This is an AU fusion fic between Supernatural and the video game Alien: Isolation. Knowledge of the game is not necessary to follow the story, but familiarity with the first Alien movie helps.

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death

Summary: It's been ten years since the commercial starship Nostromo vanished. Among the crew was Third Officer Mary Winchester, who left behind a husband and two young sons. When Weyland-Yutani representative, Castiel, shows up at John's engineering workshop offering the chance to get answers as to what happened to his wife, John accepts the invitation for him, Sam and Dean to travel to Sevastopol space station where the flight recorder from the Nostromo is being held. What he doesn't know is he's walking into the exact same danger Mary faced ten years before.

A/N: Written for the 2016 SPN Megabang. Huge thanks to stormbrite for her wonderful artwork and video. Art links are posted on my profile.

Thanks also to archofimagine and kittycat-cas on Tumblr for their beta work, though unfortunately they've only been able to do the first couple of chapters. I'll admit that is partly my fault for taking so long to get this thing written, but I hope I've caught most of my mistakes in the later chapters and will continue to look for a second pair of eyes to proof read (with any luck before most readers reach that point of the story).

While there are undoubtedly discrepancies in this with timelines matching up for different characters or the stated journey times being reasonable, the nature of special relativity, sub lightspeed travel, hypersleep, and how the source material ignores time dilation makes trying to give an accurate representation of time in science fiction near impossible. I hope you can overlook these flaws and accept my rather hand-wavey explanation for the sake of the story, which I don't believe suffers too much for it.

Disclaimer: All characters, settings, and other recognisable features belong to their respective franchises.

XENOPHOBIA

Final report of the commercial starship, Nostromo. Third officer reporting. The other members of the crew, Turner, Harvelle, Creaser, Murphy and Captain Singer are dead. Cargo and ship destroyed. I should reach the frontier in about six weeks. With a little luck, the network will pick me up.

This is Mary Winchester, last survivor of the Nostromo, signing off.

May 2132
Colonial Titan

"John Winchester."

It maybe takes a few tries before John hears it. He turns off the blowtorch, pulls back his visor, and looks up.

The man standing there looks out of place in the workshop. An oversized tan trench coat sits awkwardly on his frame, layered over a cheap suit and blue tie. Just formal enough that John knows he works for the company. Not fancy enough for him to be a big shot. John eyes him cautiously. "Who's asking?"

"My name is Castiel. I work for the company."

"I figured. What's this about?"

Creases form at the corners of Castiel's blue eyes as he studies the dishevelled man in front of him. The blowtorch is still clutched loosely in John's hand as he leans against the unit he was working on, overalls grimy, face glistening with sweat. They aren't alone in the workshop, the sounds of sawing coming from one of the workbenches in the back, but Castiel ignores it. His business is with John. "Weyland-Yutani have an assignment for you."

That gets a curious look. "They sending agents in person now? Electronic posting usually works just fine."

"We thought it best on this occasion to reach out to you face to face. The assignment we'd like to offer you is of a…personal nature."

There's a pause. The word personal sets off alarm bells in John's head, hope tempered with caution sending a sudden surge of adrenaline coursing through his system. There's only one thing it could mean.

In the back of the workshop, the sound of sawing goes silent.

John turns away from Castiel, who watches impassively as he fixes his gaze on the figure in the back. "Dean, I think it's time you went to collect your brother from school."

The man – or rather, boy, no older than eighteen – in the back, scowls. "He doesn't finish for another hour."

"Then call in at the store on the way. Buy him candy."

"He's fourteen, Dad. Not four."

"Dean." John's voice takes on an edge. "Get."

Tension thickens the air for a moment before Dean's shoulders slump. His eyes remain fixed on Castiel with an intense, almost desperate curiosity as he walks away from the bench, still scowling, then leaves the workshop to change out of his overalls.

Satisfied that his son is out of earshot, John turns back to Castiel. "Is this about her?"

In answer, he receives a solemn, slow nod. "Yes. The flight recorder on the Nostromo has been recovered. A commercial ship, the Anesidora, picked it up in Zeta Reticuli."

John's knees suddenly feel weak. He steps away from the cryosleep unit he's assembling and sets down the blowtorch as he draws a deep breath. It's the news he'd dreamed of hearing for ten years, but now that it's actually here, he doesn't know how to feel. Mostly terrified. "So are you…were you able to find out what happened?" The words struggle to come out.

