammy was dying. The words Ronon had spoken in his ear were the familiar goodbye that Sam always left behind, tinged with his brother’s self righteous ‘I was doing what’s best.’ Once again Sammy hadn’t understood that leaving Dean was never the right choice.
The woman’s dark hand was on Dean’s face wiping away his tears and he hated her. He hated her for preventing him from seeing Sammy, for seeing his grief, for trying to soothe it.
“Dean,” she spoke his name as though he was a damaged child and he wanted to scream at her. He had never truly been a child. Not since Mary burst into flames after a demon baptized his brother in blood.
The woman pushed a glass against his lips. Dean turned his head. “Dean, you must drink,” she ordered, but Dean hadn’t been a mindless soldier ready to obey since Heaven betrayed him.
“He awake?” The question was from Ronon, who ducked though the curtain, giving Dean a brief glimpse of white blankets and shaggy hair.
“He does not seem to be aware,” the woman confessed, as though it was her fault that Sammy was dying. “I cannot get him to drink.”
Ronon grunted and Dean felt a little water splash onto his face as the cup changed hands. He didn’t blink, trying to stare through the curtain for one more look at his brother.
A firm hand grabbed his face, twisting it so that he was staring up at Ronon. “Dean.”
Dean blinked and shifted his eyes, trying to see the curtain.
Ronon gave his face a little shake, forcing Dean to look at the giant. “Drink.” The cup pressed against Dean’s lips and tipped, water dribbling over Dean’s closed lips to trickle down his face. Ronon growled a little, but it didn’t scare Dean. How could it? It’s not like he had anything to lose.
Dean shifted his eyes again to stare at the curtain that hid Sammy.
“You drink this cup and I’ll move you to sit by him.”
Dean’s eyes flicked up. “Promise?” he rasped.
The alien nodded his head. “Ronon!” The woman scolded. “Dr. Beckett said that Dean could not be moved.”
Ronon ignored her a tipped the cup. Dean opened his mouth and allowed the cool fluid to coat his throat and ease his pain. He swallowed rhythmically as Ronon continued to tilt the glass, draining the water into Dean.
The moment the last drop was gone Dean shifted, trying to sit up. Ronon pushed him down and Dean growled at the man. He moved to sit up again, and again Ronon pushed him down gently. Dean glared up but quit moving, determined to take a chunk of Ronon’s hand out with his teeth if it came close enough.
It didn’t. Instead of bringing and arm near Dean’s face Ronon hooked one under his knees while pushing the other one under his back. Dean’s panic must have shown because Ronon smirked. “I told you that I’d move you.” Then he lifted and all Dean could do was curse as his body exploded into pain.
Dean gasped as he was dropped into a chair. Not that Ronon dropped him hard, but, hey, cracked ribs.
Dean took one look at his baby brother and all the pain faded into the background as Sammy’s chest rose and fell in a slow even rhythm. That motion made it easy to ignore the hoses that sunk into Sammy’s arms, pumping fluids in and out of his brother’s body. Dean ignored the steady hum of the machine that seemed to be sucking up Sam’s blood only to give back to him cold. Instead he focused on Sammy, on how his stupid long hair was still in his eyes even though the hazel color was hidden by translucent lids. His brother’s face was chalky and sunken, under his eyes dark as they got when Sammy was stressed or sick. Sammy was such a girl when he was sick, always whining and cuddling.
Dean shifted, trying to grab one of Sammy’s pale hands, and cursed again as the fucking braces prevented him from giving his little brother physical comfort.
“Here.” Dean looked up as Ronon drew a knife and sliced through the material binding an arm, giving Dean enough freedom to grasp at Sam. Under Dean’s fingers Sam’s pulse beat steadily, if a bit weakly, as Sam continued to take in and release air. Dean couldn’t see where Sammy was hurt and knew that the blanket could be hiding all sorts of horrors. Dean didn’t look. He couldn’t stand to know why. At that moment it didn’t matter. All that matter was Sammy’s hand in his, two brothers together for now and for forever.
Ronon set his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Doc thinks he’ll make it.”
Dean closed his eyes, unashamed of the two tears the dripped from beneath his lashes. “Yeah?” he asked hoarsely, his voice choked with emotion.
“Yeah,” Ronon nodded. “John got him sick and that’s healing him. When he’s fixed himself Beckett’ll cure him and he’ll be on his feet in no time.” He gave Dean’s shoulder a gentle squeeze and Dean took comfort through the haze of pain it brought. “Call if you need anything. I’ll be by John.”
