I OWN NONE OF MY CHARACTERS BUT GUNNERY SERGEANT JACKLYN SINGER! SUPERNATURAL BELONGS TO ERIC KRIPKE! NCIS BELONGS TO BELLARIUS INC.!


Staring out into the interior of the C-17 Globemaster that she was a passenger of, a young woman gazed out into space, imagining that she saw the Atlantic Ocean as it merged with the northeastern coastline of the United States of America off in the distance. She grimaced as she leaned back in her canvas netting seat. Her desert MARPAT uniform was stifling in the heat of the plane's interior, crowded as it was with anxious Marines on the verge of returning home, but it was not as bad as the full-leg bandage job to her right leg straightened out in front of her or the tensor bandages wrapped around her from bra line to waist. The pain of the movement as she shifted slightly in her seat made her wince, but she resisted leaning over and taking out the painkillers stashed in one of the pockets of the duffel secured beneath her feet. Just two more hours, and she would be home...

"It's almost time, isn't it, Doc?" Sergeant Matthew Rondo of the United States Marine Corps was unusually jittery in the seat next to her; if he wasn't excited about going home, then she was a monkey's uncle. His eyes were smiling as he imagined his wife and family coming to greet him at the terminal, their happy faces at seeing him alive after the last year. However, those dark brown eyes darkened even more as he shot a gaze over to his comrade-in-arms. "Gunny? Are you okay, ma'am?"

She tried to chuckle, but the pain in her ribs was pretty bad and it turned into a grimace. "Yeah, Sergeant. I'm fine." She took as deep a breath as her injured body would allow. "Just need some R&R without the turbulence, and I'll be good to fight another day, Timberwolf." She was hinting at the unit they both served with: 1st Battalion 2nd Marines, one of six infantry units deployed out of Camp LeJeune in North Carolina. While he was an infantry man, she was the platoon's Corpsman; she was in charge of the whole of Alpha Company's health in the field, rotating posts with the different platoons every week; back at their base near Baghdad she was second-in-command on the chain of medical authority right under the Naval Medical Officer, Captain Johnson.

She was one of the easier people to talk to, even if she was higher up on the totem pole. Since the first day that she arrived in Iraq, she had insisted that all of the men, officer and non-coms alike, call her 'Gunny' or 'Doc', and treating them like her brothers out in the field, albeit with a touch more respect for the officers when the situation called for it. That, of course, was not meant to belittle her assets; she was a warrior to fight with, and a human machine when it came to her job of saving lives. Every week, she would follow different platoons into the fire zone and fight alongside them. She was a wicked shot, as evident by the Expert Marksmanship Badge on her service uniform; rumor had it that during training, she was nearly selected to specialize as a sniper, but she had turned it down in order to her hybridized role as a Marine Corpsman. Besides, Rondo had worked beside her at Parris Island, and he had seen how she worked harder than anyone else to earn the respect of the men that she was training with. That mindset of hard work and getting down to it, one job after the other, had set her apart from others. She had earned her stripes as a Marine.

"Hoo-rah, Gunny." Rondo nodded his head once before closing his eyes for a moment. As they turned silent, more of the men from her platoon turned to look at them and struck up a conversation. Most of them were excited to get back home to of their wives, their families, and the promised bliss of normalcy. Now that their tour was completed, they were no longer active Marines; at least, they were until the chance of if and when they got called up again to serve.

"So Doc, what are you going to do first when we hit land?" Corporal Smith gave a dazzling smile as he thought of his wife and two little children waiting for him when he got back. But as he turned back to her, he could have sworn that he saw tears glisten in her eyes before she blinked them away.

"The first thing that I'm going to do is kiss my father and then never leave him again."


Dean and Sam Winchester drove down I-78 in Dean's prized '67 Impala as they crossed the city limits into New York City; Bobby Singer was sitting in the back seat, looking up through the open window at the skyline as it appeared around and in front of them. The sounds of Kansas filled the car as Dean listened to 'Carry On, My Wayward Son,' to alleviate the silence from the unexpected side trip.

"So Bobby, wanna tell us what's this about?" Sam turned over to look at their mentor and the closest living thing to a dad they had since John died two years ago. They had picked him up in Pittsburgh on their way from Erie, Pennsylvania, and were driving now down to John F. Kennedy International Airport of all places. Underneath his trademark trucker's cap, his eyes gleamed with excitement. In his hands was a bunch of opened letters that he had been reading through since they had left his motel in Pittsburgh.

"I told you, idjit. I want you guys to meet someone." Dean looked at his rear-view mirror in order to stare at the veteran hunter for a few moments before gazing back out at the busy road.

"All right, Bobby. But JFK, man? That's one of the busiest airports in the country. What, is this mystery person coming in from overseas?"

