You Flew Pretty Good

by operationhades

Gabriel has the perfect idea to put the apocalypse on full stop. Really, it's absolutely brilliant. And with a click of his fingers, the idea is set to roll. And no, he won't take Dean and Sam's ungratefulness to heart – he's used to it by now. AKA that time Gabriel clicked his fingers and Dean and Sam ended up in different puddlejumpers far away in a galaxy unknown. Being shot at.

2. I Didn't Train To Be a Pilot

YOU FLEW PRETTY GOOD

AN: Oops. I may or may not have gone on vacation these last two weeks. Sorry folks. To make up for it, have a pretty big chapter. 8D

. . .

I DIDN'T TRAIN TO BE A PILOT

The last thing Doctor Elizabeth Weir expected when Jumper 1 finally docked was to have an unidentified man wearing casual clothes rarely seen in Atlantis come running out and collapse stomach first onto the floor. Then John came lagging behind, laughing his head off, clutching at his left shoulder where his uniform was stained a dark red, looking for all the world as if despite the pain laughing induced, he couldn't stop himself.

Shocked, Elizabeth stared as Jumper 8 opened up, where another man wearing equally casual clothes came striding out on mile long legs, heading straight for the collapsed man and crouching next to him when he finally reached the other, patting him somewhat solemnly on the back. Captain Robert came out afterwards from the same Jumper, looking bewildered but amused, which only confused her even more, though she was thankful none of the other Jumpers opened up to show any other new faces.

Beckett was already rushing towards Sheppard, accent strong and heavy as he took one look at the wound and started ranting his lungs out, dragging the man away towards the infirmary, which really just left Robert for her to question on who the two strange men were. With one hand movement, she had armed marines following her, hands on their weapons, so she strode towards the congregation of two unknowns and Robert, standing next to the Captain and looking down at the seated strangers. The one collapsed was white as a sheet from what she could see, hands groping at the ground underneath while his companion looked sympathetic, eyes wide and dark as they glanced up at Elizabeth. She didn't miss the way they glided over the marines behind her, taking stock of them for a moment before turning back to his friend, nor the way he still kept them in his view.

"Captain, who are these two men?" She said, cutting straight to the point.

Robert grinned apologetically at her, and pointed at the two men in turns. "Ma'am, these are Sam and Dean Singer. Brothers. They popped in on mine and Lieutenant Colonel's Jumpers from Earth. Neither have a clue why they're here."

She gave a hard look to the Captain. "What was the last thing they were doing on Earth?"

"In a hotel meeting with friends." He answered promptly.

Elizabeth nodded, happy to see Robert had interrogated them before bringing unknowns to Atlantis. She waved a hand at the collapsed man. "And him? What's wrong with him? Should I call infirmary?"

To her surprise, Robert's face transformed into a wide grin. "No ma'am. Believe it or not, but Dean really hates flying. Didn't take to well to finding himself in a spaceship."

Oh. Oh. Elizabeth winced at the information, suddenly understanding why the man named Dean looked on the verge of a panic attack. Also why his friend – brother – looked sympathetic. But-

"Then who flew Jumper 1?" The man named Dean groaned pitifully from the floor. Robert pointed at him. Elizabeth stared incredulously down at the man. "You?" She said slowly, addressing him. "You flew?"

Everything that could mean raced through her head as Robert and the other man – Sam, she thought, Sam Singer – nodded, and if the idea of someone possibly with the ATA gene having such an apparent fear of flying wasn't mind boggling, Elizabeth didn't know what was. She'd been spending too much time with Sheppard if she thought all ATA users would be obsessed with flying. Shaking her head in wonder, she perused Sam, who looked up at her as if feeling her stare. "And him?" She asked Roberts.

The Captain nodded. "Yes ma'am."

So in the end, she had a Sam and Dean Singer, brothers, on Atlantis without the slightest clue of Atlantis and the ATA gene. Elizabeth sighed, fingers on her temple, wondering when she'd ever have a 'normal' day. "Fine," she said slowly, thinking things through as she spoke, seeing Ronon enter the room out the corner of her eye. "Wheeler, Gates, take these two men to the infirmary. I want Beckett to personally make sure they don't have anything that'll spread here."

One of the brothers, Sam, unfolded his legs and stood up, and Elizabeth couldn't help but crane her neck upwards as the man just continued to stand up until he finally reached his full height. What she'd known to be a tall man turned out to really be a tall man, if she was right, Sam was maybe only an inch or so shorter then Ronon, and that was no joke. And he wasn't lanky, at all, nor was he awkward in his body. Elizabeth could see the man had full control of his limbs, broad shoulders, and had some muscles packed underneath the many layers of clothing he wore. But he still hunched in on himself, giving a fake allusion that he wasn't as gigantic as he seemed, and bent down to hook his hands underneath his brother's arms, hauling him upwards in one fluid motion.

The brother didn't seem to be too pleased to be vertigo if his swaying was anything to go by, but with a hand on Sam he seemed to stay upright. A single look showed he was an equally tall man, more broader then his brother but shorter by a few inches, and if she was right, he looked... Older? It must've been grating to watch your little sibling shoot up past you.

Sam spoke to his brother quietly, murmuring words she couldn't quite hear, but as she stepped aside to let Wheeler and Gates take them to the infirmary she saw Dean scowl murderously at them but acquiesce after a particular jab from the taller. As they ambled past her with the two marines on either side, she nodded once at the questioning look from Ronon, watching as he fell into step behind the group and followed them out.

"Captain, come with me to my office." Elizabeth said, staring after them. "I want a full report on what happened."

. . .

"Sam, we don't have time for this!" Dean hissed quietly, staring outright at everything they passed. "The Gods are going to die – which would be a load of our weight, but whatever – Gabriel is probably kicking it up in Hawaii right now, and oh, have you forgotten, Cas is still missing!"

Scowling, Sam replied with a Look. "Yeah and Adam's being used by the angels, we still don't know how to deal with Lucifer and oh, the apocalypse? Dean, I'm not stupid, but we're kinda on Atlantis right now. You know, the lost city?"

The two soldiers leading them looked at each other warily, shifting uneasily as they walked on, most likely unnerved by the snatches of their conversation they overheard. Sam paid them no heed, along with the really strange dude in dreadlocks stalking behind them like a caged tiger just waiting for them to mess up. Dean huffed at him, rolling his eyes and looking heavenwards as if they could help.

"You think I don't know? Damn city's practically humping my brain, dude."

… What?

