Title: A Very Supernatural and SG1 Christmas
Genre: action/adventure, drama, angst, hurt/comfort, family, gen, crossover, humor, bromance
Characters: Sam and Dean Winchester, Jack O’Neill, Daniel Jackson
Summary: Just your ordinary Christmas story with ghosts and claw-wielding, flesh-eating monsters. Sam Winchester and Daniel Jackson whump with, of course, protective Dean Winchester and Jack O'Neill. Spoilers for SPN 7x10. Circa season 3 Stargate SG1.
A/N: An SG1 prequel to this story is on the way. “Celebrate Me Home”
“It’s here, isn’t it?” Sam was forcing himself to his feet. He swayed dangerously, but somehow managed to stay upright.
“What’s here?” Jack and Daniel asked in chorus.
“Yeah, but it’s on our territory now.” Dean walked back over to Sam and with a hand under his elbow helped him to the couch. “It won’t attack until after dark. And,” he answered the other two, “we’re not exactly sure what it is now.”
Sam sunk onto the cushions with a pain-filled sigh. “Alright well, we lost our flamethrower...but, of course, if it’s not a biloko—”
“There’s that word again.” Jack.
“—can we still kill it with fire?”
“Good question. And I dunno, man, it could still be a biloko. I mean, no one that we know of has survived an attack to clean any wounds with holy water, and I was just being thorough, so….”
“We wouldn’t know if it would react that way.” Sam thought aloud, finishing his sentence.
“Right.” Dean pointed a finger at him.
“Okay, so great, it’s a bilbo,” Jack cut in. “How do we kill it?”
“Fire is the best way,” Dean answered, not even bothering to correct him. “Regular rounds only seem to slow it down, but that’s something at least.”
“Regular rounds to the…?”
Dean gestured to his head.
“Of cooourse,” the colonel drawled, then reached behind his back and pulled out Dean’s pearl handle 9mil.
“Finally.” Dean took it gratefully.
The fire iron Daniel had been holding suddenly fell to the floor with a loud clang. All eyes turned to him.
“Daniel?” Jack moved towards him.
“Sorry.” Closing his eye, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m just….” His legs gave out.
Jack and Dean caught him under the arms. When Dean put a hand on his back to help him onto the couch, the archaeologist tensed and cried out. Dean immediately let go and raised his hands.
“Talk to me, Daniel.” Jack crouched down next to him, concern darkening his eyes.
“I’m fine. Really. Just got a little dizzy.” He was pinching the bridge of his nose again, eyes squeezed shut. “Not as much steam as I had thought, I guess.”
“Well aren’t we just the All Star Team here,” Dean commented, but not unkindly. The fading bruises on his face, and the bandages on his wrists hadn’t gone unnoticed by him—though they were hidden under long sleeves. A person only had bandages like that…well, not for any good reason.
“Damnit, Daniel you should be resting.” This trip really, really wasn’t going according Jack’s plan. It was meant to help Daniel forget about the horrors of the universe. Instead, since they got there, they’ve been nothing but reminded.
Daniel laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, we’ll, we’ll just put a sign up at the door telling all the spirits and claw-wielding monsters to come back after half of us have taken a nap.”
Dean canted his head to the side as he checked the rounds in his weapon. “Sounds good to me.”
Sighing, Jack ducked his head and ran a hand roughly through his hair. “Your meds are in the truck.”
“I don’t need them, Jack,” Daniel tried to assure him, even though the pain and exhaustion in his voice stated otherwise. “Not yet, anyway.”
“What happened to your back?” There was genuine concern in Sam’s voice.
Daniel’s blue eyes lost their focus for a moment. “Let’s just say that not all monsters have claws.”
Dean regarded him sadly. “I agree with you there.”
“Okay, campers,” Jack stood and clapped his hands together; anxious to get his friend safe and able to rest, “we have about,” he looked at his watch, “an hour before it gets dark. What’s the plan?”
“Salt is so going on my grocery list,” Jack declared, annoyed as he stomped back into the living room.
All they had was one measly box of salt that was apparently one of their best protections against Casper the not-so-friendly ghost that kept popping in uninvited. He had already gotten thrown into the wall once by the damn thing. His fingers gingerly touched the small laceration on his brow. It wasn’t something he wished to repeat.
“We don’t have enough for a protective ring,” Sam said from his slouched position on the couch. Daniel sat across from him. They were both turned sideways, their shoulders pressed into the back of the sofa as they tried to find the most bearable positions to work with their wounds.
“Why’d you guys have to go and piss off this loco Bill thing, anyway?”
“Biloko,” Daniel and Sam corrected automatically.
“We didn’t piss it off. We think drilling up in the hills did, however,” Dean explained. “It left its normal hunting grounds and—”
“—ended up in my back yard,” Jack surmised. “So, what? You guys track down ghost-toting monsters by day and…?”
