Archive of Our Own ^beta

They weren’t winning, not at all. This whole Atlantis mission seemed like it was riddled with even more FUBAR moments than usual, and between the military and hunting, there was a whole lot of FUBAR to go around. They’d tried to steal air from an aerial spirit and about got their asses kicked, so they’d stuck to polite asking, and that had gone more or less well (unless one counted John’s tragic history getting unspooled for everyone to see, splashed across the desert sands in Afghanistan in technicolor).

They’d had to read waaaay more people into the program than anyone at Central Command was happy with (although not having to break into the Smithsonian had been a bonus, even if Vala was disappointed at not being able to practice her tradecraft).

So they’d assembled most of the ingredients necessary to create a homunculus and decided to ask, politely, for a few more.

Bobby had said he knew a witch who was sort of in the gray area of magic but was willing to trade magical supplies for a reasonable price, so the team had set off to buy some supplies from her.

In the hours and hours of lore crawling the team had done, they’d discovered that every (very creepy) recipe and spell for a homunculus included blood (readily obtainable), semen (also readily obtainable), and sunstones (because light was life, and alchemists were big on symbolism).

Sylvia Weald, a morally dubious witch, had sunstones for sale. Should’ve been an easy transaction. Hand over the money, get the sunstones, be on their way. Not a hunt. Not even a mission. Just a shopping trip.

Only Sylvia had taken one look at Evan and known what he was and tried to rip his soul out of his body and bend him to her will.

Not like that one Czech witch, who’d just thought Evan was a powerful witch himself and wanted his magic for her own. No, Sylvia had tried to unbind Evan from his human form, which had nearly ripped him apart, which had sent Dean screaming to his knees, and then -

Chaos.

Rodney slinging magic. Miko slinging magic. Sam slinging magic and bullets. John and Vala slinging mostly bullets, and also anything they could get their hands on to try to get Sylvia to shut up.

They managed to subdue Sylvia long enough for everyone to get out of the house, scattering in all directions before it literally blew up.

Literally.

Damn witches and their self-destruct spells.

Sam came back to full awareness - he hadn’t quite been unconscious - outside the wreck of Sylvia’s house, facedown in the dirt. He rolled onto his back, did a quick self-inventory. Sore, battered, nothing broken or bleeding.

Anyone who’d seen the explosion would’ve known something suspicious was up. Bright light, sudden and blinding, ground shaking, and then - gone. No flames dying down. Just - gone.

Sam blinked, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness. Out in the middle of nowhere, Wyoming, with nothing but the stars for light was a stark transition from the explosion. He pushed himself to his feet.

“Dean? Evan?”

“Over here.” That was Rodney.

“Where?” Sam followed his voice, stumbled toward the trees. Of course Sylvia’s house had been in a clearing in the middle of a forest. Stereotype much?

“Here.”

Sam blinked some more, saw Rodney clinging to a tree, clawing his way upright.

Sam moved to help him, threw an arm around his waist and took his weight till he found his feet.

Rodney fished in his pocket for his cell phone to use as a flashlight, but he’d landed on it during the explosion. The screen was cracked. It was dead. Sam handed Rodney his phone, and they called out, louder, for their teammates. They found Miko and Vala in short order, but there was still no sign of John, Dean, or Evan.

“Is she dead?” Miko asked.

Vala nodded. “Yes. I hit her with the anti-witch bullets.”

Miko and Vala took Rodney’s weight from Sam - Rodney had twisted his ankle - and Sam surged forward, shouting his brother’s name.

“Dean!”

Something moved among the trees. Sam spun, followed it with the beam from his phone flashlight.

“Dean, stop!”

Was Dean running on autopilot? Had the magic done something to him?

Sam went for Dean’s base instincts, summoned his best Dad Marine voice. “I said halt, maggot!”

Dean froze.

Only - it wasn’t Dean, in the trees. It was a child. A boy, maybe eight years old.

No, it was Dean. If he were eight years old.

Oh, hell.

Sam cleared his throat. “Hey, Dean, buddy, it’s me. Sam.”

The boy was frozen in the beam of the flashlight, like a deer in headlights.

“Dean?” Sam asked. “Do you remember me?” Sam’s mind spun. Dean had been hit with an age acceleration spell before, but not a de-aging spell. Was this a full-on child-version of Dean, with only Dean’s memories up to age eight, or was a fully-grown Dean trapped in that little body? Or -

“No,” the boy said. “I don’t know you.”

Sam knew that cagey expression. Dean and Sam had learned to play dumb early on to avoid trouble from the police or CPS (and they were still a little at odds, over their most recent encounter with CPS).

“Well,” Sam said, “I know you. Come over here.”

The boy hesitated.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Sam said. “Just - come over here.”

The boy didn’t move.

Drill sergeant talk had worked before. So Sam barked out, “Right here, Marine, on the double!”

And like that, the child was in front of him, gazing up at him with wary eyes, standing in parade rest. Just like Dean, perfectly obedient to John Winchester’s orders.

Miko, Rodney, and Vala arrived beside him.

“Sam?” Miko asked. “Is that -?”

“Dean,” he said. “When the self-destruct went off, it must have triggered something - or maybe what she was doing to him and Evan -”

Miko shrugged out from under Rodney’s arm and approached Dean carefully, like she was trying not to startle a cornered wild animal. “Hey, buddy, how old are you?”

“Nine, ma’am,” he said.

“My name is Miko,” she said. “What’s your name?”

His expression was hesitant, wary.

“I know you’ve probably been told you’re not supposed to talk to strangers,” Miko said, “but I promise, I’m not a stranger, and I’m not a cop, and I’m not with CPS.”

The boy cocked his head like he was listening to something distant, but he didn’t take his gaze off of Miko, and he didn’t answer.

She smiled at him tentatively.

John and Evan emerged from the trees, Evan leaning heavily on John.

John saw Rodney, immediately stumbled toward him. John took Rodney’s weight from Vala, swept hands over him, checked him for injuries, pressed a kiss to his brow with a sigh of relief.

Dean’s eyes went wide, but he said nothing.

Evan spotted Dean. “Did Sylvia have prisoners, Hansel and Gretel style or something? Or do I need to do a spot of - adjustment?”

Evan looked - okay. Intact. Whole. Uninjured, for a guy who not minutes before had been fire and lightning and wind and a soul wrapped in burning chains. Sam cleared his throat. “That’s Dean.”

Evan frowned. “What?”

“We think it was a de-aging spell,” Miko said. “He’s his nine-year-old self, complete with only memories up to that age. He’s understandably wary of us.”

In Sam’s memories, Dean as a child had been larger than life, had been comforter, protector, provider, and playmate all in one. Had Dean been this small as a child?

Evan shook his head. “No, that’s not Dean.”

“It is,” Sam said. “That’s exactly what Dean looked like when he was nine.”

Evan pressed a hand to his chest - over his heart. “That’s not Dean. I know it’s not, because I can feel him. He’s okay. John and I were on our way to find him and we saw your light.”

Sam stared at the boy. The boy stared up at him.

And then he moved. Too fast. Inhumanly fast. One moment he was gone, the next he was halfway across the clearing. The next he was crying out and flying backward, like he’d been grabbed by an invisible hand.

One of Evan’s spells. Evan murmured, beckoned, hands directing an invisible orchestra, and then the boy, trembling, was standing before them.

“You’re a Nomly,” he breathed, staring up at Evan in terror. “Or - or are you from Psy Ops?”