"The contents of the recorder haven't yet been decrypted. The black box is being held at a local supply depot, Sevastopol station, awaiting retrieval. Myself and another company exec will be travelling out to collect it. I'm here to offer you the opportunity to join us."

John would be jumping at the opportunity, if there weren't two reasons that give him pause.

Castiel notices his hesitation. "Your sons, Dean and Sam, have also been granted clearance to travel with you."

"I don't know…" He doesn't. They're both old enough to remember their mother's disappearance, but John doesn't know if it's a wound he should be re-opening just yet. "I don't know if I should drag them all the way out there before we even know what happened."

"As their father, that is your decision," Castiel says impassively. "but the company requires your response by noon tomorrow. The consignment ships out in two days."

John nods. "I'll be there. I'll let you know about my sons. Do you have a means for me to contact you?"

"Of course." Castiel reaches into the inside pocket of his overcoat and produces a card, holes punched in a barcode down the side. "My comms address."

John nods his acknowledgement and pockets it, but by the time he looks up again, Castiel has already turned away and is leaving without saying another word. Taken by surprise, John blinks, but there isn't time to dwell on the peculiarity of it with other things on his mind. He needs to have a conversation with his boys.

"They found Mom?"

The pure hope in Dean's voice, full of innocence and naivety belonging much more to the boy of ten years ago than the man he is now, is like a knife in John's gut. "That isn't what they said, Dean."

"They found something though?" Sam puts in, eyes bright, hanging on to every word his father says. "They'll be able to tell us what happened?"

"That's what they hope, yes."

"So why can't we go with you?"

John sighs. He hates to do this to them, but he's always found it hard to know whether he's making the right choices as a parent. Ever since losing Mary. But if he's going to make a choice, it's better to make it than to dither. "Boys, it will be a long journey and I don't know what could be waiting for us on Sevastopol. Sam, you have school, and Dean, I need you to run the workshop. I don't want this to be a distraction."

"Distraction? This is Mom!" His youngest seems to be pleading, while his eldest just seems confused. And hurt. "How are we meant to go on not knowing what happened when you know but can't tell us?"

"As soon as I know, Sam, you and Dean will be the first ones I tell."

"You've just said it's a long way away! We could be waiting months."

"I also said it could be dangerous. I'm not putting you in danger."

"Dad." It's Dean who interjects this time, more diplomatically. "It's a civilian space station. Not a military outpost. What are you so afraid of?"

John sighs again. He knew this was going to be a difficult argument to win, but he's becoming less sure he wants to win it. "Alright," he says, feeling his resolve crumbling. "You can come. I'll let Castiel know." If he's honest with himself, John knows he wants his sons with him when he finds out what happened to Mary for his own good as much as theirs. The thought of finally knowing the truth after all this time sends terror flooding through him, but the looks of hope on two faces so much like hers reminds him what it's all for.

This isn't the brothers' first spaceflight. Not even in single figures, if they're counting. Not that they really can. Ever since John retired from the Colonial Marines to take up an engineering post with Weyland-Yutani, they've been dragged more places in the galaxy than they can keep track of. The workshop on Titan is the closest they've been to Earth in years, intended to be a more permanent settlement for Sam now that he's started high school, but Dean doesn't think it'll last. Permanence isn't something John Winchester does well.

"Officer Winchester," a man greets their father as he walks ahead of the boys, exchanging a brief but stiff handshake before they ascend the docking ramp. His eyes flit towards the brothers. "And Dean and Sam. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Castiel."

"Yeah, Dad mentioned you," Dean says, taking in the trench coat and suit. "What are you? Company accountant?"

"I work for Weyland-Yutani," is all Castiel says, scowling just slightly before moving on. "My colleague, Anna Milton, will be accompanying us. If we proceed on board, we can meet with her and Captain Mills."

They do, moving through to the bridge of the small courier ship where two women and a man are waiting. One of the women is in her forties, with short cropped brown hair and a no-nonsense look, while the other is slight, red-headed, and looking very skittish. It takes five seconds for John to peg her as a nervous flyer.

"Castiel," the older woman says as they approach. "And Winchesters. I'm Jody Mills, captain of the Torrens." John gets a handshake, and then to Sam and Dean's surprise, she offers each of them one too. She turns to the man beside her, brown haired and skinny enough that he looks almost swamped by his flight suit. "This is my navigational officer, Garth Fitzgerald. We'll be piloting you to Sevastopol. Take off will be in ten minutes, if you want to head through to the canteen. Hypersleep bunks are adjacent and will be ready just after departure."

