Here Tomorrow Gone Today 2/9 (SGA/SPN Crossover AU)

[tari_roo]

Title:  Here Tomorrow Gone Today 2/9 (SGA/SPN Crossover AU)

Author: Tari_roo

Rating: PG (Gen)

Fandom: SPN/SGA

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing. But if SGA was still on, Sheppard would wear t-shirts more often and climb stuff. And if I owned SPN, there would be less shirt wearing entirely and more workouts.

Summary: SGA/SPN Crossover AU. The world ended and not how any hunter would have imagined. A BSG-style fleet of refugees on the run, with Dean Winchester aboard the Hammond. Shep POV.

Spoilers: SG1 Season 9 and 10. SPN, none.

 

One second Sheppard was banking left, weapons’ fire tracing a vicious vector on a Death Glider and the next he was spinning out of control, atmosphere venting, yoke not responding, computer screaming at him. The impact, if it had been an impact, barely registered and all John could do was stare at his hands gripping the stick like it was a piece of him and trying, trying, trying to pull up. The second impact was a cannon ball of a concussion and Sheppard had a split second thought of ‘Shit!’ before white enveloped his gaze, oh so familiar streaks and hazes and suddenly there were bright lights and voices shouting and he wasn’t falling anymore, wasn’t exploding.

“Got him!”

“Move, move, move.”

“We’re bugging out! Sheppard’s the last. Now!”

The all too familiar sensation of a ship jumping into hyperspace abruptly relaxed him and then there were hands on him, faces and voices all around. “Pulse is erratic”

“Bleeding here”

“Pupil reaction sluggish.”

“Breath sounds... hell if I know.”

“Lift!”

It was like floating through the air on clouds of pain and hellfire and Sheppard bit off the scream as they unceremoniously transferred him onto a gurney.

“Get him to the infirmary, stat. Next one.”

Motion and overhead lights passing like a train on steroids, and John felt his all too brief lunch lurch. “No, no, no, dude. No hurling, just keep breathing.”

There was only one voice now, a deep male voice, and through the pain narrowing his vision to things only of immediate importance, like breathing and not screaming, Sheppard squinted up at a... frigging giant. A friendly giant though, judging by the broad smile, the upside down smile. “Hey, hey. Nearly there.”

And a truthful giant it seemed, because soon there were familiar voices, Carson and nurses who he was ashamed to admit he mixed up and could never tell apart. “Colonel, what have you done to yourself this time?”

“Playing catch with the Ori, Doc. They cheat...using Death Gilders now.”

“They cheat like the devil, son. Right, let’s see whats what.”

And this was why he loved Carson, frigging loved him, the man knew just what the right dose of morphine was and although there were way too many hands and way too much pressure and discomfort, Sheppard didn’t care because it was Carson and there were drugs... good drugs.

By the time he was able to peel his eyes open, gasp like a mummy in a desert, he was a floating head on a cloud of morphine with a desperate thirst. “Here you go.”

Manna from heaven, nectar of Gods! Slivers of blessed ice pressed on his lips and John squinted enough to bring the heavenly nymph into focus and realise it was a heavenly nympho... no that’s not right, nympher... ew, nymphman?

“Say what?”

“Nuth’n. Fanks.”

“Welcome.” It was the Truth Friendly Giant and man alive, they had to be seriously short on nurses if they were raiding the marines again. Although the Ice Supply Giant really didn’t have a regulation haircut, and while the Airforce might be overlooking such things right now or in his case, always had, the Marines were sticklers for that type of thing.

Sheppard wasn’t the only patient in the infirmary, not after that last ambush. The CAP had served its purpose yet again and saved the Combat Fleet’s collective asses, but John had seen two 302s go down and his bird was toast. Still, they had more planes than pilots these days.

He was going to miss his 302. It might not have been a jumper, but it’d pulled him through a lot of scrapes and the thought of its wreckage lying lost and alone in space brought on a wave of unexpected melancholy. Must be the drugs.

And perhaps it was a combination of thoughts on his lost bird and the drugs but when the Giant Nurse returned, John squinted, then squinted again and croaked, “Winchester?”

Great bushy eyebrows of surprise climbed into his hairline and the Giant said, “You know me?”

But it was falling into place now, the last time they’d met up with the Civilian Fleet, moonshine from the Engineer’s still, hot and raw in his stomach and seeing Winchester with ... another Winchester?