Coming to a halting stop – damn the soldiers – Sam gaped at Dean, eyeing his brother carefully to see if anything was amiss. Other then looking a bit green around the gills from the impromptu flying lesson, Dean still looked... Dean. Maybe he banged his head somewhere and got a concussion? Maybe the guy Dean was in the ship with was high and Dean inhaled some of it? Maybe there was just something in the air here in Atlantis that didn't agree with him too much? Or maybe this actually wasn't Dean and was some sort of seriously messed up alien with freaky technology and soon the slow dancing would start and the probes and he'd be probed again and again and again and again and again and again and again until he was a jerky, shuddering, mess drinking Purple Nurples in a bar near a school campus.

That's when he felt it, a jab at the back of his mind that filled him with insulted disapproval. It reminded him of Missouri, the way she'd swat at you whenever you said (or thought) something she didn't approve off, and Sam gaped up at the ceiling in turn as it suddenly hit him like a sleight hammer just what it was he was feeling.

Dean was smirking smugly at him – jerk must have noticed Sam's sudden revelation – and jerked a finger at the wall behind him. "We just faced aliens, Sammy, don't tell me a sentient city is going to throw you off the loop."

Holy shit. A sentient city.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Sam opened his mouth and tried saying something, only succeeding in sputtering out things that made no sense. Dean shared a look with one of the uniformed soldiers, shrugging his shoulders as if to say 'what can you do' and grinning. Now he understood why the soldiers seemed off, they weren't wary or suspicious about their conversation, but confused as the doors opened up before any of them even reached it, lights turning on as they walked by – it was just like how things had been in the Jumper, the way everything had lit up and started flashing brightly as if it was really happy to see him until Robert had screamed at him to think off, whatever that meant. Did that mean it had to do with this gene they'd mentioned? Why did Dean and he have this gene? Maybe it was part of whatever crazy Gabriel had planned and thrown them in now.

Maybe this was a TV show, just like that time he'd trapped them in TV land and kept them in their all the way till Castiel had busted them out – only for it to end with the trickster Loki turning out to be the Archangel Gabriel.

"Uuh... Okay." Sam finally said dumbly, indicating for Wheeler and Gates to lead the way. Dean bumped into his shoulder as they started walking again and the contact helped to ground him somewhat back into the reality they were in. Sam could deal with it, at least the city seemed to like him (not enough to be humping his brain as Dean so crudely put it, but whatever), and being the holder of some strange gene that let him use alien technology (at least, he hoped it was, the thought of humans controlling this crap was frightening) wasn't as crazy as being the host of the devil himself. At least Dean had it too. Sam would've just felt cursed if he was alone on this.

As it was, Dean looked like he was doing a lot better then before, he was even humming something that sounded like Led Zeppelin as they finally entered what was obviously the infirmary. A doctor was bustling around, attending to the guy Sam recognised to be the one Dean had been with inside their Jumper, putting the final touches on the bandages completely encompassing his left shoulder. For a lieutenant colonel, the guy was pretty young, probably in his late thirties nearing forties more then anything else. His face brightened up at the sight of them, which was really weird to Sam, but it turned out the guy was just happy to see the man with dreadlocks rather then them. Which just made him feel a whole lot of relief, because otherwise things would have been really, really, awkward.

Things around the infirmary started lighting up, Atlantis humming at the back of his conscience, and seriously, how messed up was that? The doctor immediately rounded on them, probably saw Sam's bewildered expression and Dean's far too gleeful look, and jabbed the latter brother in the chest with a pen.

"Think off, damn you."

And yeah, Sam would be the first to admit he found it hilarious how a man way shorter then either of them intimidated Dean to do just that.

"Good. My name is Dr. Carson Beckett, gentlemen, and I've been told I'm to personally make sure you're both in perfect conditions and not carrying about any infections that could kill us all." The doctor said, introducing himself with something Sam recognised as a easily identifiable Scottish accent. Huh, everyone Sam had seen so far pretty much spoke an American accent, so the thought that this space thing might be an American based operation had flitted through his mind – could still be actually, but it was nice to see some variety around anyway.

"Come on, let's see what your health is like."

The next few minutes was filled with thousands upon thousands of inane questions – on things they ate, the last time they were sick, general health, fitness, ability to do exercise, and other such things – to the point Sam almost zoned out. Of course they skirted over the serious stuff, Sam claimed to have been a really troubled youth to explain away all the scars and breaks on his body, and Dean commiserated it with stories of all the clumsy, idiotic, stupid things Sam did, much to his annoyance. He never did quite get to zone out though, because the lieutenant colonel speaking up after they all fell into a lull of silence grabbed his attention, but the words were directed at Dean rather then him.

"So, Dean Singer, right?" The man said, giving a somewhat lopsided grin at them.

Dean nodded without pause, far too used to being called on a name that wasn't really his own. Singer was the first surname Sam had thought off after realising they couldn't use Winchester – hell, they could never use Winchester now, not after St. Louis and Henrickson and everything that'd happen, especially since they were written off as dead in the FBI cases – but Sam didn't mind it too much, Bobby was too much of a father to them to mind.

"Since you'll be sticking around till at least the next gate call, how about hanging out with us over at the Jumpers?"

Sam snorted as Dean stared blankly at the colonel. The older Winchester didn't look impressed at the offer.

"I don't do well with flying." Dean answered back bluntly.

The higher rank – Sam dimly remembered the doctor calling him Sheppard – grinned at that, seeming to find some amusement in it. "I know, kid. Hard not too with you freaking out on me the moment you realised you were on a ship."

Looking disgusted, almost wounded as if betrayed by that, Dean said, "Says the guy bleeding out and making Batman jokes with a goddamn British accent. Seriously dude, Blue Peter Badge? The hell is that?"

Sam turned to look at Dean, seeking confirmation, and Dean nodded at him with raised eyebrows ("dude, I'm not joking. Seriously, he was completely speaking British, like a freaking butler.") which made Sam raise an eyebrow at Sheppard, who looked sheepish and was ignoring the looks coming from the man with the dreadlocks and the doctor.

Dr. Beckett paused as he wrote down something else on his clipboard, eyes on Sheppard with surprised suspicion. "I didn't take you to watch British children's shows, Sheppard..." The doctor said slowly, looking like he didn't quite know what to think of it. "Though... The Blue Peter show was very entertaining."

The man confirmed to be Sheppard coughed awkwardly. "That's besides the point." He said hurriedly, completely pushing it aside and turning his attention back to Dean. "Look, the best way to deal with your fear is to face it. You've already piloted a Jumper anyway, how much worse could it get?"

The scowl Dean gave him spoke enough. "Next time, whoever was shooting at you will actually aim properly. And I'm not exactly brimming to die yet."

