Chapter 10
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Novak… no, Castiel the Dick was off somewhere exploring, searching for food and more water. Dean was lying back against the smooth, stone counter leg, knees drawn up to his chest, wrapped in his itchy blanket. Dozens of disparate, disconnected thoughts raced through his mind. The Dick had really laid down a load of very important information, but holy hell, Dean had no idea what to make of it all. The conversation with James 'Jimmy' Novak had been brief and unfulfilling. The dude had not sounded all that different from Castiel – what was he expecting, a high squeaky voice. He confirmed everything the angel said – demons, plots and yes, he had agreed to host Castiel. Dean had kept it short both because he was tired and hell, he didn't really believe the idiot. Honestly, what schmo would host a tight-ass, holier than thou angel?
Angels, Demons and the damn apocalypse were a damn sight more serious than ghosts and monsters, and Dean felt totally out of his depth trying to understand it all. He and Sam were the chosen vessels for angels who had a millennia-old hard on to slap it out? Old Nick and Big Mike were brothers, so both sides liked the idea of using actual brothers as vessels. What was even more concerning though was how close Azazel had come to succeeding. Sam nearly died in Cold Oak and if Dean had not had a kickass lightning bolt ready to knock the asshole about to gut Sam flying, Sam might have died. If he had died, try as he could, Dean could not completely, honestly say that he would not have considered making a deal to bring Sam back. With all this knowledge and know-how of the consequences of that deal, maybe he'd have walked away, grieving and alone, but even now, years later the idea of Sam dying, on his watch… made Dean sick to the stomach. He would do anything to keep Sam safe, anything.
It was hard to think clearly, and his mind was racing. Between his aching body and exhaustion, he was in no condition to make sense of it all. Never the less, the thoughts continued to roll over each other, like an insane carousel. Sam was in trouble. Right now. This second.
Ruby was still trying to hook her claws into him, Dean was certain of that. First seal or not, the bitch would want Sam to toe the line, damn his soul, go back to hell with her if necessary. She would never let him go, not if she could help it. Dean couldn't allow that. On that count, Castiel the Dick was right. Ruby needed to die – soon.
Lilith too. They needed to send her packing asap.
Was it possible to exorcise an Angel? Dean needed to know because he planned on kicking Andrews' ass all the way back to Heaven. Would Castiel tell him, if it was possible? Could he trust Castiel?
That was the big question. Could he trust this dick who was riding some idiot as a meat suit? Sure, the guy had saved his life. Hell, he'd been almost a friend for a while, backing him up fighting creatures, helping him in the infirmary, but if he'd only done it to protect him, keep him away from Zacharias? Did that matter?
While Dean still had loads of questions and unresolved links floating around his brain, he nonetheless appreciated Castiel's frankness. Hopefully, all the cards were on the table and Dean knew what he had to do. He had to get back to Earth as soon as possible. Sam needed him, needed his help to kick those demons' asses straight back to hell.
Was it even possible to go back to Earth? Would the SGC allow him to? Could he keep a low enough profile that Zacharias would not find him? Castiel said Zacharias knew he wasn't on Earth but was there a way to keep the angel from finding him?
Dean slammed his fist into the floor, ignoring the pain, unable to express the rising tension any other way. There was a goddamn sword hanging over Sam's head. One slip, one righteous soul in hell and the demons and angels would have what they wanted. Ruby would trick Sam into accepting Lucifer because his brother was a soft-hearted idiot and then… and then…?
Why hadn't Castiel told him this sooner? Why wait until now? Surely if he knew what was going on….? But he, Dean Winchester, was safe. Safe on Atlantis. No war. No end of days. Michael would not have a vessel, so what… Lucifer would just reign in blood and horror on the earth while Dean played Star Trek a billion light years away? That didn't sound right. Maybe there was something else Castiel wasn't telling him. Probably was, he barely knew the guy, why would he tell him everything?
Surely the angels could find another vessel, the demons too. Why did it all rest on them, the Winchester brothers? Lilith could make more demon kids, someone suitable and the angels could use another sibling, another poor sap and then they'd have their end of days. Why them? Why all this fuss?
Scanning the room, searching for answers that would not come, Dean cursed under his breath. He wanted to stop thinking, wanted to rest. No, actually, he wanted to pace around and hit something. Preferably Ruby or Andrews or…
Then it hit him. Like a blow to the head. It couldn't be just anyone. It had to be them. Why didn't matter, but there was something about him and Sam and if they didn't cave, if they said no – no apocalypse. Castiel has said something about their family, about Azazel troubling their family for years. Dean bit his lip, thinking furiously. Meg and her dick brother had come at them. Not Andy or Ava. Them. Azazel possessed their Dad, tricked him into a deal. Not the other parents, no one else. The Winchesters. Sure Dad had been hunting him, making his life difficult, but still….
