All Worlds Converge To Where You Are (2/8) SGA/Supernatural crossover
Chapter 1 :: Master Fic Post
John decides to report to Camp Chitaqua even without doing research. If McKay says they're effective, it's enough for him. Turns out that you can't get in as easily as you want over there. The guards at the gate are brusque and make him wait in a little house in the side of the entrance of the camp, saying that someone will come to see him soon, but they're all busy so he just has to deal.
John sits down and waits, and after a couple of hours it's clear that he's quarantined. He has to admit that it's a good idea, as the first stages of the Croatoan virus infection are barely noticeable. Just for that, Rodney's magic pen should make his life way easier, even if John doesn't plan to share that little secret right now. After two hours, John's asked to put his hand through a trap in the door and he's not surprised that they draw blood. John cooperates, knowing a good first impression is vital. By now the Escalade must have been searched through and through.
Another twenty minutes passes, and a blond guy with an easy gait enters the room, holding a pad. John was leaning his chair on its two back legs and he almost falls down in surprise at the visit. It means that John's most probably been cleared already and he scrambles up. The man smirks, dimples showing and he's really pretty hot. Huh.
"Hey," he says for a greeting and John walks to him, extends his hand.
"John Sheppard."
The guy does a weird face at the name but it's quickly covered up and he shakes John's hand.
"Jim," he says and gestures to the chairs. "So, what brings you here, Sheppard?"
John shrugs.
"I wanna help."
"Why now?"
"Tried other gigs, didn't work out for me. I want to fight those things," John says.
"Why here?" Jim asks, pen over the paper. He's not even taking notes.
"You were recommended to me," John says.
Jim smirks, doesn't ask by whom though. John's waiting for the grilling on whether or not he has any experience in combat or security when two men come in. The first one's well built, but not overly so, short brown hair and hard green eyes and he would be extraordinary pretty if it was not for the scowl he's sporting. The second man is a bit smaller, more subdued with dark hair but when he looks at John his blue eyes are assessing and John feels like a moth pinned to Styrofoam for a second. He's also very attractive and John has a moment of wonder at how this camp seems to hold a plethora of hot men. Not that he's going to complain or anything.
"Hey, boss," Jim drawls, looking at pretty boy. "We were just starting."
The guy nods, extends his hand to John.
"Dean Winchester, this is Castiel."
John wonders for a second at what kind of name that is, but they shake hands firmly and when Castiel does it too he holds John's hand at least two beats longer than it's really needed. John wonders what his problem is, because he's definitely fixing him with that unwavering sharp gaze again and it's kind of creepy.
"John Sheppard, Sir," John says addressing Dean. He doesn't make the sir too formal, almost borderline cheeky out of habit because it's a bit like kissing ass and he's never really been into that. Dean snorts but doesn't comment on the title.
"Ex-military?" he asks John, looking marginally more interested now.
"Yes Sir, Air Force. But it's been a while. I've been in the police force after that, Las Vegas," John hopes it's taken as a good point for him and not against.
Dean turns to Castiel, who has his head cocked to the side a bit. When he finally talks his voice is matter of fact, clinical.
"Used to be a Major, dishonourably discharged after a rescue mission gone wrong, that killed civilians," as Castiel spouts out his history, John feels the blood drain out of his face. How the fuck can he do that? It's not like they could have had Intel on him yet, unless they're really well wired with the authorities. "I question the pertinence of his disgrace as he didn't want to leave his friends behind, did what he thought was right and in the process disobeyed a direct order, which got him out."
Dean has a small bark of laughter at that and nudges Castiel with his elbow.
"Oh, relate much, Cas? Anything else I need to know?"
"McKay sent him over. They've fought... evil together before. From outer space," Castiel says and wow... creepy doesn't start to cover what this guy can do.
"You've got to be kidding me, Cas!" Dean exclaims. "Aliens? Why haven't you ever told me about the aliens?"
"It was unnecessary," Castiel says.
