I do not own Star Trek 2009 or Supernatural
Getting out of the prison had been a tricky proposition. Kirk volunteered to walk but couldn't make it out of the cell without weaving erratically. Eventually, McCoy had simply sedated him and told Spock that the first officer got the honour of carrying the captain piggy-back.
The doctor was casting about for a stretcher so he and Dean could somehow perhaps fashion a travois for Sam when the eldest Winchester handed McCoy his phaser. "You're point. I'll carry him."
The steel in Dean's voice and eyes refused to let Bones argue. Silently, the doctor picked up the extra packs, discarded anything that looked superfluous and repacked the rest, picking up everyone's gear in one go.
"Open the front pocket of my pack," Dean ordered, carefully checking over McCoy's bandaging job on Sam. "There's a few flash-bangs in there. We should be able to clear the way with those."
Flash-bangs? Those were from the twentieth century. Why the hell was Dean Winchester carrying those? "They're adaptive and can be jury-rigged to do all sorts of shit, unlike the newer stuff," Dean grunted, hoisting his brother with infinite care.
"What, you're telepathic now?" McCoy growled, fishing out the flash-bangs. "Open the door, Spock."
The old tech did its job admirably well and they made a break for it, coughing on the gas and smoke.
As they sprinted past the last door before the exit, Dean spotted a woman standing bent over a desk in one of the offices, a shirt held over her mouth as she coughed and wheezed asthmatically. She was wearing a lab coat on her skeletally thin frame and old coke-bottle glasses only made her huge green eyes bigger, goggling venomously. The air of frustrated civilian command told the Impala's captain everything he wanted to know.
This was the leader and if Dean didn't have severely injured people with him, she'd probably be dead. In that instant, he flashed her a heated, cruel smile that promised wicked retribution when they met again.
The stairs were dizzying, almost terrifying in their steep, small steps and infinite height. Dean had to wonder how short the natives once were as he place his feet carefully, ducking precariously as guards took notice. Crack shooting from Dr. McCoy covered them all the way into the jungle, where they vanished into the mist.
Spock knew rationally that carrying a full-grown man such as Sam Winchester through four kilometres of rough, transporter-inhibiting jungle should be impossible for anyone except Spock himself and even then Spock would have chosen to put Sam over his shoulder instead of cradling him in his arms.
Yet Dean Winchester never faltered, never stumbled, never jostled his brother. The exertion required was evident in the strain on his face, the quivering of a muscular back, a gold command shirt plastered to taut skin with sweat. The physical pain of limbs screaming at him, weighed down in what would feel like tense mud, should have stopped him, should have brought the human to his knees.
Should have, Spock was continually learning, did not apply to the humans he chose to associate with.
"Sam, you okay?" Dean set his twitching brother down gently as the party paused. Sam seemed to be surfacing back to the real world.
McCoy was immediately registering any type of response, tricorder whirring away as Spock checked on his captain. Kirk was still out of it, flopped all over Spock's back like a rag-doll.
"Dean…it's really you? I feel funny," Sam slurred. "She tried…tried…tried to tell me it was a good idea to kill you."
Bright, suddenly lucid eyes focused on Dean. "I told her to go to hell."
Dean laughed, but there might have been a small sob in there somewhere. "That's my boy."
"Yep, no matter how she tried to c-convince me, I told her a-absolutely fucking not."
"Damn straight. I'm too awesome to die. So are you."
McCoy looked worried as Sam slumped back into unconsciousness. "He needs to be in sickbay. They both do. We have to keep moving."
Crashing sounds of pursuit reverberating through the forest only reinforced the need. The only good thing about their situation was that there was no way for the enemy to gain an edge over them – the jungle was too thick for shuttles and transporters useless.
Dean hoisted his brother up again. "Let's move."
It became a race against enemy, time and jungle, discarded equipment littering their wake as the Federation officers picked up the pace. Dean eventually conceded that he needed Sam to shift positions to Dean's back in order for Dean to run. By that time, they had only minutes to spare, a thin buffer of safety between hunters and hunted.
Phaser fire was singing the greenery around them when their communicators finally sprang to life. "Enterprise standing by to beam up!" Scotty bellowed as the communicators connected for the first time in hours.