Was that an advantage? Did his being an Empath and Sam a kinetic make a difference? Or had it been the difference to save them!
Castiel had said that he had foiled Azazel's plan by saving Sam and rescuing his Dad. No first seal, no cage break. No cage break, no war. More importantly, no willing vessels, no war. It was all hanging in the balance, and Castiel was helping him stay as far from Earth as you could get. The other players were getting desperate, which meant they were running out of time. Maybe Dean shouldn't go back.
Maybe…
Dean rubbed his face, wincing at the pain, the ache. Maybe…
The solution floated in front of him. So simple, so clear.
Maybe Sam needed to get to Atlantis.
A kernel of hope blossomed inside Dean's chest. Was that it? Get Sam to Atlantis? Away from Ruby, away from crossroads, away from Earth. Then if the first seal broke, there were still no vessels. No Winchester brothers. No chumps to trick and manipulate into accepting a shit-luck deal. Rubbing his hands through his hair, enjoying the sensation of release, of tension easing, Dean glared at the silent room, thinking furiously.
What would be more challenging, getting to Earth or getting Sam to Pegasus? The SGC and IOA (whoever they were) didn't want their secrets out. Not yet. They couldn't risk Dean giving it all away if T&E ever broke him again. So they'd prefer for him to stay, in fact, they'd make it very difficult for him to leave Atlantis. Dean figured he could find a way to dial back to Earth, but getting out of the SGC, which he understood to be at the bottom of Cheyenne Mountain would be much harder. And on Earth, Zacharias could get him, maybe trace him?
The intense panic at the thought of being in Andrews's hands again was mind-numbing. No, no. It was easier to get Sam to Atlantis. He'd need to invent some reason, some benefit…
Sam was a kinetic and the expedition could really use a kinetic. A bonded Kinetic and Empath would be really, really useful against the Wraith, Asurans, whoever. Maybe that benefit would be attractive enough to break a few rules and bypass protocol. Convince the SGC that Sam would be game, and that way the risk of anyone looking for Dean and causing trouble was diminished. Eventually, the angels would give up and leave T&E. That Crowley dude would keep the crossroad demons away from righteous souls and Castiel's buddies would keep an eye on them all. Then…. Danger gone.
Sam would love Atlantis. His little nerd brain would just flip out at all the sci-fi stuff and ships and ….
And he'd have his brother back.
Dean blinked, surprised at the emotion that idea generated. Wiping his eyes, furious with himself, he hissed, "Two years, idiot. Two years. You owe him a punch in the head."
However much he wanted to punch Sam the idea of him being in punching distance was very very appealing. Dean leant back, some of his anxiety departing as he ruminated on this final iteration of his plan. Get Sam to Atlantis, give all the angels, demons and T&E agents the finger and wait it out. Sounded awesome.
Yep, that was what he needed to do.
Novak bustled over suddenly, an excited expression on his face. Damnit, Dean hissed. It wasn't Novak, it was Castiel, the Dick. Novak was the schlump meat suit. He had to remember to call him Castiel.
"Dean, I believe I know where we are and what we must do."
"Great, did God tell you?"
"No, we are not so fortunate. Come, quickly."
"There is no quick in me today, bucko, so just tell…"
Nov… Castiel bent down and helped Dean to stand, which produced a litany of curses and growls from Dean. "Look asshole, I …"
"I cannot explain, you must see for yourself. Time is of the essence."
Reluctantly, Dean let Castiel walk him through the room towards one of the doors. Walking hurt – hell, everything still hurt and magic Castiel had no painkillers, so Dean just had to ride it out. Moving though woke up all the torn muscles, the bruises, the cuts, the unhappy joints and bones. Shaking and sweating, Dean leant heavily on Castiel and bit his lip to keep from screaming. His lip was raw and split anyway, so that didn't help, but he kept the scream to a whine.
Luckily, for Dean not passing out and Castiel avoiding a future kick to the balls, the trip was short. "There are many rooms here, many doors and I wish I had found this one first." Castiel dragged him into a large room which had a very familiar feel to it. It looked like Atlantis, similar colours, similar architecture. However, what really drew Dean's gaze and was Castiel's goal, was a funky looking machine covered in glowing blue turtles.
