The rush off the ship had been mostly uneventful, which was kind of surprising. Sam couldn't figure out the Trickster's game with this show. It was markedly short on the pain, humiliation, and pointed-ness of the others, although it had its moments. Like now.

Apparently Sam had gained a fan. It was novel, but unnerving. Normally, being found over a headless body while covered in blood and in close proximity to the murder weapon did not endear you to people.

Hell, it'd been weird enough when everyone had just accepted the killing and just raised eyebrows at the method, but you know- fiction. The kid though- he reminded Sam of a dog he'd briefly had. The dog had always looked hopeful whenever there was food around, as if it didn't really expect much food to fall to the ground, but wanted to be prepared just in case it did. The kid followed Sam around with a similarly hopeful expression, as if he wanted to make sure that if there were a sudden outbreak of beheading, he wouldn't miss it. Not that that was likely. The clearing was pretty much deserted except for the...earthlings. Most of the soldiers were standing point around the great stone ring. One of the scientists was pushing buttons on a mushroom plinth in front of it. The ring made clonking noises every time she did, but nothing else happened. Everyone else was standing around like they were, alert but idle.

"Hey, uh, kid-" Sam tried.

"Sal'ek." He looked disappointed that Sam didn't know. Sam felt like he'd just kicked a puppy, a puppy wearing medieval robot armor.

"Right, Sal'ek." He tried smiling, but that just encouraged him.

"How many heads have you taken?" Sal'ek asked with a little bit more enthusiasm than Sam thought healthy, considering the subject. The kid couldn't be any more than 15- and yeah, that was definitely a bloodthirsty kind of age, but usually in a theoretical, video-game kind of way. Not an actual, "hey, look, that guy just chopped someone's head off, cool!" kind of way.

It also kind of depressed Sam that he didn't know the answer to the question.

"Not...that many."

Sal'ek just nodded, as if impressed by Sam's humility. Fantastic. At this rate, Sam was going to end up with the kid impressed on him like a duckling. He was a teenager. There were several beautiful women in the clearing. It should not be this hard to convince him to go glom on to someone else. Sam sighed. He heard Dean laugh treacherously, coughing in an attempt to hide it. It gave him an idea.

"You know," Sam tried, "My brother's killed lots of things." Sal'ek turned towards Dean and gave him a thorough-once over, as if trying to decide if Sam was pulling his leg.

"Oh, sure," Dean said, not missing a beat, "but Sam here? He's kickass." Sam glared at his brother.

Sal'ek brightened up, but looked a little confused. "Kick...ass?"

Without missing a beat, Dean said, "He kicks a lot of asses. Hands out a lot of beat downs. You get it?" The boy nodded.

"He's got better things to do, Dean," Sam said. "Shouldn't you be helping everyone else?"

"No," answer Sal'ek after a full three seconds of apparently careful thought.

Dean smirked. "Don't let Sam's modesty fool you. He's always cutting off heads. In fact, one time he did it with his bare hands and some wire."

"That was just a vampire," Sam said, casually as possible. "But Dean- he's killed gods before, too. By impaling them."

Sal'ek considered this. Dean gave Sam a calculating look, upping the ante.

"It was a joint effort," Dean said dismissively. "But it was nothing compared to the time Sam here fried the rugaru that was eating me." Sal'ek looked at Sam with a new appreciation. He was beginning to look like a spectator at a tennis match. If the kid wasn't careful, he was going to end up with whiplash.

"And you killed the ghouls who were eating me." Sam fired back. He turned to the kid. "He bashed in its head with a blunt object-"

"-candlestick-"

"And it wasn't the first time, either." Let's see how Dean tops that, Sam thought.

"Yeah, but what about Paris Hilton? You cut her head off with an axe. She was a god. Sort of," Dean said to the kid, as if that settled the matter.

"Dean killed a djinn- that's like a god- while half dead from blood loss." Sam cut in. "With a knife."

The boy raised his eyebrows in a fine approximation of his idol. "And you do not use any weapon other than blades and your hands?"

Sam shrugged. "Sometimes. Shooting doesn't work for everything."

"We're...specialists," Dean added.

The kid nodded and seemed to find this an acceptable line of reasoning. He chewed his lip thoughtfully for a second, digesting the rest of it. He finally pursed his lips and said, "I have never heard of Paris Hilton. How many served her?"