“I’m neither a Nomly nor from Psy Ops,” Evan said, keeping his tone calm and even. “What’s your name?”

“I don’t have a name,” the boy said.

Sam frowned. “What do people call you?”

“My designation is X5-493.”

That wasn’t a name, it was a number. Like a prison number. But the boy was the spitting image of Dean at age nine. He was a child. A child who moved inhumanly fast. A child who responded to military-style authority.

A child who had some passing knowledge of the supernatural and was terrified of it. He’d seen magic before and had a name for it.

And then Dean came stumbling out of the trees, clutching his ribs. He made a beeline for Evan, half collapsed against him, folding Evan into his arms.

“You’re still here,” Dean breathed.

Evan nodded. “I am. I promised. I won’t leave you. I -”

Dean silenced him with a kiss.

Sam had probably been the most surprised about Dean and Evan, if only because he’d grown up the firsthand witness to Dean’s rampant skirt chasing as soon as he hit puberty. He’d also never been privy to any of Dean’s serious relationships. He’d heard tell of some of them, like Cassie and Anna, but Dean had always hid them from Sam, for some reason he’d never understood (and that they’d never talked about). Seeing Dean being openly affectionate and concerned about Evan was - heartwarming.

But also incredibly weird.

The little boy who looked like a tiny replica of Dean looked incredibly discomfited at all the kissing that was going on.

And then Dean turned and saw him, and he frowned. “What’s going on? Sylvia have some kind of Hansel and Gretel thing going on?”

“Not sure,” Sam said. Designations and military training seemed incongruous with witchcraft. “Anything about him familiar?”

Dean peered at the boy. “No. Should there be?”

“Dean,” Sam said, “he’s you.”

“Did the magic rattle your head, Sammy? He can’t be me, because I’m me.”

“He looks just like you did when you were nine,” Sam said.

“Well that’s fine and dandy, but I don’t have any children,” Dean said.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

Dean nodded. “Yes. I’m sure. I - what’s your name, kid?”

“I don’t have a name,” the boy said in a small voice.

Dean frowned. “What?”

Vala said, “His designation is X5-493.”

It was Dean’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “That’s not a name.” He stepped away from Evan, toward the boy, who shifted like he was going to move but stayed in place. “What’s your mom’s name?”

“I don’t have a mom.”

“What about your dad?”

“I don’t have a dad.”

“You an orphan?”

“I’m a soldier,” the boy said.

“A soldier? What? You’re barely into double digits. This isn’t war-torn Africa,” Dean said, tone dismissive.

The boy bowed his head. “Please don’t send me to the basement.”

They all saw it at the same time. The barcode on the back of his neck.

They all swore at the same time.

“What do we do?” Vala asked in a low voice.

“He’s a kid. We can’t keep him,” Rodney whispered. “Do we call CPS?”

Sam shook his head. “No. This isn’t a CPS type of thing. Look, he obeys military command structure. So - we play that up. Even if it’s creepy, it’s familiar to him, will help him feel more comfortable.”

“The last time we ran into a screwed-up kid -” Dean began.

“This is different and you know it,” Sam hissed.

Miko cleared her throat. “Remember that hunt we went on? A few years back. Sam - you were still a 1L. We ran into those guys from Weights and Measures. The whole sasquatch thing.”

“Wait - bigfoot’s real?” John asked.

“Yes, and not the same as a wendigo,” Miko said. “But that’s not the point. Remember how they talked about bioengineering?”

Evan nodded. “Yes. They talked about how there was a ‘bioengineering problem going on in the upper echelons of international espionage’. And the program they talked about was - was -”

“Chrysalis,” Sam said. He turned to the boy. “Is that who you work for? Chrysalis?”

The boy lifted his head, peered at Sam from beneath long, dark lashes. Sam knew that look. It was the look that had brought down the wrath of John Winchester so it wouldn’t fall on Sam even if that was where it rightfully should have fallen. It was the look that had gotten two hungry boys free food from kind-hearted old ladies on multiple occasions.

“No, sir.”

“Then who do you work for?”

The boy hesitated.

It was John who said, in the perfect commanding officer tone, “Answer him, soldier.”

“Manticore, sir.”

Sam exchanged looks with his teammates. None of them had ever heard of it before.

Rodney asked, “Are there more of you?”

“I may have a twin,” the boy said.

Rodney made an impatient gesture. “I mean - more kids. Like you.”

“There are many of us in the X5 series,” the boy offered cautiously.

Series. Designations. Military training. Sounded organized. Government? Something with a lot of funding.

“What about X4s?” Miko asked.

The boy shook his head.

It was Evan who thought to ask, “Why are you out here all alone? Won’t someone be looking for you?”

“Max told us to run,” the boy said.

Now they were getting somewhere. “Who’s Max?” Miko asked gently.

“Her designation is X5-452.”

Sam knelt so he was eye-level with the boy. “Do you have a name? Besides your designation?”

The boy bit his lip. He looked just like Dean when Dean had been at his most vulnerable as a child.

“I promise you won’t be sent to the basement,” Sam said.

“Ben,” the boy said. “Max calls me Ben.”

“Well, then, Ben, where are you headed?” Sam asked.

Ben smiled, and oh, he really was just like Dean, from his bright green eyes to the freckles on his nose to the curve of his mouth. “To the Good Place. Where no one gets disciplined, and we can sleep in as long as we want.”

Sam didn’t want to know what disciplined meant.

“Where is this Good Place?” John asked. “Which direction?”

Ben glanced over his shoulder. “Away from Manticore.”

So this Manticore facility where Ben and the other kids had been kept was within running distance. Though what that meant to someone who moved as fast as Ben, Sam didn’t know. Ben was wearing nondescript, colorless pajamas, was barefoot, had a shaved head. More like a prisoner than a cadet.

If Ben was some kind of high-dollar paramilitary experiment (bar-coded, given training and designation; raising a kid was expensive just in food and clothes), there would be people looking for him. People who knew more about his physical capabilities than any of Sam’s team.

People who might have seen a magical explosion and the light from cell phone flashlights.

“What do we do, Major?” Rodney asked John.

John slid an arm around his waist, steadying him. “Mission’s a bust. Let’s go.”

“Not entirely a bust,” Evan said. “I did get the sunstones.” He reached into his pocket, drew out the purple Crown Royal drawstring bag that Sylvia had used to lure him into the range of her spell.

Rodney eyed Ben warily. “Finally. Some good news.”

Ben had perked up when Rodney addressed John as Major, when John referred to the mission.

“Back to the bus,” John said. “You too, Ben. Fall in.” John nodded at Evan, and Evan loosened whatever magical bindings he’d had on Ben.

Ben fell in obediently behind Sam.

“What’s your rank, Ben?” Sam asked.

“Cadet, sir.”

“I’m Lieutenant Sam Winchester. That’s Captain Dean Winchester, and Captain Evan Lorne, and Major John Sheppard. Major Sheppard’s our commanding officer.”

Ben nodded, likely committing the names to memory. They trudged toward the bus in the darkness, only their flashlights illuminating the way. Ben didn’t complain about the pace they took - not all that fast, given how everyone was recovering from being magically exploded at - or the fact that he was barefoot.

He hesitated at the door of the bus, but John barked All aboard, and Ben scurried onto the bus after them.