Belatedly, Dean saw the very messy, very dead corpses scattered around the room. There was no prize for guessing who they were and what had happened. After three days of fighting demon creatures with wings and teeth, Dean knew what bodies torn apart by those bastards looked like. Hell, he had experienced it first-hand. The bodies were fresh-ish, in that they were only a few days old, probably four days old. Dean recognised the uniforms, the gear. This was the missing Trust op team. The stench was pretty bad, but given the sterile environment, probably not as bad as it could have been. It still reeked though and Dean's gag reflex kicked in. He fought it, not wanting to spew, not when there was a glowing, very much active machine in the room. Castiel dragged him towards it and when they were close enough, he stopped and propped Dean up against the table the thing was resting on.
It looked 'Ancient'-like and weird and had six blue stone turtles on its surface. It was an inverted punch-bowl shape, with glowing lights on the rim, turtles on the dome and fancy designs in white and black on its pale blue surface. It was pulsing steadily, each of the turtles lighting up sequentially, the pattern repeating over and over again.
Next to it on the table was a tablet and sheaves of paper. Dean snatched up a couple up and glanced at the writing. He scanned them. "Mental link. Possible control device. Used to access higher brain functions. Ancients abandoned due to unexpected results. Morons." Dean read aloud, commenting at the last. The Trust had clearly thought that this device allowed the user to control the minds or higher brain functions of others. So, they'd slipped a turtle into Atlantis and then turned the device on.
"Idiots thought they were taking over people's minds and instead they invited those monsters to a free buffet. We need to turn this thing off, now!"
"How?" Castiel asked, staring at the device like it was a bomb or a small child.
"Start pressing buttons!" Dean demanded, reaching out to do just that. Castiel grabbed his hand and turned to face him. "If simply touching random buttons had worked, surely they would have turned it off when the portal opened." Castiel motioned towards the dead bodies and Dean rolled his eyes. "Maybe they didn't have time. No salt, no handy empath to kill demons and so the bastards ate them before anyone could try to turn it off."
Castiel sagged, fading a little in his enthusiasm. "Perhaps. However, in Dr McKay's orientation session, he was most strenuous about the rule not to touch any buttons. 'Wait for a scientist, don't touch anything you giant apes'," Castiel quoted.
"Dr McKay has probably pressed more buttons than anyone else on Atlantis. People are dying out there and you want to wait until … what? We can't exactly phone a friend and ask for help?" Dean waved his arms around expansively, indicating the lack of a phone. It was then that he noticed the flashing terminal.
It looked like an old IBM computer. Blue text on a screen. "The spy. The frigging spy!" Dean launched himself off the table, fell over and was caught by Castiel. "Over there, quickly."
Castiel hauled him to the terminal, Dean's feet hurting abominably by now, his arms aching something fierce. Castiel plopped him onto the handy chair and pushed him closer. Sam was the computer guy usually, but Dean was no slouch when he had to. He typed in a few commands and smiled in relief when the familiar operating system replied. "Woohoo, it's DOS based. Thank god I remember how to do this." He called up the previous commands and saw how the user had initiated contact with the spy in Atlantis. Typing furiously, making a few mistakes and backspacing while cursing a lot, Dean sent out a message to Atlantis. "Man, I hope someone's got that other terminal on and near them."
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Many miles away, Dr Cooper sat dejectedly in an engineering lab filled with afternoon sunlight, staring forlornly at a whiteboard covered in useless, pathetic mathematics. The signal apparently connected to the invading creatures was still broadcasting throughout the galaxy on a subspace band. McKay and his minions had managed to boost the sensors to isolate the signal, but they had been unable to block it, trace it or interfere with it.
McKay in his wisdom had assigned Cooper to analyse the signal's subspace properties, from a mathematical view. If they could understand how it was accessing subspace, maybe they could stop it. It did not seem to work on the same principles as the SGC or Ancient subspace comms which were highly intriguing and aggravating at the same time. Under any other circumstances such a challenge would have been intriguing but with the imminent threat of diabolical creatures pouring out of shining portals of death hanging over him, he was struggling to think clearly.
All of the equipment from Dr Edwards' lab was in the space allocated to Cooper and he was supposed to somehow figure out how it all worked even after a dozen scientists had poked it, dissected it and torn it apart. Over on the other side of the room, McKay and the other members of the Science Department were arguing about the design for a workaround to block the signal or trace it or turn lead into gold. Who knew? That argument was going as well as Cooper's analysis of the properties of the signal. Frustrated, Cooper looked up when the somewhat retro terminal which the evil Dr Edwards had been using to communicate with the Trust lit up.