Truthfully, Sam had to concede to that – he'd seen how the enemy had been shooting, almost every shot had gone wide – and neither of them really were brimming to die so soon, even with knowing Heaven actually existed, all because Heaven was being manned by apocalyptic-driven angels with huge attitude problems. Speaking of which, while Sam would love to know where the hell they were and preferably who the people shooting had been (along with how all these guys had gotten here and what they were doing here), there was still the pressing matter of Earth being on the verge of biblical damnation. That, and Gabriel and the fact he'd brought them here. Sure, he'd said he was helping them now, but Sam wasn't so inclined to believe him so easily since the angel had a questionable definition of help. They needed to get back to Earth, find a way to put down the devil, save Adam and preferably find Castiel too.

First thing first: get back to Earth.

A shrill of disapproval trilled through his conscience, the door of the infirmary closed shut with a foreboding hiss. Sam stared at it, ignoring Sheppard trying to cajole Dean back into a Jumper, ignorant to the way the doctor and the man with dreadlocks were watching the younger Winchester carefully. Feeling rather stupid, he tried to mentally tell the city why it was so important to get back to Earth. Atlantis sent back a smug feeling that just somehow got across the message 'exactly, this is why you shouldn't go back' and Sam belatedly realised she was referring to the fact him and Dean ultimately losing was a most probable outcome. And if they were talking about safety, then yeah, staying the hell away from the danger zone would be a good move. And the final battle couldn't really happen if the two top dogs didn't have their vessels – sure, Michael had taken Adam, Sam couldn't understand how that worked, but Lucifer for a fact had no one else to turn to but Sam.

So maybe staying away really was the right idea? No matter how bad at helping Gabriel was, he usually had the right logic behind it, just a completely unnecessary method to his madness that did little to get his point across, and the angel must have probably thought along the same lines Sam was thinking now if he brought them here. Did that mean there'd be no night-time visits from Lucifer? Logically, there shouldn't be any demons around here, since they were by products of humans going to Hell and coming out as demons; keyword being humans. Is that why Gabriel had brought them here? Angels couldn't find them thanks to the runes Castiel had (painfully) carved on their ribs, demons couldn't find them because they weren't on Earth any more, meaning Lucifer had no way of getting to him, nobody had any way of getting rid of Dean, and that meant... That meant... That the apocalypse was on relative standby?

Too many possibilities came of that thought, too many ways for things to go wrong, avenues that needed to be fully explored before being discarded – Sam needed to speak to Dean about it, hash it out with him like they did on every Hunt, eliminating whatever couldn't be right until they finally came to the right monster. But now he wasn't as eager to return to Earth as soon as possible, not when doing so could destroy whatever good plan Gabriel might have actually had, not until he knew for certain it would be the right thing to do.

Bolstered by actually having a game plan (also known as figuring why they were here first, why Gabriel had thought it'd be such a great idea to drop them here, before anything else), Sam tried sending mental reassurances to the city that he'd stay, grinning to himself in pleasure when happiness flowed back to him and the previously locked door opened up smoothly.

Dimly, he wondered if there was a library around here.

. . .

She'd debriefed Robert. She'd debriefed Sheppard. And General O'Neill was waiting on her computer screen for the emergency communication he'd initiated. She hadn't expected the last, the first two she'd had a rough idea of what would happen, and now she knew everything that had taken place in the Jumpers. She had theories, ideas of how the two men had suddenly appeared in the Pegasus Galaxy on their ships, but she knew from experience any news coming from General O'Neill would only make things difficult for her.

"Oh come on, Doctor," O'Neill drawled at her. "Why the long face? Aren't you happy to see me?"

Lips thinning out into a grimace, Elizabeth's fingers tapped restlessly at her armchair. "Every time I see you, General O'Neill, you always bring me bad news."

The older man waved her off, seeming unscathed by her words. "Nah, this time I bring you interesting news. Exciting news. Different but not wholly bad but could be bad and I'm not really sure what's going on but that's the usual par for things around here. That kinda news. Although, you know, it could be about the whole Mother Nature apparently wanting America dead, or something."

Sighing, Elizabeth leaned forward, resigning herself to adding another problem to her ever growing list. "Alright, General. Tell me this news."

"Well." O'Neill popped out, playing with the pen in his hand. "There was this freak explosion in Maryland a while back. Some seriously creepy crap that has Bible thumpers screaming 'the day is nigh!' and global warming dudes saying 'see? We told you!', but– "

"–General, besides that."

The hurt look she got in reply lasted only for a second. "I've been told you have two new strangers among you. Unknowns, without a single clue about the Atlantis project or even the Stargate Program. Right?"

How on earth had he found that out? Alarmed, but much more focused, Elizabeth sat straighter in her chair and eyed Jack carefully. "Right." She confirmed, knowing O'Neill would carry on.

Just as he expected, he did. "And these two would be a..." The sound of papers ruffling filtered through the connection, but whatever he was looking at was off screen. "A Dean and Sam? Brothers, apparently."

"That's right... O'Neill, how—"

"Oh don't worry!" He interrupted her, a bright grin on his face. "Imagine my surprise when I'm just sleeping, right? And all of a sudden I'm in a room with an Asgard I thought was dead. We chat, me and Thor, and he tells me two guys will be dropping in on Atlantis soon, to" his voice dropped low in an obvious imitation "Use them wisely," then returned to normal, "or some crap like that." A shrug, his pen went sideways as he rolled it in between his thumb and index finger, swaying left and right, left and right, left and right. "Told me their names and that they'd know nothing. Told me they were relatively harmless, and then – get this – he said 'as I've been assured'."

Elizabeth frowned, questions already forming in her head as the latest development came to light. "What does that mean...?" She asked slowly. "Who assured him of this?"

O'Neill huffed at her, sweeping a hand outwards as if to say 'see? That's what I thought too!'. "That's what I asked," he said, chewing at the end of the pen he'd been playing with. "And he goes 'Loki' - and I'm like, didn't you guys lock him up after making mini-me? And Thor goes 'yes, but then he broke free and went to Earth and found us all a method of surviving without committing suicide', well... Not exactly like that, but you get the gist. And I was like, what do you mean you found a way to live? And on Earth? What the hell is a crazy mad scientist like Loki doing on Earth? And Thor – seriously, doc, get this – Thor goes 'He is being Loki.' Like how cryptic is that, right?"

Elizabeth blinked, seeing O'Neill wait for her to answer his question. "Um, yes. Right."

"Exactly!" The General said, throwing his hands up in the air. "And before he can answer my question, he disappears, and I wake up, and – thinking it was all just a really weird dream induced by copious amounts of paperwork – I figured I'd call you, pretend like I knew for a fact these strangers had popped up out of nowhere. You've just confirmed it. Thanks."

