Word Count: 10530 (Let’s not talk about it)
Summary: Dean wakes up battered and bleeding in a cell, but he’s not alone. Colonel John Sheppard of SGA 1 is there as well, the two of them are being pursued by the most heinous force in the universe - H/C writing Fan Girls. Just how far will John go to ease Dean’s pain?
Pairing: Dean Winchester/John Sheppard
Disclaimer: I promise I own neither shows nor men in this story, although if there is a rental option I wouldn’t mind a long-term lease on Dean, and I’d happily rent John for a few months as well.
Warnings: None, except for my usual Dean and punctuation abuse (thank you bigj52, for sorting out the punctuation. I’m afraid Dean’s on his own). Also this is a loose sequel to my fic Damn H/C Writers. You don’t have to read it for this to make sense but it will help understand the insanity a little *G*.
Notes: As always my eternal thanks go to my unflinching beta bigj52 (unflinching because she sorts out this mess before you guys see it), a woman to whom statues really should be erected. I wrote this particular tale as a birthday present for wings128, and I hope one day she forgives me for it being late and she also forgives me for mangling the character of her beloved John Sheppard. As always feedback is cuddled and feed lots of chocolate *G*.
As Dean came round he struggled to remember what he’d been doing right before the sky fell in on his head. He fought the urge to open his eyes; he’d learned from painful past experience, it was better to play possum. At least until he’d figured out where he was, and what the flying fuck had happened to him this time.
He started by taking an inventory of his body. It seemed everything was still attached, thank god. But he hurt like fuck. He felt as if a Wendigo had been given a baseball bat, and had used it to tenderize him. He gritted his teeth and took a deep breath, his ribs howled in protest.
Ok, badly bruised ribs, possibly cracked but not broken. Sadly he was only too familiar with the pain of broken bones. But he was most concerned with the way his left shoulder throbbed in time with his heartbeat. There was also a telltale sticky dampness oozing down his torso. Awesome. Punctured as well battered.
With that out of the way, he turned his attention to his surroundings once more as his back twinged, reminding him of his current predicament and forcing him to concentrate. He kept his breathing slow and shallow, trying not to alert any possible watchers to him being awake. Dean listened intently. So far it was fairly quiet. No heavy breathing, or sound of claws tapping across the floor that might indicate he’d been snatched by something Fugly.
Ok, hopefully nothing nasty was lurking in the corner, waiting to rip him a new one when he opened his eyes. He continued to process his surroundings; he was lying on a hard surface. It was probably a concrete floor, judging by the chill seeping through his clothes. His head was cushioned by something soft. That thoughtful touch calmed him. It meant Sammy was close by and maybe things weren’t so bad after all.
Dean clung to that hope as he slowly opened his eyes, relief washing over him when the ceiling didn’t spin and he didn’t want to throw up. “Yay me, no concussion. Hey, Sammy. What happened? Did I touch something I shouldn’t have in the Bat Cave again?” he said gruffly, and went to sit up.
The dull throbbing in his shoulder immediately burned white hot, and the room whirled crazily. He heard movement behind him and before he could turn, a hand gently touched his right shoulder. Dean knew right away it wasn’t Sam’s giant paw. The hand gently pushed him back into a prone position. “Buddy, if you don’t move that hand in the next five seconds, you’ll never play the piano again.” Dean growled threateningly.
“Really? Damn, you’re good; I couldn’t play piano before. You need to lay still, you’re bleeding.” There was an air of easy authority in the voice addressing him. It was a voice used to getting its own way. Dean had no doubt he was dealing with a military man; he’d heard the same tone from his dad often enough.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious. If you hadn’t said anything I’d have never noticed,” Dean grumbled, batting the man’s hand away.
The owner of the hand appeared in his line of sight, and Dean got his first look at him. He had black spiky hair, and warm hazel eyes that crinkled as he smiled reassuringly at him. If Dean was honest the guy was pretty hot. Well it took a hot guy like him to appreciate another. Then Dean spotted the BDUs his companion was wearing. Seemed he was right about the military part, although his hair was longer than regulation. Not a marine then, possibly air force. The man’s jacket was missing, and he realized that’s what his head was resting on.
“That’s Colonel Obvious to you. I don’t suppose you know where we are, or you have any idea where the nearest Stargate is. And if you don’t mind me asking, what shouldn’t you have touched in the Bat Cave?” He looked down at Dean with an amused, curious expression on his face.
Dean’s brow creased. “Dude, five minutes ago I was in Kansas, so I don’t have a friggin’ clue where we are. I don’t even know what a Stargate is. More importantly, where the hell is my brother?” Dean shouted, and coughed as his throat dried.