A line of blue text appeared on screen, scrolling in like an 80s movie tech special effect.
'Atlantis. This is Dean Winchester. Is anyone getting this? I think I found the machine that opens the portals.'
Dr Cooper just about fell off his stool. "Dr McKay! Dr McKay!"
"What? Not now, Cooper!" McKay whirled from his diatribe at the board, face red, eyes sunken and tired. "Unless you found something?" he demanded sarcastically.
Wordlessly, Dr Cooper pointed at the terminal. "It's Dean Winchester, whoever that is. Says he's found the machine!"
"What machine?" Rodney barked as he bustled over.
"A time machine! What do you think, McKay? The scary portal making machine!" Rodney shot Cooper a vile glare and shoved past him. "Let me see."
McKay took one look at the text and keyed his comm. "Sheppard? Get down here now!"
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It said a lot about Rodney McKay's personality that it shone through a flat platform like text on a hybrid DOS-based system. The words vibrated with anger suppressed excitement and utter frustration at not being in the room with Dean so that he a) berate Dean face to face and b) turn off the machine himself.
Dean had done his best to describe the machine in as much detail as possible, but without a tape measure or scanner, his descriptions were no doubt too vague and unhelpful, judging by McKay's anger. Dean had no idea if the machine was actually Ancient, or not. It had no discernible power source, but then many standalone Ancient devices did not. They did actually have a power source but dependent on 'when' they had been made, the power source could be buried in the centre of the device or it could be at the base. Dean was still all for blasting it, and the helpful, but dead, Trust operation team had left behind several forms of blasters from zat'nika'tels to cool-looking weird ones Dean had never seen before. Surely if the machine was generating the signal that allowed the portals to form, then destroying it would stop the signal.
McKay, via text message, so Dean was spared the spectacle of Rodney going red, purple and apoplectic, had vehemently informed him that for all they knew blasting it would keep the signal going. Forever.
So now Dean was sitting on an uncomfortable stool, leaning against the desk and waiting for McKay to figure something. What he wouldn't give for a handful of Vicodin, his colt and 24-hours of dreamless sleep. If roadkill could feel anything, Dean figured he beat out roadkill by a good thousand percent. Some of the claw marks, cuts, bits, hell – whatever were bleeding again and his abused body did not like being upright anymore.
The air in the room still stank of dead people, and Dean was hoping Castiel would do something about that. The angel, however, was off exploring again. He'd disappeared while Dean was arguing with McKay via computer, clearly disinterested or offended by the language Dean was using. Given that Dean had done his utmost to use the most colourful, Marine-inspired language he could, he hoped the angel had been offended. It was on belatedly that he realised the dick had been living with Marines for months – he was probably immune to foul language by now. So the real reason he'd disappeared was probably disinterest.
On the screen, the cursor flashed, waiting for McKay's response. Without being able to send or take pictures, they had hit an impasse of 'what size punch bowl do you mean?' and Dean just not really giving a shit. He was going to give McKay five more minutes and then he was shooting the device, and then himself. No dreams when you are dead.
As if summoned, McKay's answering text appeared one goddamn letter at a time.
'IS THERE AN ACTUAL MODERN COMPUTER AVAILABLE? LAPTOP?'
Dean glanced around the room, wincing at the movement and the flurry of pain sparks that the movement caused. Perched where he was, he couldn't see any computers. The room was large and appeared to have been the staging area or work area for the Trust team. They certainly had not been sleeping in the room, given the lack of bedrolls or carryalls. So Dean replied:
'CAN'T SEE ONE. JUST A TABLET. LOOKS LIKE A KNOCK-OFF IPAD.'
The reply was as instantaneous as possible.
'CAN YOU SEE HOW THE CONSOLE IS CONNECTED TO A NETWORK OR BROADCAST UNIT?
McKay had asked this before, several times, but Dean leant forward a little again. His reply was slow, mostly because he was tired and sore and only somewhat because he wanted to annoy McKay.
'TWO MAIN CABLES OUT. ONE FOR POWER. ONE GOES INTO SOME ALIEN LOOKING TECH AND THAT TECH IS CONNECTED TO MORE ALIEN SHIT. I DON'T KNOW HOW IT'S WORKING MCKAY, IT JUST IS… CLEARLY.'
