Disclaimer-Stargate and Stargate Atlantis belong to MGM and Fox. Supernatural belongs to Erik Kripke and the CW.
Warnings: Violence, Language and Possible Pairings.
AN-Installment 1 in my Rebirth verse, which is basically my brainchild for the most ultimate crossover strategy ever. XD. Timelines have been adjusted for my convenience. Events have been adjusted for my convenience. It will be update at my convenience, but as with most authors reviews tend to inspire.
The General Idea
"Hey Sammy, open the door," Dean called as he precariously juggled the food. Stopping the end of the world was hungry work and while Gigantor may have hard the arm length to hold everything with ease, Dean was a few inches behind his brother in the height department. With a double bacon cheeseburger with extra onion for Dean, some rabbit concoction for Sam, and a fresh baked apple for the two to share he was having some trouble keeping things safe from gravity. "Come on, Sammy. A little help?"
Grumbling when Sam failed to come to his rescue Dean shifted his burden to dig out the motel key. As he opened the door the bag with the pie slipped, saved from tragedy only by Dean's awesome reflexes.
"Impressive catch." The compliment was accompanied by soft applause.
The pie was in the air again, raining to the ground with the rest of the night's meal as Dean drew his gun, fully aware of the futility of his actions. "Gabriel."
The angel-turned-trickster tilted his head as he smirked and there was nothing friendly about it. "Awe kiddo. It sounds like you're not happy to see me and after all the effort I went to track you chuckleheads down."
Dean's usual sarcastic retort was swallowed back, caution winning out as he took in his surroundings.
Gabriel was standing in the centre of what had been their usual dive motel room dressed in blue jeans and a white billowy shirt that needed at least two more buttons before it would be appropriate to wear in public. Apparently the room was not classy enough for what the archangel had in mind and it had been transformed into a swanky love nest. A painfully familiar swanky love nest. Dean's eyes recognized the retro patterned divan and the divider behind it. To his right was the same old minibar, complete with the three empty martini glasses. The soft glow of red lava lamps was interrupted yet again by the flash of a disco ball.
The only real difference that Dean could see, besides not being set in a lecture hall, was that the soft lacy curtains surrounding where the bed had been last time were drawn closed, replaced with a heavier material that completely obscured what was hidden by them, though Dean could guess.
Dean faked a lighthearted smile, knowing exactly how much shit he was in. The last time he had seen Gabriel the bastard had trapped him in tv land, and Dean had returned the favor with a circle of holy oil. He was so boned.
But Dean Winchester wasn't one to surrender without a fight. "What's with you and Barry White?"
Gabriel's smirk sharpened as he raised a hand. Dean's eyes went wide, recognizing the gesture. Finger's snapped, the noise echoing through the room like a gun shot and drowning out the sound of the door slamming behind Dean. The hunter never stood a chance as an invisible force grabbed him and slammed him into the nearest wall, his gun clattering to the ground. Dean, on the other hand, stayed up, held as though in a glue trap.
Behind Gabriel the curtains pulled apart, separating in the middle to reveal the bed Dean had known would be there. Unlike the one Gabriel had offered up last time, this one was not red, nor did it have two very foxy, very scantily clad ladies upon it. This time the blanket was a funeral black causing the red backboard to clash like blood. White rose petals were scattered across the surface, densely spread as they came closer to the center of the mattress.
Upon it all lay Sammy. He was in nothing but his faded jeans, resting upon flower petals and satin like carefully placed doll, his bare heels lining up with the very edge of the mattress. His arms lay at his sides, his palms slightly upturned and filled with crimson petals. His head had been propped up on scarlet pillows and his dark hair had been brushed to fan out, for once not hiding his eyes. Not that it mattered. They were closed in what Dean hoped was sleep. It looked like sleep. His chest was moving and there were no strange bruises indicating he had been beaten into his current state.
Dean watched the rhythmic rising of Sam's chest before turning his gaze to Gabriel. Ice filled his gut as he met the archangel's eyes. While Castiel exasperated Dean and Zachariah pissed him off, Gabriel terrified Dean. It wasn't the power the angel wielded, but the way in which he wielded it. Gabriel didn't kill people. He destroyed them. Sam had been messed up for weeks after running into Gabriel in Broward County and Dean doubted that the poor kid in Springfield could even go outside with clenching his ass cheeks together. While other angels had the power to steal lungs or explode people with a look, Gabriel could shatter lives and break spirits with the snap of his fingers and unlike his brethren he found abundant delight in exorcising those skills.
