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"My Daddy Didn't Have Days Like This"
Title: My Daddy Didn't Have Days Like This - Part 1/5
By:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kellifer_fic
Fandom: SPN/SGA
Rating: PG (language/adult themes)
Category: Crossover
Words: 1,705
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no money!
Spoilers: None
Notes: Thanks to my beta *superfox*
Summary: The offer of a clean slate is great but the commute is a bitch
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five
“Winchester, right?”
Dean looks up from the table and steel mug of coffee he’s nursing to see a man in BDU’s looking at him with a vague smile on his face. He points at the chair opposite and Dean nods, taking another swallow of the crappy instant he’d been reduced to drinking.
Typical, he thinks. Government can spend billions on a space ship and still have the cheapest coffee known to man.
“John,” the man introduces, holding his hand out before he sits. Dean takes it and frowns.
“I’m assuming there’s a title in there somewhere?”
“Yeah, but you aren’t serving under me so it’s pretty pointless,” John says with a dismissive wave. “A bunch of the civilians call me Colonel and it always struck me as kinda odd, you know?”
Dean’s trying to look past the fact that the guy across from him has his father’s name and is wondering if it would be rude to ask for a last name so he could call him that. John is a common-enough name that he should be used to using it for other people but it always has a chill running up his spine.
Instead he looks the guy up and down, seeing how he projects casual but is anything but. He’s slouching in the chair he’s sitting in and toying with a pack of sugar by his hands but everything about him is studied and held carefully. Dean recognises it for what it is.
This guy is on alert, probably always is.
“So, I heard you had a little trouble…back home?”
Dean blinks and shifts in his seat, scowling. He had figured someone would ask eventually but he hadn’t been expecting to be grilled before he’d even stepped foot on the whatever they were going to. He couldn’t call it Atlantis yet, just like he still couldn’t say the word vampire without rolling his eyes.
It was too surreal.
Dean puts his coffee down with a decisive clack and leans forward, hands clasped in front of him. John is looking at him with a mild expression, completely neutral so Dean can’t read anything off it and it bugs him. “Shapeshifter assaulted a bunch of women and died looking like me,” he says with no preamble.
John’s eyebrows go up a fraction but there is no other outward sign that he’s fazed by what Dean has said.
“That must have sucked,” he says instead and it’s Dean’s turn to quirk an eyebrow.
“You don’t believe me?” he challenges, hackles on the rise. He’s wondering if he’s accidentally stepped into a pissing contest without realising it. One alpha male challenging another who has stumbled into his territory.
“I didn’t say that.” John’s expression is still carefully blank but Dean sees his fingers tighten on the sugar packet he’d been playing with fractionally and he thinks ah, but you’re not too sure.
John is trying not to project anything to Dean but Dean has been a long-time studier of a military man’s mood. He’d been anticipating his father for longer than he could remember.
John thinks he’s dangerous and is wondering what to do about it.
Dean knows that he should try to be reassuring, but he and Sam have been yanked out of their lives and he’s not in the mood to be polite. He crosses his arms over his chest and slouches down in a mirror of John’s posture. He swings a leg up onto the table in front of him and crosses the other one over the top.
John’s lips thin down and he sits up straighter.
“Maybe you should call me Colonel Sheppard,” John says and Dean grins, nodding slightly.
John stands and turns on his heel, disappearing out of the mess. Dean watches him go and then drops his feet to the floor, knowing exactly what Sam would have said to his little display.
Why do you have to antagonise people?
Dean drops his head to the table and breaths deep. He’s not sure how to explain that it’s his own special brand of coping when he feels like he’s out of his depth. He’s feeling railroaded and trapped all at the same time and on top of that, he’s not exactly sure what the people at the SGC want with him and his brother.
Having someone to lock horns with gives Dean back a feeling of control and Colonel Sheppard, he realises, being the military leader of the whole expedition is probably the very worst person he could get on the wrong side of and is therefore perfect.
He knows how to pick ‘em.
000
There is a pretty brunette with coffee-colored skin that turns up at his door on their second day travelling. She’s wearing uniform pants but a sleeveless top that looks like soft leather overlaid with brown lace.
“I heard you met Colonel Sheppard,” she says, leaning a shoulder against the open cabin door.