That was just confusing, too much for Elizabeth to work through. Things had seemed so simple when it was just the case of two strangers appearing in her galaxy – then she could blame it on them maybe touching an ancient artefact back on Earth, activating it with the abundance of ATA gene they apparently had, and beaming themselves out here. But this... Asgards? They'd blown up their own home world to keep their technology safe after giving it to the humans on the battle cruiser Odyssey. She knew this, she'd been there to see it – or at least, she'd been around to know it. Did this mean they were all alive? On Earth? After Loki found them all 'a method of surviving without committing suicide'? And what sort of method was that? Why hadn't they informed O'Neill at the very least of surviving?

And how did the two new strangers fit into all this?

"I see..." Elizabeth finally said, for lack of anything else to say. "Then what do you propose, General O'Neill? You must have come up with contingency plans in the off chance case your... experience was legit."

O'Neill shrugged at her, seemingly unbothered by the situation. "Treat them like two guys that got their grubby little hands on an Ancient artefact and subsequently found themselves in Atlantis. Make them sign the non-disclosure forms, as well as the ones that say it ain't our problem if they die. So not our fault they beamed themselves into an galactic hot spot."

"And... That's it? Pack them off to Earth as soon as possible? General, I don't think you realise the sheer magnitude of this." She pointed out, not quite arguing yet but close. "They're civilians – civilians that will see, at the very least, the Stargate and realise numerous governments of different countries have been keeping everything a secret. Not only is it impossible to make sure they don't tell anyone, but what about what Thor said? To use them wisely?"

A frown was shot back at her, showing O'Neill didn't appreciate her making things more complicated for him. He always did like things to be as simple as point and shoot, said it kept him calm. "Fine then, use them. Find out what good they are and appoint them into whatever group you have. If nothing else you can make grunts out of them. Or Wraith fodder. Just make sure they sign those damn forms, last thing I need is more paperwork."

Far too pleased at the prospect of having two more hands to try and lessen the burden on her people, Elizabeth nodded in confirmation. "Of course. Do send my regards to everyone, General."

"Yeah yeah," O'Neill waved her off. "I want a report on the two guys after you've grilled them. And a picture. Make that crazy doctor of yours interview them, oh and tape it! That'd be fun."

Secretly amused at Rodney interviewing anyone, Elizabeth obligingly nodded with no intention of carrying out that particular 'order'. "We'll see."

They traded a few more pleasantries for as long as O'Neill could get away with it before someone forced him to turn back to his paperwork. Elizabeth signed off, sighing to herself deeply at the turn this day had taken, but bolstered at having a game plan and apparently two more pair of hands on deck to help around the place. She needed to make sure the two were completely up to date though, give them a chance to back out if they wanted nothing to do with this (she wouldn't blame them, the Wraith weren't exactly something to look forward too), make sure they really did sign those papers either way. She had to find out if they had anything to bring to the plate, anything she could exploit and make things easier in their placement in Atlantis. They already had the ATA gene, so the gene therapy was in order to make sure they didn't destroy half of the equipment in the city by just being close to it – and one of them had already piloted a Jumper, right? Good, they could always use more pilots with the gene on their side.

Mind whirling as she carefully thought through it all, Elizabeth pushed herself out of her chair. She'd deal with the two new men, let Beckett, Sheppard and Ronon get a read on them first, see them for herself – but until then, she had a city to command, people to supervise, orders to give.

She'd give Sheppard and co. a few hours before dealing with it herself.

. . .

Sheppard thought the shorter of the two was in charge. Apparently, he was the older brother, acted like it too, speaking for the two of them easily without checking in with the younger one first. Sam – the younger one, apparently, despite being huge – sometimes showed displeasure at it, but, just to further cement Sheppard's suspicions, never called out his older brother on it.

He could tell Carson thought differently. The Scottish man at first looked like he agreed with Sheppard, deferring more to Dean and putting a large amount of his attention into gleaning information from him. But somewhere along the line, probably around where all the scars and wounds on the younger brother showed up and the two explained a more then plausible excuse if Sheppard wasn't military and Ronon wasn't just damn scary, Carson started looking confused. He hid it well, really well, but the people on Atlantis had been around each other long enough to pick up on small things, and Carson was paying more attention to both brothers now, asking them equal question, turning his full attention on whichever was talking.

Sheppard didn't blame him. For brothers, the two guys acted more like life-long best friends then anything else. In John's experience, siblings usually hated each other and would right now be gripping about how it was most definitely the other's fault, or something like that. But these guys seemed almost... Calm? Dean looked downright amused, like he was finding this all a huge joke, face much more healthy then the chalky pale it'd been after they'd landed. Sam was more the prodigal son, painstakingly polite, honestly interested about everything Carson had to say (included all the medical babble that must have flown over all of their heads), but sharp and shrewd enough to carefully read through the non-disclosure papers and everything else all newcomers were forced to do. Usually before they came anywhere near a Stargate.

And that's where the admittedly confusing part came. Ronon was part of this, of course.

When Beckett had first brought out the papers, he'd faltered for a second on which of the brothers to give it too – Sheppard was sure here that Dean would take it without a second thought, instinctively taking the role of leader. But Dean hadn't. As if there wasn't even any question about it, Sam had stretched his long arms and taken the papers with a smile – neither brothers even looking at each other – and while he read through them carefully, Dean had continued on the conversation with Beckett without a single glance at his little brother. Sam had gestured for a pen after a long moment of silence on his part, and Carson had looked at Dean first then given the pen to Sam.

"You do not wish to read the papers?" Ronon asked, eyes boring into Dean.

The older Singer boy (and with that grin and green twinkling eyes, Sheppard couldn't really think of him as anything but) just flashed his teeth and seemed to find it funny. "Naah," he said indifferently. "Sammy here's good with all the legal crap. Should be too, what with wanting to be a big, bad, lawyer."

That was possibly the most information they'd gotten throughout this whole thing. Sheppard didn't really believe anything else – especially the nature of Sam's body. Carson perked up at the information though, and Sheppard just knew he'd gotten an idea on how to glean off more information. "Yeah?" The doctor asked. "What university did you go too, Sam?"

Looking rather uncomfortable, Sam clicked the pen so the ballpoint was hidden. "Uh, I went to Stanford. Only did pre-law, though."

Mentally cheering, Sheppard outwardly whistled in awe. They could search for a Sam Singer at the university and see from there just who these two guys really were. Preferably with an image too, just in case Sam really did go to Stanford but under a different name, his real name. "You must be a mini genius to get into Stanford." He answered instead, turning to Ronon. "It's like, one of the highest, most difficult to enter University's in the whole of America."

Dean nodded his head, looking proud like it was his kid they were talking about. "Sammy here got a full scholarship. Was going to get another full scholarship to law school too before he decided to ditch."

