I do not own Supernatural or Star Trek 2009.

The problem, Dean decided, with being a good guy wasn't that you got captured, shot at, drugged or otherwise manhandled. He could and did deal with those on a regular basis.

No, the problem was waiting in prison.

He hated being helpless and he hated waiting. When he was waiting with the Impala, at least he had the option of doing something.

Prison? You just sat there and waited for the galaxy to go to hell in a hand basket. Dean believed his situation at the moment was best described by the old military adage FUBAR.

Fucked Up Beyond All Repair.

Yep.

FUBAR. That was Dean.

Impala – Six hours earlier…

"Spock, what can you tell me about that shuttle?"

"It appears to be a Federation prison shuttle and there are four life signs aboard. They are making directly for the warbird."

Dean leaned forward in anticipation. "Excellent."

The bridge waited with bated breath as the little shuttle sailed forward. Then it stopped, standing by.

"Shit, come on, be stupid and dock in the bay where Cupcake can get you," Dean muttered. Sam's doctored Romulan recording of the commander relaying events should have done the trick.

Unless, of course, Vern was feeling like a paranoid bastard.

The shuttle floated in space and Dean got that weird feeling, that prickling crawling feeling that said it was time to haul Cupcake out of there before Enterprise lost her security officers.

"Captain, Enterprise has beamed her security team back."

There were many, many times when Dean loved working with Jim Kirk.

And it had been a damn good call too because three warbirds dropped out of warp just as Enterprise slipped back into her blown hiding place and kept moving through the treacherous mine field in an attempt to confuse her pursuers.

The Impala waited, watching Sulu guide the Enterprise through impossible holes in the mine field with deceptive ease. "Come on, get clear," Dean whispered harshly.

It seemed that Kerlyn, Vern, someone had lost patience with the Enterprise's little game because the warbirds were standing off, bringing weapons to bear on the minefield in general instead of the ship in particular.

"Oh shit. Divert power to maximum shields. Move your ass, Kirk. Spock, are we at a safe distance?"

"Negative, captain. We would have to reveal ourselves to remain intact."

"Best case scenario, should we stay in hiding."

"Loss of shields, loss of impulse power, three hours' repair."

"Worst?"

"Disintegration."

Dean glared at the warbirds. This was turning into a bad day. "Closest potential Federation target?"

"A farming colony approximately six hours from this location at maximum Romulan speed."

And engaging four warbirds with the Enterprise tangled in a minefield just wasn't a good enough gamble. They needed another option.

They didn't get it.

The Romulans fired and space exploded.

Coughing on smoke and noting with detached curiosity that gravity onboard the ship was a little skewed, Dean hauled himself off the floor and croaked "Report!" as loud as he could.

Castiel was the first to stick his hand up, hauling himself into his chair and wiping at a split eyebrow, shakily smearing blood across his console. "Sir, shields are inoperable. Main systems down. Running on auxiliary power."

Ash groaned and swore. "You all right Ash?" Dean asked, woozily surveying the bridge. Ash had a beauty of a black eye forming courtesy of his chair's arm, Jo was still out of it and Spock was shaking his head slowly.

"Dean, Enterprise is massively venting atmosphere! Life pods being prepped! Romulans preparing to fire again!" Ash's voice was pitched high with hysteria.

"Son of a bitch. Bobby! I need something to throw at those Romulans now!"

There was a crackle of static.

"Weapons coming online, Captain," Castiel reported with relief.

"You'll have impulse power in forty seconds," Bobby added briefly over the comm.

"No shields?" Dean asked Ash, who scowled and shook his head. "All right. As soon as we have impulse Cas, distract and shoot."

The Impala stuttered into action, slipping out from behind the pocked, fragmenting huge ore-tanker that had most likely saved their bacon. She managed to hammer the Romulans from behind before they caught on to who was firing at them. By that point, Impala was skipping behind asteroids and junked ships with all the alacrity of a scared jackrabbit.

The disruptor shots came closer and closer as Castiel gritted his teeth and swore. "Captain, we're going to start taking hits and we don't have shields up yet," Ash reported shortly.

Suddenly an idea struck. "Spock, is Vern's shuttle still standing by?"

"It is."

"We're going to take them hostage. Cas, Bobby?"

"By some miracle Dean, the tractor beams are up and running. We could pull it off."

The sweating pilot wiped at his still-bleeding forehead and shot the Impala forward into open space, ducking and weaving the big ship like an old fighter plane of World War II. Dean could hear struts and trusses squealing and groaning in protest as the Impala dodged accurate heavy fire.

The fire stopped. "Sir, I have the shuttle in our tractor beam," Bobby reported with no small satisfaction.

"Can we beam them aboard?"

"Nope. Transporter's fried. It'll take hours."

"Shields?"

"Nada. ETA two hours."