McKay replied with some expletives Dean smirked at. Maybe with some painkillers, he'd have been able to poke around a bit more and figure it out, but he just hurt so bad, so much. There was a real chance he was going to pass out if he moved wrong and then McKay would freak out some more and Dean would miss out that spectacle. It was better when McKay was in the room and he could watch and feel just how freaked out McKay was in his presence. Dean knew exactly why Rodney avoided him and probably disliked him. McKay was all about bluster, about the façade of 'I'm ok. I'm better than you, smarter than you and who cares if you don't like me.'
The thing was, McKay did care. Like most nerds, he'd probably been bullied and teased as a child, and he relished in the power he had now. What Rodney longed for however was family. Acceptance. He'd found that family and acceptance in Atlantis. His love for Atlantis and the people in the City shone bright. You didn't need to be an Empath to see that. Alas for Rodney however, Dean could feel the deep fear, the deep uncertainty that he harboured. That he'd be rejected again. That he'd lose this family. Rodney knew his façade was more than just bluster, it protected him and as a pretty smart guy, he knew Dean would see the truth. Rodney McKay did not like being exposed to anyone. So he avoided Dean when he could and was brusque and rude when he could not.
Even before Dean could see emotions as colours surrounding a person, McKay had been a riot of conflicting emotions and it was fun watching as his mood dipped and triggered such a range of emotion. Dean blinked and narrowly caught himself from slamming into the desk. Lost in thought, he'd nearly fallen asleep and crashed hard. Stretching was a bad, bad idea, but he did it anyway and groaned a broken off scream as he moved. He was stiffening up and more claw marks opened up as he moved.
A line of unread text blinked at him, but he couldn't see clearly enough to read it. Groaning again, he collapsed forward, a sea of black rushing up to meet him.
Bracing for pain, Dean felt strong arms catch him. In his memory he heard Big Fug roar, reaching for him as a steady strong presence whisked him away. The sheer relief, no joy, at being rescued pricked at his heart. He hadn't been left alone, abandoned. Someone had come.
Sam
Hands radiating calm confidence helped him lay back on the floor, something soft under his head. Through the haze, Dean saw Novak… no Castiel peering at him. Gratitude tore at him, fought the anger he was feeling. "Drink this."
Wordlessly, Dean swallowed the pills Castiel placed at his lips and then drank more tepid water. "I found a first aid kit. It contained pain relief medication. You must rest."
Dean did not argue, no way in hell was he arguing. The dizziness fuelled by some fatigue and trauma had hit so suddenly. "I just gave you some antibiotics for general infection. Dr Beckett will need to assess your injuries more fully."
A little confused, Dean wondered why he had thought Castiel gave him pain pills. Sure antibiotics were good but why none of the good stuff….
A sharp prick at his hip and blessed relief flooded his body. Morphine. He barely felt Castiel rubbing the spot of the morphine ampule injection, he just closed his eyes and let the wonderful sensation of no pain carry him away.
He barely heard, but would remember later Castiel saying, "You are welcome."
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Rodney McKay loved pressure and challenges and puzzles. He truly truly did. But he preferred trying to solve them when he wasn't bone tired and annoyed. No, annoyance helped. When he was tired and hungry. Yes, that was it. Hungry.
The interim workroom for solving Atlantis's creature problem was packed. Every person with even the slightest mathematical or engineering ability was there – annoying him. Zelenka had broken up the crowd into groups, each tasked with solving the problems of finding Dean Winchester and turning off the machine which may or not be generating the signal. Theoretically, it was a great puzzle.
Q: Team member (idiot A) is stranded on the other side of the universe. Limited ability to communicate. Device to stop destruction with Idiot A.
Describe your approach to solving this quandary in 1000 words or less
Only it wasn't theoretical and the rest of Pegasus needed an answer too. If they could stop the signal… maybe Winchester should just shoot the machine. What were the odds of that being a mistake? 1000 to 1. Cooper would know.
Rodney wheeled on his chair, ready to yell at Dr Cooper, maybe throw something at him when a fresh line of text popped up on the screen. About time. Why had it taken so long for Winchester to reply?
'THIS IS NOVAK. DEAN WINCHESTER IS UNAVAILABLE.'
"What?" McKay shrieked. "What? Has he decided to break for ice-cream or something? Toilet break? Spacewalk! Get him back, you idiot. I'm not trying to do this with a Marine!" Rodney typed furiously, face red, uncaring of the looks he was getting.
'GET HIM BACK. THIS IS NO TIME FOR A BREAK!'
The reply time was agonisingly slow as Novak labouredly replied.
'HE IS UNCONSCIOUS.'
'TELL ME WHAT TO DO.'