"Boy howdy, and I thought we had it bad already," Jim adds, finally jotting down things on his pad.
John stays mute as it seems he's not needed in this conversation.
"He would be an asset, I pledge for his values and motivations to join. Oh, Dean, by the way, you guys should relate while sharing about daddy issues and stupid self sacrificing tendencies," Castiel says to Dean, clearly ribbing back for the earlier jab, before turning towards the door and leaving.
"Who's he? A mind reader?" John asks, still a bit flabbergasted. But with everything he's seen in the last years? It's not even that surprising.
"Something like that," Dean says with a smirk. "Now before I offer you a job I just want to make sure we're clear on a couple of things."
John nods.
"I call the shots, no matter what rank you used to have. If I put one of my men in charge, you follow, no question asked."
"I can live with that." John's military record might not show it, but he can respect a chain of command. Sometimes.
"We're not doing this for the money, so you won't get paid. But we'll board and feed you. Do you understand?" Dean asks.
"I do. I just want to get rid of those sons of bitches," John answers.
Dean nods, pleased.
"Welcome to Camp Chitaqua, Sheppard. I'll have someone brief you on operations tomorrow and Jim will give you a tour."
"Thank you, Sir," John says, straightening up.
Dean goes and before he closes the door behind him he turns.
"Oh, Sheppard. Just to be clear, I don't like people disobeying direct orders. But I try to be fair. Talk to me before doing something stupid."
"Will do. If I have time," John can't help but add and Dean has a small smile - as he already figures John will be trouble - and he leaves.
Jim gets up.
"Quite a neat parlour trick, ain't it?" he says, clearly referring to the mind reading.
John doesn't reply because he senses that Castiel is way up in Winchester's close circle and it would do no good to disparage him. He shrugs.
"We live in a fucked up world."
"No shit," Jim agrees. He then gestures towards the door. "Come on, I'll show you around."
***
Two months later and John has dropped the 'Sir' when addressing Dean Winchester. Even if the guy is a decade, if not more, younger than him, John respects his leadership and admits he makes a better CO than five sixths of the brass John had to deal with in his time in the Air Force. Whatever unconventional background he has - and John asked, he's never been in the armed forces - Dean is at heart a soldier. Probably raised by one, John figures. There is barely any weaknesses in the guy save a slip here and there guarding his 4. Dean's sharp, fast, dangerous at hand to hand, a great shot and generally comes up with decent plans.
Getting used to the almost military drill of living in Camp Chitaqua has been as easy as putting on old slippers. John took his place without pushing for more, proved his worth under pressure and let his actions speak for him. He felt on trial for several weeks, but after a couple of raids in hot zones to get supplies John managed to get a nice reputation with the others. Being in a crisis brings out of John all of the old instincts that never really betrayed him apart from that last big fuck up in Afghanistan. He pulls off a last minute rescue of a couple of men that had been stupid enough to get cornered by Croats and then run out of ammo, and John feels the tide shift in his favor.
The gang of mismatched survivors who make up Camp Chitaqua start to consider him like one of the gang, even if John generally still keeps his distances, apart from shooting the shit while on patrol or in the common areas. He's learned not to get too close to anyone, though, since acquaintances are easier to lose than friends and like any group involved in a war-like environment, it happens a bit too often. John's careful not to be caught using it, but the gadget Rodney gave him proves its worth when they're coming back to camp with a bunch of people asking for asylum and one makes the red light flash. John isolates the young man who immediately knows he's been found out and turns berserk, although luckily he doesn't hurt anyone else.
When he's not focusing on god knows what plans he's working on with his command staff, Dean's a surprisingly funny guy. One morning, Dean chooses John and two other guys to fetch a new diesel generator to help power the fridges and freezers where they keep the perishables - it's that or the inventory guy, Chuck, is going to blow a fuse. Going to town, and all through the mission, they end up talking about TV and movies in between running for their lives. When Dean starts talking only by quoting Lethal Weapon and John doesn't miss a beat and replies with lines from the Die Hard movies, they keep it up all day long in between laughing fits and John muses that he hasn't smiled this much in the last 9 years combined.