As Vala and Miko were the least injured, they were the ones who took the wheel and navigation, even if it was out of the usual driving order. John and Dean installed Evan and Rodney onto the back bunk together, because both of them were the most damaged. Sam was worried about what had happened to Dean when Sylvia tried to dissolve Evan’s binding spells, but Dean insisted he was fine.

Ben stood in the middle of the bus, perfectly still in parade rest but hyperaware of everything going on around him.

Sam said, “You can sit down.”

Ben immediately plopped down onto the couch, ramrod straight, posture textbook perfect.

John cleared his throat. “Are you hungry?” He was crammed into the kitchen booth beside Dean, with Sam sitting opposite.

Ben nodded.

It was Dean who stood up, poked around in the fridge. “What are you in the mood for?”

Ben looked confused. “Food…?”

Sam twisted around to face Ben. “Do you want something savory or sweet?”

Ben bit his lip. Finally, he said, “I need milk. I’m running low on tryptophan.”

That was something Sam had never heard a child say before. Granted, he’d also never seen a child like Ben before either, who could run impossibly fast and had a barcode tattooed on the back of his neck and was also the spitting image of his brother at age nine.

“Milk it is,” Dean said.

Ben was holding so carefully still, so painfully polite.

Dean poured a glass of milk, handed it over to young Ben, who thanked him and drank it slowly, carefully.

Dean eased himself back into the booth beside John. “So, Ben. Cadet Ben. From Manticore. You’re a soldier. Tell me your training schedule.”

Ben relaxed slightly. Answering questions and following orders was something he was used to. What followed sounded like two parts Special Forces training, one part Soviet-era brainwashing about duty, discipline, and obedience. It sounded insane and horrendous. Sam had thought his childhood was too militarized.

It was John who unholstered his sidearm and handed it to Ben, asked him to disassemble and reassemble it.

Ben did, at superhuman speed. He probably could have done it with his eyes closed.

Sam asked about life at Manticore. It wasn’t much of one. Training. Indoctrination. Also endless medical exams.

“Do they fit you with tracking devices?” John asked. Damn, but one of them should have asked that sooner.

Ben shook his head.

“What are you training for?” Sam asked.

Ben described maneuvers in the woods, away missions, and deep cover missions. What he meant was black ops and assassinations.

After about an hour, Ben started to get twitchy.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked.

“Lights out, sir.”

No way were they going to sleep while he was around. But he could sleep. That would make it easier to watch him.

“Middle bunk, bottom is yours,” John said.

Dean didn’t protest.

Ben stood up, made a beeline for the middle bunks, laid flat on top of the covers, and was out like a light, like so many soldiers Sam had known. It was disturbing.

He grabbed a notebook and a pen. Assume he has superhuman senses.

John nodded. Rotating watch. Me 1st. Sam 2nd. Dean 3rd.

Sam and Dean nodded their agreement.

What else? Dean scrawled.

Take it up with Carter.

*

“Sorry to disturb you so late, Colonel,” Sam said apologetically. He was using the jawbone mic hooked into his phone so he could speak as quietly as possible, so as not to disturb the people who were sleeping, including young Ben.

“Not a problem, Lieutenant.” Carter did sound pretty awake. “How did it go with the sunstone acquisition?”

“We acquired the sunstones, but there were complications.”

“Complications?”

“The witch, Sylvia Weald, she tried to hurt Lorne and indirectly also Dean.”

“Are they all right?”

“Miko looked us all over. No permanent damage. Might need to send out a containment team, though. She had a self-destruct spell woven into her house. When Vala shot her with anti-witch ammo, it triggered the spell.”

“I’ll scramble a containment team.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Glad you got the sunstone. You on your way back?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sam cleared his throat. “That’s not all.”

“Oh?”

“We picked up a runaway.”

Carter sighed. “Lieutenant, you should have called CPS.”

“It’s not like the last time, ma’am.”

“Where’s Major Sheppard?”

“He gave himself first watch.”

“First watch?”

“Over the child.”

“Why?”

“We don’t think he’s entirely human. Based on our interview of him, he’s likely one of multiple test subjects for some kind of paramilitary bioengineering program. He indicated that he’d run away from the facility, he and other children.”

“Bioengineering,” Carter echoed. “Like when you ran into those agents from ‘Weights and Measures’?”

“Lorne remembers the program they referred to was called Chrysalis, but the child says the program he was kept in was called Manticore.”

“Manticore? Let me run a search on that right now. Hm. All I’m getting is a VA hospital. In Wyoming.”

“We’re leaving Wyoming right now.”

“That can’t be a coincidence. I’ll get Jennifer to dig deeper. Tell me more about this child?”

Sam did, relaying Ben’s superhuman speed, his reflexive response to military commands, what he’d reported about his training schedule, his barcode tattoo, and the fact that he was the spitting image of Dean at age nine.

“And he’s sleeping right now?”

“He got a little twitchy when the time for lights out arrived and we hadn’t sent him to bed, so we sent him to bed. Major Sheppard’s watching him now.”

“All right, Lieutenant. Bring him in. I’ll get my team looking into Manticore and run it up the chain to General O’Neill, see if he wants us to reach out to our friends at Weights and Measures. What’s your ETA?”

“About five hours.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Keep us apprised of your progress. We’ll let you know what we learn.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Sam pocketed his cell phone, tucked his earwig away.

He curled up on the couch, making himself as small as possible, till it was his turn on watch.

*

Being on watch for a sleeping child in a contained space like the bus was a simple affair. Sam plunked himself down in one of the chairs, turned it to face the middle bunks, and fixed his gaze on the bottom bunk where Ben was sleeping.

Sam was a tummy sleeper by nature, though he rarely had the opportunity to sleep in a bed that actually fit him. Dean slept on his side. Ben slept on his back, perfectly still, almost corpse-like but for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

Sam absently practiced his fingering for one of the songs he was learning on his cello. He’d never been as dedicated as Kevin, who would literally set a timer and practice every day, at least thirty minutes. But he’d learned as best as he could from Kevin, and after they’d lost Kevin, he’d taken to free lessons on YouTube where he could get them. Dean was the superior musician by sheer dint of years of experience playing the guitar. He was good at playing by ear or by tabs, but he couldn’t read music. Kevin had worked very hard to teach Sam how to read music.

Sam was almost at the point where he could look at a piece of music and know what the song was supposed to sound like. But he still had to practice and practice and practice before he could play it right. There were some cool cello covers of rock songs on YouTube, like ACDC and other stuff Dean liked. Sam thought it would be fun if he and Dean could play a song together. If Sam got really good, learned some classical music, he and Rodney could play duets.

Rodney hadn’t played with anyone since they’d lost Kevin.

Sam was startled out of his musical musings by a soft sound, like a sad kitten.

Or Ben, tossing and turning in his sleep, in the throes of a nightmare.

Sam crossed the bus, knelt beside Ben’s bunk.

“Hey, soldier, your watch.” He didn’t dare touch the boy, knew that from years of Dad and Dean.

Sure enough, Ben’s eyes flew open. He sat bolt upright, gasping. Then he saw Sam and tried to slow his breaths.

“Sir? Am I on watch?”

“You were having a nightmare,” Sam said softly. “Didn’t want to leave you trapped in it.”

Ben blinked at him. “Oh.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sam asked.

Ben frowned, confused.

“About your nightmare,” Sam clarified. He hastened to add, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Ben drew his knees up to his chest. “I’m fine,” he said. He glanced skyward and added, “The Blue Lady is watching over me.”