"What do you want?" Dean asked softly.
Gabriel arched an eyebrow. "That's it? Come on, champ. You can do better than that. Where's the hopeful speech on humanity, or do you only hand those out when everyone else is trapped in the room with you?"
Dean raised his head defiantly. "What the fuck do you want?"
Gabriel smiled, clapping his hand together. "There we go. You had me a bit worried for a moment. It wouldn't do for you to lose your fire now." Gabriel reached into his pocket, pulling out a toffee. He carelessly tore the wrapper off, letting it flit to the floor "As for me? Well, I'm here to pull out Sam's soul." He shoved the candy in his mouth.
Dean's jade eyes went wide. "No!" He screamed, futilely struggling against whatever held him. "No! You son of a bitch!" Dean pulled hard, feeling the beads of sweat form on his face. "Touch him and I'll tear your lungs out! Sam! Sammy, wake up! SAM!"
Gabriel shook his head as he watched Dean writhe. "You chuckleheads are so alike. You didn't learn after going to Hell. Sam didn't learn after you died. Do I need to tattoo this into your skulls or something? You guys can't be this dependant upon each other."
"Fuck." Dean sagged, trying to catch his breath. His muscles trembled, but it wasn't entirely with exertion. Dean could still remember what had happened to his family the last time he had been pinned to wall. He ruthlessly pushed the memory aside, focusing on the now. This time there had to be something he could do, some way to make this stop. "You can't do this! Both Michael and Lucifer want Sam alive. They won't leave him dead."
Gabriel rolled his eyes, smacking the candy in his mouth. "Dude, I'm the Trickster. You really think I'm gonna yank on Sammy's soul to send it to Heaven just to have someone mail it back? No." He shook his head, his face schooling into a serious expression. "Sam's soul isn't going to Heaven." Dean felt the blood from his face, his vision swimming dangerously. He sagged, the claws that had been trapping him now providing the only support.
"You can't," he pleaded breathlessly.
Gabriel gave Dean a pitying look before stepping back, moving himself closer to Sam. "I'm not sending the kid to Hell, either. He may be a doofus but he doesn't deserve that." The angel sat on the bed, leaning over Dean's baby brother and running his fingers through Sam's dark hair. "No, there'll be no Heaven or Hell for Sammy."
"NO!" Dean screamed, once again writhing against the wall. "Don't! Please! Don't touch him! SAMMY!"
Gabriel spared him one more pitying glance before turning his focus back to Sam. "This is going to hurt," he murmured sympathetically.
Then he plunged his arm into Sam's chest.
Sam's screams mingled with Dean's and the smooth melodies of Barry White as the angel's arm tore through the youngest Winchester's chest. A fiery glow began to spread from the point of contact, radiating outward. Sam's veins bulged under the trauma, turning a deep red as the light poured through them, instantly boiling the blood. Dean watched in horror as the glow began to seep out from Sam's mouth and then trickle out from under closed eyelids as smoke began to rise from his body. The smell of burning meat filled the room. Gabriel reached a bit deeper, sweat dripping off his nose as he plunged his arm in that much further. Sam's scream reached a crescendo as his back arched.
There was silence.
Gabriel sat on the bed, studying Sam. The young hunter's tanned skin was already taking on the grey shade of death, his numerous scars puckering grotesquely. It still looked better than where Gabriel had reached into the man. The was skin was cracked and blacken, curling out where it hadn't flaked off and slowly oozing clear liquids, the juices of boiled meat. But that had nothing on Sam's face.
Sam's lips had melt off and the edges of his cheeks had been burned through, the skin matching that of his torso. His teeth were visible through he gaping holes and Gabriel could see that had cracked, some had exploded, from the presence of his Grace. The cartilage in Sam's nose had melted and the remaining goop was seeping down into the crisped sockets where soft hazel eyes used to rest.
Gabriel glanced up, pleased to see that Dean was still blinded by the flash of Grace. He didn't need to see his brother in such a state.
Gabriel reached into thin air, pulling out a white silk blanket to serve as a shroud. He winced as the crisp material immediately began to absorb some of the less savory liquids that trickled from Sam's cadaver.
Gabriel sighed and swallowed his candy with sweet regret. His work was never done.