"Dean," Sam immediately responded, face twisting into anger. "I didn't ditch. It just wasn't for me, man. I've told you a thousand times, sooner or later I would've decided that anyway. Just so happened to be sooner." It looked like he wanted to say more, but at the end bit his tongue and held it, and Sheppard got the distinct feeling it was an argument the two had more then once.

Understandable. Sheppard would've been pissed if his own little brother had passed that up. He'd have killed Dave.

"And what about you, Dean?" Carson said, smoothly interjecting himself into the conversation again, all polite smiles and innocent face that didn't hold an ounce of manipulation. Seemed like the Scotsman was spending too much time with Rodney, lately. "What did you study?"

Dean snorted. Sam looked even more displeased by the question, shooting a look at his brother. Said brother merely waved his hand in the air, batting away the question. "Never been good with studying. I'm all about my hands. Give me a broken car or a single lady over a classroom any day."

"You are... Good with broken things?" Ronon asked again, honestly sounding curious. When Dean simply nodded, Ronon seemed pleased. "Then you can help with the Jumpers. Rather then fly them, you can help in fixing them." Looking over to Sheppard, he added. "We need more engineers then pilots."

Carson seemed to agree, then shared a very, very, sneaky glance with the Runner. "And I believe as well as that, both of you may find a position as friends among the marines."

The younger Singer adopted a pleasantry surprised and innocently confused expression – almost rivalled with Carson's own. The older scrunched his eyebrows together and frowned in confusion at the doctor. Both were very, very, good with their expressions, Sheppard would give them that. But the hard angled, well defined body underneath both of their clothes was a dead give away, along with how they walked, held themselves (even if Sam was a bit confusing with the way the large man hunched in on himself and could look like a kicked puppy) and the easy camaraderie they had when answering all of Carson's questions, like they'd done it thousands of times, like they'd had reasons to be asked such questions thousands of times.

The marine angle was just a shot in the dark, though. A shot that turned out to be bullseye.

"Come on, boys." Sheppard grinned, cocking an eyebrow at how Dean scowled at the term. "It's a dead give away. So where did you guys serve?"

And then, the confusing dynamic between the two played up. Sam shifted in his seat, Dean just scowled harder at being called a boy, Sam sighed and his shoulders drooped, and Dean turned an incredulous face to his brother, like if they'd been having a conversation throughout the whole thing and Sam had just said something completely stupid. But Sam completely ignored him (and that just showed Dean wasn't completely the head honcho) and gave a rueful grin to the audience watching them.

"We never served." He answered, dimples flashing in his cheeks. "But our dad did, in Vietnam, and he kinda figured he wasn't going to raise wimps for sons and taught us everything he knew." And sheesh, that would completely explain just how much muscle the huge guy was packing.

"Much good that did," Dean groused in return, falling into the story with far too much expert ease. "You used every physical thing he taught you and completely disregarded the lectures and rules and everything he freakin' said."

Sam didn't seem to pleased at that, and shot a death glare at his brother, shrugging at Sheppard and co. "You're right though. If you think Dean being with the engineers and me with the marines is for the best, then yeah, sure. You're the boss."

Older brother genuinely didn't look pleased at that. "I don't know a thing about planes, I hate planes, why would I go anywhere near them? I want to be a marine. Let me be a marine." Sam rolled his eyes, and Dean seemed to take great offence to that. "What, don't think I can be a good marine? Man, I'd be an awesome one, I'd like... Shoot up the ranks so quick it'd make you dizzy, lawyer boy."

Another eye roll. "No offence, Dean. But you following orders? Have you forgotten just how horrible you are with any type of authority? You, like, break out in hives or something whenever you even see one. Only authority you could follow was dad's- No man, I don't mean it like that, it's just true though. Remember when Bobby suggested maybe not finding Cas? You didn't listen, just drove off and forced him to come with you just so you wouldn't get your ass killed. And man, let's not even talk about whenever I say something."

"What?" Came the indignant reply. "I always listen to you! I just don't always agree with what you say. I take your suggestion into account, think about it carefully, then at the end decide whether it's good or not. And I so do listen to Bobby. Turned out Cas wasn't going to kill me, didn't it? I did the same thing, thought it out, then came to a decision. Jesus, you know what? Forget it. One minute I'm the perfect little soldier and the next I'm a freakin' rebel."

The last sentence didn't make much sense when the whole conversation was taken into account, but Sheppard was completely interested in the way Sam reacted to it with an almost wince. But neither showed any sign of the argument being anything more then what it sounded, nor did they let things fall into an awkward lull. Dean especially seemed keen to return to the whole point of the conversation.

"So we've signed the papers," he said, not even bothering to hide his topic change. "And we know we're on Atlantis, in space, where humans are fighting some other existence in spaceships and Atlantis is like... Alive. You guys want to put us in a group, right? We'll both go with the marines. Give a pretty face to all that muscle."

Snorting at the thought, Sheppard couldn't help but want to see Lorne's reaction to having these two under his jurisdiction. Before that though, he'd have to speak with Weir who'd no doubt be waiting on his report about the two men – that, and to debrief him too. "Sure, I'll speak to the commander." He replied amiably, not completely confirming it but not rejecting it too. "So they good to go, Carson?"

"Aye." The doctor said, ticking off a few more things on his clipboard. "Perfect condition. Go introduce them to the commander."

Permission granted, he hopped off his seat, careful not to jostle his shoulder too much, and waved at the Singer's to follow him. "Come on, boys. I'll tell you the whole story while we walk."

. . .

Elizabeth wasn't as hospitable to the idea as the rest were. "No."

Sheppard opened his mouth to speak, but was shot down by a glare.

"No." The civilian head of Atlantis said. "We have more puddlejumpers then pilots, we need more men to be able to fly them." A finger jabbed in Dean's direction. "And you, for one, can fly them."

The shorter Singer folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not a pilot, I can't fly for shit. I'll kill myself and make you lose one of those hunk of metals." Strangely enough, his words sounded more like an oath rather then an excuse – Sheppard wondered whether his hatred for flying was bad enough to choose death over. The solemn way the taller Singer nodded in agreement said it was.

But Elizabeth didn't seemed bothered by it at all. "You will learn. Ronon, please make sure he does. As for you, Sam, Sheppard will be an adequate teacher. Considering the both of you are staying, you'll be expected to earn your keep in anyway I deem fit. With that said, both of you will take an efficiency test and any further duties will be applied from there." She picked up a pad, ignoring the eye Dean was giving Ronon, and tapped at her screen a bit before seeming satisfied. Turning the device over for them to see, she pointed at two highlighted rooms in separate wings, tapping at them with a pen to show them the separate wings. "These are your quarters, here and here."

"Oh hell no."