“Who’s the Blue Lady?” Sam asked.

“She fights the Nomlies,” Ben said.

Sam leaned in. “What’s a Nomly?”

“They live in the basement.” Ben bit his lip. Then he leaned in even closer. “If we’re bad or sick or broken, the guards - they beat us half to death and cut us, drink our blood, and then they put us in the basement with the Nomlies. The Nomlies keep us - and eat us.”

Sam swallowed down the bile that had risen in his throat. Either Ben had witnessed this level of violence or his captors had instilled it in him and his fellow experiments to ensure compliance, or maybe both.

“What do Nomlies look like?” Sam asked. If Manticore was some kind of paramilitary bioengineering program, perhaps they had access to the supernatural, the way Agent Fawkes could turn invisible like a sasquatch.

“They’re - wrong. Like - animals,” Ben said. “With teeth and claws and ugly faces. I have cat eyes - I can see heat when I’m doing maneuvers in the dark. But I don’t look like a cat.”

Anomalies, he meant. Experiments gone wrong. Ben was human at his base, but he’d been engineered to have some feline traits.

“That does sound scary,” Sam said. “How does the Blue Lady protect you from them?”

“She fights them,” Ben said. He grinned suddenly, pulled his upper lip back so Sam could see he was missing a tooth. “She needs teeth to make her strong, to fight.”

Was she some kind of anomaly herself? Blue-skinned? Maybe a type of vampire?

...Had Ben pulled out one of his own teeth in sacrifice to her?

“We have to go to the high place to talk to her,” Ben continued. “If we want to talk loud. But if we want to talk quiet, we can talk to her like this.” He pressed his palms together like he was praying, bowed his head, and murmured something in mangled latin.

Like that, Sam knew. He fished his phone out of his pocket, fired up an internet browser, and searched for Our Lady of the Sacred Heart. He found a picture of her, showed it to Ben.

“Is this the Blue Lady?”

His eyes went wide. “You know her?” He clutched Sam’s wrist, dragged it closer so he could gaze adoringly at the phone.

“Not - personally,” Sam said. “I know of her. Her name is Mary.”

“Mary,” Ben echoed, testing the name.

Sam nodded. “Yeah.”

“Mary,” Ben said again. He smiled. “It’s pretty.”

“It is. My mother’s name was Mary, too.”

Ben turned to him. “Your mother?”

“Yeah. My mom.”

Ben abandoned Sam’s phone, peered up at him earnestly. “What was she like?”

“I don’t really remember,” Sam said. “She died when I was a baby. My brother Dean - he says she was nice. Took good care of us. Loved us. Watched over us when we were tired, or sad, or sick, or scared. Sang to us, to help us feel better.”

“Sang?”

“You know, songs. Like - by The Beatles. They were her favorite band.”

Ben made a curious clicking noise. “That’s how beetles sing.”

How isolated from society had Ben and his siblings been?

“Not actual beetles. People, who called themselves The Beatles. Only it was b-e-a-t, like the beat of music, you know, a pun.”

“Pun.” Ben rolled the word around in his mouth. “I haven’t learned puns yet. We don’t learn common parlance till we’re cleared for away missions.”

If the team had thought teaching Vala pop culture was bad, teaching Ben to act even remotely normal was going to be worse. Vala had at least had a modicum of social skills of her own before she’d been enslaved by Qetesh. Ben was like a little robot.

Wait. What if he was a robot? An actual robot? Except robots didn’t sleep or drink milk and need tryptophan, did they? He could have been a cyborg rather than an android. Was sleeping his way of - recharging? Except he’d had nightmares.

Ben said, “Will you sing for me? A Beatles song. So I can learn.”

Sam knew that Mom’s go-to comfort song had been Hey Jude, if only because it was what Dean had sung to him when he was little. He suspected, however, that a different one might be better.

“Now, I don’t sing nearly as well as Miko, Vala, or Evan,” he said, “but I can carry a tune.” He cleared his throat. “Ready?”

Ben scooted closer to him, rested his chin on his knees.

Sam said, “Hey, why don’t you lie down? That might be more comfortable.”

Ben complied, went flat on his back, stiff as a board.

“You can sleep under the blankets,” Sam said.

Ben hesitated.

Sam said, “I know you’re cold. I can see the goosebumps on your arm.”

“But it’s not suboptimal temperatures.”

“We’re not at Manticore anymore,” Sam said. “You can sleep under the covers even when temperatures are - optimal. Come on. Bundle up.”

Ben was still hesitant as he slid under the covers. Sam pulled them up around his shoulders, tucked them in, and cleared his throat again.

“Here goes.”

When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be

And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be

It was like magic. As Sam sang, Ben’s eyes fluttered closed, and he slid back into sleep.

Sam knelt beside the bunk, watching Ben sleep, making sure he was calm, nightmare-free. He stood up, winced at the way his knees and back creaked - he wasn’t even thirty - and turned to go.

And nearly ran right into Dean.

“My watch,” he said.

Sam nodded. “Right. He had a nightmare.”

“Let It Be?” Dean asked.

“Didn’t think he’d understand Hey Jude. And - he’s kinda Catholic, so a song about Mary seemed right.” Sam covered a yawn, slid past Dean.

“Catholic?” Dean echoed. “But he’s a -”

“He’s a kid, Dean, and he was scared.” Sam clapped him on the shoulder. “Good night.”

He went to sprawl on the couch once more.

*

Sam came awake when the bus rolled to a stop.

“Wake up, Sammy.” Dean’s voice was hoarse from lack of sleep.

Sam sat up. “I’m awake. Are we there?”

Dean nodded.

Sam peered through the blinds, and they were in the parking lot at the top of Cheyenne Mountain. Time to report in.

There was quiet shuffling as Sam, Dean, and John put on their uniforms. Vala, Miko, Evan, and Rodney made themselves presentable.

Ben sat on the edge of his bunk, utterly still, expression blank but for the anxiety shining fever-bright in his eyes. He managed to catch John’s eye.

“What are my orders, sir?”

John paused, stared at Ben blankly for a moment, as if he’d forgotten Ben’s presence. “You’re still barefoot, aren’t you? No orders for now. Just - stick close to Sam. Lieutenant Winchester.”

Ben nodded.

Miko’s shoes were the closest to Ben’s size, so she loaned him socks and a pair of her sneakers - they were a bit too big for him - and then they all trooped into the Mountain. The airman at the security checkpoint visually inspected each of their IDs. He paused when he saw Ben, who was following John’s orders to the letter and was practically on Sam’s heels.

As if on cue, the elevator doors slid open, and Colonel Carter emerged, Carolyn beside her.

John, Sam, Evan, and Dean all snapped to attention, though Evan didn’t salute her like the others did. Ben came to attention as well.

“Major Sheppard.” Carter saluted him back. “Welcome back to Central Command. We’ve been expecting you.” She turned to address Ben but didn’t lower herself so she was eye-level with him, instead maintained her professional mien. “Is this your new cadet?”

“Yes, ma’am,” John said.

Carolyn offered a hand to Ben. “I’m Dr. Lam.”

He shook her hand hesitantly.

“This is Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter,” Carolyn continued. “She’s my team leader. Come on.”

They crammed into the elevator. It was a bit of a tight fit, and Ben pressed himself to Sam’s side, wary of Carolyn. Given that he’d been subject to constant medical monitoring, medical professionals understandably made him wary. That was why Sam hadn’t introduced Miko and Rodney by their professional salutations.