"Man," Dean says when they're back with two generators and Chuck does a dorky dance of glee, "that was awesome. At last I meet one of my people," he tells John with a wink.
John grins.
"Yeah. Guess I was wrong about you. You're not such an asshole after all," John says, wondering if Dean got this one. He didn't have to worry, though, because Dean quotes Die Hard 2 back without even missing a beat and with a smile of his own.
"Oh, you were right. I'm just your kind of asshole," Dean says.
As he goes back to his bed, in a room he shares with 4 other guys, John thinks he doesn't have it so bad over here, after all.
***
"Sheppard? You're coming with me," Dean says, before walking briskly to the Escalade John brought to camp months ago. He knows it's now common property, but John figures he can sit shotgun none the less. Cas and a guy named Bob climb in the back and they're on their way.
"Where to, boss?" John asks after half an hour, because surprises are one thing, but he'd prefer to know what is going on.
"California," Dean says, as if the state personally offended him once in his life.
Thinking of better days and surf perfect mornings, John relaxes in his seat. The ride is silent, Cas never being one to talk much, at least not if he's not asked a question, and Bob seems to be catching up on some sleep. John only voices his next question hours later, after the Led Zeppelin IV CD has finished playing, knowing Dean should be a bit mellower.
"What are we looking for?"
"A gun. A Colt made in 1835 by Samuel Colt himself," Dean says.
Well that's weird. Why go through all the trouble to find a piece that maybe used to be worth something, once upon a time? John doesn't see the art market offering possibilities for a profit on an old gun anytime soon.
"Didn't take you for a collector," he tells Dean.
Dean smirks.
"Always good to have well honed tools."
Seriously? John keeps his mouth shut, because there is nothing to say. Dean may run a camp where at first glance there is the illusion that everyone can voice their opinion in the decision making process, but it's just a neat cover up because Dean's the one who has the last word, every time.
The plan today is to raid this mansion where a guy named Crowley lives and to get the Colt from him. For some reason, Cas takes a look at the house and declares that he can't get inside the walls circling the propriety, which Dean doesn't seem to think weird at all. After conferring a little, they decide to go in by force. There's a scuffle at first, where they unfortunately lose Bob before overpowering the guards and they're in.
The big house with its foyer made of marble and mirrors is quiet, apart from the faint hum of a television that comes from behind a sturdy wooden door that probably leads to the living room. John puts a hand on the handle, gesturing to Dean that he's going to open in 3 but Dean stops him.
"Wait a sec," he whispers, rolling a rug from the lobby's floor until it's out of the way.
Perplexed, John watches Dean draw a circle on the ground with a can of black spray paint he just took out of his backpack, and then add squiggly symbols inside and across creating something esoteric looking. Dean doesn't hesitate, as it's something he did countless times before, and then rolls the rug over his handy work, which is completely hidden now. When he straightens up, Dean looks at John with a cocked head. It's easy to realize that it's some sort of test for John. He doesn't know what to do to pass it, exactly, but he's going to keep his questions to himself for now. Listening to orders, doing what he's told: John knows that's what works with Dean.
"We'll lure him out here. Until he stands right there," Dean says, pointing at the middle of the rug. "Got that?" Dean says.
"No problem," John answers.
The rest doesn't quite go as planned. Dean breaks a vase, the sound meant to attract Crowley out of his den, but a couple of guys that must be more security show up instead: a lean blond guy with a revolver and a stocky man with an impressive blade. A bit more and John would call it a machete. There is a standoff, with a lot of pointing guns at each other in a way John can see going down into a whole lot of trouble really fast, and Dean demands to see Crowley.
"He just left. He told me to say he sends his regards, Dean Winchester," the blond thug says with a half smile. "Oh, and that he'll see you downstairs, eventually."