Dean snorted. "I don't know about serving-"

"What he means is, she wasn't that kind of god," Sam added quickly.

"I do not understand. You do not fight the Goa'uld?"

Sam shrugged. "Today we do- I guess."

The boy opened his mouth to ask another question when the scientist at the plinth shouted. Sam turned to look. The ring made one last loud clamping noise and then a huge jet of water shot out of it before it collapsed back into the familiar horizontal puddle was back, as luminous and breathtaking as it had been the last time.

Sam felt more than saw his brother step up next to him because he was unwilling to look away.

"Holy shit," Dean breathed. Sam didn't reply.

The blood, the fighting, even the bad guys- it wasn't so different from their real lives. This, though. He wanted to treasure it. The wonder and the beauty and the marvel of this supposed gate... He could almost pretend that it was more than just some cheap CGI dreamed up by a two-bit writer. He wanted to believe that such things actually existed. And that some day, even if it were buried under a shit ton of misery and mayhem, they'd find something to equal it.

And it hurt to think that they probably never would.

The cranky officer broke the spell by stomping over. "Winchester! Are you going to gawk all day or what? It's not like you haven't seen it before." His tone wasn't sarcastic, but his manner was. And Sam caught a hint of something inquisitive in the otherwise innocent statement. He studied the man's face. It gave nothing away, but Sam was put in mind of Colombo and his last minute questions.

The question had been addressed to both of them, but Sam answered, "No sir," before Dean was tempted to say something sarcastic back.

"Alright," the colonel said, staring Sam directly in the eye, as if taking his measure. "Get a move on."

Sam looked over at the small crowd assembling in front of the giant glowing puddle. The civilians were fussing over equipment that soldiers were manhandling. They trickled through the gate in ones and twos. It swallowed them whole, leaving nothing but greedy ripples in their wake.

Sam hesitated, unsure what their role was. Judging by the look on Dean's face, he felt the same way.

When neither of them moved, the colonel continued. "Giddy-up. Depart. Hit the road. Run along. By which I mean to say, Go."

Dean opened his mouth to say something.

The colonel beat him to it. "And yes, that was an order. You may remember them from your training." Dean shut his mouth. With that, the man turned around and headed back to towards the rest of the group, barking orders along the way.

Dean watched him go, his expression puzzled.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

Dean seemed to shake himself free of some reverie. "Nothing. So. Do we go or what?"

Sam shrugged. "Bad guy dead, hostages rescued...I'm surprised we're still here. The credits should be rolling."

Dean hesitated. "Yeah. Weird," he murmured. But then he turned to the kid. "So, I guess you're coming with us?"

Sal'ek nodded. His eyes shone. "And I will join in the fight against the false gods. Perhaps I may train with your masters and learn the battle arts of the Tauri." The last was said with a pleading, hopeful note to it.

"Sure," Dean said. He actually sounded supportive of the kid. "But take your time. I mean, you can't rush these things."

"But the great struggle is now," Sal'ek argued, as if afraid he might blink and miss it.

Sam watched them from the corner of his eye, keeping his face turned towards the crowd still standing around the 'gate', arranging the transport of the equipment. Dimly, he could see Dean smile down at the teenager. It didn't reach his eyes. He shook his head. "It's not your problem."

"It must be fought! It is the duty of every Jaffa," Sal'ek insisted with all the passion of youth. Sam was sure it was meant as a protest, but it was fell closer to petulance than anything else.

"Except that it's never over. There will always be something else to fight, kid." Dean let out a breath. It wasn't quite a sigh.

The kid stared at him for a second, just blinking. It didn't make sense to him. It probably wouldn't make sense to any teenager, fictional or not. Sam would have been more concerned by the apparent failure of his plan to attach his young fan to Dean instead if he wasn't more worried about the fact that Dean was bonding with the make-believe plucky sidekick. He turned to face his brother.

"Dean-" he began, but then there was a familiar b-movie death ray noise, followed by an explosion of earth and light to his left. He immediately dropped down, as did Dean and the kid. He looked around to try and see where the shooter was. There- up on the ridge- was the old man they'd robbed and a few of his friends.