Castiel nods, barely pausing as he leads them the rest of the way inside the ship. It's not a big vessel, but it's spacious enough. John takes a seat at the canteen table, watching as his boys continue looking round. Dean in particular has always loved spaceships, fascinated by both the engineering and the artistry in their construction, with a particular love for vintage models. No wonder he made such a good apprentice.

"You must be Anna," John says as the redhead sits down opposite him.

She nods. "Yeah." A queasy look crosses her face. "Sorry, you'll have to excuse me. I'm not good with flying."

"Why do you work for Weyland-Yutani if you don't like flying?"

It perhaps comes out ruder harsher than intended, and she gives him a withering look. "I'm a lawyer."

"What's a lawyer doing on a retrieval mission?" It occurs to him he's probably being rude, or pushy, but that answer genuinely gives him pause. If he's here to uncover the truth about what happened to his wife, John wants to know who he's sharing it with.

Anna eyes him cautiously. "The loss of the Nostromo cost Weyland-Yutani a lot of money. I'm here to protect company interests."

The answer is evasive and vague, and John doesn't consider it for as long as he perhaps should before they feel the rumbling of the ship's engines through the floor. Captain Mills' voice sounds over the intercom. "Passengers, we've commenced take off and are awaiting clearance to leave orbit. You're welcome to get changed and enter the cryosleep chambers. They'll go online in five minutes and are scheduled to wake you after our journey time of sixty days."

John can feel they've cleared the ground and are rapidly gaining altitude. He excuses himself from the table. "Well, best get to it, then." He finds that he's glad not to have to make conversation anymore, as he rounds up his sons and heads off in search of the locker room.

Sixty days would normally be a long time, but in cryosleep, John knows it will pass in a heartbeat. Hopefully when he next wakes, there will be answers waiting for him.

Sam is first to wake. He always is on journeys like this: something about a child's metabolism being faster that allows him to shake off the cryo effects more readily. Dean will be next, if experience is anything to go by. Sam always loves that time: the few minutes they get together where it's just the two of them, alone in space where they may as well be the only two human beings in the world universe.

For now though, it's only him.

He yawns and stretches as he eases himself out of the cryopod, its glass screen sliding back to give him room. The ship's atmosphere is warm on his bare skin, though he can already feel the dryness from the elevated oxygen cracking his lips and cheeks. He heads to the locker room, finds some moisturiser and soap, and takes a shower.

When he's done, Sam pulls on the t-shirt and cargo pants he'd brought with him and makes himself some toast. Then, he sits himself down by his brother's pod and waits.

It would almost be creepy watching Dean like this, unconscious, his body rebooting after a long shutdown, but it's become a regular thing between them. Every time the gap between Sam and Dean waking gets larger Sam teases him, telling him he's getting old, but usually it just depends how exhausted they were prior to getting in the pods. Sam hasn't lost sight of how fucked up it is that this has even become a regular thing.

In truth, Sam and Dean Winchester were anomalies. Company employees weren't supposed to have children while on active long-haul postings. They especially weren't supposed to drag their children around the galaxy on assignments, but John's military commendations and the company's liability over Nostromo had afforded him a lot of leniency. Whether that had been to Sam and Dean's benefit or detriment was still unclear.

"Twenty-one minutes," Sam says when Dean's screen finally slides back and he yawns. "You're getting old, jerk. Took you fifteen last time."

"You're old, bitch," Dean huffs, wiping sleep from his eyes. "At least I'm not a midget."

"One day I'll catch you up."

"You'd better not." Dean sits up straight in the pod and spies the plate Sam's holding in his hand. "Breakfast?"

"Toast." Sam holds it out to him and Dean accepts it gratefully. He takes a bite, then seems to think better of it. "Actually, best not. I've been renovating these things for two weeks. You wouldn't believe how much damage crumbs in the filter does to the system." He gets up and goes to sit at the dining table instead, searching for a bathrobe while he's at it. Sam joins him.

There's a minute or two of silence while Sam lets Dean eat, then he says, "Isn't it weird?"

Dean swallows a mouthful and looks at him. "What?"

"This. That we're here. We're finally gonna find out what happened."

