I do not own Star Trek 2009, Supernatural, NCIS or NCIS: LA.

It's the last chapter! Thanks for sticking through the long ride (this story was supposed to max out at 50 000 words. Obviously that was…extended) and a double dose of gratitude to everyone who reviewed. Reviews are the fine chocolate of the writing world and each one makes my day that much brighter.

Epilogue

Kirk

"Scotty, I know you don't trust most Starfleet engineers any further than you can throw them," Kirk explained patiently, relishing the broiling sun warming his skin as he wriggled his toes in the clean white sand. "But honestly, you need a break. Pike said you weren't allowed on the Enterprise until tomorrow. Let the structural engineers do their job and then you can take over when they're finished." He sipped from his cold beer and squinted out at the Pacific Ocean as his engineer tried to wrangle permission to board the Enterprise early. Absent-mindedly, Kirk noticed that Chekov hadn't gotten himself drowned yet although Ash and Cas were doing their worst to drag the resistant Russian into the water. "Come down to the beach. Dean and John are going to barbeque steaks and Uhura's going to introduce Spock to marshmallows tonight. Food, booze, sun and fun."

There was a pause on the communicator and Kirk held his breath, hoping. Then Scotty caved. "Aye, that dinnae sound too bad, capt'n."

"Excellent. Get yourself down to the beach, Mr. Scott. Even Bobby's here in a Hawaiian shirt that should have died with the sixties." Kirk blinked at the sight of a florid blue, pink, orange and green shirt worn by the Impala's engineer as Bobby and John sat at a picnic table under a huge yellow umbrella. Kirk was pretty sure they were friends but the way Bobby and John were glaring at each other over the checkers board did seem a little circumspect. Ducky was happily sitting to one side, offering advice to whoever seemed to be losing (which only made the match more flammable. Kirk suspected the Washington doctor was doing it on purpose).

Kirk snapped the communicator shut and scanned the rest of the beach. Four command crews filled the private beach as Abby, Eric, Nell and Sulu kept adding wood to what was shaping up to be an enormous bonfire pile. Sam and Nate were busy puttering about in the tide pools, bringing back crustaceans for Hetty to inspect as the diminutive woman sipped from a very large glass of oddly coloured fresh iced tea on a lounge chair. Kirk still wasn't sure if he trusted alpha shift enough to drink anything that came out of their beakers but Hetty seemed to enjoy living on the wild side.

Dean, Gibbs, Ziva, Bones, big Jo and little Jo-jo were out in the water with Callen and Sam Hanna, playing some sort of convoluted water-football that involved little Jo-jo swimming circles around everyone with the ball in her possession as the men continually held each other under water, the girls actually played the game and everyone splashed about like seals. Uhura and Spock were stretched out beside Kirk, Uhura actually napping as Spock soaked up heat with all the relish of a lazy cat.

Kirk found his mind drifting back a few days to the official business he had so happily left behind.

The Enterprise had just barely managed to limp home. The damage to the ship was substantial and honestly, Kirk hadn't seen his girl in such poor condition since the Narada incident. Kirk wasn't sure if he should feel grateful that he was in good company as he sat in his newly restored bridge and stared over at the Los Angeles, who was in marginally better shape than the Enterprise.

At least they hadn't lost their prisoners. Walker had 'accidentally' 'stumbled' into Hetty's experimental stasis pod and so far his life signs had been stable. Callen hadn't seen any need to move the slippery IO fanatic out of the pod, since sedating him until a high security prison ship arrived just wasn't an option. Kirk was still considering ordering Spock to come up with an identical experiment for Starc and Gain but Pike had arrived on the star base in time to put the kibosh on that idea. The admiral had stopped Kirk after Hetty calmly revealed that unintentional lobotomy could be an unfortunate side effect of utilizing the stasis pod.

Pike had taken over the lion's share of the work, storming about the star base with efficiency and conviction. The man had all the patience in the world for any member of the four ships involved and precious little time for anyone attempting to hinder said crews. It made Kirk's life much easier, especially when abused ribs and sore muscles started to overwhelm his sense of duty and fading adrenaline.

Still, he had managed to send Spock off to the infirmary, make up his reports and was still tagging after Pike as the admiral inspected the Enterprise when Bones caught up with him.