"NOW!" Dean roared as he spun to shield his brother and McCoy swore, picking off pursuers without mercy, stopping only when the swirling lights of the transporter whisked them to safety.
"Boze moi," Chekov breathed, eyes wide at the bloodstained group on the transporter pad. Scotty jerked him out of his seat and into an out of the way corner as the room flooded with essential personnel.
"CHAPEL!" Bones bellowed as medics swarmed the injured. "Get M'Benga down here and working on Jim. I need you on Sam, stat! Move people, move!"
"Commander Spock, there is a transmission coming in from the Intelligence Office," Uhura reported over the comm.
"Understood, Lieutenant-Commander. Captain Winchester, if you would accompany me?"
Dean started, trapped in the strange limbo state of someone who needed to always be doing something and suddenly found himself at loose ends. With a quick self-shake and a nod, he headed for the door.
To every passing crew member's sad amusement, Dean took the lead, Spock one step behind, both falling into routine effortlessly, unconsciously drawing support from familiarity in a disjointed sort of way – Dean's walk was closer to a swagger than Kirk's and Spock orbited his captain more tightly than Sam, who usually had half his brain off on some new experiment, theory or tangent but the similarity was there.
Captain Winchester glared at the grinning fool on the screen. "Supervisory Intelligence Officer Gabriel, there is absolutely nothing amusing about this situation. Wipe that inappropriate expression off your face right frigging now or this conversation is over."
Compliantly, the cheerful IO struggled to wrest his face into something more neutral. "Now," Winchester growled, "care to explain why exactly Starfleet Intelligence didn't see fit to inform the Impala of the potential dangers regarding this planet before we left?"
"Actually before we discuss that, I have a mission for – " Gabriel froze. He was pretty sure neither Winchester nor Spock could reach through the screen and strangle him where he stood but at this moment in time testing the theory didn't seem like a very good idea.
"You will explain. Now." Spock spoke for the first time, each word loaded with the deadly cold of hard vacuum.
"Shit," the IO sighed. "Fine. Look, after the peace summit fiasco, we thought Reuter was working alone. You know, Chandra's secretary? Well, intelligence is suggesting now that he wasn't working by himself. The information's only coming forward now as we realize there are more and more holes in our intelligence network. The Impala fell through one of our rather larger holes. Honestly Captain Winchester, no competent IO at Starfleet would have screwed you over like that, even if you are an arrogant ass. Right now, I don't know who to trust or even what information is solid. Hell, you think the admirals run around like headless chickens? Imagine a bunch of non-regulation, A-type personalities who answer to almost no one and spend their entire lives living in the shadows. They've only just realized that the shadows they've always controlled are suddenly running amok. At least the admirals know that out in space, things occasionally go FUBAR and there's nothing you can do about it. My superiors are having meltdowns all over the place because their ducks aren't lined up nice and neat, quacking in time to their waving.
So when I said I had a mission for you two, it was really quite simple. I need you to hunt down the bitch who just kidnapped Captain Kirk and Commander Winchester, interrogate her at all costs and then bring her in alive if you can. I can trust you two because you're personally involved - you'll bring her in if only to make her life miserable. Pike has reluctantly okayed this little trip and says to remind you that you're not assassins and he will be disappointed if he finds out you've eviscerated the scientist. What solid information I have on her and her connections is on your PADD, Winchester. You have authorization from Starfleet to pick an infiltration crew from both Enterprise and Impala, leave the injured in orbit to recuperate and take the Impala for the hunt. You'll probably run into me somewhere along the way because I'm heading out into the field myself. Comprendez?"
"Understood."
Supervisory Intelligence Officer Gabriel was a stone-cold, experienced spy and damn good at what he did. He had excellent preservation instincts, essential in his line of work, but he was rarely actually afraid these days.
And he wasn't afraid of Captain Dean Winchester or Commander Spock, but only because he hadn't been the idiot to touch the people closest to them.
If he had been said idiot, he would be making for the nearest black hole at warp ten and pulling it in after him.
Just saying.
Dean gritted his teeth and stared out at the Impala from Enterprise's observation deck, thinking furiously. Ash had reported a strangely fast, nondescript shuttle making a break for it. Jo had ordered pursuit, but it cloaked and went to warp.