Taken by surprise, Elizabeth blinked, echoing the last word. "No...?" She was used to Sheppard or Rodney challenging her authority, what with both of them usually having a good enough excuse to do so, but two random strangers that had only just been told the full situation they were in? She'd been doing them a favour when she put them in separate wings – usually, brothers would give anything to be completely away from each other. At least, that's what she thought.

"Just give us one room, two beds, and we're good to go, sweetheart." The one that'd spoken said, drawling the words at her.

Even more shocked by the attitude, her eyebrows went sky high as she turned to look at an equally surprised Sheppard and Ronon, just to see if what she was hearing was real. The younger of the brothers – Sam – grew red with embarrassment, did something Elizabeth must have missed because only a second later Dean yelped in pain and glared up at his brother.

"I'm sorry, ma'am." The taller man said, ignoring Dean. "It's just, we're so used to always being in view of each other that being in different rooms in an unfamiliar place in space would just... Mess it all up."

What were they, twins? Now Elizabeth really wanted to get rid of them and debrief Sheppard, Ronon and Beckett on the two. They wanted the same room? It wouldn't cause her much trouble, would even be better in the off chance case the rest of the rooms were needed, but there was more here to it then simple just what would be easier to comply with. The two needed to know she was in charge, that while they were under her jurisdiction, they had to follow her orders to the letter, and she needed to know that they could do so, that they wouldn't endanger her people by deciding to question or outright refuse her when it was essential to obey. But the older brother looked resolute, jaw locked, staring her down with the same expression she saw on people that were going to do it their way whether you wanted them to or not, and the younger brother looked apologetic, earnest, but dead set on it too.

Elizabeth wasn't stupid. She knew what made a leader was to take into account the demands and doubts of her people and work it into what was beneficial for all.

Bringing the pad back to her view, she typed at it, bringing the two rooms decidedly closer on a different wing. Turning it back around, she pointed at the new locations. "Unfortunately, we have a policy of one room to one person. These two rooms are adjacent, so feel free to use them however you wish."

Sam relaxed immediately, smiling in gratitude to the point dimples became visible in his cheeks. For a minute, she was surprised at how much younger he looked, the lines she'd noticed when he'd first entered and listened to everything she and Sheppard told them smoothing out until they looked like they never existed. But the older brother, Dean, continued to eye her seriously, green eyes sharp and clear, studying her. He must have found whatever he was searching for, because he gave a decided nod and tilted his head in thanks while Sam verbalised it.

Wondering if she'd made the right choice, Elizabeth nodded in acknowledgement, then leaned back in her chair. "If that is all, Sheppard and Ronon will show you to your rooms. Feel free to get to know the layout of Atlantis, especially the location of the mess hall which is open twenty four seven. Tomorrow, you'll take your efficiency test to see where you're both would be of most use. Until then, make yourselves comfortable." With a last look to see if they'd processed her words, she she turned her attention back to her work. "Dismissed."

. . .

"Whatever, Sam. I'm sure it'll be a few questions, a poke here 'n a poke there, nothing else." Dean said, taking another bite out of his sandwich. "Oh god, dude, this egg 'n Mayo sandwich is heavenly."

His little brother ignored him, moving onwards with a purposeful gait that really pissed Dean off. The long strides the six foot four was taking would've been impossible for anybody of average height to follow, but for Dean it was just annoying, and totally not cool when he was trying to appreciate good food. But Sam had this all 'I'm on a mission' look about him, all geared up and ready to pass the damn placement test with flying aces – something about "being of any help possible because we can't be a burden to these good people, Dean" - and get well on his way to being a productive member of the team.

Dean wanted to gag a little.

Behind the two 'Singers', the coloured man in dreadlocks was stalking them, following their movement with the sort of grace Castiel did, all fluid but deadly like a large cat. He figured the guy wouldn't appreciate being compared to a cat, he seemed more of a wolf person. But more then that, the guy was trained, that much was way too easy to see, and more then that, the guy was armed. Hell, it was the only reason why Dean wasn't needling Sam to get them to lose this guys tail – because that gun? Dear God Not In Heaven (Sam and Cas would glare at him for that), that gun was so freaking awesome it should be in video games only. He didn't have a clue how it actually worked – that's how cool it was – but he was damn sure it would be a helluva lot more effective against anything he wanted to shoot then his own guns were. So if he was surreptitiously trying to look back and ogle it, sue him. Sam was just too much of a girl to appreciate the finer machinery in life. Damn kid douched up his Impala. With an iPod dock. His Impala.

Dreadlocks interrupted his train of thought (and good thing too, he was just starting to feel pissed at Sam all over again for what he did to his baby) made a gesture for them to turn left. Without even pausing in his seriously too long steps, Sam veered off without even blinking, Dean lagging behind by a step or two, trailing along besides them with Dreadlocks dude at his back. As they did, the Colonel guy with the injured shoulder came up besides them, just as Dean chomped off another bite of his totally awesome sandwich, making a noise of pleasure at the taste that had the Colonel do a double take at him. Guy was probably jealous he didn't have a sandwich.

The hallway they turned into was one of the larger ones then the ones usually found in Atlantis. The long stretch ahead of them was already filled with a bit too many people to make it look innocent, all milling around expectantly as a tanned woman herded them to line the sides as to make space. Right in the middle was a strew of objects, something Dean really hoped wasn't true because he'd have to shoot whoever came up with it. When the three of them finally came up to it, the obstacle course looked just like an obstacle course – just like all the other damn obstacle courses John forced them into for training.

"This is stupid." Was the first thing he said, staring at the course with disgust. "What are we, five?"

The woman stayed neutrally blank, and damn if she wasn't good looking, but the damn obstacle course had killed any joy he'd have felt flirting with her. Plus... She had the same thing going for her like Dreadlocks – and the last thing Dean wanted was to get blasted by that cool gun for hitting on the guy's woman. To his right, Sam took one look at the course and promptly folded in half, touching his toes with his fingers and stretching. Dean stared at his brother, shock rendering him speechless as Sam continued to fold himself left and right, working out kinks and stretching muscles. It looked so douche-y, so... So... He couldn't even think of a good enough word! And even worse, the kid was doing it for this? They could do this in their sleep! They had done this in their sleep – John liked to change things up and spring the course on them at the most unlikeliest of times, particularly favouring 3 AM, in the middle of winter, in some overgrown forest, far away from civilization. With nothing but a water bottle to share between them and the orders to be finished in five hours.

"Oh come on, Dean." The traitor was saying, pulling an arm sideways till a crack almost made Dean flinch. "I know you've been having problems with your knees, lately. It's cool if you don't wanna do it. You're not exactly getting younger."