“Actually, it’s a full time gig. We hunt the supernatural, the evil and we kill it.”
“That’s what you do for a living?” Daniel raised his eyebrows at Dean. “Okay, I’m just going to try and ignore the fact that there’s enough out there for you to, uh…hunt full time, but doesn’t that get…I dunno…horrible?” To not only live a life surrounded by such darkness all of the time, but to seek it out?
“It’s what we do.” Dean’s throat grew tight with the losses they’ve suffered...some so recently. “We protect people from the things their nightmares wouldn’t even dream of. You’re military, right?” He had noticed the way the older man had moved, at least. “You get that.”
“Actually, I’m…I’m technically a civilian, but…yeah.” His blue eyes softened with understanding. “I do.”
Daniel looked over at Jack, their earlier conversation surfacing in his mind: “…there will always be horrible, rotten things out there, Daniel. But there will always be us, too: the good guys….”/
The room was silent, heavy with the sacrifices they all carried in their hearts. The battles they fought may be on different fronts, but they were all in the same seemingly never ending war.
Sam was the one that forced them all back to the present by clearing his throat. “I, uh, I think we’re done.”
“Yeah, here too,” Dean said, holding up the flamethrower he’d MacGyvered with a small portable propane tank.
“Nice.” Jack admired the one Sam was holding. “So, I should probably get the fire extinguishers ready, eh?”
Daniel started dropping the tools they used back into the toolbox. He froze when the ghost appeared a few feet in front of him. Grabbing the closest thing, he launched a screwdriver at her. She barely flickered as it went through her.
Daniel’s mouth formed an O. “I guess that didn’t have any iron in it.”
The ghost rushed at him screaming, but was quickly dissipated by a shot of rock-salt from the sawed-off Dean held.
“Okay, so seriously, what are we gonna do about that thing?” Jack was getting pissed that it was now going after Daniel.
“There’s nothing we can do. Not right now, anyway,” Sam told him apologetically.
“Usually we’d salt and burn the bones that belonged to her, but in this snow and considering she was eaten,” Dean added, “well, let’s just say we’ll have about as much luck finding all the pieces of her right now as, well, Sammy will have meeting Snooki.”
“What’s a snooki?” Daniel asked, raising his eyebrows.
Clueless as well, Sam shrugged his shoulders at him.
“Alright, well there’s got to be some way of—”
“Wait,” Sam interrupted Jack, “Dean, the spirit has to be pretty damn far from the biloko’s normal hunting grounds.”
Dean nodded. “You’re thinking it’s attached to the bastard.” He face turned unsure, though. “I dunno, man for her to be as angry as she is, she’s had to have been hanging around for a long time. Wouldn’t it have…” he gestured in a downward motion over his stomach, “…by now?”
Thinking, Sam bit the corner of his bottom lip. “Yeah, I guess.”
Daniel’s brow furrowed. “Wait, you’re saying that the…the spirit attached itself to the biloko, but that what was left of her should have…” he mimicked Dean’s earlier motion, “…by now?”
“I…think that’s pretty clear, yes, Daniel,” Jack quipped sarcastically.
“Okay,” Daniel shook his head, trying to organize his thoughts, “what if it has nothing to do with her physically being attached to it, but more…spiritually.”
“Well, it. is. a. spirit.” Jack again.
“No, I mean…uh, some cannibalistic tribes believe that by eating each other, their spirits live on.”
“Uuuh, eew. And a cannibalistic tribe, Daniel? In Minnesota?”
“Well, I dunno, maybe she’s been attached to it for a really long time.”
“Her clothes do look a little outdated.”
“Okay, so, by smokin’ the biloko we gank the bitch, too?”
“Worth a try.” Sam met his brother’s eyes.
“Great,” Jack piped back in, “two birds with one stone. That’s the kind of math I can get behind.”
After checking the parameter of the house from the inside, Jack and Dean met back in the kitchen. The sun was beginning to set and Sam and Daniel were taking some forced downtime to preserve what little energy they had left.
“How long?” Jack asked gently, leaning back against the counter.
“How long what?” Dean was reloading the sawed-off with the last of the rock-salt shells. He had given Sam his 9mil because it would be easier for him to fire with his wound, but it wouldn’t be much help against the ghost. Speaking of…that bitch was really getting on Dean’s nerves. He knew it was just toying with them until the biloko attacked. Then, he had a feeling, she wouldn’t be as easy to—
“How long has your brother been back from whatever hell he was kept in?”
Dean paused, then on instinct glanced over to check on his brother on the couch. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it, not knowing what. The guy didn’t know just how dead on he was.
“Look,” the colonel continued just as carefully, “I saw what happened back there. PTSD?”
Dean didn’t know what it was about the guy. Maybe it was because he was military and in that single and simple way he reminded him of his father. Maybe because since Bobby had…had….
Maybe Dean was desperate to unload.