"Oh, I'll what you what you can go do!" Rodney hissed, fingers flying.
"Rodney!" Sheppard barked from his seat across the room. Rather than rest like the idiot he was, the Colonel was hovering. Helping. Well, actually, he probably was. He and Cooper were talking maths over there, Rodney had forgotten that.
"Fine, fine," McKay muttered and deleted his tirade. Instead, he replied with:
'DO YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT COMPUTERS?'
This time the response was quick.
'NO.'
"ARGH!" Rodney cried. "How can I work with this, this… At least Winchester has half a brain. Why he chose to pass out now!?"
That got a few looks and McKay reassured everyone with, "I'm sure he's ok. Back to work – still have to save him, them!"
"Reprogram the terminal!"
Startled, McKay looked up. Dr Mancusa, an MTI graduate who had two degrees in computer engineering was looking excited. "We could reprogramme the terminal on their side."
Squinting at him, one eye shut to block out the stupid, Rodney growled, "To do what? It's a DOS based terminal using alien tech to…."
Dr Mancusa interrupted, "But it is still a terminal, an earth technology terminal. And if it's anything like this one, then we could reprogramme it. Install software as it were. I mean it would be a very long code stream to enter, but…"
Excited, Rodney stood, his face alight with emotion, "We could install a programme which could kill or scramble the interference, and then we could locate the terminal's sub-space signal!"
Nodding, Mancusa added, "Or even uplink to our terminal and share its files."
"That doesn't solve the problem of the signal machine though," someone shouted and Rodney waved them off, huffing. "If we can find Winchester and get to him, it'll be easier to figure out how to turn it off in person."
"Did Novak find a StarGate?" Sheppard asked, fighting a yawn.
McKay shrugged. "I'll find out. You lot start writing up some code we can get this monkey, I mean, marine to input to allow us direct access." Rodney sat down on his stool again, excited again, pleased there was some hope. Across the room, Sheppard muttered aloud, "I think we need Charlie down here."
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Morphine was awesome.
Dean dozed in a half-awake state, listening to Castiel move about the room, occasionally returning to check the terminal. The pain was gone and Dean felt at ease enough that sleep was perhaps possible again, but strange, un-remembered dreams chased him so he was content to simply be in and out of reality for a while.
At some point, Castiel checked on him and Dean may or may not have given him the finger. If he hadn't he was ok with that, but he seemed to remember doing something. He was idly curious about what McKay was planning, but also didn't care.
Morphine rocked.
"I have found more bandages and a suture kit. I will tend to the more serious wounds while the morphine is still at its maximum effect."
Dean squinted up at the angel and tried to say, "Go to hell."
What came out was, 'G'll'
Castiel clearly did not speak morphine so he proceeded to clean and dress the unhappy and numerous wounds on Dean's arms, shoulders, back, face, legs, hell, everywhere. The antiseptic stung but only for a little bit. It soon faded under the haze of morphine. The bites and claw marks were harder to ignore but Dean did his best aided by the painkiller in his system. The guy was strangely gentle, his touch soft and careful which honestly, surprised Dean. Novak… Castiel had never given the impression he knew what kid gloves were. He probably didn't anyway.
"May as well wrap me up like a mummy, dude," Dean said. It came out slurred but hopefully, it made sense. Just how much morphine had he been given?
"If you are referring to the Egyptian mummification process, then I do not think you'd enjoy that, given that you are still alive," came the deadpan reply.
Dean snorted.
He drifted for a while, lost in the sensation of fingers touching his skin, wiping away blood and pain. It was lovely and quiet in the room and some of the stink had departed. Half asleep, Dean hmmed every now and then when a particular wound burnt under the antiseptic or the wipe caught broken skin.
A gentle hand on his brow roused him and Dean opened his eyes, wincing a little at the light, his mouth dry. Castiel was not looming over him but was rather sitting back, a little distance away. "Dr McKay would like me to search the complex for a StarGate. The structure is quite large so it may take some time. I shall return after an hour immaterial of whether I find one or not."
"Ah huh."
"McKay is also working on a code to re-programme the terminal so that they can trace our location. It should be ready in an hour. I may need your assistance in capturing it."
"Sure." Dean sighed. He heard more than saw Castiel leave and drifted away again, lost to blissful unconsciousness.
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Teldy followed Charlie into the workroom which was normally reserved for experiments and equipment tests. Zelenka had arranged for the important scientific equipment which could be moved to be placed here allowing the scientist's space to work and giving the Marines only one area to protect rather than multiple labs.
It was strangely full.