“Hey, calm down. I haven’t even seen your brother. I swear when I woke up in here I was alone.” Dean tried to get up. “Stop it. You’ll hurt yourself.” He considered Dean’s battered face and bloody clothing. “Ok, you’ll hurt yourself even more. Here, take a drink of this.” The man slid his hand behind Dean’s head, lifting it gently as he brought a bottle to Dean’s lips. The hunter glared at him. “Look, I promise it’s just water. I’ve no idea what the hell is going on either. So while we’re stuck with one another, why don’t we play nicely?” he said in a reasonable tone of voice, tilting the bottle slowly, allowing the cool water to flow over Dean’s parched lips.
Dean took a long, much-needed drink. When he was finished the man took the bottle away, and patted his uninjured shoulder gently. Dean took the chance to study the soldier beside him, as he kept guard over them. His eyes kept flicking to the door, watching for any sign of movement from outside, ready for anything. The guy gave off a familiar vibe, a protective and caring vibe. He reminded Dean of someone, and that someone was him.
That thought set alarm bells ringing, and suddenly things started to add up. Normally a hunter and solider wouldn’t cross paths. And what was the guy saying about something called a Stargate? Plus his new friend seemed very comfortable with this kind of situation, as if it happened to him a lot. He was probably part of some freaky assed secret unit, a hero, and....oh shit, it couldn’t be, could it? Dean groaned softly. Damn, he thought it’d been too quiet.
“What’s wrong? Has the pain got worse? I’m going to have to look at that shoulder, and stop the bleeding.” He reached out, and Dean took hold of his wrist.
“Which branch of the military are you in?” Dean looked up at the man; he coughed and looked away shiftily.
“I’m afraid I can’t discuss that with you, but I really should try and get out of here. I need to find McKay and Ronon.” He looked round anxiously and ran his fingers though his hair, making it stick up even more.
Dean smirked. “Right. I’m guessing you’re part of some kind of Special Forces unit, and McKay and Ronon are part of your close-knit team. What were you doing just before everything went dark? I bet it was something heroic, right? Rescuing children and nuns from a deranged war lord? Or maybe you were saving the world from an Alien invasion?”The man blanched Yahtzee, Dean thought. “Out of curiosity, you didn’t happen to hear typing just before the lights went out?” he asked innocently.
The man’s jaw dropped, and his eyes went wide with shock. “Oh crap. You too? McKay will probably be going mad that I’ve disappeared on him again, and Ronon will most likely be taking somewhere apart brick by brick trying to find me.” He rolled his head, trying to loosen tense neck muscles.
“Well I hope they got a good map, or better yet you’ve got a tracker on you. Sam keeps threatening to have a tracking spell put on me, so he can find me whenever this happens. Can I help it if the Fan Girls find me irresistible? It’s a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it.” Dean winked.
He shook his head and laughed. “Last time I was the Fan Girls’ guest, I was kept locked in a freezing cold cell, wearing nothing but my pants and my empty thigh holster. The girls completed the ragged prisoner chic by chaining me to the wall by a collar round my neck. But what hurt the most, was they took my damn boots. Do know how long it takes to break boots in?” Dean nodded sympathetically. “By the time my team got me back to Atlantis, I was nearly mad from isolation. Although to be fair to the girls, they kept me hydrated by hosing me down with cold water. At least this cell’s warm and I got company.” He chuckled humourlessly.
Dean grimaced. “For god’s sake, lower your voice, dude. If they hear you, this cell will be sub zero in less than five seconds. Then we’ll end up having to cuddle naked or some crap.” He shivered at the thought
The man smirked; he liked this guy’s attitude and he seemed very familiar with the concept of the Fic-writing Fan Girl - the scourge of every good-looking maverick hero and sidekick in the multiverse. It seemed they shared a common problem, so why not let Dean in on a few secrets. After all, who he was he going to tell? “Well, just as everything went dark, me, Rodney and Ronon were just coming back through the Stargate after a successful mission. I’m Colonel John Sheppard of Stargate Command. I’m leader of SGA team 1, and if you listen to Dr Rodney McKay, the twenty-first century’s answer to Captain James T Kirk.” John stretched out his hand towards Dean.
“The name’s Winchester, Dean Winchester.” He grinned as he took the offered hand, trying not to wince when another sharp pain rolled through his body.
Dean grinned. “Kirk? Does that mean you’ve got a frisky alien priestess on every planet you visit?” He saw John blush again. “Holy shit! You do! Who are Rodney and Ronon? Are they the Spock and McCoy to your Kirk? Please tell me you’ve made out with a babe with blue skin.” He gave a roguish smile, looking hopefully at John.