Kirk winced. That particular chewing out had been loud, virulent and very colourful. Pike had stood by, leaning on his cane in amusement as a tired Kirk nodded to everything Bones had said, mindful of the doctor's own injuries. Kirk didn't argue because he could see the exhaustion in McCoy's face. Enterprise had lost seventeen crew members to the explosion and gas. Bones took every death personally and therefore protected the survivors with all the force of a mama grizzly bear.

"Kirk. Go to bed. When you wake up, take your command crew and hitch the next ride to Earth. You're all on indefinite shore leave until further notice." Pike eyed his wavering captain with a critical eye. "That's an order, captain. Move your ass. And if you see either of the Winchesters, you tell them the same order stands. You are not, however to go looking for them." Damn. Kirk was hoping to find Dean in the Enterprise's engineering section, drawing up repair schedules.

The next morning saw the prisoners being transferred off to the high-security prison ship. Kirk had inspected the transport crew and ship himself, Dean two steps behind him the whole time. To their satisfaction, the crew was experienced and capable, the ship formidable. As Dean put it, he'd met friendlier Romulans and the bleak look on Starc's bruised face said that the only sane member of the trio knew he wasn't escaping any time soon.

Kirk still wanted to beat the shit out of the prisoners but admitted to himself that he wasn't going to give Gain the satisfaction of giving in. Every time he saw the woman, she followed his movements with flat, cold eyes, a little half-smile on her face. As soon as she had regained coherency as Bones grudgingly let her out of sedative-land, Gain had remarked that Kirk wouldn't be able to resist physically assaulting any of the prisoners.

Bones had heard that. To Kirk's unending amusement, Gain started inexplicably hallucinating and the prison guards couldn't seem to find an antidote for the drug floating in her system. When they questioned McCoy, the southern doctor had shrugged mildly, suggesting in a thick Georgia drawl that a side effect of a few drugs he had administered for Gain's injuries might have an unfortunate effect on the woman.

The guards had pointed out that the mad scientist had exactly three bruises on her arm.

"Well, you know the drugs are working then, don't you?" had been the glib reply, innocent as anything.

Kirk grinned, slipping his sunglasses further down on his nose as he crunched down on a handful of potato chips. The Admiralty had acted decidedly less like jackasses when Kirk had requested people or supplies, his ship was being repaired, everyone was in one piece and there was lots of sun and food. There was a lack of beach bunnies, he admitted to himself, but he was too engrossed in making sure none of his crew was in trouble to seriously chase after girls.

Spock was still moving stiffly, Bones had yet to start grouching about his bruised ribs (which meant they hurt) and Chekov had strained a few muscles yanking McCoy up into the ventilation shaft. Everyone was a little banged up and Kirk couldn't help worrying.

A snap of terrycloth had a towel spreading out on the sand and a grunt saw Pike plunking down beside Kirk, cane falling to the sand. Pike pushed the detested thing further away from him in exasperation and Kirk had to work at keeping a straight face. "Sir," he greeted cordially. "Run away from your secretary?"

"Smartass." Pike kicked off his flip flops and gestured for a beer. Kirk obliged. "Nice day," the admiral sighed in relief. "Cartwright's handling my work for a day or two. If he screws it up, he's up on report for conduct unbecoming an officer, especially since he's borderline for how he's been treating you and Winchester."

Kirk scowled and jammed the bag of chips towards his superior. "Dude, you're ruining my afternoon," he complained. "Leave the stuffed shirts behind."

"Little snot," Pike retorted affectionately and took Kirk up on the chip offer.

Dean

Dean roared in laughter and scooped Jo-jo up, tossing her shrieking into an oncoming wave. When she popped up again like a cork, still clutching the brightly coloured football, he took the chance to sweep the beach, checking up on everyone. Bobby, Ducky and his dad still playing checkers. Who knew what Sam, Spock and Hetty were dreaming up and frankly, Dean didn't want to know. And everyone else was still in the water or tanning on the beach.