Whatever it means, it makes Dean snarl and jump forward, and he manages to disarm the guy although not before he gets shot in the left shoulder first. John uses the sudden confusion that follows to fire at the other goon, who's steadily advancing towards him. The weird thing is that the guy recoils from the hits, but the bullets don't stop him at all, even when he gets a bloody third eye in the middle of the forehead. He's no Croat, Croats have the decency to die when you brain them, but the guy only smiles at John, eyes turning oily black in a way that sends a shiver down John's spine. It's like shooting at the fucking Terminator - or a Wraith, his mind supplies - and he's coming closer with his big ass knife.
Dean managed to push his guy on the carpet and the idiot turns his back on the blond guy to come and help John. Walking backwards, John knows there's just one or two bullets left in his gun, for what good that does anyway. The blond guy climbs back to his feet and tries to jump on Dean's back. John shouts in alarm but it's like the guy flattens out on thin air, before reaching Dean. Obviously Dean knew the guy wasn't a threat at the moment, and he's taking out a knife from his boot before grabbing John's dance partner by the hair and slices his throat. There is blood, of course, but also sparks that seem to come from within the man, lighting him up as if there are fireworks going off in him before he crumbles to the floor, dead at last.
"You okay?" Dean asks John, who nods. He has no idea what just happened here. "Good. Now."
Dean turns to the blond guy, who hasn't moved from the carpet and now looks a lot less cocky and a whole lot more afraid.
"Where's Crowley?" asks Dean. "You're going to tell me, one way or the other, so why not make it sooner rather than later?"
"You're going to kill me anyway, so no. I won't make your life any easier, Winchester," he snarls with an air of defiance that is mostly for show.
"You know, I can use this," Dean says, showing the knife, "in more creative ways than killing you, scum."
The blond is trying to stay away from Dean as much as he can, and John realises that he makes a perfect circle, on that would match the drawing under the carpet. Dean looks determined to get info out of him, but John's starting to worry about the gun wound in Dean's shoulder. The front of Dean's shirt is soaked with blood and some is dripping steadily down his arm not holding the knife, making him scatter blood everywhere he moves like a crimson trail.
"Dean, we need to put some pressure on that," John tries, hoping to reason him. Dean frowns, as if he's got no idea what John is talking about and John gestures towards the wound. Looking down, Dean makes a face, as if losing all of your blood is just a pain in the ass when you have other things to do.
"Yeah, in a minute. Scumbag here was just about to talk, right?" Dean says, with a smile that's so sharp that even John recoils. Winchester can be one scary son of a bitch when he wants.
"He didn't tell me, okay? Didn't trust me with the info," blond guy says.
Dean sighs.
"Worst thing is? I think you're telling the truth. Fuck."
Then, from one moment to the next Dean jumps in front of the guy and plants his knife directly into the man's heart, which sets up a new bout of kind of fireworks before the guy crumbles to the floor, dead. Dean heaves, wiping the blade on his thigh before putting it back in his boot. John is next to him in an instant, trying to see how bad the wound really is. Up close, it's even worse than he thought. Dean finally goes to sit on the staircase, as the adrenaline drops and most probably the pain kicks in. John tugs on decorative curtains from an alcove, rips a good piece of the material and bunches it up to press against the hole that's still bleeding copiously. The artery must be nicked.
"We gotta go get you stitched right now," John says, tensing. Fuck, Dean's going to bleed to death.
"I'mma gonna be fine," Dean grumbles, and John realizes he might be going into shock. He's got to move fast, because it's going to be way easier to get Winchester out of here if he can marginally help with at least staying upright.
"Ok, now, I'm going to help you up in three. Ready?" John says, trying not to sound as worried as he feels. Dean nods and at three he hauls him up. The fucker is way heavier than he seems, all muscle and nerves and he lets out a pained growl before he's settled with an arm over John's shoulder. "Okay, buddy, got you. Let's get the hell out of dodge," John says between clenched teeth.
"'kay."
Luckily, Dean's either very resilient or more stubborn than a mule, because he manages to drag his feet all the way out of the house, and then to the outer wall where Castiel is pacing, upset.