Dean swallowed an inappropriate word. A string of swearing would not help anyone. Pacing, however, felt good. So he stalked about the bridge, thinking furiously.

"Enterprise?" he asked Spock.

"Still venting atmosphere but to a lesser degree. It appears repairs are being attempted but it will be several hours before impulse power or shields are online."

Damn, damn, damn.

Four warbirds. No shields. Minimal weapons and power. And only one teeny little shuttle full of enemy standing between the Impala, her big sister and oblivion.

He felt safe voicing his thoughts. "This day could not possibly get any worse."

"Sir, we are being hailed by a warbird. They claim to be Kerlyn."

Dean groaned and flopped into his chair. "I just had to say it, didn't I? I just couldn't keep my damn mouth shut. On screen." The cracked screen wobbled a bit and the image stabilized. Dean scowled at the screen.

Why yes, Kerlyn was gloating already, the bastard.

Enterprise

Sam was sweating heavily. Atmosphere was rapidly venting from decks 5 though 7 and the remaining air was thin and hot. Alarms whooped all over the bridge as Kirk bellowed for status reports, Sam tried desperately to boost the ship's self-sealing systems and sparks scattered themselves through the smoking bridge as power sputtered crazily. Scotty would have to fix the impulse problem because Sam didn't have the time.

"Scotty, I need impulse power now!" Kirk roared, watching the situation out in space carefully. Impala had just blown her cover to save the Enterprise's ass, although it appeared she too had been damaged by the minefield going off.

"You're nae gang tae get it, capt'n!"

Sam pounded an irritated fist on his stuttering console and the display jumped back into focus. Atmospheric pressure was rising. The sealant systems were at work. Impulse power next.

And shit, Scotty wasn't kidding. All the main power couplings had been overloaded or damaged. Minor systems couldn't support the demands of the Enterprise's big engines.

"I need something people or we are all dead, Impala included, so move it!" Kirk shot back as Sam stared intensely at the console. He had it.

"Scotty!" Sam blurted.

"Aye lad?"

"I have an idea. Captain, permission – "

"Go!"

Sam bolted for the elevator and prayed it was still working.

Scotty thought he was crazy.

Sam pointed out they had both been hanging out with Bobby.

Scotty still thought he was crazy, but hey, they didn't have any better ideas.

Three minutes later, Sam was back up on the bridge and the power levels were rising. "We've rerouted main power through every other network other than the power grid. Sam will regulate and monitor all systems tae try an' keep her from blowing out. Ye've got about five minutes worth of power sair, maybe a wee bit more if Sam's a balancing wizard before the couplings overload and we're dead in the water," Scotty reported grimly as Sam cracked his fingers, ready to play the Enterprise like a grand piano.

"Good enough." Kirk had been doing some work of his own. All they had to do was run away far enough that the Impala could make a break for warp. Dean was creative, he'd get out of trouble if he didn't have to worry about a crippled Constitution-class ship.

"Sulu, you know the plan."

"Aye sir."

Impala

"Where the hell is he going?" Dean muttered as the Enterprise lurched away clumsily, her fluctuating power readings sending Spock's science station haywire.

Kerlyn had been giving his usual rant about how you are all going to die for the sins perpetrated against his august person, yadda yadda, evil villain monologue all the way and Dean hadn't shut him up. The more Kerlyn talked, the more time they had.

And it seemed Enterprise was making use of it.

She wobbled around an asteroid, vanished into a clump of battered derelicts in such a way that Dean wasn't sure she was going to come out.

She didn't.

No mines went off. Nothing disintegrated like it should have upon close proximity to the big ship.

Curious.

Before anyone could blink, Kerlyn had slammed his hand down on the firing console and the mess of ships presumably hiding the Enterprise exploded.

No Enterprise. Not even little Enterprise bits. It was like she disappeared.

"Fascinating," Spock murmured.

Kerlyn went ballistic and turned his ship on the Impala, clearly lost in a rage and forgetting about the shuttle held in the Impala's grasp.

Fire exploded across the Impala's view screen before Dean's vision went black.

Present time…

Which of course, brings events up to speed on the current situation.

In prison.

He'd woken up in prison. All by himself, although he could hear his crew down the hall. No one was dead yet, which was either really good or really bad.

Two guesses as to whether it was good or bad and the first one didn't count.

This – held in an unknown prison by a crazy Romulan who could wipe out the Federation, providing the little shuttle hadn't taken the brunt of that last salvo for the Impala – was not Dean's idea of fun. Personally, he hoped the shuttle had survived. Then he could still nab Gain. From a captain's point of view though, he kind of hoped the shuttle hadn't made it. If the shuttle was gone, so was Gain and Ellen had confirmed that her virus thingy was really hard to make if you weren't a genius and didn't have all her research notes.