Horrified at the idea, Dean slowly turned to face his brother, staring down as Sam bent again to do God knew what (although, God probably didn't know – hah! Where are you now, Cas?). So what if he felt a slight twinge in his knees every now and then? Man comes back from Hell and he's expected to be crawling around without repercussions? Dude, that was totally not cool, you know? "You're forgetting I can always beat you, Samantha." He groused, feeling a small drop of satisfaction at the surprised snort it got from a few people.

Sam gave him a Bitch Face, but it went away too quick to be anything but suspicious. "Sure, Dean. 'Course you can. But it's totally alright to just sit this one out, man. I'm sure the next tests will be less... Active."

"The hell?" Dean replied indignantly, looking back at the obstacle course with disbelief. "This? You call this," a sweep of his hand to encompass the course. "Active? Dude, what the hell? I could take you on in this shitty test and beat your ass. Like I always do."

An evil twist of lips trying to pass off as a grin answered him, and Dean did not give Sam the satisfaction of showing how pissed he was at his little brother's manipulation. "Dude, not cool. I'm going to wipe the floor with your ass." He groused. "Now stop with the pansy ass stretching. What the hell's up with that anyway? You been watching the early morning Yoga show or something?"

Another Bitch Face – equally too short to be of any effect, probably because the damn girl was happy at getting his way. Grumbling under his breath, Dean took a few steps forward to stand in line with Sam right at the start of the obstacle race, the tanned woman standing at their side with a stop watch and Sheppard next to her holding on to the clipboard she'd thrust at him.

"As soon as I say go, you both must go through the obstacle race, run to the end and tag the two people waiting for you, and come back by the same route as you took to the same position you are in now." The woman said, speaking clearly and a bit too loudly to be just for them. Obviously, Dean and Sam had an audience to entertain. "Whoever reaches back to this point wins–" A cough. "–Shall move on to the next test and be followed by the other." Oh yeah, Dean thought distractedly, definitely an audience. When the woman was certain everybody understood and nobody was going to object, she gave a decisive nod, and simply said "Go."

Dean shot forward, Sam right next to him, dimly hearing Sheppard lecturing the woman for doing it wrong. Sam's long legs ate up the small space towards the first part of the obstacle, pulling in front of him like he always did ever since hitting his last growth spurt, but Dean didn't let it bother him, because he'd been expecting it anyway. The first obstacles came upon them soon enough, hurdles, and Dean watched pleased as Sam realised with a start the spaces between the hurdles was too small for him to actually get his footing after jumping. While the Sasquatch had to slow down just a bit so to figure out a way to clear them, Dean ran straight ahead, jumping over the first, the second, the third, jumping over all of them with relative ease born from a lifetime of clearing high fences with Feds on their ass. But he didn't slow down a bit, dropping to the floor and crawling underneath a net held up by four wooden poles. Sam was only a few seconds behind him, eating up the space as quickly as the drag race at the start, but Dean had the advantage of more space to move in and use his elbows to pull himself forwards while Sam was squeezed up due to his large frame. As soon as Dean saw the opening, he used his hands to push himself forwards, clearing the top half of his body, then practically lunged outwards in a pounce and rolled until he was standing, running straight out immediately. Sam's footsteps were right besides him, and damn if the little girl wasn't trying hard to beat him – this was serious, Sam was trying to win, probably so he could force Dean to help find him a library or something, the geek – but Dean wasn't exactly going to let him, for pride and braggers right.

Two long benches were in front of them, with enough space between them so if one of them fell, they wouldn't hit their head on the other. He absolutely hated benches, or any thin surface he'd have to balance on, they reminded him too much of cute chicks on Olympic teams or something doing fancy twirls and suicidal moves on the thing. But he dutifully hopped onto it, cursing as the bench surprised him by wobbling wildly, threatening to give out. Sam had already jumped off it by the time he followed suit, and the only thing left was to tag the two people with their hands out, waiting for them at the end of the stretch of hallway. The first of them to reach the two guys and slap a hand was Sam, and Dean felt murderous when his little brother turned around to go back at the obstacle course with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. Slapping the offered hand a bit too hard, Dean spun around and ran after Sam's girly hair, jumping on top of the bench again and just jumping right off it without finesse, pumping his legs harder until he reached the net close to the ground and dropped down until he could crawl. He came out of it with a gasp, arms beginning to burn slightly as both brothers really got serious, Sam's arms going around wildly as he tried taking the hurdles two at a time, knowing Dean would catch up on them.

Cleared of the hurdles, the last stretch of hallway was the only remaining task. They were neck to neck by now, Sam starting to pull away from him thanks to his long leg, but just as the finish line came into view, Dean blatantly stuck a foot in between his brothers feet, not even stopping as Sam tripped over it and stumbled in shock, crashing to the floor in an awkward sprawl. Dean passed the finish line laughing, dropping to the floor himself as he tried getting air in, too busy gasping in mirth as Sam untangled himself from the floor. His little brother paced in anger towards him, bristling in rage as Dean calmed down. Amused as hell, Dean grinned up at him.

"Aliens aren't going to just run alongside you, Sammy." He drawled in a disappointed voice. "You should always expect the unexpectable."

Ever the little bitch, Sam Bitch Faced at him. "Unexpectable isn't a word, jerk."

"Bitch."

. . .

There was far too much commotion in one of the unused rooms, Rodney thought, following the noise only a group of people could make. If he found those no good imbeciles wasting time chatting, he'd force them to take the graveyard shift, along with their usual schedule. Pleased with the thought, the Canadian entered the room to find, just as he thought, a small group of people wasting valuable time loitering. To his surprise, he found Teyla, Sheppard and Ronon in the mix too, the former and the latter with their usual expression of professional blankness, but Sheppard looking like he was watching something very entertaining.

Curious, he pushed his way until he was standing next to the three, noticing then two males he didn't recognise sitting on the only two chairs in the room. He stared at them, noticing the casual clothing they wore, and realised with a start they must be the two newcomers Carson had been telling him about. That meant the two were doing the efficiency test, and from the papers Teyla had in her hand, this was the intelligence proportion of it.

Carson had told him Rodney might find someone of worth in the two – apparently, the younger brother was a Stanford student, on full scholarship too, headed to an equally full scholarship Law School until 'life happened'. Rodney didn't know what 'life' 'happened', he couldn't fathom anything being of a high enough impact to turn down a full ride to Stanford Law School, and if anything that proved the younger brother was an idiot blessed with an intelligence he didn't deserve.

Plus he was blonde. With girly green eyes. If anything, the older brother (and if his calculations were correct, the guy was around Ronon's height) looked more like an intellect then the dumb blonde next to him. Green Eyes even spoke like he didn't have full control of his facilities, drawling out words like those accursed people from the country! Nobody with a blonde act like that could be clever, nobody with a blonde act could even be of an average intelligence to pass high school with anything but a barely average score. All the guy had going on for him was his ridiculously pretty face, and the snarky attitude.