The elevator ride down into the heart of Project Orion was long. They went ten floors down, then had to change elevators, because no elevator went directly down into Central Command.

Carter escorted them to the briefing room, where the rest of Team Carter was waiting. Not just Team Carter, but also General O’Neill wearing his best dress blues.

“Well,” O’Neill drawled. “This must be Big Ben.”

Ben snapped to attention, saluted. “X5-493 reports as ordered, sir!”

Sam winced. The rest of Team Carter looked startled - and disturbed.

But O’Neill continued to eye Ben. “At ease, soldier. What’s your rank?”

“Cadet, sir.” Ben fell into parade rest.

“And you successfully escaped from Manticore, you and the rest of your cadet class.”

“Not all of my class, sir,” Ben said. “Only twelve members of my unit breached the perimeter and avoided recapture.”

“And those members are?”

“In addition to myself, 734, 210, 101, 471, 452, 386, 701, 656, 344, 599, and 205, sir.”

Something like grief crossed O’Neill’s face for a moment, and Sam realized - Ben, small and blond as he was, probably reminded O’Neill of his own son.

“What are their names, Cadet?”

“Brin, Jondy, Kavi, Krit, Max, Seth, Syl, Tinga, Vada, Zack, and Zane.”

“What about the rest of your unit?”

“798 Jace stayed behind. 417 Jack - he died before we could escape. Seizures. Low tryptophan. Colonel Lydecker killed 766 Eva during the escape. She sacrificed herself for us, sir.” Ben’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. “She was a loyal soldier. Loyal to her unit.”

It was Jonas who stood up. “You can have my seat, Ben. You must be tired. Are you hungry? Thirsty? We can get you food and drink.”

Ben glanced at O’Neill for confirmation. O’Neill nodded, and Ben thanked Jonas, assumed his seat, posture perfect as always.

“Anything to eat or drink?” O’Neill asked.

Ben said, “Major Sheppard and his team have ensured I am fed and hydrated and have not fallen to suboptimal nutritional levels -”

“That’s not what I asked,” O’Neill said patiently. “Are you hungry or thirsty?”

Ben shrank beneath O’Neill’s gaze anyway. “May I have a glass of milk? I need more tryptophan.”

“Tryptophan,” O’Neill echoed. He glance at Carolyn, who shrugged. “How about some turkey? Do we have turkey?”

“Turkey can be arranged, sir,” one of the airmen standing guard at the door said.

“A turkey sandwich and a glass of milk for the cadet,” O’Neill said, and one of the airmen ducked away.

“Will you be sending me back, sir?” Ben asked. “To Manticore?”

“No,” O’Neill said. “That’s not the plan. We do have some questions for you, and...maybe some tests we’d like you to participate in.”

Ben nodded. “My veins are best in my left arm, sir.”

Daniel’s expression turned pale, pinched.

“Noted,” O’Neill said. “Lieutenant Hailey, roll it.”

“Yes, sir.” Jennifer stood up, scooped up the projector remote.

The lights in the conference room went dim.

“Cadet Ben,” she said, “tell me if you recognize any of these people.” And she started a slideshow of - childhood photos.

Sam. Dean. John. Evan. Cam.

“That’s Zane, sir. 205. But I’ve never seen his hair that long.”

Jonas made a note.

Jennifer resumed her slideshow.

The next photo was of Charlie O’Neill.

No. General O’Neill as a child.

“That’s Zack. 599.”

Sam glanced at O’Neill. His expression was terribly blank, his dark eyes opaque.

Jennifer continued her slideshow with pictures of Carter, Teldy, Fraiser, and Jennifer herself. Ben recognized Fraiser as Jondy 210 and Carter as Syl 701.

When the lights came up, the others looked shaken, but then the airman returned with a sandwich and milk for Ben. Ben tucked in only after O’Neill directed him to do so.

O’Neill rose, smoothed down his jacket, and headed for the conference anteroom. The rest of the two teams followed, leaving the airmen to keep an eye on Ben.

“Well?” O’Neill asked Carter.

She still looked shaken, but she swallowed hard, rallied her composure. “Carolyn hasn’t had a chance to run any medical tests, but - he recognized our faces. My best guess is that DNA samples are harvested from every member of the Armed Forces during their routine physicals, possibly as far back as their enlistment and commission checks. Some of those DNA samples are deemed worthy of further experimentation.”

“It’s been almost ten years since I first hitched up, sir,” Dean said. “Assuming these Manticore creeps can’t speed-grow a human, that fits the timeline for Ben being nine.”

“What else have you found on Manticore?” Rodney asked.

Jennifer cleared her throat. “It’s listed in official databases as a VA hospital, which is a smart cover, accounts for the personnel and medical supplies being requisitioned by it.”

“Any relation to Chrysalis?” Evan asked.

“None that we’ve found so far,” Jennifer said, “but based on what I read in your AAR, I don’t think Chrysalis is a government program the way Manticore is.”

“What if they can speed-grow a human?” Jonas burst out suddenly.

O’Neill raised his eyebrows. “What makes you think they can?”

Daniel’s expression was grim. “That’s what a homunculus was, back in the day. A human grown in a jar. The medieval alchemical equivalent of a test-tube baby.”

Everyone peered through the doorway of the conference room at Ben, who was focused on his food still.

“But according to the lore, homunculi were miniature, not full-sized,” Jennifer said.

Dread curled in the pit of Sam’s stomach. He’d thought Ben looked much smaller - younger, more frail - than Dean had at the same age.

“No,” Carolyn said. “We’re not sacrificing a child, not even one who’s not completely human.” She cast Evan a pointed look.

“I wasn’t suggesting that we do,” Jennifer said hastily. “Just - if they can, maybe that’s the key we need to making a homunculus. Take whatever their growing process is, meld it with the magic and ingredients we’ve got, and we have the key to unlock the gate.”

O’Neill looked skeptical.

Carter said, “The suggestion does have merit.”

“More importantly,” Daniel broke in, “we need to shut down any facility that’s conducting heinous experiments on other sentient beings, human or otherwise, child or otherwise.”

O’Neill considered silently. Then he nodded. “All right. Let’s gather all the intel we can on the Manticore program, identify their facilities, and coordinate a single attack on all of them to get as much data as we can and rescue as many unwilling program participants as we can.”

John glanced at Carter, then addressed O’Neill. “Sir, ma’am, how much can we anticipate in the way of resources?”

“What do you mean, Major?” O’Neill asked.

“Obviously we have some of the best computer hackers on the planet,” John said. “But if we tapped some of our allied resources, we could get this done faster, and also have additional backup when it comes time to access any Manticore facilities in person.”

O’Neill turned to Daniel. “I don’t speak diplomat. Translate.” Then he squinted at John. “Since when do you speak diplomat?”

“Since you posted him to a team with Lorne, I suspect,” Daniel said.

O’Neill eyed Evan.

Evan maintained a perfectly innocent expression.

Daniel said, “Major Sheppard would like to contact some of our interagency resources for assistance.”

“Like -?”

“Like Agents Fawkes and Hobbes from Weights and Measures and Gibbs’s MCRT from NCIS,” Carter said. “It’s not a bad idea, sir. Agent Fawkes has extraordinary infiltration skills. Agent McGee with NCIS is a very skilled hacker.”