McKay and Dr Mancusa were huddled over a table, peering at something, a couple of other technical guys with them. Zelenka and Biro had wrangled several groups onto the far side and they were working on what looked like intercept calculations and mathematics way outside of her comfort zone. Sheppard, Ronon and several marines and Gate Team members were talking quietly amongst themselves, Dr Cooper oddly enough with them. As she passed their group, she nodded at the Colonel, who shot her a small smile.
The second McKay spotted Charlie he waved her over, gesticulating broadly. He shouted, "Ms Bradbury! How is your DOS?"
Intrigued, Charlie joined them and left Teldy standing alone in the middle of the room. Uncertain why she had come, after all, Anne turned to leave. While there were no teams gating off to help worlds under attack, Lorne needed help checking Atlantis's defence. Maguire probably needed help in the kitchens. Beckett needed help with the wounded. Chuck and Wallstreet needed help coordinating with refugees and impatient politicians. Woolsey needed help managing the fallout with the Coalition, again. She didn't need to be here.
Sheppard was clearly hiding out but then he'd been working non-stop for four days. Her CO needed some downtime, whereas she had at least managed to catch some shut-eye a day ago. Maybe…
"Major, please join us. We need your assistance."
Startled, Teldy looked at Teyla in surprise. When had she snuck up on her?
"Colonel Sheppard is planning options on securing supplies tomorrow if Rodney does not figure out how to turn the machine off. Lt. Wallstreet has his hands full with our immediate needs." Teyla sounded calm, at peace. Her smile was a little too flat for her normal good nature, but that was hardly surprising. She continued, "We are reviewing friendly worlds for a beta-site where we can evacuate to if needed. Your insights on some of the worlds we are considering would be appreciated."
A few off-duty junior officers and non-com officers were with Teyla and for a second Teldy considered waving her off. There was plenty to do elsewhere. She didn't need to stay. Chuck would relay any gossip on the civ. channels. What they knew about Dean Winchester's whereabouts was already common knowledge thanks to Radio!Chuck.
"Sure."
Anne nodded in acknowledgement at the officers who greeted her. Teyla's smile was broad.
Here was as good as any a place.
To wait.
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Dean wasn't entirely sure what woke him. It wasn't a nightmare, fortunately, or at least not one he remembered.
The lighting in the room was unchanged, still a too dim glow from old Ancient light sources. Castiel was nowhere in sight and it took Dean a moment to remember that he was searching for a StarGate. Hopefully, he found one and they could get out of here and to Dr Beckett and a morphine drip. It was a little easier to sit up, the pain muted and distant, so Dean did so, carefully. Despite Castiel's comment about mummification, Dean none the less felt a little like a horror picture extra. The angel hadn't covered all of the cuts and slices, there were just too many, but enough were covered that there was a distinct ratio of bandage to skin in bandages favour. Except for his chest. He was still bare-chested.
Getting up was a bad idea. He should rest. But a shirt would nice.
And pants.
Pants were definitely needed.
He made an abortive attempt to roll over and that ended instantly. Movement was no good. Not at all. "Gah!" Dean gurgled, curling in on himself, head pressed into the cold stone floor. He lay there for a couple of minutes, gathering his strength to try again. Taking in deep breaths was easier than moving, so Dean sucked in oxygen and prayed that the morphine would chase away the pain. A soft glow above his head drew his gaze.
Wondering if McKay was replying or something, Dean looked up at the console, but it was not visible from this angle. It was also not the source of the glow.
A small, innocuous but all too familiar portal was forming several feet away.
"Oh, shit!"
Fear fuelled adrenalin flooded his system and Dean scrambled to his feet, cursing all the while. "Shit, shit, shit!"
There was no space for a Fugly to appear in the room, and damn it, there was still plenty of room for biting, clawing creatures and the freaking tentacle. "No, no, no."
He needed something to draw a devil's trap with, or bless water, or, or, do anything! Where in the hell was Castiel?
"Castiel!" Dean roared, hoping to high hell that he heard his shout. Knowing his luck, he wouldn't. As the portal grew, Dean's flesh ran cold. He was so not up to another fight. He was barely standing, and he could feel his feet bleeding on the floor.
Maybe he could draw a trap with his blood?
When the first gaping mouth, eyeless monster popped out of the portal, its claws dark and sharp, wings glittering and fierce, Dean lost all notion of drawing traps or running. It's raging hunger and hate darted towards him, a thin black line of emotion, tainting the room, and it was joined by another and then another. Dean could feel their need to feed, their hunger to rip him apart and gorge on his flesh. It was sharper than ever before, no doubt heightened by his time spent in their dimension.
