A/N – This is my first time writing a story for Supernatural, a show which I've only recently become interested in. As a result, I really hope my characterization for the Winchesters will be okay. If it's not, please let me know! Also, this story is set near the beginning of S3 for SPN and somewhere in the middle of S4 for SG-1, just after the episode "The Curse." I guess that's all you really need to know, so… Enjoy!

Oh, and just to make it clear, I don't own anything. Ever. Much as I wish I did…

12:43.

Dr. Janet Frasier ran her fingers through her hair as she glanced at the clock once again. She stifled a yawn, and her eyes ached from reading and re-reading same three files multiple times over the course of the past two and a half hours. What am I still doing here, anyways? she thought wearily. I promised Cassie I'd be home by 10 tonight, I should have left hours ago. She might just kill me if I put off movie night again...

It wasn't the first time that night that those thoughts had crossed her mind. There wasn't anything particularly pressing that was keeping her, either: no emergencies had popped up recently, both teams currently offworld were on very friendly planets, and only five people were in the infirmary, none of them seriously injured. And no one could deny that she could do with a little time off, especially after last week's little Egypt excursion. But still, despite everything reason told her, she had stayed in her office, watching through her open door as the night-shift nurses quietly went about their duties. It was actually peaceful, she realized.

Too peaceful.

It was just a gut feeling, really, but after working at the SGC for five years, she had learned to trust those. Something very bad was about to go down, and she needed to be there to clean up the mess.

Still, there was always a chance she could be wrong. And if she was, there was no way on this earth that she was going to be sitting in that chair all night, no matter how ergonomic it was supposed to be. She would give it another 17 minutes, she decided. If nothing had happened by then, she was going to go home to her daughter and her very comfortable bed, even if the powers of hell itself conspired to stop her.

The words had barely come to her mind, when she was interrupted by very sound that she had been expecting all night. The klaxons and alarms alerted her to a medical emergency, and she leaped out of her seat, all the weariness vanishing from her body as a new surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins. Grabbing what few supplies she could find at hand, she ran out the door, her slightly smudged lab coat flying behind her.

Still running as fast as she could, Janet made her way along the long corridor toward the elevator. She had barely gotten it in her sights when the door opened, revealing seven very worried-looking people accompanying a gurney. As always when faced with a situation like this, she breathed a small prayer for the safety of her friends. She would never dream of wishing pain and injury on anyone, of course, but she hated that feeling she got in the pit of her stomach, like she had just eaten something rather disagreeable, when she saw someone she was close to lying on one of her beds. Thankfully, however, she recognized four of the people exiting the elevator as the members of SG-1, obviously distraught, but physically fine.

She thanked God for small blessings.

General Hammond approached the team, striding in quickly from somewhere in the direction of his office. That was no surprise, as he would have been informed of the emergency at the same time that she had been. "Someone want to tell me what exactly happened out there?" he asked, his voice urgent.

Teal'c answered for the team. "The situation did not proceed as planned, General Hammond."

"He means we screwed up, sir," Colonel O'Neill clarified rather unhelpfully, his voice bitter.

"Where's SG-5?" This question was directed toward Colonel.

"They didn't make it."

There was a long pause as the full implication of those words sank in, and the General's face grew even more somber. Janet knew how much he hated losing good men in this war. His often rough exterior belied the fact that he cared for every single man and woman under his command as if they were his own. And Dave Hagert had been one of the best, Janet had been rather fond of him herself. He had even asked her out for drinks once. Of course she had refused, regulations and all that, but part of her had wondered if maybe, in a different situation...

General Hammond's voice shook her out of her reverie. "Well, what about the goa'uld?" he asked, all business once again. There would be time to mourn the lost team later, but they all still had a job to do. He had to make sure that the threat to Earth was neutralized. "Did it escape?"

"Wasn't a goa'uld!" Daniel answered, his tone revealing his exasperation with this impromptu debriefing.

Janet's saw her own confusion reflected on the General's face. "Well, then, what?"