“Not just them, sir,” John said. “The Brotherhood of Aaron and the Sisterhood of Miriam.”

“Bobby and any other hunters we trust,” Dean piped up.

“Housewives and fat middle-aged lawyers and accountants?” O’Neill asked.

“Instant army,” Daniel pointed out.

“As opposed to using our own supply of Marines and airmen,” O’Neill said slowly.

“We only have two backup squads per hunting team,” Carter said. “If we need to storm multiple castles, as it were -”

“Plus,” Daniel said, “housewife types might be useful if we’re rescuing bunches and bunches of children.”

Sam remembered the plump, cheerful Sister Fielding with her endless supply of food. He glanced over his shoulder into the conference room, where Ben had finished his food and pushed his tray away, was sitting bolt upright and carefully not looking at the airmen guarding him.

O’Neill sighed. “Daniel, you’re with me. Do your translating, diplomat thing with the stuffed shirts at Homeland. In the meantime - call your hacker buddies, get all the info we can on Manticore. And - Sheppard, McKay. Your team found the kid. You watch him.”

“Are we allowed off-base with him?” Vala asked.

“Why?”

“He needs clothes, for a start,” Vala said.

“He’s your responsibility,” O’Neill said.

Vala nodded, and then O’Neill dismissed them all.

Sam, Miko, Rodney, Carter, Jennifer, and Jonas were the designated hacking team. They headed to Carter’s lab and set up a bank of computers while Miko got on the phone to NCIS and their MCRT.

John, Vala, Evan, and Dean took Ben off-base to get him some clothes and other basic supplies. Sam booted up his computer and prayed that Ben would be all right, be safe.

“Here’s what I’ve found on Manticore so far,” Jennifer said, and a file appeared on Sam’s desktop.

He double clicked on it, opened it up. Jennifer had hours and hours of research crammed into one file. Financial records. Supply and requisition records. Careful tracking of House Appropriations bills and their accounting records. Blueprints of possible sites. Maps. Digital tomes of genetic studies. A lengthy dissertation about a Breeding Cult related to the Coloma Indians. Some government dossiers about an organization known as Chrysalis that was involved in bioengineering humans to use as mercenaries and assassins in international espionage. More documents about the I-man project. Some dossiers from as far back as World War II for an organization called Hydra. A virtual reality entertainment project headed by an international conglomerate called Rossum. Everything was perfectly and neatly labeled.

“Not just Manticore,” Sam said dumbly.

Carter patted him on the shoulder. “She’s got a summary.”

Sam scanned the document titles, found it, and fired it up.

“You trained me well,” Jennifer murmured.

All Jennifer had was bits and pieces of a bunch of things that were slowly assembling themselves into a big, frightening whole.

Manticore, paid for by funds diverted from legitimate defense projects.

An ancient Breeding Cult, interested in ruling the world through generations upon generations of selective breeding.

They had one person in common, someone named Sandeman. No first name. Just a reference to him and his son.

The I-man project, involving a sasquatch, a career thief, and a washed-up FBI agent who had a prescription for lithium pills.

Chrysalis, a bioengineering project funded by international sources, including South American drug cartel leaders and Middle Eastern terrorists.

Hydra, a Nazi splinter group interested in superior breeding, mythological artefacts (so very Indiana Jones) and developing super-powered soldiers with programmable psyches.

Rossum, a research group interested in advanced neuroscience, virtual reality, and the ability to transfer human consciousness like a computer program.

All seeking the perfect person - soldier, spy, lover, artist, scholar. Weapon.

Jennifer’s summary was neat, concise, and frightening. Sam poked through the more detailed summaries she had about each organization. The I-man project was focused on eliminating Chrysalis. Chrysalis was a descendant of Hydra, founded by one of their original bioengineers. Rossum was based on an off-shoot of Hydra, founded by one of their neuroscience engineers who was less interested in war and more interested in making money.

Sam read and read and read till his eyes were dry and bloodshot, pausing only to drink coffee and empty his bladder, sate his stomach, stretch his body. He scanned the photos Jennifer had included, of the major players, of the sites and building and facilities.

And then he realized something.

“They’re all connected.”

“What makes you say that?” Carter asked. She peered over Sam’s shoulder.

He pointed to a photo of several men in overcoats and fedoras with Nazi armbands standing outside a giant red brick factory. “This guy is in almost every picture.”

Miko, Jennifer, Jonas, and Rodney crowded around to get a look at him. Sam pulled up other pictures of the man - standing beside some purported Coloma Indians, looking like a regular Nineteenth Century gold prospecter; in a snappy business suit out front of a Rossum neuroscience lab; standing in the background while an alleged Chrysalis director shook hands with a drug cartel leader; crowded in with uniformed soldiers standing at attention for Colonel Lydecker, a Manticore agent.

“Can’t be the same guy,” Rodney said. “He’s the same age in every picture.”

“Can be if he’s not human,” Jonas said, expression grim.

“What makes you think he’s not human?” Jennifer asked.

Jonas tapped the picture of the man standing in front of the Rossum lab. “See his lapel pin?”

There were almost some bumped heads as everyone leaned in and squinted some more.

Rodney rolled his eyes, swatted Sam’s hand away from his mouse, and zoomed in on the photo, which was helpful up till he zoomed too far and everything was just pixels. Then Carter battled him for Sam’s mouse, and finally Miko elbowed them all aside and adjusted the image so it was as large as it would go without sacrificing clarity.

“It’s a five-pointed star,” Jennifer said. She tilted her head. “A very geometric, stylized five-pointed star.”

Jonas shook his head. “Not any five-pointed star. It’s the sigil of the demon Sokar.”

“Sokar - Seker. From Ancient Egyptian mythology.” Sam’s mind spun.

“Another demon posing as an Ancient Egyptian deity,” Miko said quietly. “You don’t think he’s -”

“Another Prince of Hell?” Jonas said. “Absolutely.”

“What would a Prince of Hell be doing, fooling around with bioengineering and brainwashing?” Sam asked, but he knew as soon as he said it. “Oh, no.”

“Oh no?” Rodney asked. “Oh no what?”

“He’s trying to create the perfect host,” Sam said.

“Perfect host? For what?”

“Maybe Lucifer, maybe Michael -”

Rodney shook his head. “No. They’re both in the Cage.”

“Maybe something worse,” Sam said.

“What’s worse than two archangels playing Godzilla and using Earth as their Tokyo?” Rodney demanded.

“I’m not sure I can even imagine it,” Carter said faintly.

“Obviously we have to stop them,” Miko said.

Jennifer nodded. She looked to Carter. “Ma’am?”

“Even though they’re related, they’re all only loosely related,” Rodney said before Carter could speak. “My guess is Sokar has multiple programs because each one is something of a backup of the other.” Then he noticed the way Jennifer and Carter were both raising their eyebrows at him. “Sorry. I’m not Carter. What’s the plan, Colonel?”

“Our best plan would be to find out everything we can about every single cell of Sokar’s organization and then take them down all at once,” Carter said. “Because you’re right. I bet none of the programs are fully aware of the other. People in Chrysalis and Rossum probably think Hydra’s long dead and gone. People in the breeding cult probably have no idea about Manticore, especially since artificial genetic manipulation is antithetical to their dogma. Obviously the handful of people with the I-man project have no idea what’s really out there.”

“But if we wait that long,” Jennifer said, “the organizations could advance to the point where we are unable to combat them.”

Sam said, “Ma’am, we have information on Manticore, and we have it now.”