He moved towards the hunter, frowning as Dean's eyes failed to track his progress. When he grabbed the hunter's chin, twisting his head, he discovered why. The skin on Dean's eyes was thick and dry, destroyed by the quick flash of angelic light. Humans were so surprisingly fragile.
"You sick sonuvabitch!" Dean hissed, his rage not at all tempered by his current state. "Let go of me. What did you do to Sam? SAM!"
Gabriel placed a hand over Dean's mouth, cutting off the hunter's tortured screams. "I already told you what I did to Sam. He's gone and no one will be able to find him. Not Castiel. Not Michael. Not Lucifer." Dean whimpered beneath his touch and Gabriel gave a sad smile. "Don't you understand? The apocalypse is over. Lucifer doesn't have anything to wear. He can't confront Michael because he can't win. With Sam out of the picture the whole shebang grinds to a halt. No 'more end of days.' I thought that's what you wanted."
Tears fell from sightless eyes as Gabriel removed his hand. Dean's voice was a cracked whisper when it finally slid from his lips. "What I want is my brother."
"Really?" Gabriel snorted, knowing that his gestures would be lost on the man stuck to the wall. "The way you've been going at it I would have thought you'd be glad to be rid of him. He's the albatross around his neck. He's been weighing you down since you guys were kids. It was always "look after Sam" and "watch out for your brother." And how did he repay you? He left. He left you and Daddy dearest to face the big evils of the world. And when he came back," Gabriel shook his head, "Whew, did he ever screw that up. He got you sent to Hell, got himself hooked on demon blood and then went and managed to start the end of the world all because he was ignoring you in favor of a hell bitch. Why would you ever want to hang out with him? He's done nothing for you."
"Please," Dean begged, knowing it was already too late. "He's my brother. Please."
Gabriel gave a gusty sigh that was completely undercut by his predatory smile. "I like you, kiddo, so I'll explain your options.
"Option one; I heal your eyes up and send you on your merry little way. You live the rest of your life however you decide to along with your little angel buddy, no threat of impending doom or Michael prancing around in your skin. When the end comes you float up to Heaven along with all the other boys and girls to hang out with Mommy and Daddy, spending the rest of eternity in bliss." Gabriel fell silent, letting his words sink in. He new it would take Dean a few seconds to catch on that he would finally be free.
"Or?" Dean prodded desperately.
"Or," Gabriel drawled the word, "I bind you to Sam. You go where he goes. Forever. There'll be no eternal rest or afterlife for either of you. You'll be trapped for all eternity, your souls linked making it impossible to escape from one another. You'll be barred from Heaven and Hell, never to see anyone again. Your parents, your friends, and any lover you may have picked up will be out of your reach. You will never be able to undo this or take it back and no one has the power to fix it. Even if Michael, Lucifer and I worked together you'd still be lost to Heaven."
"But I'd be with Sam?" Dean asked tentatively.
"Did you miss the part where you go to neither Heaven nor Hell forever? And forever as in Castiel isn't going to save your stupid ass again."
"But you said I'd be with Sammy. Forever."
"Yes. I said that. Glad to see your ears work." Gabriel rolled his eyes. The Winchesters brought new meaning to one-track mind. "Now I'll get that this is a big decision so I'll come back in a week, so your angel buddy can tell you I'm not lying about-"
Dean shook his head. "No. I pick option two."
Gabriel blinked in surprise. He knew Dean was a stubborn bastard, but this was impressive. There had been zero self-regard. It was a bit eerie. It also explained a whole bunch about Sam's baggage. John had sure done a number on his kid. "Are you sure you understand your choices here? This is a big decision. Once you take the red pill there is no going back."
"Sam or no Sam. I pick Sam," Dean growled. As if that was any kind of choice.
"Is that your final answer?"
"Just fucking get it over with," Dean snarled into the darkness.
Gabriel grinned as he rolled up a sleeve.
"This is going to hurt."
Jack had been having a good year. He had been promoted the Head of Homeworld Command, the Atlantis expedition had rang home to let the good folks at the SGC know that they hadn't been wiped out, the latest Goa'uld attack on Earth had been repelled and Daniel Jackson hadn't died recently. Things had been going great. Which means that he shouldn't have been surprised when everything turned to shit.