“Less met, more pissed off,” Dean shrugs. He hasn’t seen Sam all day and it’s starting to make him a little antsy. He knows he’s in a confined space with a lot of geeks so Sam would be in heaven, but he wants them to stick together just until he feels like they have a better read on the situation.
“You are Dean?” The woman hazards and Dean nods, coming to his feet. She waves him back to his seat and enters the room. She has an accent he can’t place and Dean realises that it’s because she may very well not have originally come from Earth.
He tries not to be completely thrown by the idea.
“I am Teyla. I was looking for your brother.”
“I was kinda wondering where he’d gotten to myself.” Dean watches her circle the small room he and Sam share. He’s been made to understand that they are lucky to have quarters to themselves. Most of the engineers and soldiers are sleeping in bunks, ten or twenty to a room like a submarine.
He’s trying not to let the fact that everyone keeps implying that he should be grateful get under his skin that much. He’s certainly happy about the clean slate he’s been given, just not so much about being shipped off to parts unknown and the government using him as a bargaining chip to guilt Sam into agreeing in the first place.
Teyla turns and must notice the frown marring Dean’s features because she sits on the bunk next to him and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I understand what it is like to be uprooted from all that you know, but these are good people. You should not feel threatened.”
“Threatened?” Dean scoffs, pulling back from her touch. She puts her hand down into her lap, folding the other over it primly.
“Hey, what’s goin’ on?” Sam is leaning in the doorway, hands on the outside and that half-pissed, half-amused look he always gets on his face when Dean has brought a girl back to a motel room they’re sharing and he’s going to have to sleep in the bathtub.
“I am Teyla. I was wondering if you would share a meal with me?” Teyla proposes, standing and offering her hand to Sam. He takes it, eyeing Dean over her shoulder and Dean gives him a hell if I know shrug.
“Sam, and sure,” he nods slowly. It’s always amused Dean that Sam’s default setting it to be polite while Dean’s is to be rude. He figures it’s just one of the hundreds of ways that they are two sides of the same coin.
“You wanna?” Sam’s eyes are back on Dean and he tilts his chin in the direction of the hallway.
“Nah, I was going to crash for a bit. Lack of natural light means I have no idea when I’m supposed to sleep.”
“Okay, I’ll be back soon,” Sam says, stepping sideways to let Teyla out of the room.
“Sure,” Dean says, unable to shake the feeling that he’s being left behind somehow.
He’s felt that way with Sam for a long time.
000
There is a scientist named Rodney McKay who is rude in a way that Dean only dreams about and he likes him immediately.
He’s been climbing the walls and noticed a couple of marines jogging the hallways and decides it’s a good idea. Dean is traversing the corridor two decks below his living space when a woman nearly bowls him over, running from what looks like a laboratory while bawling her eyes out. Dean hesitates in the doorway and watches a pale man with brown hair question someone’s masculinity, sneer at someone else’s theories and demand to know who Dean is, all in one long drawn out breath.
Dean blinks and steps back. “Oh, I uh…”
“Wait, one of the brothers?” The man makes a come here wave of the hand and Dean steps into the room.
“Yeah,” he confirms.
“The one with the freaky mind powers or the other one?” The man has ducked under a desk and is popping back up with a boxful of items that he dumps on a chair in front of Dean.
“The other one I guess,” Dean says with a scowl.
“I’m Rodney McKay, Doctor McKay,” Rodney says, briskly. “Touch this.”
“I beg your pardon?” Dean asks, eyeing the flat black disc Rodney is holding out to him.
“We’ve found that some items don’t activate unless someone with the naturally occurring rather than introduced gene touch them, something that the Colonel takes great delight in gloating about. I just want to check this is really dead or not.”
“Naturally occurring what?” Dean splutters.
Rodney rolls his eyes. “Oh for heaven’s sake,” he sniffs and lunges forward, smacking the disc against Dean’s forearm. It flashes bright blue and Dean feels a sharp pain shoot from the point of contact all the way to his shoulder.
“For chrissakes!” Dean yelps, jumping away and curling his arm protectively against himself.
Rodney merely glares and tosses the disc into a box with a skull and crossbones crudely rendered on it. “So, that’s one to be careful with,” he says with a shrug and is back to digging through the original box.