Gabriel's folder of information was merely a trail of breadcrumbs, a sketch of a personality that should never have been allowed to work for the Federation.
Dr. Alice Gain was a brilliant scientist who had managed to graduate from a distinguished Earth university as a respected virologist, regarded as a prodigy in her field. However, six months into her first job, she had been fired for unethical experimentation on both sentient and non-sentient beings. There had been a short string of employers, none of whom could satisfactorily control the doctor's immoral activities. Starfleet had hired her because her work with cures for viruses was unparalleled, but it quickly became evident Gain would rather tinker with the viruses themselves, effects on sentient beings be damned. Her final bid for fame before sinking into the obscure, murky world of the unemployed was the designer virus Dean himself had pitched into a sun. After a thorough Starfleet investigation was launched into the ethics of the research taking place, Dr. Gain had vanished from the world.
IO hadn't actually found the men who had caused Gain to be hired by Starfleet in the first place. Their motives were unknown – did they want to bring the Federation down or were they just another group of well-organized redneck purists?
And now Gain, the link to these unethical bastards, had resurfaced and was getting further away by the second.
"Captain," Spock announced his presence discreetly.
"I need a first officer," Dean remarked almost casually.
"To secure Dr. Gain in custody would be the most efficient method of ensuring Captain Kirk and Commander Winchester's continued safety, to say nothing of the benefits the Federation would reap."
"Follow me into hell?"
"I do not believe we are going anywhere near the mythological Earth equivalent of eternal torment for the wicked, Captain. However, I have been known to demonstrate exceptional tenacity when correctly motivated."
"Excellent. We leave in twenty."
"Mr. Scott, you have command of the Enterprise until the captain returns to consciousness. I would suggest concealing the ship's presence and standing by until Starfleet issues orders. Lieutenant-Commander Uhura may find it prudent to experience communications failure to ensure that Starfleet is unable to send an inferior replacement for the captain. Any questions at this time?"
The Enterprise's disappointed bridge crew murmured a negative. As always, Spock's orders were concise and clear. "Ser," Chekov tried, "I could be of assistance."
"Mr. Chekov," Spock replied, almost gently. "I will not be present to support Captain Kirk in his endeavour to rendezvous with the Impala, especially should the Impala encounter difficulties in pursuit. The captain will need each of you and so will Commander Winchester. That is all."
The disgruntled Russian subsided and Spock took the opportunity to exit the bridge. The crew's loyalty was commendable and he was certain that they would hold to the designated course, no matter how it may irk them.
This left him free to hunt down the unfortunate animal that had mistakenly thought it prudent to assault and torture his captain.
Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy had been having a very bad day.
He sank into the chair between his patients' beds and considered just passing out where he sat. But he never could shake the feeling that the monitoring machines, while tuned to his rigid, exacting standards, never did as good a job as plain old human watchfulness. So he pulled out a PADD and reviewed the patient stats yet again, adding in new information.
The last time a day had gone this poorly had been the attack of the Narada, when he had been so rudely thrust into the CMO's position.
On the upside, Jim was already responding to medical care. He should be up and about on light duty in forty eight hours.
Sam Winchester, though.
The man was tough and McCoy was exceedingly grateful for that. In peak physical condition, thankfully not allergic to everything under the sun (damn Kirk) and he had a fighting spirit that wouldn't let him die. Sam had been very ill and severely injured when he arrived on the Enterprise in his brother's arms.
McCoy had offered to let Ellen take over Sam's care, but she'd said no. He was the better surgeon and they didn't need her diagnostic talents. That and both CMOs were pretty sure Dean Winchester was about to do something stupid and quite frankly while Bones could put the fear of a doctor into Dean effectively enough, Ellen Harvelle had Winchester-wrangling down to an art form.
Speak of the devil.
Captain Dean Winchester looked like death warmed over, but he moved easily enough to Sam's bed side. "How is he?"
"On the mend and out of danger. He should be up and about in two days or so, on light duty in four. Jim will be running around inside of two days. They'll both make it." McCoy saw no reason to sugar coat anything, not even good news.