“Mechanic... Dean.” Apparently complete sentences were still beyond him, but interpretation of garbled efforts was on this Winchester’s skill sheet so he said, “Oh, yeah. You probably know Dean, Colonel Sheppard. He mention me?”

“Nah. Shindig... planetside.”

Quick on the uptake, Winchester the Giant Nurse nodded again and said, “Yeah, I was with the Civilians before getting rotated onto Combat.”

“Nurse?”

“Now, yes. Before, no.”

No one really talked about Before – before the attack, before running for their lives, before anything. Sheppard nodded absently, realising he was probably nodding like an absent minded, high on drugs person and mumbled, “Be all you... can be.”

“Thought that was the Army.”

“Smartass.”

sga*spn*sga*spn sga*spn*sga*spn sga*spn*sga*spn sga*spn*sga*spn

Days, weeks, months later – ok probably only hours later, John awoke feeling overly warm, overly sensitive and aching in places he really didn’t want to think about. The Infirmary on the Apollo was quiet, hushed, so it was probably late, in the dead end shift. The lights were low, the privacy curtains drawn, the now oh so familiar hum of a ship in hyperspace thrumming through him.

There was a soft click, like the sound of metal on clothe-covered metal and soft voices beyond the curtains. Straining a little, the sound of blood pounding in his ears, John eventually picked out distant voices that were probably pretty close.

“What the hell, Dean? Don’t they have an infirmary on the Hammond?”

“Shut up, Samantha and keep sewing.”

The names helped, the voices too unfamiliar but John could picture the scene. His irritable, civilian mechanic sitting on a gurney, his oversized brother stitching something up.

“It’s not like they don’t have perfectly good nurses over there... hell judging by the scuttlebutt half of them are taking bets on who gets to tap your ass. Is that it? Too much pressure?”

“Can it, cupcake.”

“Dean, you are frigging exhausted, I’ve seen corpses with more colour than you.”

“We’re in space, moron.”

Ah, maybe it was time to check Rodney’s maintenance schedule again. The guy had a tendency to assume everyone on his staff worked all shifts, even rest days and survived on stims and caffeine.  

“No, I think you’re hiding from Dr Lamb, that’s why you conned Mark into beaming you over to me. She’d take one look at you and bench your ass.”

“Bite me, Sam.”

“No, no, you’re going to lose more than a damn finger next time, Dean. You are not the only friggin mechanic on the Hammond, hell the Fleet.”

Giant Nurse Sam sounded petulant and stern at the same time. For half a second John wondered who was the older brother and then decided he didn’t care.

“You tell that to McKay.”

“Living off coffee and stimulants is going to kill you, Dean. Just say no.”

So John wasn’t the only one aware of the McKay approved engineering diet. If nursing staff knew, Carson, Keller and Lamb knew. No wonder Rodney was hiding out on the Daedalus, dispensing orders from the one ship with a voodoo practitioner he wasn’t scared of.

“Thank you, School Special Sam, I will. Man, I would kill for a decent cup of coffee.”

“At least the new stuff doesn’t taste like armpit.”

“No, it tastes like feet, ow, shit , Sam, warn a guy next time.”

“Suck it up, big shot.”

“You’re just jealous that I got minions, man, actual minions.”

This was new, so Sheppard dragged himself from the lure of medicated sleep and tried to pay attention, more attention that is.

“I can’t believe they’re letting you mould impressionable minds.”

“Impressionable? Hell, most of ‘em are older than me... I’ve heard more complaints about sciatica...”

“Maybe you just suck at teaching.”

“And maybe you suck in general.”

Ah, brotherly affection.

“Nope, I totally rock, because you big brother, are done.”

“Sweet. Thanks, man.”

And previous question answered. Paying attention helped, but John still had no idea why Winchester, er, Dean was teaching or managing minions. Were they that hard up on engineers and mechanics?

“Hey, hey, where do you think you’re going?”

“Back to pony land, where the hell do you think?”

“Dude, your whole hand is friggin taped up, you can’t fix anything like that ...”

“Minions, Sam. Minions.”

“Dean...”

“I’ll be fine, Sam. Really. Quit worrying.”

Wondering if it would be worthwhile to call out and get a few answers before Dean left, John opened his mouth, gagged a little at the taste of whatever had crawled inside his mouth and died and decided against it. Tomorrow.. er later today was close enough.

“Dean.”