But he was. Crap like this always knocked Jack for a bit of a loop. It was probably his inborn optimism that did it, that little seed of belief that if people couldn't at least become good they would grow to be smart enough to realize that fucking with him was a very stupid thing to do. That and the usual progression of events had been interrupted. He was used to Daniel, sometimes Sam but usually Daniel, being the one kidnapped. There would be the dramatic search, an intimidation tactic here, a few squeezed fingers there, couple of bullets shot off and then voila, job well done. Nobody ever went after Jack.
Well, Jack amended as he tugged listlessly at his handcuffs, almost nobody went after Jack. Someone had either screwed up big or grown a set.
As the blindfold was pulled off his face the cocky swagger of a young man who really couldn't be far out of his teens provided Jack with a bit of an answer. The kid spun the empty chair that had been placed in front of Jack, sitting on it backwards so he could rest his chin against the back while he read from a suspiciously familiar file. "Lieutenant General Jonathan O'Neill, service number 69-4-141, recipient of a whole shit load of medals including the Defense Superior Service Medal, Air Force Distinguished Service Medal, National Defense Service Medal, yada yada blah blah blah, currently serving as the Secretary of Homeworld Command." The boy snapped the file shut, flashing Jack a smirk. "But that really doesn't scratch the surface, now does it?"
Jack lifted his eyebrows. "Really? That's how you're going to start this off? By reading my service record? So you can what, bore me into submission? And here I was all ready to be impressed with you."
Despite the terrible introduction to interrogation technique, Jack actually was impressed. Jack had been spending the evening schmoozing, though not by choice, at some bigwig charity event to satisfy the higher ups in Washington. One of the downsides to his new job was that he had been forced to start playing with the politicians on capital hill. After two hours of polite conversation with people who were looking for any chance they could get to destroy him Jack had considered his civic duty performed. He had been grabbing his coat when he was jumped, hand over the mouth and a needle to the neck, and had been dragged off by his unseen assailant. Even if it was an inside job, which it pretty much had to be, the fact that this kid had managed to sneak up on Jack and get him out unseen was unnerving. When Jack had been younger they would have been no way for this sort of thing to happen. Getting old sucked.
Ahead of him the young punk looked down at the paperwork and Jack took the opportunity to survey his surroundings. He was in a barn, which was actually surprising. Jack had been expecting a warehouse. Why? Because it was always a warehouse. There was an unwritten rule or something. Yet here he was, bound to a chair in Old MacDonald's farm. Then again, Jack noted with derision, a barn wasn't that different from a warehouse. It was still a large empty space that was poorly light by an overhead bulb that seemed to be clinging to life by sheer force of will alone. The floor was covered in miscelanious debris that you would not walk through while in bare feet and something somewhere was giving off an unpleasant odor. There was an open loft instead of a system of catwalks and behind his kidnapper Jack could see a perimeter exit. There was likely one behind him as well, but Jack couldn't crane his neck that far to be certain. Surprisingly enough his attacker seemed to be alone. There were no guards to be seen on the inside nor did the few grimy windows hint at movement behind them. The loft floorboards were also silent, strengthening his impression that this was a one-man show.
Well, one-boy show. The guy couldn't be older than twenty-three. This was going to be embarrassing. Sure, Daniel was kidnapped all the time but at least he was taken down by a bunch of bulky goons on steroids. Jack had gone and let Ward Cleaver get the jump on him. Seriously the kid looked like he should be playing baseball instead of good cop bad cop. He had short spiky hair that's color dared people to say brown so it could go, "ha! Dirty blonde," and was sporting a soft tan that didn't quite hide the few freckles that licked across his nose. Wide green eyes and soft features only added to the picture of innocence and Jack was willing to bet that the kid knew it. Worse yet, Jack felt like he was missing something important and it was annoying him almost as much as the handcuffs.
The kid smirked, seemingly unaffected by Jack's back talking. "Then where would you like to start?" he drawled.
Jack cocked his head in fake consideration. "Actually, I think I'd like to know where your mom is. She at the store or just didn't have the money for a babysitter?"
There was a soft snort. "Good thing you're not in charge here. I'd be answering stupid questions all night."
"Haven't you heard? There is no such thing as a stupid question."
The kid rolled his eyes. "Yes, because the stupid people asking them get additional IQ points by adding a question mark to the end of a statement." Then the humor in the kid's faced vanished like the sun behind clouds, leaving only a stormy expression that promised danger and destruction. "The American military flagged four files. I want to know why and I want to know what is being done to the folks Uncle Sam tagged." Once again Jack had that nagging feeling that he was missing a piece of the puzzle.