The barred door banged open and Dean squinted up at his captor through a pounding headache. So she wasn't dead. Probably pissed at Kerlyn though, since her arm was in a sling and stitches dotted her forehead. "Ah, Dr. Gain. I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure of actually making your acquaintance. I see you've brought a few security goons with you. I'm flattered."

The scientist sneered at him. "Clearly I underestimated the density of a stupid mind. Your brother resisted my acquisition methods. You will have no such chance."

"Well doesn't that just make me feel special. Bitch, you'd better make sure you get it right the first time because if I get my hands on you, you are a very, very dead mad scientist."

Enterprise

Captain Kirk, Sam decided, was a man of vision. He was also clinically insane.

Hiding inside a very conveniently hollowed out asteroid should have been impossible. Kirk demanded nothing less from his crew and Sulu's delicate but desperately quick piloting has still scraped plates off the hull and Enterprise was constantly dinging off the hollowed out walls. Uhura's quick jamming job had been a work of genius, shutting down the mines in the ships. And Sam had single-handedly blown out the entire ship like a giant light-bulb.

Scotty had simultaneously cursed and blessed Sam's quick but destructive thinking after every power system onboard the huge ship fried completely. Sam had managed impulse power for three excruciating minutes longer than Scotty had expected but the damage was extensive.

No sensors. No communications. No power. No shields. No weapons.

Actually, it'd be easier to list what was working: life support.

Which was always good, Sam thought positively as he zapped himself on a main power coupling. Life support was good. Without it, things would have gotten really sticky. And they hadn't launched the life pods, just ordered crew into them. The shielded life pods had saved several lives when deck eight decided to rupture after they'd secured their position.

Too bad they had no idea what had happened to the Impala and they didn't dare find out until the Enterprise was more than a sitting duck.

So Sam fixed power couplings, crammed himself into places a 6'4 frame should not have fit and worked tirelessly despite bitching ribs, itching half-healed cuts, fresh bruises, a sore head and a possibly sprained wrist. He deliberately did not think about his crew. They would be fine. They had Dean. And Spock. They would be fine.

He zapped himself again, half on purpose so all he could think about was the 'ouch.'

Captain James T. Kirk was a very irritated captain. Emphasis on very. This screwed over, fucked up mission had cost him his first officer (he'd gained a pretty good one in return, so it wasn't that bad of a trade), his ship, his friends, his friend's ship and was threatening all of the aforementioned plus the Federation.

And his girl was going nowhere for at least another twelve hours.

Thus, he was buried in Engineering, trying to help Scotty. Every hand was needed, since half of Engineering was in sickbay. When Kirk had stopped by to check on Bones, he hadn't even gone in. The place had been a controlled madhouse and Kirk's injuries were easily seen to by a distracted Sam Winchester, who was trying very hard to hide the fact that he was a hair's width away from falling apart.

Working in Engineering though, gave him time to think. Time to plan. Time to come up with many, many secondary plans (Kirk liked plans. He just never told anyone about said plans). Then he thought very carefully about his current assets and hindrances so that when he had to wing it, he would know what resources he had at his disposal.

He came to one concrete conclusion.

This whole Romulan/spy/mad scientist thing?

It was really starting to piss him off.

Unknown location

If this was what Sam felt like, his brother was tougher than Dean gave him credit for and Dean already though Sam plenty tough.

Kirk had said something about seeing fish.

Dean was seeing Winnie-the-Pooh characters dance around the cell and no, he did not want to consider what that said about the status of his brain, thank you very much.

And the lovely Dr. Gain had felt it necessary to take her frustrations out on him with a nasty whip-like thing that had peeled skin from his back like Dean peeled a banana.

He could hear his crew calling to him, Bobby's worried gruff tones carrying an immeasurable amount of comfort, but Dean's tongue was stuck to the top of his dried out mouth and nothing was going to change that.

So he'd lie here silently, listen to his crew, remember he was Dean Winchester, not some brainwashed drone and think about killing Dr. Gain by forcing her to eat Winnie-the-Pooh.

He thought it sounded like poetic justice.

The captain wasn't replying to their calls, which was worrying. Everyone was pretty battered, milling about in confusion until Spock had quietly taken command, separating people into departments, sitting them down in corners and ensuring the wounded got to see Ellen.

Castiel had been the one on watch at the door, the one to see them drag the captain back to his cell. The pilot had promptly thrown up all over Ash's boots, sinking to the floor. "Captain," he whispered. Ash paled to a dead white. Castiel never freaked like this. "We need to get him out. Now." Castiel managed to choke out, wiping his mouth. "Where's the SIO?"

Ash blinked. "What?"

"He's a spy, they break out of places all the time! Where is Thomas Gabriel?" Castiel demanded. In response, Spock moved over with an alien-strong hand clamped into the shirt of one reluctant spy.