"I, I, it-" The archeologist made some sort of 'flying and disappearing' motion with his hands in lieu of a coherent explanation. "It just..." But he didn't seem to know how to finish the sentence and trailed off, obviously at a loss for words.

"No idea, sir," Carter explained, her voice husky as a result of trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall at any moment. "We've got no idea."

Janet's mind reeled from the information. Four people dead and another injured by some unknown creature that had somehow found its way outside the base? She desperately wanted to know more, but she caught sight of the gurney already being wheeled toward the infirmary by the two nurses, and her mind snapped back into doctor mode. She had a job to do as well, and at this moment her job was to save this man's life.

She broke into a run to keep up with the gurney, pushing aside a man in civilian clothing who was hovering much too close to the bed for her to get any work done. He yelled something at her, but she was too focused on the job at hand to pay any attention to him.

One glance at the injured man told her that he was in bad shape. His face was contorted in pain, and copious amounts of sweat had plastered much of his hair to his forehead. Not military, she thought to herself, noting the haircut, and filed the information away for later. One of the nurses had already set up an IV and was currently putting pressure on a very bloody wound too close to the man's heart than Janet was strictly comfortable with, a task that didn't seem very easy, given the amount that the man was thrashing. "What've we got?" she asked urgently as she ran alongside.

She was answered by the second nurse, the one deftly steering the gurney toward the infirmary. "Male. Mid 20s. Multiple gunshot wounds to the chest."

"He's lost a lot of blood," the first nurse supplied, rather pointlessly, as it was all too obvious just how much blood had been lost by the young man.

"Yeah, I can see that. Keep that pressure on it, please!" Janet tried not to let the irritation she was feeling creep into her voice, but was afraid that she was failing rather spectacularly. So she turned her attention instead to the man lying on the little bed. Most people would have been screaming from the sheer magnitude of pain that he must have been experiencing, but she saw that he had his jaw clenched tight to prevent exactly that. Despite not being in the military, this man was no stranger to pain.

Every now and then, a few moaned words would escape from his clenched teeth, but she could never quite make them out. A name, perhaps, but she couldn't be sure. She grabbed his hand in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. "Hey, you're going to be fine. Look at me," she commanded gently, trying to distract him a little from the pain. "Look at me!"

The man's green eyes focused on hers.

"Everything's going to fine, okay? Just take it easy. Now, can you tell me your name?"

It wasn't a long name, but she could see that the pain was making it difficult for him to form the word. "S- Sam," he finally grunted, breathing heavily.

"Well, you're doing great, Sam. But right now I need you to relax, okay?" She smiled reassuringly, willing him to trust her and believe that everything was going to be fine. She only hoped that it wasn't a lie. "Relax, and let me do my job. Can you do that for me?"

He nodded, and she was pleased to see that he was making a visible effort to control his thrashing.

"Good. You're going to be fine, Sam." Without thinking about it, she flashed the young man her most comforting smile, the one she usually reserved for Cassie and the patients she didn't think she could save. But this patient bore the singular trait of not belonging in either catagory. He most definitely wasn't her snarky, fifteen year old, adopted daughter, yet at the same time she was certain that she would be able to save him. Or at least she was almost certain.

Another pained groan forced its way through the clenched jaw of the injured man, effectively dispelling those sorts of thoughts as the doctor fished through the pockets of her coat for the hypodermic she had placed there earlier. "You're going to be fine," she muttered, more to herself this time than to the patient, the last word muffled as she removed the cap of the syringe with her teeth. With a practiced hand, she injected the contents into the thin tube connected to his IV, sending the sedative coursing through his veins.

The drug worked its magic within minutes, and by the time Dr. Fraiser and her team rolled the gurney through the doors of the infirmary, Sam Winchester's pained gasps had mellowed into a steadier rythem, signifying that he was finally, mercifully, fast asleep.

A/N - Sorry for how short this was, but I was trying to set it up sort like a normal SG-1 teaser... Next update will be longer, I promise! Please review, constructive criticism is always helpful!