“Not to mention Manticore can help us unlock the gateway to Atlantis,” Rodney said.

Carter scrubbed a hand over her face. “This is above my paygrade. I’ll make my report to O’Neill. The rest of you, see if you can’t isolate a location for the Wyoming Manticore facility. Even if we can’t locate every one of their facilities, one facility may have location information on others. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She drained the last of her coffee and swept out of the lab.

“Manticore facility in Wyoming.” Jonas returned to his computer, thoughtful. “How do we narrow it down?”

“Like any other hunt,” Rodney said, and went back to his computer. “Isolate the omens and signs, backtrack.”

Miko picked up his train of thought. “Twelve cadets from Ben’s unit broke out. They have high-level military combat and infiltration skills, superhuman abilities, but sub-par social skills, and probably not a good sense of what to do with vast amounts of unstructured time.”

Sam tried to remember what he’d learned in child welfare law in law school, about what happened when institutionalized youth were sent to less restrictive placements without appropriate step-down care.

“Look for - a rash of thefts of food and clothes. Possible nighttime prowlers and burglaries. Maybe a spike in juvenile prostitution, kids approaching strangers for food or money. They’d be in a wave outside of Gillette, where the VA hospital supposedly is, concentrated at first, more spread out as the cadets split up and try to blend in,” he said.

An airman refilled all of their coffees, and it was time to hack some law enforcement databases.

*

Sam came awake when Dean said, “Your watch, airman.”

He sat bolt upright and nearly knocked over an empty coffee mug. “What? What happened?”

Only it wasn’t Dean standing beside him but Ben. Ben, who’d obviously been on a shopping trip with Dean and Vala, because he was wearing a leather jacket that was a miniature version of the one Dean had inherited from Dad, but instead of the usual hunter chic with flannel and jeans, he was wearing a t-shirt with a logo from Knight Hunters that looked more like it was from a rock band than a videogame and some trendy skinny jeans with the cuffs turned up, and a pair of brand spanking new Converse sneakers.

“You were having a nightmare,” Ben said.

Sam blinked, rubbed his eyes. “Hey. You’re back. You look good. How was shopping?”

Ben looked down at his outfit. “It was - informative. Major Sheppard has poor fashion sense after years and years of wearing uniforms. Dean dresses like an ugly lumberjack because he’s trying too hard not to be pretty, and he should ‘embrace his pretty’. Evan has an excellent eye for color but his sense of fashion is trapped in the completely wrong decade. Vala, however, is now my official fashion advisor.” Ben looked slightly dazed.

Given that he’d been subjected to the combined intensity of Vala and Evan on a mission to buy clothes, Sam was sympathetic.

Ben bit his lip, and he looked like Dean should have looked at nine years old, trendy and well-cared for. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?”

“Your nightmare.”

Sam scrubbed a hand across his face. “I don’t even remember it.” He glanced up at his computer screen. The screensaver was an endless journey through the stars, shifting and turning. Every now and then a star had a designation, and Sam realized.

It was the journey toward Pegasus, toward Atlantis.

“But thanks. Did you need something?”

“It’s time for a briefing,” Ben said. “Colonel Sheppard told me to come find you.”

That Ben was allowed to roam the halls of Central Command unsupervised said something about how trusted he was.

Sam smiled at him. “Thanks. To the briefing room?”

Ben nodded.

And then Sam saw the two airmen in the hallway who’d been standing guard over the lab, who peeled away from the wall and followed them at a discreet distance.

The briefing room was crowded, with the entirety of Team Carter, including Teal’c, whose absence Sam hadn’t even noticed earlier; Team McKay Sheppard (which Dean had gleefully taken to calling Team McShep - he’d also taken to naming their theoretical children and testing out first names with McShep as a last name); Agent Gibbs’s MCRT team from NCIS; Agents Hobbes and Fawkes; Zach Whitney from the Brotherhood of Aaron and Rachel Fielding from the Sisterhood of Miriam; and Bobby Singer.

Team Carter was seated at the briefing table, along with Gibbs, Rachel, Hobbes, and Bobby. Everyone else was standing around them.

“Thanks to Daniel’s smooth talking,” O’Neill said, “we now have a bigger force to deploy against Manticore. All of you will have to play nice. Colonel Carter is your commanding officer. Dr. McKay is your senior civilian officer. Any questions?”

No one said anything.

O’Neill gestured expansively. “Take it away, Carter.”

Carter was on her feet immediately. Miko reached out and dimmed the lights.

“We still have to isolate the location of Manticore’s facility, because we looked at satellite images of the location where the VA hospital that’s designated as Manticore is supposed to be, and it’s not there. Thanks to intel from Cadet Ben, we have narrowed down a search radius, which we will narrow further as more intel comes in. Also thanks to Cadet Ben, we have a sense of some of the security measures in place at the Wyoming Manticore facility. Our objective is threefold: shut down the facility, preserve the program’s intel, and rescue Cadet Ben’s classmates and any other program survivors.”

What followed was a standard briefing, one Sam had been part of many times. General O’Neill was recalling all of the hunting teams and deploying all of the back-up teams. The plan was to prevail against Manticore by sheer dint of overwhelming force.

Agent McGee would be lending his hacking skills to the computer crowd, while Agent DiNozzo and Officer David would be teaming up with Vala, Zach, and Rachel to pound the pavement, as it were, looking for leads on any members of Ben’s unit who’d avoided recapture and were on the run. Jonas and Daniel would coordinate with Ben to send out a broadcast message that would encourage the children to turn themselves in.

Sam, of course, was assigned to the hackers, as were Rodney and Miko. Evan and Teldy were coordinating all the incoming hunting teams. John and Teal’c were handling the backup squads of Marines, airmen, and soldiers. Dean and Bobby were giving Hobbes and Fawkes a crash course in the supernatural and military protocol for the mission.

Carolyn needed to run some tests on Ben, to get a sense of his genetic makeup as well as his skills, so the troops knew what they’d be up against if Manticore deployed its class of X5s against an incoming attack.

They had a plan of attack. Goals. Objectives. A mission.

Growing up, Sam had hated his father’s tendency to militarize their life. Now he understood why John Winchester had lived that way. There was a certain comfort to be had in routines and protocol. A man with a mission was a man who was never at loose ends. As an Air Force officer, Sam was never at loose ends, not even with his posting being as unorthodox as it was.

At the end of the briefing, introductions were made all around. Hobbes and Fawkes were cagey about who they were and who they worked for. Zach looked excited. Rachel looked - tired. She’d probably had to put up with Zach’s endless excitement for the entire trip to Central Command. Gibbs and his MCRT team looked a little dazed. Even though they’d been read into the program, it was a lot to take in. Bobby looked intrigued.

Finally, the briefing was completely finished. Sam was surprised Vala didn’t try to call for a huddle, for a cheer and a break! like she’d seen on too many sports movies.

It was time to divide and conquer.

Sam managed to finagle his way across the briefing room to the side table where there was, thankfully, still some coffee left. He went to pour himself a little cup when someone tugged at his sleeve.

He turned, startled.

Ben stood beside him. “Will you stay with me? While Dr. Lam runs her tests.”

Sam was supposed to be helping with the hacking. He glanced over his shoulder at Carter. “Ma’am?”

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Cadet Ben would like me to accompany him while he works with Dr. Lam.”