Dean didn’t nod or even acknowledge Ronon’s last statement. Sammy was tough. He was going to get better, going to be bitching about Dean’s socks all over the room even as he tossed them into a basket to be washed. Sammy was going to be okay.
How could Dean possibly need anything else?
x-x---x-x
He was floating.
That was the first thing he realized. He was floating on his back and he didn’t remember why. There couldn’t have been too many reasons. He wasn’t twisted or hanging, which meant that he hadn’t just fallen asleep in the tub, which was unfortunate because that would have been a nice neat explanation. He wasn’t cold or in pain, so it wasn’t likely that he’d sunk his boat. Well, Dad’s boat. Of course he hadn’t sunk Dad’s boat. He hadn’t been on the thing since before his father cut off contact.
Oh. Surfing. That made sense. He’d wiped out while surfing and was floating in the ocean under the California sun.
Proud he’d figured it out he let himself slip back into the darkness.
The next time he came back it wasn’t to physical sensation. It was to the incessant berating of McKay. He frowned, hoping it wasn’t directed at him. It was funny when it happened to other people but he didn’t like when McKay yelled at him. He laughed and then McKay got sulky and said no coffee, and more recently, no sex. John liked having sex. He really liked having sex with Rodney.
John drifted away from McKay’s voice, letting himself slide back down into himself where it was warm and safe.
The third time John surfaced he did so with a jolt. His eyes flew open and he found himself staring at the ceiling of Atlantis. He darted around, trying to place the room he was in. He spotted Rodney lying on the bed next to him, curled up around his laptop the way a child cradles a teddy bear. To the other side was another bed and beyond that a drawn curtain.
It was the infirmary. John should be dead and he was in the infirmary.
“John?” He looked down towards the foot of his bed, spotting Elizabeth as she stood up.
“Did I hurt anyone?” He hated himself for asking that question, for wanting her to deny what he already knew to be true.
Elizabeth moved closer, setting a hand on his chest. “Nothing that won’t heal.”
John closed his eyes and for a second all he could see was a kid begging for his life as John tore into his guts with his bare hand. “Don’t lie.” He swallowed down bile as screams echoed in his ears. “Not about this.”
“John.” Her voice went soft. It was something all the women of the world seemed to do to him when they thought he was about to break.
“I remember, Elizabeth.” He looked towards Rodney, his heart tight as he realized that he could have just as easily killed him. “What was his name?”
“His name is Sam,” she placed emphasis on the present tense, “And he’s currently doing better than you.”
“I tore out his insides. I highly doubt he’s okay after that.”
Elizabeth huffed the way she did when she was annoyed at how frustratingly stubborn McKay could be. “Give me a minute. I’ll be right back.” John turned back to her, watching the red of her uniform slip behind the curtain. A hushed conversation took place, leaving John on the fringes as he fought to hear the words.
Elizabeth came back into view as she tugged on the curtain, pulling it back to reveal the bed.
On a plastic chair wearing two braces, though only one of them properly, was a young man with piercing green eyes. Dean. The name floated across John’s mind as he hazily recalled meeting the kid with one of the marines. Possibly Stackhouse? But there was more. John swallowed hard, trying to prevent himself from retching as his mind whispered in broken pieces. Dean charging him. Dean flying down the hallway. Dean screaming as John purposely tore his arms loose from their sockets.
John flinched when Dean’s gaze met his, but instead of anger or hatred there was a strange look of understanding. John wasn’t sure what to make of it, so he averted his eyes, moving to look at the figure on the bed.
John’s breath caught in his chest.
Sitting on the bed was the hazel-eyed youth John remembered killing. The boy looked up from his makeshift table and gave John a soft smile and a little wave, as though they were old friends.
Dean poked Sam and muttered softly, jabbing the paper in Sam’s lap with finger. Sam rolled his eyes before making a quick mark, which was followed by a smile as Sam made another scratch before drawing a line.
“No fair, dude!” Dean exclaimed loudly, leaning in closer to study the paper. “You totally cheated!”
Sam frowned. “Dude, you picked all your own moves.”
John watched the scene with wonder as the two kids squabbled.
“No. I told you where I wanted to go. You’re the one who drew them in the wrong spot.”