The old soldier did not look happy.

More blasts from the staffs followed suit.

"Shit," Sam cursed under his breath, "shit-shit-shit."

"Sokar take you," the old man shouted. He was still dressed in the tunic. He punctuated his words with more blasts. Luckily for them, he seemed too pissed to bother with aiming much at them personally.

The rat-a-tat-tat barking of machine gun fire boomed out over the clearing as the soldiers opened up against the attackers. It did not do much good; the old man and his few troops held the ridge.

"Fall back to the 'Gate!" called the colonel. The scientists and civilians ran straight into the portal, still lugging as much of the equipment as they could carry. The portal gave an audible 'gloop' even over the weapons fire as they did.

Sam popped up and began running across the field, Dean close on his heels. Gouts of fire from the staff were only barely avoided as they zig-zagged and dodged their way to the portal. The boy followed, seeming far more comfortable and nimble in the situation than Sam would have given him credit for. But he had been drafted after all, Sam supposed.

They reached the plinth only moments later, the other soldiers still laying down cover fire. The colonel waved them through. Dean glanced back at the old man, who shouted something and fired again. Sam saw it in slow motion as Dean twisted and dragged the boy around until he was out of the line of fire. Seconds later, one of the blasts hit Dean in the chest. He staggered and fell backward.

Goddamn it, throwing his life away is so ingrained he's now doing it for imaginary people, Sam thought, suddenly furious.

The boy stared at Dean in shock as one of the other expedition members manhandled him backwards into the gate. Sam grabbed at his brother and dragged him towards and through the portal. He thought heard Dean mutter, "Damn it, not again."

And then they were through, before Sam had time to brace himself.

It was nothing like Sam expected. He'd been unconsciously expecting something wetter. Something tactile. But it wasn't. He felt, for a moment, as if ever atom of his being was scattered across the entire universe and then slammed back together.

He staggered down a metal ramp in a large concrete room. Off to the side, the other expedition members were still fussing over the equipment as it was carried out through a big door and into a passageway. There was no sign of the kid. The far wall had a high window, from which several people watched. Below it were about two dozen soldiers, all crouched in readiness. As soon as they saw him, their guns flew up in a metallic crescendo and pinned then with their sights. Dean chose this moment to finally pass out. Sam tried to grip him more tightly, to keep him from falling to the ground, while holding out his one free hand in a defensive gesture.

A staff blast broke through the gate and narrowly missed Sam before blowing a hole into a concrete walls. He couldn't help but flinch, though had the soldiers chosen to fire, he'd have already been dead.

The colonel and the last few soldiers suddenly appeared behind him, including the pretty blonde woman Sam had seen earlier on the ship. She was holding one arm stiffly against her side. "Close the iris!" she shouted.

There was a scything sound. Sam looked up and back. A metal shutter appeared and scissored shut, blocking the portal from view.

"We need a medical team down here," the colonel said, looking at Dean.

"They're on their way," a voice said over the PA. "Colonel O'Neill, what the hell happened?"

"Ambushed as we left, sir." O'Neill winced. "To tell you the truth, General, it's just been that kind of day."

"O'Neill," said a large black man for whom Sam suspected neither the term 'African' nor 'American' applied. "I want to check on the boy." The colonel nodded, and the man strode down the ramp and followed the civilians out the door.

O'Neill watched him leave, and then seemed to notice Sam's defensive posture as well as the soldiers, whose weapons were still trained on Sam. Sam tried very hard to stay perfectly still. Dean wasn't making it easier, seemingly getting heavier with every passing second.

"Captain," O'Neill said to one of the soldiers, "Is there a reason you're not standing down?"

"Sir," said the captain, looking uneasy but still not lowering his gun, "Are they friendly?"

The colonel gave the man a scathing look. "I don't know, captain, I hardly know them." To Sam, he said, "Winchester, are you friendly? Would you lend me a cup of sugar? Play a nice game of cards?" The sarcasm was thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Um," Sam said, a little confused, "Sure? Sir," he added.

"There you have it, captain." O'Neill waved a hand, and the soldier cautiously lowered his weapon. The others soon followed suit. Sam lowered his free hand and used it to reinforce his grip on Dean, who had been slowly but steadily listing to the right. He glanced back up and caught Dr. Jackson staring at him, his face a mixture of puzzlement and deepening concern.