Situation normal, right down to Kirk and Pike stretched out on the beach. The Enterprise's captain refused to wear a t-shirt and you could still see the mottled bruises spread over his torso. He and Spock looked like walking wounded and frankly Dean was glad Bones was wearing a board shirt. Watching Bones explain why Daddy felt sore to Jo-jo just wasn't high on Dean's list of priorities.

He had been standing up, looking in at the beach for too long because Jo and Jo-jo (a very deadly combination) nailed him with a duo attack – big Jo hit him behind the knees as little Jo crashed into his waist and Dean was yanked underwater, his face mashing into the sandy beach-bed. When he finally threw them off like Atlas shaking loose his chains, he was choking and sputtering as the two girls cackled like witches.

Dean was glad they were there to laugh like that.

"Where's Jo?" Dean demanded shortly. Jo's second in command reported that Jo was helping Cupcake with Starc and Gain, since the Enterprise's security officer was a little dinged up from the explosions that had crippled the big ship. Dean frowned. He wasn't sure if he liked the sound of that. Oh, he trusted both Cupcake and Jo but Starc was big, mean and desperate.

Just because Dean was a worry wart, he took a small detour all the way across the Enterprise to the rather smashed up security area. Between the crew breaking out and the explosions, the place looked like a war zone. Sticking his head in the door, Dean cased the situation at a glance. Starc had obviously thrown a bruised and wheezing Cupcake up against the wall and had a big meaty hand wrapped around Jo's throat. Gain was egging her goon on with strident shrieks of rage.

Dean was going to step in when Jo rammed a pointy, violent elbow into the man's solar plexus, rammed that same fist down into Starc's groin and simultaneously used her other arm to break free of the choke hold. Then, with vicious pleasure and force, Jo slammed the back of her head into Starc's face. Dean heard the crunch of a broken nose and grinned. He loved his security officer.

Still, he was pretty sure she'd appreciate the help and with the brisk motions of experience took control of the prisoner, wrapping durasteel zip-ties around Starc's wrists with punitive force. "Okay, Jo?"

"Fine sir," she panted, rubbing her neck and glaring at Starc.

"Cupcake?" Dean asked.

The Enterprise officer managed to catch his breath. "I think Dr. McCoy was right about those broken ribs," he admitted ruefully. "Thought I was all right."

Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Get your ass to the infirmary." Cupcake snapped out a brisk salute and hobbled off. "Now why can't you do that?" Dean demanded of his own officer.

Jo raised her eyebrows. "I think your head is big enough already. Sir."

"My nose is broken," Starc moaned, sputtering through the fountain of blood streaming down his face. Dean propped his hands on his hips and considered the complaint.

"Jo, do we give a damn?"

"Not really, sir."

Dean smirked at the memory of her dry response. They had called Ellen down to assess the prisoner a few minutes later and she had definitely not been kind. Professional to a tee, but not kind. And because Dean considered Starc a high security risk, they got to leave him covered in blood. Just to piss him off.

Jo had liked that. So had Dean.

Uhura was wildly waving a big towel down on the beach, gesturing to the huge grill. Pike was shovelling something that probably smelled fabulous from the barbeque to plates.

"Hey, grub!" Dean shouted and several wet heads swivelled towards the beach.

"Food!" Jo-jo crowed. "Last one there has to wash dishes!"

Dean let everyone dash through the surf. He alone knew that some very clever ladies had done the packing and everyone would be eating off paper plates instead of the usual plastic. No dishes to wash.

There was enough food to feed an army and the amateur pyromaniacs got to start the bonfire as soon as the sun started going down (Sulu resented being called an amateur until Sam Winchester pointed out that anyone not on alpha shift was an amateur pyro). Marshmallows came out, drinks circulated and everyone started to gravitate towards the bonfire, sitting down in clumps to talk, to just enjoy each other's company.

John refused to let his boys out of sight as Pike chatted with every single person on the beach, ensuring that he couldn't possibly to anything more for them. Kirk and Dean relaxed as Spock curled up under a big pile of blankets, disliking the chill off the ocean. Hot chocolate was dug out at Jo-jo's request as the little girl curled up on her dad's lap. Stars started to appear in the sky and a childish star-counting competition broke out, Sam Hanna proving he could maintain the focus necessary to count higher than most until Sam Winchester casually mentioned that he knew the exact number of stars in this sector and thus won by default. That was when Dean groaned and stuffed his brother's mouth full of s'more.