Dean's jaw clenches and he grunts. "Yeah."

"You...don't seem happy."

"What's there to be happy about? Yeah, maybe we'll find out what happened. Maybe. Finally know once and for all if Mom's dead or abandoned us. Sure, let's celebrate." He resumes eating, teeth tearing at the toast with more aggression than before.

Sam watches him, expression a combination of sympathetic and defensive. "Mom didn't abandon us."

"So she's dead then," Dean snaps. "What's the difference anyway? Always off on long haul flights for months at a time, barely seeing us for two weeks a year. She may as well have abandoned us." He finishes the food and shoves the plate to one side with a scowl.

"It wasn't her fault!" Sam retaliates. "It was the company; she didn't have a choice. She wasn't even supposed to have kids. She could have lost her job just for having us."

"I wish she had. At least then she'd still be alive."

The air has turned tense. It's not the usual easy understanding they share in the moments after cryosleep, and Sam finds himself wishing he never spoke.

The tension is broken by a sleepy voice greeting them. "Morning, boys."

They both turn to see Anna in a bathrobe emerging from the cryosleep chamber. She looks mellow but unsettled, still not at ease with the flight.

"Morning," Sam replies, while Dean grunts, "Afternoon. We're on local time."

Anna frowns. "Everything alright? I heard raised voices."

"Yeah, we're good," Dean says dismissively. He's being rude and he knows he'll feel bad later, but right now he's not in the mood.

"Oh. Well, I was just gonna go take a shower. Thank god we're almost there, don't think I could take much more of this."

She turns to head through to the bathroom, and hasn't quite finished rounding the door before she lets the bathrobe slip from her shoulders. Both boys stare.

It's just the briefest flash of skin before they turn to each other, argument forgotten. "Lawyers should not be that hot," Dean says.

Sam pouts. "I want to be a lawyer."

"Like I said, lawyers should not be that hot."

It isn't long before Castiel joins them. The company rep looks dour and serious when he arrives ready-dressed in the canteen, responding to Dean's sarcastic, "Morning, sunshine," with, "It's afternoon, local time."

Sam can't help but laugh.

Just a few minutes later, Captain Mills and Officer Fitzgerald arrive in the room, followed closely by John. John's first words are to ask if the boys behaved, drawing an eyeroll from them both, while Jody and Garth go to prepare the ship for docking. The brothers seem to be on good terms again by the time an announcement goes over the ship's intercom.

"Arriving at Sevastopol station. All personnel report to the bridge."

Garth has taken up the pilot's seat while Jody is waiting at the console when they arrive. "I hope you all had a restful sleep," she greets.

"The hypersleep chambers are in excellent order," Castiel says. "The Torrens seems to be in remarkable condition for its age. The same model as the Nostromo, I believe."

"You should have seen her when I bought her," Captain Mills replies flippantly. "Now, we're coming up on the station. Marshal Henriksen is your contact, correct?"

Castiel nods in affirmation.

"Right. I'll hail Sevastopol and get us permission to dock. Fitzgerald, switch to screens."

"Switching now." The navigator turns a dial on his console, and the displays surrounding the bridge change from text and co-ordinates to visuals of the route up ahead.

Immediately, it becomes clear something's wrong.

As the three-towered industrial shape of Sevastopol comes into view, every pair of eyes are is drawn to the debris drifting around the nearest corner at the station's base.

John's brow furrows, apprehensively noting the warped and misaligned structures on its port side. "Is that damage?"

Captain Mills frowns and studies the image closer. "That's the docking port. I can't bring the Torrens into that."

"Now what?" Anna mutters quietly while the captain reaches for the radio.

"Sevastopol, this is Jody Mills, captain of the courier ship Torrens. We are transporting five passengers from Weyland-Yutani, requesting contact with Marshal Henriksen." There's a pause, drawn out as no reply comes. "Sevastopol, do you read me?"

Static crackles on the channel, then a voice, broken and distorted, comes through. "…Torrens, this is Henriksen, Colonial Marshal...docking port is compromised...maintain orbit…" The rest is lost to static.

Jody's expression is grim as she shuts off the channel and steps back. "Looks like the station's comms are screwed."

She turns to the others, as if asking what they want to do now. A suggestion from Castiel comes quickly. "An EVA is still possible."

There's a moment's consideration, then John nods. "If you get us close enough we can spacewalk. Where do you keep the suits?"