“Hate to disappoint you. No blue-skinned babes. And as for Rodney and Ronon. Well I suppose Rodney is Spock, possibly the smartest man in the Pegasus galaxy. But if he found out I’d said that, he’d be an even bigger pain in the ass. As for Ronon. Not so much McCoy, more Conan. He’s a Sedatan. A warrior and very overprotective who usually paces the room threatening to kill everyone while I lie bleeding.” John grinned in return.
“Those guys sound like a lot of fun; I have my own all-round over-protective Sasquatch and smart Alec. Sammy, my little brother, a walking encyclopaedia of weird, has been known to garrotte the odd vampire with razor wire for hurting me. He’s the one who prowls round threatening to do all sorts of fun things to the fuglies we hunt; sometimes he does it in Latin when he’s really pissed off.” Dean felt it was only fair to trade information with a fellow victim of the Hurt/Comfort brigade.
“Hmmm? Why do you think the girls love us so much?” John asked with a twinkle in his eye. “Could it have anything to do with me being part an interplanetary exploration team, who resides in the lost city of Atlantis?” He stroked his chin, pondering this mystery. “Maybe it’s because me and my team regularly save Atlantis and earth from Wraiths and other Aliens.” He grinned and gave a wry smile. “That’s my story. Why do our little friends find you and your brother so fascinating?”
Dean gave a shrug, regretting it when his shoulder throbbed. “Me an’ Sammy are hunters. We hunt things like vampires, werewolves, demons, and Leviathans.” Dean shuddered. “Leviathans - immortal, big-mouthed eating machines, led by a piece of shit called Dick Roman.”
John scowled. “That name sounds familiar. Can’t think why. Do you travel a lot on these hunts?”
“Yeah, a hell of a lot. We don’t get to ride in Spaceships or go through Stargates. We drive everywhere, although we have taken the odd Angel-powered trip. We’ve haven’t made it to another planet yet. Our most exotic stops have been heaven and hell; me and Sam weren’t too keen on either place.”
John took a sharp breath. “You’ve both been to Hell?” He sounded horrified.
Dean nodded. “Yeah, it’s a real fun place. Then last year after a final run-in with Dick Roman as I stabbed him in the neck, the bastard exploded, sending me and my friend, Cas to Purgatory.” Dean’s eyes closed, reliving the moment in the lab.
“What’s Purgatory like?” John asked weakly, conjuring images of all the worst worlds he’d been stuck on. Somehow he didn’t think they would compare to Hell and Purgatory.
“Purgatory - monster heaven. Me an’ Cas was real popular down there - an angel and a human. I was the favourite chew toy for everything with fangs and claws. If it hadn’t been for him and my buddy, Benny, I don’t think I’d have made it out of there in one piece.”
John was perplexed. “Hang on. If Cas is an Angel, who is Benny? Another Angel stuck down there with the monsters, or a hunter like you?”
Dean gave a wry smile. “Benny was a dead vampire when I met him, with a plan to get us out of there. All I had to do was let him hitch a lift. We made it out together.” Dean looked guilty as he thought about Benny. His friend was another casualty of the Winchester war on demons. He still regretted cutting the vamp loose, but he did it for Sam; he knew his brother had walked away from Amelia for a chance to close the gates of hell. He couldn’t be selfish; he had to put his brother first.
John was stunned by how matter of fact Dean was about his life. He always thought he had major problems dealing with life on Atlantis. But dealing with Wraith, Genii, and Rodney was almost nothing in comparison to monsters, Angels, demons and the damn Apocalypse.
John decided to focus on Cas, as an idea was forming, “You know an angel? I thought The Ancients were the most powerful beings out there. Hmm, I wonder if they’re related, all powerful, immortal and wise.” He pondered the problem, and could just imagine Rodney’s reaction to the news that angels were real.
Dean interrupted his musings. “I hate to burst your bubble, but Angels are dicks. There is an exception, when he’s in his right mind.”
John reeled in shock. “How come they’re dicks?”
“Ok, they were created to obey god, be the perfect soldiers. The trouble was god left the building so to speak, and left the Arch Angels in charge. They decided a change of management was in order.”
“Do I want to know what happened? Or will ignorance be bliss, and is Cas the only non-dick Angel?” John said quietly.
“I sometimes forget Cas isn’t human, and he doesn’t see the world the same way I do. It’s caused a few issues between us from time to time.” Dean went quiet, his eyes focused on something in his past. “But he’s always come through for me and Sam, when the chips are down. He was the one who hauled me outta hell and was supposed to help me and Sam stop the Apocalypse. Only they lied to the poor bastard. Turns out me an’ Sam were supposed to kick start it. In the end he rebelled against heaven and helped us make sure we still got a planet for you to come home to.” Dean looked lost in a world of his own,
John couldn’t even begin to imagine what the younger man had been through. Heaven and hell? And the way Dean had said it; he didn’t seem to see much difference between the two. Plus didn’t you have to be dead to go there? Perhaps being friends with an Angel had some perks. “What if you called Cas now? Could you get him to get us the hell out of Dodge?” he asked hopefully.