"And I would know this because…?" Jack trailed off.
"You signed the orders."
"Look kid," Jack's tone was laden with exasperation, "do you have any idea how many trees I kill in a day? I'm up to my ass in paperwork. Even if I did sign off on this there is no way I'm going to know what you're talking about without a little more to go on."
"Williams, Michelle." A familiar picture was tossed at Jack's feet. "Cooper, Blake." Another picture. "Hayes, Gregory." Another photo. "Winchester, Samuel."
Jack watched as the final photo fell into place before looking up to meet steely green eyes when suddenly everything clicked and this became a whole different ballgame. "There were five people, Dean. We flagged you as well."
Dean Winchester shrugged. "I'm not missing."
Jack swallowed to ease the guilt in his gut as his mind immediately began to churn out the details of the thin file he'd memorized.
Samuel Winchester, born in Kansas on February 6th, 1984, four minutes after his fraternal twin to Lenore Winchester. The family had moved from California to Kansas in '83. The existence of sealed legal documents that had buried under money and reputations made Lenore's pregnancy the most likely reason for the move. After the birth of the twins Lenore moved to live on her own, receiving a generous living allowance from an unknown benefactor. She had been seventeen when she gave birth. She was still using the allowance as her primary source of income.
Dean and Samuel were well provided for. Judging by the amount of documentation of the boys' care it was likely that monthly inspections were a part of whatever contract Lenore had signed. Whoever had performed them had done so out of more than just a worn sense of duty. Each report held not just a professional evaluation of the children but also an update on personality and behavior.
These reports, along with the results of the interviews with previous instructors and employers, painted vivid pictures of the children. Samuel had amazing academic performance and participated in a wide variety of extracuricular activities, many of which focused on helping other youth. There were a few fights listed on his permanent record but the teachers involved claimed that the only reason Samuel had been punished was out of precedent. Samuel was a dream come true.
Dean, while brilliant like his brother, lacked the younger boy's motivation. He coasted through school and more often than not was using his smarts to make trouble. His file was bursting with black marks from brilliant pranks, from gluing a teacher to his desk to replacing one of the football player's shampoo with Nair. The kid was also a skirt chaser, often flitting from girlfriend to girlfriend like a bee from flower to flower. He had gotten him into trouble with jealous boyfriends more than once.
Despite the boyish charm that Dean held there had been an undercurrent of worry in regards to his stability, especially where his brother was concerned. Someone had once made the mistake of going after Samuel in revenge for Dean wooing away their date. While Samuel had been sporting a black eye for a week the youth in question was in traction for a month. Dean had been forced to complete an anger management program.
There were several incidents of similar nature in Dean's file, so it was a huge surprise that when Samuel went to university, Dean stayed behind to work in a local garage as well as volunteer firefight. Samuel snagged a full scholarship to Stanford where he been studying anthropology and had been once again amazing all the professors. He had also been keeping up with his community involvement.
Then Samuel had participated in a blood drive. While testing the blood for the usual array of issues a scan for the presence of the ATA gene had also been performed. The NID had listed the gene as a 'potentially harmful' marker, forcing through a policy to ensure that all blood donations were scanned for it.
It was only luck that the SGC found out about the scans. A rogue NID member had had a change of heart and had traded the information for safety and protection. By that time the NID had been aware of Samuel for three weeks. He had already been missing for two. The SGC's efforts to revoke the policy and protect other civilians who showed up positive felt like too little, too late when staring at the picture of the young college student who had once had a promising future.
Dean had also disappeared soon after his brother, though he had given notice. He'd shown up to work, told his boss that his family was in trouble and walked out the door. No one in town had heard or seen from him since.
That had been six months ago.
And here Dean was now, sitting pretty as can be holding Eyes Only documents, (mental note to increase security [again]) while chatting with a kidnapped department head "You've been busy," Jack noted dryly.
"So have you," the twenty year old fired back. "But you see, the thing about people? They don't just go missing. Other people stop looking for them."
Jack gave a weary sigh, his years of service pressing down. "Cooper, Hayes and Williams are in protective custody. We don't know where your brother is."
Dean's eyes narrowed. "Protection from who?"
Jack knew he should keep his mouth shut. Then again, he also had known that he and his team shouldn't have commandeered the Stargate all those years ago. Doing what he should had never been Jack's style. "The NID. The National Intelligence Department," Jack elaborated when he saw the kid's look. "Basically they're a corrupt group of government spooks bent on making my life hell."