"No, Dean: coming home from overseas." As they pulled into the nearest parking space to the entrance, Bobby moved with the speed of his long-lost youth as he ran towards Terminal Six, Gate Twelve. The Winchester brothers gave one another a look of bemused confusion before following close behind him into the chaos.


The C-17 came to a squealing halt, bumping its way along the landing strip until it came to a complete stop. The young gunnery sergeant locked her teeth and knees and grimaced until the last of the vibrations had finished reverberating through her injured body. As the belly of the plane opened to reveal two transports that would take them to the gates of the terminal itself, she slowly got to her feet and reached for the crutches at the side of where she had been sitting. Trying to bend even further to reach her duffel, she tried to not make a stern face as Sgt. Rondo beat her to it.

"No disrespect, Doc, but there's no way that I'm going to let you carry this with your crutches," he chuckled as he hefted both of their duffels on his back and walked beside her as she hobbled off the plane step by gingery step. He could see the pain written on her blanched tan face but he admired her dogged determination not to let the pain ride her. Not for nothing had the men nicknamed her 'Gunnery Sergeant Wolf' and made her the unofficial mascot of the battalion. Once in the unit, they had a contest among them to see how many scars everyone of them had, tattoos not included. The gunny had beaten them all when she took off her shirt and showed off the scars on her arms and torso. She never did explain what had caused them, even after incessant questioning from the new guys in the company.

"Rondo," she spoke up as she stepped onto the nearest transport and leaned against the side window to relieve the weight from her right side. "I have to tell you, I love working with you guys but I have missed this place more." She glanced around at the airport as she smiled, taking in the sweet sight of home.

This gave the corporal pause as he stood next to her. "Gunny, can I ask you something?"

She looked over to him and stared at him in the eyes. "Yeah, Sergeant. Anything."

He cleared his throat before speaking. "How many years did you do?" She sighed as she took off her utility cover and tucked it under her jacket and looked ahead of her for a moment.

"I served in the Corps for six consecutive tours, Rondo." That answer shocked him. "I stayed with Alpha Company for the first tour as per my primary orders, but my secondary orders were to remain in Baghdad and Fallujah to assist Capt. Johnson with the other three companies of our unit." She looked away for a moment. "Six years overseas; six years of service to my country. But nothing will compare to seeing my dad's face again." She chuckled when she finally looked over to him and took in the look of open shock on the Marine's face. "Don't worry. I volunteered for the four other tours, Corporal."

"No disrespect meant, Doc, but you are one crazy Marine."

"Isn't that why you and your men call me 'Gunnery Sergeant Wolf', Marine?" That earned a couple of deep-throated laughs as the transport came to a stop. As the troops made to get off, Sgt. Rondo made them stop in order to let her off first. Resisting the feminine impulse to blush at the chivalry, she saw Sgt. Wickshire take her duffel and Corporal Smith hand her crutches over to her. The two of them, along with Cpl. Rondo, escorted her to the door of the terminal. As they waited for the door to open, she stripped Wickshire of her belongings and insisted that they go first, letting the canvas bag on her shoulders and getting used to the weight.

As the door opened, the roar of applause rang through the air as the families of the soldiers came forward to hug their loved ones. The young gunnery sergeant saw her father near the back of the crowd and began to limp over to him as fast as she could.

Bobby saw her walking slowly towards him and he ran into the crowd to meet her halfway; a gasp came out of his mouth as he took her in. The first thing that he noticed was how she had filled into her height last time he had seen her: easily, she had gained twenty pounds of muscle to fill out her six-foot-four frame, but she was still lean. Stopping before her, he took in the bulk underneath her right pant leg, the crutches that bore her weight, and the strained look on her familiar face. She hadn't been sleeping well, by the look of her gaunter-than-normal face and the shadows under the hazel eyes that were her mother's. Out of the confines of her cover, she ran one of her piano hands over the signature jarhead haircut that was the remnants of her mid-back golden brown hair.

"Hey, old man." Bobby gave her a look that made her laugh before giving him a gentle hug. A few tears threatened to come down her face as he wrapped his arms around her torso and squeezed; he never saw the blood drain from her tanned face or the fierce grimace at the pressure on her injuries. She let no groan or gasp out; she could deal with the pain, transient as it was, if it gave her father some peace of mind after all of her being gone for almost a decade overseas.

Bobby let go of her, grinning up at her with tearful pride written all over his face. "Come on; I got some old friends I want you to meet again." Walking slowly to accommodate her crutches, she knew better than to argue with him when he took her duffel and made a point of carrying it without any assistance from her. It held a lot of gear and it was heavier than it looked, but he managed it. She chuckled a few times; stoicism and stubbornness ran in her family, but it was made her suited for the Marine Corps so well.

He walked over to the Winchester boys and stood straight as an arrow, waiting for when she managed to navigate herself to where they were waiting. "Dean and Sam Winchester, you may not remember her, but this is Gunnery Sergeant Jacklyn Singer, my daughter."