“I could try, but the girls tend to really screw up Cas’s mojo. Last time this happened, when he tried to find me and Sam, the poor guy ended up flat on his back from all the squeeing and flailing. It might be safer for Cas to stay out of this. I’m sure me and you can break out of here without help,” Dean said, not wanting to mention he was having a few trust issues with his friend. There was just something off about his return from Purgatory, and the way he kept vanishing.
“I’m glad you got faith in our abilities to break out of here with no weapons or idea where we are. Do you have any thoughts on how to distract the girls, while we stage this great escape?” John asked, wondering what Dean would come up with.
“It’s a shame Sam isn’t here. The fan girls love it when he gets all concerned and emo over my poor battered body. They get a kick out of how protective he can be of me; I just hate all the chick flick crap he comes out with. It’s terrible to see a grown Sasquatch cry.” He winked at John, managing to regain some of his humour from earlier.
John took his cue from his new friend and laughed. “I get it. So the girls make sure they ‘whump’ you on a regular basis, just so Sam can keep his hand in at looking after you.”
He looked round the cell once more, and yup, it was still a bare concrete box with little chance of escape. John decided to distract himself from their problems by talking to Dean some more. “I think you’d enjoy meeting a Wraith; they’re a kind of freaky alien vampire. Any suggestions on how to kill something that’s basically immortal, heals like lightning, and considers maverick, devilishly handsome air force colonels a delicacy?”
Dean pondered the problem for the moment. “Blast the bastard with a shotgun till it falls over, and then hack its head off. I feel the classics are always the best. You can overthink things; I don’t know anything that survives without its head. It works even with Leviathans, who actually can survive without their heads. It’s just real difficult for them to concentrate when their ass is in New York, and their head is in Arizona.” Dean gave a winning smile.
“I like your style, straight to the point; I bet it would be great if we could all go hunting together. I could just see Ronon hunting down a werewolf, then ripping it apart with his bare hands. You, me and Sam can sit and drink some beers, while Rodney’s head explodes as he tries to explain to an Angel that there’s no god.” John smiled fondly as he spoke.
“I could go for that, seeing as the fourth wall’s gone all slinky and stretchy again. But we’re stuck here keeping the girls amused. I agree we really should try and get out of here. For all we know, Sam and your friends could be stuck in the next cell. ” Dean looked round, his intention to try and find his brother, clear.
Dean attempted to get to his feet; his right arm shook with strain as he tried to push himself up. His left arm wound tightly round his body, protecting his ribs and shoulder. Dean swayed alarmingly, went white and muttered “Son of a bitch.” His arm gave way, and he started to fall back.
John got behind Dean and wrapped his arms round him, supporting him. “Relax. I’m sure Sam’s fine, he’s probably trying to find you. I just hope Ronon doesn’t get hold of one of the girls. As I said, he can get a little testy. It could get messy if he does”
Dean wheezed and laughed. “Sam would be the same, and then he’d be guilty about frightening the poor little girls for weeks after.” He shook his head trying to clear it. “Shit, I must’ve hit my head harder than I thought. I don’t even remember how the hell I ended up in this state.” He felt John’s arm tighten round his waist. “Dude, careful with the merchandise. What’s with the bear hug?”
“You really don’t remember how you got like this?” John was concerned. “Only the fan girls usually write very detailed scenarios, and you not remembering is kinda worrying. What’s the last thing you remember, before the typing and waking up in these palatial digs?” He gestured around the bare concrete cell with his free hand.
Dean was enjoying being in John’s arms, and whoa, where the hell did that come from? He hoped he could hear typing, but it was quiet. He shook his head and tried to marshal his thoughts. “Let’s see. We’d finished up a hunt involving a Golem, and undead Nazi Necromancing bastards. I’m sure I was on a supply run when the lights went out, then I woke up here.”
John hummed thoughtfully, lowering his head. He took a deep breath, smelling the citrus-scented shampoo in Dean’s hair. The man in his arms had a clean masculine scent, a combination of gunpowder and coffee. If you could bottle that, you’d make a fortune. Where the fuck did that come from? John paused, listening for the familiar sound of typing. When there was silence he returned to his original train of thought. “Were you banged up on the hunt? Perhaps took a knife to the shoulder? Hell, I’d almost forgotten. I better take a look at that.”