When the night had grown dark and the bonfire burned down to dancing hues over glowing coals, Dean realized with a startled huff of laughter that he, Kirk, Callen, Gibbs and Pike were the only ones still awake, the five commanders still wide-eyed. Something in a captain's make up just meant that they couldn't pass into dreamland while their people were defencelessly out in the open.

Tempted to poke a snoring Sam but suppressing the urge for the greater good, Dean creakily pulled himself off the damp sand and ambled over to plunk down beside Pike.

"Sir – "

"It's Chris, Dean," Pike urged. "I get damned tired of being an admiral."

"Chris," Dean tried out the name. It felt awkward, like a brand new pair of shoes that didn't quite fit just yet. "What are the chances of those three coming back to haunt us?"

Chris stared into the heart of the fire as Callen and Jim settled in closer to listen. "I don't know, Dean. If you're good at this job, you end up making enemies. Jethro knows that better than most." The quiet Washington captain nodded wordlessly, sipping at his beer. "Sometimes those enemies are more determined than most. And you bunch aren't just good at your job. You're the best."

Jim stretched, yawning as he did. "Walker's crazy enough to fixate on us. Starc's pretty pissed. And Gain's certifiable."

Chris shrugged. "I'll keep tabs on them for you. But if they do get out, and that's a rather large if, you'd do well to look over your shoulder."

"Tomorrow's problem," Jethro added laconically.

Chris grinned. "The chatterbox captain's right. They're tomorrow's problem. Toasted marshmallow?" The admiral proudly waved a flaming hunk of sugar about, causing Callen and Dean to duck with a curse.

"That's not toasted, that's flambéed!"

Jim brightened. "Ooh, alcohol and marshmallows, that's a good idea! Dude, come help me with this!" Jethro laughed as Chris rolled his eyes in exasperation and the three younger captains immediately experimented with this new concept.

The first experiment of alcohol-soaked marshmallows was definitely explosive. "You think they're going to have eyebrows left come morning?" Jethro asked his superior with a wry smirk as the three captains-turned-children fought over the marshmallow toasting stick. Chris shrugged in amusement.

"Don't think so but the real question is whether or not the experiment's worthwhile and if so, how can we get them to make us some so we can keep our eyebrows."

Two hours after that, Jethro and Chris were the only ones still awake, the three captains passed out courtesy of a rather potent combination of sugar and alcohol. "Good kids," Jethro commented.

Chris hummed in agreement. He and Leroy Jethro Gibbs had a rather unusual understanding of the chain of command. Technically Jethro had more experience, had been in Starfleet longer than Chris. Unfortunately, the direct, sometimes abrasive man had made few friends with the higher command, had absolutely no ambition and would probably never rise above the rank of captain.

Thus Chris had the unusual experience of outranking a man who was probably as qualified to be admiral as he was himself. They weren't quite friends but definitely more than comrades and the admiral made sure to treat the Washington's captain with the respect he deserved. "Look out for them up there, will you?" he asked Jethro.

"Can do," the veteran captain replied easily. "They're making dangerous enemies already."

"And they run headfirst into trouble," Chris grumped fondly. Jethro smirked at him and Chris got the impression they were moving towards being friends, allies in keeping the young idiots alive.

They sat staring into the coals of the bonfire and occasionally talking about anything that came to mind until the sun rose pink and John Winchester got up to make breakfast.

When the younger captains woke up, Chris finished off John's first stack of blueberry pancakes, stolen some bacon and curled up in a pile of blankets. He pointedly ignored Dean and Jim's comments about old men and drifted off to sleep, feeling decades younger and lighter, unwound and relaxed. Callen had suggested Jethro's solution but Chris was pretty sure he didn't want to try the tar-strong coffee. Jethro's preferred drink was an acquired taste and several people (Washington crew included) swore that Jethro didn't have blood in his veins any more, just strong coffee.

Plus the kids were big enough to look after everyone if he decided to take a break. They'd definitely proven that and if the past few months' events came back to haunt them, Chris was pretty sure they'd face the consequences with their usual courage, insanity and success.

The End