"I can't do anything," Gabriel insisted immediately.

Then he rethought that statement. Spock was very large, Ash was very violent and the cute little Luke Castiel Gabriel had known was nowhere in sight. A smaller, hard fist knotted into the front of his shirt and actually yanked Gabriel out of Spock's grasp.

"You will help us save our captain or so help me I will make you wish you were never born." Every word was enunciated calmly, punctuated perfectly and years of simmering resentment were held barely at bay by that short sentence. "Well?"

Gabriel licked his lips and nodded, thinking furiously. "The best way to do it would be to hide him in plain sight." Castiel's fist didn't loosen. "Look, if we break him out and then run away, they'll be looking for an entire crew and while we have a good number of people, we're all unarmed and not everyone in this group is experienced in fighting although I'm quite sure they'd give it their all."

"What do you suggest?" Spock asked, by far the calmest of the bunch. Gabriel latched onto the calm like a lifeline. "I don't suggest. Seriously, I don't know. I've never run an extraction so I've never had to cover my tracks. But I can tell you that the best course of action would be to hide the captain somewhere in this room, preferably disguised. Naturally, someone will have to either take the captain's place or accept blame in such a way that the rest of us aren't implicated and the captain stays hidden. Of course, that's assuming Gain lets us live. She's got no real reason to let us live. We're probably guinea pigs."

Ash clamped a hand over the spy's mouth. "Don't say it so loud! We'd have panic on our hands!"

Gabriel's eyebrows waggled and Ash disgustedly pulled his hand away, wiping it on Gabriel's shoulder. "You already knew?" the SIO asked in interest.

Castiel glared and Ash rolled his eyes in weary resignation. "You are looking at a trio of geniuses. I swear, IO thinks they're the only people in Starfleet with half a brain." Spock was already examining the cell door with intense interest.

"It is unfortunate that we do not have Commander Winchester with us," he remarked calmly. "His skill in extricating individuals from prison is far greater than my own."

Ash saw what Spock was attempting to do immediately. "Yeah, Sam's good like that," he replied, cooling off. Hot tempers didn't help Dean and right now, Castiel was probably considering skinning the SIO. Distractions worked best with Castiel.

Sure enough, the pilot let Gabriel go and joined them on the floor. Jo wobbled over as well, a hand to her head. "Shit," she cursed. "I haven't had a concussion this bad since we thought it'd be a good idea to test a flash grenade on ourselves in Gram's corn silo."

Spock tilted his head to one side. "And why did you think it was a good idea?"

Jo shrugged. "We were bored and wanted to see what would happen."

"That is…why are you disrobing?"

Jo had stripped off her red security shirt, her black long-sleeved t-shirt and was fishing around in her bra underneath a black tank top as Castiel flushed red, Spock pointedly looked away, Ash watched curiously and Gabriel grinned with delighted interest. "Well," she screwed her face up in concentration, "they searched all of us pretty well. But they did miss one – ouch – thing."

She held up a thin, curved wire.

"I thought under-wire bras went out of production in 2140?" Ash asked and then shrugged when everyone in earshot stared at him. "What? I like women. I like what women like. Women like it when men are sensitive and know these liberating things."

Jo's eyebrows were practically crawling off her forehead in skepticism but she shook her head and focused on the task at hand. "I wear a faux under-wire just for this reason, dumbass. And if I ever find you anywhere near my lingerie drawer, you'd better pray my mother catches you before I do."

Ash gulped.

Jo went to work.

Dean's head was spinning. Voices were gently whispering insidious things into his ear, subtle things, like how he hated the Federation and Jim Kirk and his crew and Sam. Whenever he resisted the thoughts, pain spiked all along his spine and extremities, burning like a brand.

When he thought nothing at all, the voices swelled, the pain receded and that was good. Less pain was good.

Yes, yes give in, think nothing at all it will stop hurting stop hurting your ship is gone your brother gave in he's abandoned you

That thought jolted a drifting Dean back to consciousness with its sheer audacity.

Sam? Abandon Dean?

To quote a good friend of Dean's – bullshit.

Pain flared all over his body, attempting to subdue him, drag him back to that nothing-state where he listened to the voices.

You will do as I say you will do as I say do it now Sam has left you I will not let you go give in it will stop hurting Sam is gone Sam is dead

Bullshit.

He was Captain Dean Winchester and no one dictated his thoughts or actions.

And if Sam was dead, Dean would kill the bitch in his brain with his bare hands, march past the very gates of heaven (because Sam would never ever end up in hell) and drag him back kicking and screaming just so Dean could beat the snot out of his impertinent kid brother himself.

He figuratively plugged his figurative fingers in his figurative ears and started humming "The Song That Never Ends."

It was probably the wrong thought to have, but hey, at least Gain would have one hell of a time getting the song out of her head.