Irritated at having been wronged once more by the powers that be, Rodney watched as Teyla gave the two a stack of papers each. Some dumb marine (and Rodney had yet to be proven otherwise!) gave the two pens, the older, far too tall, brother immediately clicked his and started perusing the papers with a quiet intensity the scientist approved off. Dumb But Pretty? He just twirled the pen between his fingers and flicked through the papers with a bored look.

"Dean."

Pretty With Ridiculous Lips didn't answer, turning the page again with a flourished flick. The older brother repeated himself, glaring at the one named Dean. "What are you doing?"

Eyelashes Far Too Scientifically Long For The Male Gender scoffed. "Nothing."

"Exactly." The taller brother shot back immediately. "Answer the questions. It's all easy."

Another scoff. "Sure, maybe for you, Lawyer Boy."

Rodney frowned at the title, confused as to why the hopeful Law student would be calling his big brother that. Shouldn't he be the lawyer-wannabe? Maybe the blonde bimbo wasn't the younger of the two? The taller man looked a lot more like a possible intellect, anyway. As it was, said taller man was looking murderous, and surprised all the watching eyes by grabbing Dean's papers and flipping through them himself, then throwing them back roughly at Dean. "They're exactly the same questions as mine. You taught me all this when I was in fifth grade."

That – what? That's impossible, Rodney thought to himself, some of the questions in that paper Rodney had put in himself, just in case the person taking them was someone that'd actually be of use to him. There was even Latin in there, for god's sake! Not because he chose it, of course, but because the researchers of Atlantis always whined about needing someone with a proficiency for dead languages, taking valuable hands away from Rodney's much more necessary cause to keep them all alive and well and wasting it on languages that barely mattered.

The shorter male (maybe the Stanford student? Maybe not?) frowned to himself, looking through the papers more carefully, then made a thoughtful noise. "Damn, I was hoping you'd forgot that. Come on, man, only reason why I did that was because we kept moving too much for you to actually learn anything."

The older (younger?) Lawyer-hopeful only grew more angry at the reply. "No, Dean." He growled. "No. You checked my homework all the way till I was in tenth grade. You would've kept checking it too if I didn't stop asking. Now answer the damn questions." A pause. "All of them." Another pause. "With the right answers."

Dean scowled at the taller male, and the dynamic between the two was really starting to confuse Rodney, who couldn't, for the life of him, figure out who was actually supposed to be the younger brother. By the comment about checking homework, it seemed like shorter was the older, and the Stanford-student was actually taller. Either way, Dean finally turned to his papers with a glower, staring at it in a way Rodney was certain may actually have the potential to produce combustion, then finally started answering the questions with a scribble of his pen.

By the time they were finished, Lawyer-potential was looking completely pleased with himself, checking Dean's papers with a blatant appraisal before handing both of them to Teyla, who took them without a word. Mind working a mile a minute, Rodney stared at the papers as everybody filtered out of the room, the two newcomers being led to target practice, where no doubt the third part of the test would take place. He wanted those papers, wanted to get his hands on them just to prove the two newcomers wrong – that the questions weren't easy because they got it all wrong – but before that, he'd have to find a way to get it from Teyla.

That would not be easy.

. . .

Elizabeth came just in time to see Dean and Sam pick up the guns, dismantle them, check the magazine, reassemble them, click them in place, and take aim. Apparently, both had begged off the policy earmuffs and the eye wear, Elizabeth was about to start reaming into Teyla when the two began shooting. Now she knew a thing or two about guns, about how to stand and take aim and fire, and most importantly to watch out for the recoil – and with it, she could easily tell that the two men were naturals, mowing down the targets quickly and efficiently. When said targets were brought forward, it showed all the shots being on target – one bullet to the head, one to the heart (and one of Dean's targets had a hole in a place that caused most men to flinch).

Sure, she was impressed – always good to know someone under her jurisdiction could take care of themselves – but mostly she was just worried (panicking) about where, or why, the two men had learnt to shoot as such.

. . .

"It's just to see which ones light up whenever we're close, Dean." Sam was saying, rolling his eyes as Dean dragged his feet. "Apparently, they're like the city and choose who they like and not." He wasn't too surprised to see Dean didn't look reassured in the least, but so far, Dean wasn't running away in the opposite direction of the Jumper Bay, so Sam counted it as a win. The last portion of the efficiency test was seeing which of the puddlejumpers would react to them, which would be best for them after they both received the gene therapy. Sam didn't really have a problem with it, in fact, he was actually excited about it if he had to be honest, but Dean really didn't have a good track record with things that flew – be them planes, spaceships, or even angels – so Sam couldn't really blame his brother.

As soon as they entered the holding bay, it turned out one of the other doctors was in charge. With wire rimmed glasses and blow away hair that looked a bit too much like that of a mad scientist, the self introduced Dr. Zelenka first held Dean back, and told Sam to go right on in. So he did, and on cue, Jumper 8 immediately lit up like a Christmas tree, a beacon of light egging him to come closer, despite the rest of the puddlejumpers not reacting in the least.

"Right." Dr. Zelenka was saying. "Out. Come out. Now you, go in."

Sam left the bay, watching as Jumper eight turned off, and gave a deer-in-headlights Dean a small shove to move him along. When Dean entered the bay, number 1 respectively lit up, but surprised them further by beginning to hover slightly.

"Ty vole!" The Dr. let loose, startling Sam. "Do prdele! Think off, think off, you'll destroy our Jumper!"

"What hell is think off!?" Dean shouted back, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. "The hell do you even mean by that?"

Sam couldn't help it, he tried smothering the snort of laughter that threatened to escape him, watching as the doctor with the glasses continued screaming "oofffffff" while Jumper number three slowly started to light up too. To his greatest amusement, Dean screamed back "I don't understand!" looking frustrated beyond belief, but finally, finally, the two lit Jumper's turned off, number one landing with a small thud while number 3 dimmed down until it was completely off.

Dean didn't even wait to make sure it worked, storming out of the bay and past Sam, who quickly asked to see whether they were finished or not. As soon as he got the all clear, Sam hurried on after Dean, falling into line but having to walk faster as Dean almost ran in his haste to get away.

"Dude," Sam began curiously. "How'd you think off?"

Dean rummaged through his pockets, bringing out the keys to the Impala that Gabriel must've clicked along with them, the keys jingling musically as they walked. "Imagined turning the key in the ignition off."

Amused, Sam grinned. Then grinned a little bit more as he realised Dean was heading to the mess.