“Sam. Just – chill, man. Just be safe, yeah?”

“Of course....”

“No, no, man. I mean it – it ain’t my ass everyone’s talking about, nimrod. Dude, you gotta stop taking off your shirt. I can hear the screams over on the Hammond.”

“You can’t hear sound in space, Dean.”

Sam didn’t sound too embarrassed or proud, but then... maybe it was a running joke?

“Psychic screams of girlish glee, dude.”

“Shut up.”

“That is not a smile I wanna see on your face, Sam.”

Ah, so pride it was. And maybe teasing too.

“Tough shit.”

“Just cover up, kay?”

“Gotta repopulate, Dean.”

“Oh, oh, tmi tmi!”

“You brought it up.”

“Yes, yes, I did. Later, Sam.”

“Dean, wait...”

“Dean?”

“Jerk.”

Sam the Giant Nurse sounded... sad. There were tidying up sounds and then soft footfalls away from the beds, and in the deepening quiet of a space ship on late shift, swallowed in the silence of the deep black, Sheppard found sleep suddenly far away as thoughts of his own brother filled his mind.

Hope you’re ok, Dave.  

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This time, it was the smell of sweet and sour almost-just-don’t-ask-chicken that woke him, and not-so soft voices. Mid-morning, or close to lunch and Sheppard had already had the way too early wakeup call with a bedpan. Breakfast had been bland and mushy, and mostly ignored. Sleep seemed to be the order of the day and now, the smells and sounds of lunch drew him back to reality.

“Dean, this ... gah, so good.”

“Oh, you so owe me for this one. I had to fend off five jarheads for the extra plate.”

“I need to speak to the Doc about stealing Maquire, getting him to the Apollo.”

“No way man, Lamb would so totally block that.”

Snorting softly to himself, Sheppard nodded. Lamb would, he would, Carter would. Kev Maquire was going nowhere!

“And besides, Dean. You owe me, big time!”

“Huh? No way – what in the hell for?”

“I totally called Atlantis.”

“Dude, that was years ago.”

“Tough, shit. Atlantis, Dean, Atlantis as in the big damn floating city outside.”

Instantly, Sheppard sat up, really paying attention now, and struggled to free himself from the restrictive bed clothes, cursing under his breath.

“So totally doesn’t count. Alien, ancient humans flew it to another galaxy, so it’s not lost off the Canaries or Med or whatever.”

“It was the basis of the myth, so you owe me $500.”

“500! We are in a currency free economy, Sam. I don’t have 500 bucks!”

“I’ll take it in kind... you’re so totally covering my next ...”

Feet finally free, the floor cold and smooth under his bare feet, Sheppard pulled the curtains aside and snapped, “Atlantis? They made it?”

Two heads pivoted towards him, Dean’s fork half poised to his mouth, twin expressions of surprise.

“Oh Colonel, you shouldn’t be out of bed,” Sam said firmly, standing up to his impressive Ronon-height.

Waving him aside, John demanded again, “They’re here?”

Dean nodded, swallowed his mouthful and said, “Yeah, arrived about an hour ago, total chaos on the bridge. Sweet and sour to celebrate.”

A sharp jab of hurt nicked at Sheppard and he glanced around his bed and said, “Why didn’t they ... where’s my radio?”

“Hey, hey, I’ll get it. Dean, help the Colonel back into bed – back in bed, Colonel.” Sam disappeared and Dean hustled over, catching Sheppard who suddenly found the world tilting upwards and to the side, legs giving out on him.

“Dude, you like going to pass out on me and that’s... not cool.”

Winchester helped him back into bed, strangely strong and proficient at it, handing John his oxygen mask again. Sheppard didn’t remember taking it off, hell, he didn’t remember having it on in the first place. And then Nurse Sam was back and in the heady high of oxygen and morphine, Sheppard wondered if he would always think of Sam Winchester as Giant Nurse Sam. Probably.

Stammering a little, trying to pull it together, stop the race of his heart at the thought of Atlantis, John said, “Fine, fine, radio, thanks.”  Sam handed the small earwig over, somehow managing to produce a disapproving smile.

“Welcome.”

Both Winchesters stepped back to their lunch, but kept a close eye on John but he didn’t really care. All he could hear in his own head was the deep, insistent cry of ‘Atlantis, Atlantis, Atlantis.’

Tapping the radio, signalling the command channel, he barked, “Bridge, this is Sheppard.”