Swallowing, he finally replied, “Just over a year.” Since he had gotten all of him back, at least; well, what was left of him. “And yeah, you could say that.” Understatement of the century, but yeah.
Head down, sliding a shell into the barrel, images from that day in the graveyard flashed before Dean’s mind. “He saved my life,” he said, voice proud, but eyes sad as he watched him fall again. “He saved all of our lives.” He absently rubbed his thumb over the top of the shell. “Then the idiot went and sacrificed what little sanity he had left to save me again.”
Jack watched him with sympathetic eyes. “Kids.”
“Yeah,” Dean whispered hoarsely. When the gun he was holding started to blur, he shook his head and straightened from where he was leaning against the counter. He turned his back to Jack, and his eyes onto Sam.
The Air Force colonel took in the rigid shoulders. He recognized shoulders like that. They were shoulders that carried too much weight on them.
After a long moment, “He still sees him,” Dean spoke again, softer this time; watching his brother talk to Daniel. He could see how exhausted he was. He could see how hard he was trying to hide it.
“The one who had him?”
“Yeah.” Dean’s throat was tight, painfully so. “The torture…. He, uh…sometimes he’s…he’s not sure what’s real and what’s not,” he confided helplessly. “And I…” more tears rushed to the surface and his voice and resolve started to waiver, “I, uh….”
“Hey,” Jack interrupted sternly, “you. got. him. back,” he reminded him. “And it seems to me that he trusts you enough to keep him here. And from what I’ve seen? You do.”
Chest tight and eyes dangerously close to embarrassing him, ducking his head, Dean smiled self-deprecatingly. “Yeah, well,” he rasped, not so convinced. Often he wondered if he was enough for Sam, especially when most of the time he felt like he could barely get himself through the day. And now that Bobby—who had been like a father to them… Dean just wasn’t sure…He just wasn’t sure of anything.
“What, ah…” Clearing his throat, trying to shake loose the emotions building and threatening to overwhelm him, he asked lightly, “What about yours?” He gestured with his head over at Daniel.
Jack raised an eyebrow as Dean turned to lean against the counter again.
“I noticed a few things, too.”
“Ah,” Looking down at the floor, Jack, too, found himself unusually willing to divulge information on his team and himself. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he felt compelled to confide in a man with a shared self-professed responsibility. “We, uh, we got him back barely a week ago,” he started slowly, easing his heart back into the memory.
“How long was he gone?”
Head still down, Jack took a steadying breath and forced himself to continue. “He was held behind enemy lines for five days before we got the correct Intel to perform a rescue,” he said, grimacing at his own words. It had taken too long, too damn long. “He’d been tortured, strung up and whipped….” He paused, still rocked by the truth, still rocked by the fact that he wasn’t there to stop it, that he wasn’t there to…to….“They kept him in a sweatbox.” The hand holding his weapon tightened and his gaze and voice grew distant. “That’s how we found him.”
God, the way they had found him.
When he finally looked up and met Dean’s eyes, they were hard and full of an understanding one could only achieve by experience. “You kill ‘em?”
Jack didn’t blink and his eyes were just as hard. “Every last one of them.”
The sound of a fire iron hitting and sliding across the floor, and Daniel’s, “You’re right, a bungee would come in handy,” brought Jack and Dean back to the present issue at hand.
“Let’s go check on the kids, shall we?” Jack pushed off the counter, and snapping the shotgun closed Dean followed.
Walking back into the room, both of their names were called with excitement.
“Jack, they’ve met real angels.”
“Dean, there’s an artifact, a mirror that can transport you to other dimensions with just a touch.”
“Daniel,” Jack admonished for telling classified secrets.
“Sam,” Dean admonished for, well, being a geek. And, to be honest, the last thing he needed or wanted to think about right now were angels.
“Aren’t you two supposed to be resting?” Dean and Jack chided at the same time. After looking at each with surprise they turned back to the other two.
“We were, Dean.”
“But then Gilda popped back in,” Daniel explained.
“Gilda?” Jack and Dean.
“Yeah,” Daniel’s hand waved animatedly, “the ghost.”
A loud crash from the back of the cabin cut off any sarcastic remark that could and would have been made.
“Show time.” Jack walked over to fetch the tossed fire iron.
Sam reached for his brother and Dean pulled him to his feet—but legs weak, his knees buckled. “I got you.” Dean held onto him, taking on his weight until he could stand on his own.
He was always doing stuff like that for him—since as long as Sam could remember. Always the big brother. “I know.”“Daniel?” Jack took his friend’s hand and helped him up, too. “You ready for this?” he asked, worried. Not for the first time, he cursed the cosmic powers that be.
“To slay a monster?” Daniel grinned softly, and that Jackson spark Jack had been missing so much shone brightly in his eyes. “Just another day’s work, right?”
Jack returned the smile and patted his cheek proudly. “Yeah.” Ladies and gentlemen, Daniel Jackson was back. “Yeah.”