"Get him here, now!" Cas says, looking thunderous and John's taken aback at the intensity. At best, he always saw Castiel a bit spacey or lost in thought, apart from their meeting where he was all focused; John's sort of come to the conclusion that the man shows all signs of depression -something he's quite aware of- but now that Castiel sees that Dean is hurt it's like he's practically glowing from within. The wind has picked up and clouds suddenly gather, as if matching his mood.
"Why don't you come and help me? Doing my best here!" John protests.
"I cannot get in! Wards! This place is protected!" Castiel replies, frustrated.
"S'okay Cas," Dean mumbles. "Don't get your feathers in a tuff," he says, before snickering.
But they're finally outside the cast iron fence and Castiel basically wrenches Dean from John, with an ease that's more than surprising, and lays him down gently on a patch of grass.
"It's not funny, Dean," Castiel says softly, but he's ripped the bandage and the shirt away and puts both hands on the bloody bullet hole, closing his eyes. That's not going to do a lick of good, John thinks, not with the gravity of the wound, but he can see the pain ease from Dean's face. Not knowing what to do, John kneels by the both of them and tries to soothe Dean by petting his head lightly. Castiel is almost vibrating, as if straining for something and when he finally drops his hand away, obviously drained from all energy, John looks at the shoulder and sees the wound is closed. No, more than that, that there is no wound at all, just blood from before. The wind, whipping angrily just seconds ago has died, too. John's jaw mostly drops open and he looks at Castiel with wonder.
"What are you?" John whispers.
Castiel briefly looks at John before a pained look passes over his face and he glances away.
"I don't know anymore," he says, voice rough.
Dean grasps one of Castiel's sleeves and forces him to look at him.
"Hey. You're my goddamn personal guardian angel, Cas."
Castiel has a little snort of derision that is half way to a sob.
"It took everything to heal you, Dean. Soon I won't be able to. I'm barely an angel anymore, and you know it."
Seems like they are talking literally about angels from heaven here, and what John just saw is nothing short of a miracle. But it's still a though one to swallow.
"An angel," John blurts out, without meaning to. Dean looks at him and smirks.
"Yep. And those black eyed son of bitches inside? Those were demons." When John pulls a face, Dean smiles a bit more. "Welcome to my life, Sheppard."
John looks around and even if the street is quiet and there is no movement, they just caused a ruckus inside and who knows who or what will come looking. Now is not the time for a theological debate.
"Okay. Why don't we just go?" John says.
He tries to help Dean up but Castiel has him, and he's really surprisingly strong, so John opens the back door of the Escalade as the two men climb in. He runs for the driver's seat and immediately starts his way back to camp, since it seems they don't have any leads for the famous Colt anymore. In the rear view mirror, John sees that Dean has slumped on the back seat until he has his head in Castiel's lap and he seems asleep already. Or passed out.
"Will he be okay?"
Cas is treading his fingers in Dean's hair, a gesture that is surprisingly intimate.
"Yes, he will recover," Castiel says with a sigh. "He won't listen to me and rest as he should, but he is going to be fine. Until the next time he goes and does something stupid."
John stays silent as he drives and Cas is certainly not one to start conversations, which suits John just fine. He can't help it and glances at the pair of them back there, and the love from Castiel is so clear for anyone to see that John breaks a self imposed rule and asks.
"Um. Are you two together?" As soon as the words leave his mouth, John regrets them. It's none of his business, after all.
Castiel keeps petting Dean's hair and has a little wistful smile.
"No. Dean doesn't see me like that."
It figures he must know, since Castiel can read minds - although only when he touches someone, John has learned since that first day at camp.
"Oh. Sorry I asked. None of my business."
They're back to silence, but John has learned that it's never uncomfortable with Castiel. He has dozens of questions, but doesn't quite know how to ask them; this time John just drives and hopes someone will soon tell him what the hell is going on.
***
Chapter 3
Master Fic Post