“Colonel?”

“Why in the hell did no one tell me that Atlantis had found us?”

“Sorry sir, it’s been crazy. We’re plotting a rendezvous with the Civilian fleet, need to make sure the Ori didn’t follow them.”

Oh sure, be reasonable and practical. John hand waved that thought absently and said sharply, “Patch me through to Atlantis Actual.”

“Sir?”

“Now, Airman!”

“Yes, sir.”

In the century long seconds it took to raise Atlantis, Sheppard fidgeted and fussed, and ignored the curious looks from Dean and the cool ‘is he over-exerting himself’ assessing looks from Sam.

And then a familiar voice, one he had given up hearing again chirped in his ear, “Atlantis Actual”

“Chuck?”

The responding surprise and relief was ... awesome. “Col. Sheppard? Good to hear your voice!”

A dopey, happy smile on his face, Sheppard nodded, “Likewise, where in the hell have you guys been? Who’s in the control chair?”

Chuck sounded good – not too tired, not too stressed, relieved and happy. “Trying to stay ahead of the Ori mostly, sir. And Major Lorne, sir.”

Going through the checklist, John asked eagerly, “And Woolsey?”

“Here, sir, all of us are. No causalities since the attack. It’s been hairy though. The Ori really don’t like Atlantis.”

Nodding still, sharing a happy grin with the Winchesters who smiled back, Sheppard laughed, “Hell yeah they don’t. Or Ancient gene carriers. Patch me through to Lorne, please.”

“Yes, sir. Really to good to hear you again, sir.”

Chuck didn’t really give him a chance to reciprocate because all too soon he could hear the off-comm chatter of his long lost 2IC. “Lorne?”

“Colonel? Sir?” Lorne sounded... dead tired but the same relief and happiness was underscoring his voice, and Sheppard knew he sounded the same.

“Damn, you ok? City ok?”

The smile was audible, “Yes, sir. Damn glad we found you – O’Neill takes this hiding thing seriously. We’ve been looking for you for months.”

The large gaping hole that had been Atlantis and his men was slowly being filled, and John leant back into his bed and sighed, “It’s a big universe, Evan. How’d you lose Ori?”

“Careful planning and a planned multilevel strategy.”

“Dumb luck, huh?”

“Totally, sir.”

Unaccountably feeling his eyes burn, his stomach twist with emotion, Sheppard bit out, “Damn, Evan ... it’s just ..”

If his second in command sounded emotional, Sheppard was totally going to ignore it, “Likewise sir, very glad we found you.”

Shoving the emotion away, packing it in the same box as seeing Ronon, Teyla and Rodney after the first attack, something to be ignored and boxed and just ... Sheppard coughed and said brightly, professionally, “And the chair? You managing?”

There was real emotion in Lorne’s voice, both fear and laughter as he said, “It’s been rough keeping the city going without McKay and Zelenka, but we managed. She flies like a barn, sir. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Laughing, just a little, John shrugged, “Pretty sure I did – although I may have said 2 tonne barge.”

There was a moment of dead air, Lorne’s voice off_comm to someone and then he was back, “I’m getting pinged sir, Big Brass on the line.”

Relieved and at peace, John sighed contentedly, “No problem. Chat later then. She better not have any scratches, Evan.”

“Yes, sir.” And then, he was gone.

The thought of Atlantis, of a home he’d written off as lost and gone and a gaping hole of memories and years of happiness filled him. There were twin smiles on the Winchester faces across from him and John couldn’t help smile in return, nay grin like a mad thing.

Who cared if they were civilians and had no idea what Atlantis was, what it meant to the Fleet, to him. He was happy, so they were happy. In a world gone pear shaped, down the rabbit hole in a basket marked ‘Hell Express’, where homes and families were lost, Home had found them.

Home.

Atlantis.

sga*spn*sga*spn sga*spn*sga*spn sga*spn*sga*spn sga*spn*sga*spn sga*spn*sga*spn

Fin.

A/N: I had thoughts percolating about this, ruminations and musings. And you were all enthusiastic and wanted more and I was so tempted to write more ... but I still like the one shot, so maybe this is a two chapter one shot. J  Or maybe I like the idea of Winchesters being on a Gate team (hangs head in shame). I have no self control. Hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Part 1

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Comments

[tari-roo.livejournal.com]

Thanks! way to make my day :) Glad you are enjoying.