There was a rattle of wheels and the sound of hurried footsteps. Sam turned his head just in time to see the medical team burst into the room. In moments, he found himself bustled off the ramp as they loaded his brother onto a gurney, the doctor calling vitals as she went. "Get him to the infirmary," she said firmly, and then briskly walked over to the blonde soldier, who Sam vaguely remembered the colonel calling 'Carter'- the one Dr. Jackson had been looking for.

The doctor gently took her arm and rolled back the sleeve. The woman- Carter?- hissed.

"Sorry, Sam," the doctor said, causing Sam to do a double take. "It could be broken. You're going to need x-rays. Let's get you to the infirmary, too." She looked over at Dr. Jackson, who was still holding his side in a way all too familiar to Sam.

"Thrown into wall," he said. "I'll be fine."

The doctor raised an eyebrow in a gesture of perfect skepticism, but Dr. Jackson waved her off. "You've got your hands full. I'll stop by in a few minutes. Promise." He smiled at her. She gave him an extremely knowing look. "I'll hold you to that. Come on, Sam."

The two women walked off, albeit slowly. (Samantha?) Carter winced with every step.

"Wait, what about my brother?" Sam called, jogging after them. The noise of twenty four guns being aimed at him drew him up short. The doctor threw a sympathetic look back at him. "I'll let you know as soon as I can," she said. And then she was gone. Sam wanted to chase after her, but the two dozen guns pointed at his back severely limited his options.

He turned around slowly to face the soldiers, hands out just to be on the safe side. "Whatever I must have done to piss you guys off, I'm sorry," he tried. Their faces remained impassive.

"Jumpy much, boys?" added the colonel, who had come up behind him. "Remind me to never show up in costume."

"Sir." said the captain.

"Jack-" started Dr. Jackson, stepping closer. Sam was beginning to feel a little crowded.

"What is it, Daniel," demanded the colonel, his attention still on the soldiers.

Jackson made a face, as if he were unhappy with his options. "I don't remember him-" a roll of his head confirmed that he was referring to Sam- "at the briefing anymore."

Sam tried to parse this, and failed. He wasn't alone. O'Neill blinked. "Run that by me again? And try to make sense this time."

"I remembered it while we were off-world. I don't remember it now."

"Christ, Daniel, don't tell me this amnesia is catching."

"I'm serious, Jack."

Sam got a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Amnesia? What?" he asked. No one listened to him. He felt like he'd just tumbled into free-fall, with all the rules he'd taken for granted suddenly suspended.

"Colonel!" called a voice. It was Major Pierce, and his face was set into something cold. Before Sam could ask what the hell was going on, the man drew a snake-gun and fired.

It hurt more than blue light should. He heard Pierce saying, "He's a fake," and then Sam was falling, first to the floor, then into nothingness.

Jack looked down at the man lying unconscious on the ground.

"I didn't know you were such a fan of overkill, Major."

"Sir," Pierce protested, "We were risking a foothold situation."

Trigger-happy idiot. "Oh, really, Major? How so?"

"Sir, the memories were-" Pierce began.

Jack didn't let him finish. "Because I'm not sure how, even if he isn't SG personnel, you not recognizing him anymore would count as foothold."

"But-"

"That was what you were going to say, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but-" the major tried again. Jack continued on as if he hadn't.

"Granted, if you did recognize him and he wasn't part of your team, it'd be a problem, but then you wouldn't know that, would you?" Jack put as much bite in it as possible.

The major blinked several times. Apparently Jack had managed to lose him. Daniel wasn't any help- he was tapping out his fingers like he was trying to solve something. Jack sighed.

"There's a protocol for a reason, Pierce. Next time, do us all a favor and follow it."

"Sir, I had reason to believe-" The man began. He looked confounded by Jack's reaction. Maybe he expected a parade.

"I don't want to hear it, Pierce. Get him to one of the guest quarters. I'll inform Hammond."

"Yes, sir." Pierce did not look happy at the prospect. Jack didn't blame him. The young man looked heavy. Maybe that'd teach him to think before shooting.

Jack turned and walked off, motioning to Daniel to follow him. The sooner they could get the bottom to this, the better.