Well, screw that.
This time, he had plenty of power to draw on.
All of the ambient electricity in the room, the flickering lights, the power from the terminal, the power from the device in the centre of the room, it was all fair game and Dean drank it all in. The monsters shrieked, triumph in their voices and Dean struck. He raised a hand and sent a torrent of power straight at the centre of the burgeoning mass.
Rather than scatter them, it burnt them up, charred them all on the spot, their ashes exploding in the air. The lights dimmed, the terminal flickered and the device blinked. More creatures appeared and Dean roared.
It wasn't lightning, sharp and instant. It wasn't electricity, pulsing and bright. It was raw power fuelled by more than just technology, augmented by his own power. Roaring out his pain and hurt, remembering all too clearly dying under their claws, Dean pummelled them with power, blasting them even as they emerged. Larger ones appeared and met the same fate, dying in an explosion of ash. Overhead the lights went out, the terminal popped and sparked. The machine blinked furiously and Dean yelled again, and again. Distantly he heard a Fugly, heard it call, heard it yearn to eat him.
He clenched his fist, power flashing over his skin, prickling and wonderful. There was no god damn way it was coming through. No god damn way. Drawing in more power until the only light sources in the room was his fist, the portal and the machine behind this all, Dean yelled out again and poured all of the power he could, his fear, his anguish, his torment straight into the portal. The stream of raw power, augmented by human emotion struck the portal with an audible 'crack'! It shook the room, and the explosion that followed knocked Dean flying and rattled the whole building.
Unseen, the portal vanished, leaving behind acrid smoke and ash.
In the dark, Dean lay senseless but victorious.
The turtle covered device slowly cracked and shattered.
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Another setting sun. Another night of battle ahead. Evan sighed and twisted his shoulder trying to ease the ache which had taken up residence there. He'd managed to catch a couple hours of sleep earlier but still did not feel up to tackling another attempted invasion. There were even more lives at stake and while he had badgered his entire Company into triple checking each and every salt line and devil's trap, there was still the chance that a careless foot had broken a line of protection. Atlantis might be more protected than their homeworlds, but the refugees would die just the same if the creatures broke through.
Lorne stood out on the west pier, supported by several heavily armed squads and as the sun set, the squads on the other piers, open decks and large spaces checked in over the comms. Atlantis was ready.
Chuck told all non-combatants to leave the combat channels open. The civ. channels were locked down and emergency one and two were reserved for combat response teams. 'Sun has set. Report sightings of portals to command 1.'
Twilight settled in, colouring the sky with reds and pinks, deep indigo crawling down towards the sea. 'Portal on North Pier'
'Portal on South Pier'
'Portal on upper deck'
Lorne gripped his stunner tightly, a portal was opening out past the large devil's trap on their pier. "Dammnit. Portal on West Pier."
It was too far away to see exactly when the creatures appeared but something was moving near the mouth of the portal. Knowing their luck it was a Fugly, trying to get out first this time. "Stunners first then holy water. We have limited stock." His squads nodded grimly, most replying with affirmative. It was hard to see in the twilight, but the portal was rippling, growing and then… it exploded.
Luckily they were too far away to feel more than the ripple of disturbed space and air. The sound followed belatedly, a dull crack reminiscent of thunder when it was miles away. Confused, Lorne stepped forward, careful not to cross the devil's trap line and stared out at the space where the portal had been. If anything had come through it was gone.
"Did you all… are your portals…" Lorne stammered on the comm.
There was a hubbub of very unprofessional and non-protocol chatter for a minute before Chuck cut it all. His voice echoed the same surprise they all felt. "All portals reported have exploded. Repeat. All portals closed.'
Colonel Sheppard came on, sounding grim. "This is the Colonel. Stay at your posts. Keep watch. Maybe Winchester figured out how to turn the machine off, maybe not. Keep your fingers crossed.''
Scanning the still dark sky, which was clear of cloud for once, Lorne sighed. Maybe it was all over. Maybe.
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*trumpets* *fanfare* … oh, wait. Not yet. *mini fanfare*
Can I be sad that that is the last of the creatures and the Fuglies? Can I? Ok, I am. Dean won't miss them I know but I will. Nothing like a good monster villain to move your plot along. Motivations are easy – kill, eat, smash! I guess it is back to human or human-ish villains now. Oh well. I must say though, I am looking forward to Dean punching Andrews… at some point.
And Sam.
And Ruby.
Poor Sam.