Dean runs.
By:
kellifer_ficFandom: SPN/SGA
Rating: PG (language/adult themes)
Category: Crossover
Words: 1,705
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no money!
Spoilers: None
Notes: Thanks to my beta *superfox*
Summary: The offer of a clean slate is great but the commute is a bitch
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five
“Winchester, right?”
Dean looks up from the table and steel mug of coffee he’s nursing to see a man in BDU’s looking at him with a vague smile on his face. He points at the chair opposite and Dean nods, taking another swallow of the crappy instant he’d been reduced to drinking.
Typical, he thinks. Government can spend billions on a space ship and still have the cheapest coffee known to man.
“John,” the man introduces, holding his hand out before he sits. Dean takes it and frowns.
“I’m assuming there’s a title in there somewhere?”
“Yeah, but you aren’t serving under me so it’s pretty pointless,” John says with a dismissive wave. “A bunch of the civilians call me Colonel and it always struck me as kinda odd, you know?”
Dean’s trying to look past the fact that the guy across from him has his father’s name and is wondering if it would be rude to ask for a last name so he could call him that. John is a common-enough name that he should be used to using it for other people but it always has a chill running up his spine.
Instead he looks the guy up and down, seeing how he projects casual but is anything but. He’s slouching in the chair he’s sitting in and toying with a pack of sugar by his hands but everything about him is studied and held carefully. Dean recognises it for what it is.
This guy is on alert, probably always is.
“So, I heard you had a little trouble…back home?”
Dean blinks and shifts in his seat, scowling. He had figured someone would ask eventually but he hadn’t been expecting to be grilled before he’d even stepped foot on the whatever they were going to. He couldn’t call it Atlantis yet, just like he still couldn’t say the word vampire without rolling his eyes.
It was too surreal.
Dean puts his coffee down with a decisive clack and leans forward, hands clasped in front of him. John is looking at him with a mild expression, completely neutral so Dean can’t read anything off it and it bugs him. “Shapeshifter assaulted a bunch of women and died looking like me,” he says with no preamble.
John’s eyebrows go up a fraction but there is no other outward sign that he’s fazed by what Dean has said.
“That must have sucked,” he says instead and it’s Dean’s turn to quirk an eyebrow.
“You don’t believe me?” he challenges, hackles on the rise. He’s wondering if he’s accidentally stepped into a pissing contest without realising it. One alpha male challenging another who has stumbled into his territory.
“I didn’t say that.” John’s expression is still carefully blank but Dean sees his fingers tighten on the sugar packet he’d been playing with fractionally and he thinks ah, but you’re not too sure.
John is trying not to project anything to Dean but Dean has been a long-time studier of a military man’s mood. He’d been anticipating his father for longer than he could remember.
John thinks he’s dangerous and is wondering what to do about it.
Dean knows that he should try to be reassuring, but he and Sam have been yanked out of their lives and he’s not in the mood to be polite. He crosses his arms over his chest and slouches down in a mirror of John’s posture. He swings a leg up onto the table in front of him and crosses the other one over the top.
John’s lips thin down and he sits up straighter.
“Maybe you should call me Colonel Sheppard,” John says and Dean grins, nodding slightly.
John stands and turns on his heel, disappearing out of the mess. Dean watches him go and then drops his feet to the floor, knowing exactly what Sam would have said to his little display.
Why do you have to antagonise people?
Dean drops his head to the table and breaths deep. He’s not sure how to explain that it’s his own special brand of coping when he feels like he’s out of his depth. He’s feeling railroaded and trapped all at the same time and on top of that, he’s not exactly sure what the people at the SGC want with him and his brother.
Having someone to lock horns with gives Dean back a feeling of control and Colonel Sheppard, he realises, being the military leader of the whole expedition is probably the very worst person he could get on the wrong side of and is therefore perfect.
He knows how to pick ‘em.
There is a pretty brunette with coffee-colored skin that turns up at his door on their second day travelling. She’s wearing uniform pants but a sleeveless top that looks like soft leather overlaid with brown lace.
“I heard you met Colonel Sheppard,” she says, leaning a shoulder against the open cabin door.