Dean's confident captain's posture slumped, melting into worried big brother, complete with hunched shoulders and wrinkled forehead. McCoy stood and booted the chair over. "Sit down before you fall down. Spock will be in to ask the same question about Jim, so he won't leave without you."
Dean complied and McCoy took the opportunity to stab the idiot with a vitamin booster and a further dose of drug-neutralizer, just in case. "Ow, the fuck! I thought only Ellen jabbed like that! What is it, a CMO requirement?"
"Don't be such a child. And that's classified information." McCoy growled, handing the stubborn mule of a captain a plate of food. "Eat that before you faint."
"Hey, I do not faint!"
"You haven't yet, but if you do, I'll leave your ass on the floor just so you have proof when you come around."
The verbal sparring was interrupted by a very muzzy "D'n?"
"Damn it Sam, you shouldn't be awake yet!" McCoy grumbled but didn't move to up the sedative as Dean set his plate down and planted himself in the chair beside his brother.
"Yeah dude, I'm here. You're on the Enterprise. Almost gave Bones here a heart attack when you tried to die on him."
"Water."
"Demanding little bitch, aren'tcha?" Dean spooned an ice chip for Sam. "Better?"
"Jerk."
"Yeah, yeah, you love me."
"You two sure you aren't married?" Kirk croaked from the next bed. A chip of ice pinged off his nose, flung by an irritated Dean as Sam glared weakly.
"My god, I'm surrounded by idiots," McCoy muttered. "None of you, Dean included, should be awake. Jim, do not try to get out of bed or I swear I will…" threatening to drug the captain was in very poor taste at the moment, "tell Spock what happened to that boxy-stringed-instrument-thing of his you broke and sort of fixed."
Kirk gulped and meekly slid his legs back to the centre of the bed. "Yes, Bones."
"Actually Doctor, I was aware of the culprit approximately twenty minutes after the instrument was returned to me."
McCoy had to resist the urge to jump and squeak like a girl. The damned hobgoblin moved like a ghost when he wanted to.
"I am glad to see both of you awake, Jim, Sam. Captain Winchester, we must be going. Commander Ash tells me that we will lose the trail in half an hour."
Dean quailed under two burning glares. "Going somewhere with my first officer?" Kirk asked casually.
"We're taking the Impala to hunt down the witch. You are going to stay here until McCoy clears you for duty."
"I am?" There was a dangerous edge to Kirk's voice and Dean paused, realizing who he was talking to.
Backpedalling smoothly, he pointedly checked out Kirk's physical state and then his brother's. "Kirk, I'm leaving Sam with you."
"Hey, I am not some kid you can just ditch when…when…Imma comin' wi' you…" Sam's eyelids fluttered and Dean nodded knowingly with a relieved grin as Kirk settled down, conceding Dean's point while Sam slipped back into la-la land.
"Jim, whether or not you like it, you're not capable of coming with us right now. On the flip side, I can't afford to just forget the fact that my brother and first officer is…yeah. I need to leave him with someone I trust. I trust you. I trust the people under you. Hell, you're probably going to have to pull us out of whatever hole we dig trying to find this Dr. Alice Gain. IO's being very helpful and that bodes well for no one. This conspiracy thing probably means we can trust our bridge crews and Pike. End of story."
"I concur with Captain Winchester, Jim."
Kirk groaned, shifted, flinched and acquiesced poorly. "Fine, but Enterprise is going to chase after you in thirty six hours. No ifs, ands, buts or you-should-still-be-in-beds, got it?"
McCoy huffed but held his tongue. Everyone who had been on one of the Impala-Enterprise shit-fests masquerading as missions knew that the best way to keep the two trouble-magnet ships out of trouble was to keep the two ships within reach of each other. No other ship in the Fleet could keep up, cover backs and improvise on the fly like Enterprise or Impala.
Dean grinned. "Wouldn't have it any other way. Let Sammy help, yeah? Otherwise he starts climbing the walls and turning into a worrywart girl. More than normal, anyway. Come on Spock. Catch up quick, Jim." The infirmary doors swished shut behind the two avengers and several ensigns skipped out the inexorable captain's way, startled by the very cold smile of unholy glee stretching across Dean Winchester's face. The expression was matched by a deadly glint in Spock's eyes.
"We're going on a witch-hunt."