Sam jutted out his chin. “I did not. You just suck.”
“Bite me, bitch.”
Sam reached over and slapped Dean across the head. “Language!” He tilted his head towards Elizabeth meaningfully.
It was Dean’s turn to roll his eyes. “Dude, she works on a base full of marines. I bet she’s heard worse. I bet she’s said worse.”
“Not the point, Dean.”
“In fact,” Dean’s voice grew louder to drown out his brother, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s called someone a fucking cu-”
Sam slapped a hand over Dean’s mouth. “Sorry,” he apologized to Elizabeth. “Most days he gets his age confused with his shoe size.”
Elizabeth gave a silvery laugh before turning back to John, her smile promising him that everything was all right. John gave her a shaky smile back.
x-x---x-x
Elizabeth was sifting through potential missions trying to best determine which teams to send when she heard a knock on her office door. She looked up to see Carson standing outside with a harried air surrounding the usually calm doctor. She cleared her tablet and set it to the side before waving the man in.
“Carson, what can I do for you?” She asked with a smile.
The doctor did not return it nor did he sit when she offered him a chair.
“Elizabeth,” Carson started primly, “Am I or am I not the Chief Medical Officer of Atlantis?”
Elizabeth gave him a sideways glance. “You are,” she responded hesitantly, unsure of where this was going.
“And as Chief Medical Officer are people required to obey the decisions I make in regards to their health?”
“They are,” Elizabeth responded with the same hesitancy, noting how a vein was beginning to bulge on Beckett’s forehead.
“Then I am requesting a security team.”
Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, puzzled. “Carson, what exactly is this about?”
“This?” Carson waved a hand around her office. “Oh, this is just about tracking down four of my patients who decided that they happen to know more about their health than there own doctor. Never mind that they’ve only had a fortnight to recover when they need twice that. Oh no. They’re all perfectly fine to go gallivanting wherever they please with broken ribs and Iratus DNA. Never mind that young Samuel is the first person I’ve heard of to survive being disemboweled. They’re fine to wander off and go do whatever they want!” Carson’s face crimson by the time he finished his tirade and the vein was beginning to look like it had a life of its own.
Elizabeth bit back a smile, amused more at the doctor’s response than she was by the antics of his patients. “Have you tried reaching them on their coms?”
Carson gave Elizabeth a flat look. “John and Rodney’s are disabled and the Winchesters hae nae been assigned any. And before ye ask, yes I tried to track ’em using the city life sign detectors but Rodney went and messed with the system. Dr. Zelenka cannae use it to track individuals and he cannae seem to bypass Rodney’s work.”
“I’ll give you Ronon to go find them.”
Carson shook his head vehemently. “He’s a fellow conspirator. He provided the distraction for them to escape.”
Elizabeth was surprised. “He helped John and Rodney?”
“No,” Carson growled. “John and Rodney just ran like they always do. He helped the Winchesters.”
x-x---x-x
John sighed as he took in the scene on the deck. The Winchesters were sitting side-by-side, legs dangling off the pier as they watched the sunset. But it was the figure behind them that plucked at John’s annoyance. “So that’s where my beer’s disappearing to.”
“Yup.” Ronon continued to haul up the net unabashedly.
Beside John Rodney squawked. “You have a stash of beer and you never told me about it?” Rodney had the offended look down pat.
John stared at Rodney. “Where do you keep your coffee beans?”
Rodney flushed at looked down, muttering something about exceptions and ambrosia of the intellectual pantheon. John smiled in exasperation and walked to the Winchesters, wordlessly taking a seat. Rodney whined about catching pneumonia as he scrambled down beside John, settling himself to watching the sinking sun. Ronon took his seat on the far side of the boys, seating himself by Sam as he began to pass the beer down the line.
John passed one down to Rodney before cracking his own and drinking deep, enjoying the bitter liquid as it warmed his guts.
Other than the rustle of clothes and the sound of the waves the pier remained silent and uncomfortably so. Rodney kept opening his mouth to say something before closing it again with a snap as though having thought better of it. Ronon was his usually stoic self, staring off in the pose of a warrior at rest. Dean and Sam kept shifting, occasionally looking at one another and smirking but not saying a thing.
It wasn’t until the sun was halfway gone and John had finished his fourth beer that he dared speak. “So, about the whole trying to kill you thing-”
Dean cut him off with a snort. “Seriously, dude?”