“Less met, more pissed off,” Dean shrugs. He hasn’t seen Sam all day and it’s starting to make him a little antsy. He knows he’s in a confined space with a lot of geeks so Sam would be in heaven, but he wants them to stick together just until he feels like they have a better read on the situation.
“You are Dean?” The woman hazards and Dean nods, coming to his feet. She waves him back to his seat and enters the room. She has an accent he can’t place and Dean realises that it’s because she may very well not have originally come from Earth.
He tries not to be completely thrown by the idea.
“I am Teyla. I was looking for your brother.”
“I was kinda wondering where he’d gotten to myself.” Dean watches her circle the small room he and Sam share. He’s been made to understand that they are lucky to have quarters to themselves. Most of the engineers and soldiers are sleeping in bunks, ten or twenty to a room like a submarine.
He’s trying not to let the fact that everyone keeps implying that he should be grateful get under his skin that much. He’s certainly happy about the clean slate he’s been given, just not so much about being shipped off to parts unknown and the government using him as a bargaining chip to guilt Sam into agreeing in the first place.
Teyla turns and must notice the frown marring Dean’s features because she sits on the bunk next to him and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I understand what it is like to be uprooted from all that you know, but these are good people. You should not feel threatened.”
“Threatened?” Dean scoffs, pulling back from her touch. She puts her hand down into her lap, folding the other over it primly.
“Hey, what’s goin’ on?” Sam is leaning in the doorway, hands on the outside and that half-pissed, half-amused look he always gets on his face when Dean has brought a girl back to a motel room they’re sharing and he’s going to have to sleep in the bathtub.
“I am Teyla. I was wondering if you would share a meal with me?” Teyla proposes, standing and offering her hand to Sam. He takes it, eyeing Dean over her shoulder and Dean gives him a hell if I know shrug.
“Sam, and sure,” he nods slowly. It’s always amused Dean that Sam’s default setting it to be polite while Dean’s is to be rude. He figures it’s just one of the hundreds of ways that they are two sides of the same coin.
“You wanna?” Sam’s eyes are back on Dean and he tilts his chin in the direction of the hallway.
“Nah, I was going to crash for a bit. Lack of natural light means I have no idea when I’m supposed to sleep.”
“Okay, I’ll be back soon,” Sam says, stepping sideways to let Teyla out of the room.
“Sure,” Dean says, unable to shake the feeling that he’s being left behind somehow.
He’s felt that way with Sam for a long time.
There is a scientist named Rodney McKay who is rude in a way that Dean only dreams about and he likes him immediately.
He’s been climbing the walls and noticed a couple of marines jogging the hallways and decides it’s a good idea. Dean is traversing the corridor two decks below his living space when a woman nearly bowls him over, running from what looks like a laboratory while bawling her eyes out. Dean hesitates in the doorway and watches a pale man with brown hair question someone’s masculinity, sneer at someone else’s theories and demand to know who Dean is, all in one long drawn out breath.
Dean blinks and steps back. “Oh, I uh…”
“Wait, one of the brothers?” The man makes a come here wave of the hand and Dean steps into the room.
“Yeah,” he confirms.
“The one with the freaky mind powers or the other one?” The man has ducked under a desk and is popping back up with a boxful of items that he dumps on a chair in front of Dean.
“The other one I guess,” Dean says with a scowl.
“I’m Rodney McKay, Doctor McKay,” Rodney says, briskly. “Touch this.”
“I beg your pardon?” Dean asks, eyeing the flat black disc Rodney is holding out to him.
“We’ve found that some items don’t activate unless someone with the naturally occurring rather than introduced gene touch them, something that the Colonel takes great delight in gloating about. I just want to check this is really dead or not.”
“Naturally occurring what?” Dean splutters.
Rodney rolls his eyes. “Oh for heaven’s sake,” he sniffs and lunges forward, smacking the disc against Dean’s forearm. It flashes bright blue and Dean feels a sharp pain shoot from the point of contact all the way to his shoulder.
“For chrissakes!” Dean yelps, jumping away and curling his arm protectively against himself.
Rodney merely glares and tosses the disc into a box with a skull and crossbones crudely rendered on it. “So, that’s one to be careful with,” he says with a shrug and is back to digging through the original box.
Dean runs.
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