"What would they want with Sammy?" Dean peered intently, hanging on Jack's every word.
"Your brother has a special gene that they've been trying to get their hands on in the hopes of replicating it."
Dean's voice was a low growl. "And how would they go about doing that?"
Jack shook his head. "Don't ask that. You don't want to know."
"What are they going to do to Sammy?" Dean insisted.
Jesus, Jack hated being the bearer of bad news but he figured he owed the kid the truth. His brother had been snatched under Jack's watch. "They'll start with collecting samples. Skin, blood, marrow and eventually organ tissue. When they have what they need they'll move into various forms of genetic manipulation and experimentation. After they've collected the data they require he'll be disposed of." Jack tilted his head down. "I'm sorry."
In the chair across from him Dean stiffened, rage pouring off of him like steam from boiling water. The kid took a deep breath and his body relaxed into his anger, giving Jack the impression of a cat waiting to pounce. He even managed a soft smile as he continued with the questions. "What do the brain worms have to do with it?"
What the hell? "Brain worms?"
"Ugly worm thingies about this long," Dean indicated with his hands, "That crawl into the back of your neck and take over your brain. They make your eyes glow funky."
Dean had been busy. Jack debated with what to say but in for a dime, in for a dollar. "They're a sentient alien parasite that are able to infect humans and control their bodies."
"Yup." Jack nodded earnestly.
"I save my joking for Thursdays."
Dean leaned back in the chair, tilting it so the back two legs rose into the air before slamming into the dusty floorboards. "Huh." He shook his head. "Our lives are weird."
Jack stared at Dean. "You're rather calm about all this." Understatement of the century.
Dean grinned. "Would panicking help?"
"It would make me feel better."
Dean pinned the general with a stare before letting out a chuckle. "I like you, Johnny."
"It's Jack, actually." He hadn't been Johnny since grade school.
"Jack then," Dean acknowledge with a grin. "So what are the hawk tarts that the alien brain worms are after?"
"A hok'tar," Jack corrected grimly. If the Goa'uld had located a hok'tar Earth was in some serious shit. "Basically it means superhuman. People who can move shit with their minds or blown stuff up with a look."
"Sonuvabitch," Dean murmured, running a hand through his hair.
"Dean," Jack waited for the kid's attention before continuing. "They're going to be after you and if you keep this up eventually they are going to catch you. I can help. We can take you somewhere and make you safe. We'll find your brother. We can help you," Jack implored.
Dean snorted. "You've got alien brain worms wearing people like meat suits working with feds and you think you can keep me safe from that?" His voice was laden with skepticism.
"They've been trying to kill me for years," Jack pointed out.
"And what guarantees do I have that you guys aren't going to just put me on a slab and go spelunking in my skull?"
Jack shrugged as best he could with the handcuffs. "I've got the gene. They didn't mess around with me." Dean tapped his lip, obviously thinking about Jack's offering. Jack was really hoping he'd accept and not just because it was the fastest way to get him out of handcuffs. "Dean," Jack gave an earnest gaze, "Trust me. I'm trying to help."
"Dude, maybe we should trust him," a second voice floated down from above and behind Jack, making the General start.
Dean glared at hidden figure. "Do you not understand the phrase 'silent as the grave'?"
There was a beat of silence. "Are you trying to be ironic?"
Dean's retort was lost as the room filled with white light. He was already surging forward, the chair he had been resting on thrown to the ground as he pushed all. He rolled across the small space to his prisoner in the blinding brilliance.
When the light receded Dean had a pistol pressed against General Jack O'Neill's face. "Nobody move or I ventilate the general!" Dean ordered, glaring at the newcomers in the room.
"Sir?" Jack heard Carter call out, a little unsure. He couldn't blame her. The point of Asgard beaming technology was to show up and scare the shit out of your target, not to have them responding before you fully materialized. Dean really was something.
He was also a scared kid and if pulled the trigger no amount of explaining was going to get him or his buddy out of trouble. This needed to end without bloodshed, especially since it was Jack's blood that was the most likely to be shed and he really liked this shirt. The suit not so much, but the shirt was comfortable despite the collar. "No casualties. I want to talk to these two when you're done."
As a soft glow enveloped he caught Dean's panicked stare and heard the sound of the zats cocking.
Then Jack was pulled up into the Daedalus's embrace.