John frowned, unsure of where he went wrong. “What?” he asked defensively.
Dean raised his eyebrows. “We’re drinking beer and you want to have a chick flick moment? Now? Dude, uncool.”
“Chick flick?” Rodney asked, curious about the term.
“Talking about feelings and weeping over each other about shit that was beyond your control. Chick. Flick.” Dean wrinkled his nose as he infused the words with disdain.
“I’m not asking you to do my nails,” John groused. “I’m apologizing for trying to kill you. Besides, are you even old enough to drink?”
The elder Winchester ignored the question. “While you were a bug. Out of your control. Therefore chick flick.” Dean spoke with finality.
“Though Dean is a great manicurist,” Sam chimed in with a devious tone. “He doesn’t like to admit it but he’s really mastered the art of nail painting.”
“Sammy,” Dean grated, clearly not amused. “Shut up.”
Sam held up a hand defensively. “I’m telling them what Brittney told me. I can’t believe she made you paint your toenails before having sex.”
“Sammy, your beer empty?”
Sam frowned in confusion, obviously a little drunk. Not that John was surprised with the number of cans stacked on the deck. “Yeah. Why? Gonna get me another?”
Dean grinned. “Not quite.” He leaned back and shoved a palm into Sam’s spine, sending the youngster into the water. Sam flailed in the air, hooking a hand on his brother’s leg as he descended. “Shi-” Dean cursed before disappearing into the waves with his brother.
John frowned at the ocean. “Should they be swimming after drinking?”
Rodney shook his head. “Nah. That’s eating.”
“Oh.”
Sam’s head emerged, thick dark hair plastered to his face. Dean was right behind him. “You’re such a jerk, Dean,” he sputtered in the water, splashing at his brother.
“Shut up, bitch!” Dean splashed back and John smiled. It sounded like an old exchange.
“Can you swim?” Ronon asked curiously as he stood, beginning to stretch out his long limbs.
Rodney sniffed disdainfully. “I was a Fort McMurray Eager Beaver.”
John shrugged. “My dad owns a boat.”
“So that’s a yes?”
Rodney rolled his eyes. “Yes, that’s a yes.” McKay frowned in afterthought. “Why?”
Ronon took a few steps, shaking out his legs until he stood behind John and Rodney. “Cause I wanted to do this.” He placed a hand on both their shoulders and John was already being pulled down as the Satedan jumped, dragging the Lantians with him into the ocean.
Rodney emerged with an angry sputter. “Are you crazy? Do you even know what lives down here? What if we’re eaten by a whale?”
“Well,” Dean’s voice came in from somewhere over John’s left, “then there is only one thing to do.”
Rodney sputtered more water as he treaded. “Get out?”
“Pft, no!” Dean sounded as though Rodney had asked for a manicure.
“We get him!” Sam’s voice came from in front as the Winchester popped out of the ocean right behind Ronon, pushing the Satedan’s head under.
It broke out into a water brawl with everyone versus Ronon. They had a hope of winning until Sam changed sides, the traitor, and dunked John. By the time they dragged themselves onto the deck the water was lit by the lights of Atlantis and by stars. They all flopped onto the metal, laughing as the adrenaline and beer wore off and the chill from the night air set in.
“Oh crap,” Rodney moaned. “Beckett’s going to kill us.”
“Worth it,” Dean responded immediately. Sam let out a content sigh to voice his agreement.
John just rolled onto his back, looking at the stars that watched over his city. He fully realized that Beckett was going to kill them when he found out about his, but he agreed with Dean.
It was totally worth it.
X_X_X_X_X_X
Confusion Clear Ups
Title-Lyrics from Wake Up Little Suzie by the Everlet Brothers
Sepsis-blood infection. When caused by waste from the intestines can be fatal within minutes.
Peritonitis-basically the swelling of everything.
Nieves-pronounced NYAY-vess
Funky Machine Sam was attached to- Dialysis. Basically mechanical kidneys used to clean the blood.
Caron’s accent gets thicker when he’s upset because I say so. Here’s the interpretation guide.
Dinnae- Do not
Didna- Did not
Hae-Have
Nae-Not
Cannae- cannot
Fort Mac Eager Beaver-True to canon, believe it or not, which means Rodney lived in Alberta for part of his childhood.
Final Words-So thanks for sticking with me through this. It’s been fun and a really positive experience.
Story continued here in the Sequel Faustian Hopscotch!