Carter looked down at Ben, and her gaze softened. “Of course, Lieutenant. Let one of us know immediately if Ben has further needs.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sam turned to Ben. “Let’s go.”

*

Carolyn had Ben change into a little hospital gown. Ben had zero compunctions about stripping down in front of all the infirmary staff, which made Sam wince internally. He expected zero privacy from the adults around him, then. Was that just because they saw him as a science project and not a person, or because of something more insidious?

That Ben was wearing Batman underoos made Sam want to chuckle. He sensed Dean’s hand in that. Dean had never worn any such thing as a child, but he’d wanted to. Looking at Ben was like looking into a shattered mirror, a broken-up, cubist impression of Dean’s childhood. Here was a boy whose childhood was hyper-militarized, whose purpose was combat and violence, and whose sense of self had been subsumed in a sense of duty. For Ben, that duty was Manticore. For Dean, that duty was taking care of his family.

Sam would never say it out loud, but Dean had been a better father than John Winchester ever was. Sam’s childhood had been filled with hunting and monsters and constant migration, but it had also been filled with bike rides and Hey Jude and reading comic books about Arthur and his Knights.

Ben submitted to Carolyn’s exams with seeming aplomb - blank expression, a lassitude in his limbs to allow easy manipulation by Carolyn and her staff. Sam knew Central Command physicals all too well. Blood draw. Blood pressure check. Temperature check.

Carolyn raised her eyebrows when she looked at the thermometer, but Ben said, “We run hotter than normal humans.”

“How much hotter?”

Ben shrugged. “We don’t all have the same blend. I don’t feel like I have a fever, though.”

“Good.” Carolyn listened to his breathing, checked his oxygen levels - higher saturation than for normal humans because X5s had better respiratory efficiency - and his reflexes.

The simple tests were done.

Sam saw fear flash in Ben’s eyes when Carolyn explained they were going to do more advanced tests, but Ben hopped off of the exam table and stood at attention, awaiting instruction.

Sam cleared his throat. “Carolyn, what kinds of other tests do you plan on doing?”

“Hearing test, vision test, cardio stress test to get a sense of how far and how fast Ben can run - that might help triangulate the facility location. Some IQ tests as well.”

Sam glanced at Ben. “Will any of them hurt?”

“Oh, no! Not at all. You might get a little tired or hot and sweaty, but nothing will hurt, I promise,” Carolyn said, and she smiled encouragingly at Ben.

He nodded, but his expression was wary.

Sam wondered what tests he’d had to endure before, but he didn’t think it would be a good idea to ask.

Even though Sam expected Ben to be superhuman, the results of his tests were amazing. Not only was his earshot much longer than a normal human’s, he could also hear things outside of a human’s normal hearing range, like dog whistle. He could see beyond a human’s usual visual spectrum, and he could see heat signatures the way some species of big cats could. He was at least twice as strong as a normal child his size and build, was faster, had more endurance when he ran. His IQ was off the charts. Sam hadn’t expected that. Given Ben’s flat affect, Sam had suspected Manticore had built some level of intellectual disability into Ben’s classmates to make them more tractible and compliant.

In addition to super hearing, he had perfect pitch. So as to decipher phone numbers if he heard them dialed, he said, or to mimic someone’s voice to gain access to a system protected by voice recognition. He picked up languages lightning fast, could do calculations that would impress Rodney, John, and Carter.

His ability to learn new physical skills was impressive, too. Ben was a tiny super-soldier - expert marksman, hand-to-hand master, intelligent tactician. He learned some of Teal’c’s unique martial arts moves seemingly on the first try. He learned to play a song on the piano impossibly fast, too, after watching Daniel while he took a piano break (he asked if Daniel could play Let It Be).

Sam sat with Ben in the mess hall, letting him sample random desserts he’d never been allowed to have before (Sam wished he’d had a camera to capture the look on Ben’s face the first time he tried chocolate).

“What other skills do you have?” Sam asked. “Like - nonmilitary skills.” He thought of all the things his teammates could do. “Can you draw or play guitar or sing or cook or sew or do origami or -?”

Ben shook his head. “No. But if I need to learn it for a mission, I can.”

One thing Carolyn had done was run a DNA test on Ben. Due to the genetic manipulation, he wasn’t an exact clone of Dean, but he was close enough that on a law enforcement DNA test, he’d probably come up as a match for Dean or, perhaps, his son.

Anyone with eyes who saw Dean and Ben side by side would know the truth.

Sam watched Ben eat, curious to see if he liked the things Dean liked. He held his fork the way Dean did, and he preferred his water without ice, though he liked his soda super cold.

Ben forked up a bite of Sam’s pie, and - there. Sam knew that look, the way Ben’s eyes slid closed in pleasure, the way he chewed slowly. Ben loved pie, just like Dean. Apparently a love of pie could be genetic.

And then Sam’s watch buzzed. Text message from Miko. Meet in the briefing room ASAP. Bring Ben.

“C’mon, we need to go to the briefing room again,” Sam said.

Ben’s eyes opened. For one moment he looked crestfallen, but then he set down his fork, stood.

Sam said, “Bring the pie.”

Ben grinned, just like Dean, brief and pleased, and scooped up the little plate with the slice of pie on it. Together they headed for the elevators.

Everyone was clustered around the conference table where Vala’s cell phone was set in the middle, hooked up to the fancy conference speaker phone.

“The rest of the team is here, Wendy,” Vala was saying.

Wendy? Not - Wendy Mitchell? Cam’s mother? Sam caught Dean’s eye, raised his eyebrows.

Dean nodded, expression grim.

“I realize I’m Cameron’s mother and that things are different between comrades-in-arms in the military,” Wendy said, with her soft Southern drawl, just like Cam’s. “But can any of you fellows tell me whether it was possible, for Cameron to have a son? Did he ever tell any locker room stories about a particular woman, maybe ten years ago?”

Evan cleared his throat. “Ma’am, it’s Evan Lorne.”

“Evan, how are you?”

“I’m well, thank you, ma’am,” Evan said, and not for the first time, Sam was grateful for his old-fashioned manners. “I know you’re under no illusions about your unmarried son’s chastity, but I can say that Cameron was a gentleman, and if he did have a significant relationship with any woman, he didn’t mention it to me, or the others. Captain Winchester? Lieutenant Winchester?”

“He never mentioned anything to me,” Dean said.

“Me neither,” Sam said, because it was true.

“Oh. Well, I thought - because he knitted that winter set one time, hat and scarf and gloves all matching - and he always got crafty when he was sweet on a girl,” Wendy said.

Sam sensed everyone on his team very deliberately not looking at Evan, who was the owner of said hand-knitted matched winter set.

Frank took over the phone call. “Lorne, you were the team quartermaster. Did Cammie have anyone listed on his records as a - as a dependent? We tried to raise our boy right, and I know sometimes we and Grandma were too hard on him, that there were things he might have hidden out of guilt or shame.”

“No, he didn’t,” Evan said.

“Then there’s no possibility that this boy is our grandson?” Frank asked.

And suddenly Sam understood. Ben had recognized one of Cam’s childhood photos as one of the boys in his unit. X5-205. Zane.

“To clarify,” Vala said, “you were contacted by police in Hastings, Nebraska because they caught a juvenile breaking into a convenience store in search of food, and neither his name nor his fingerprints turned up anything but his DNA did because Cam served, and according to the test, this boy is Cam’s son.”

“Yes,” Frank said. “Wendy and I hopped on the nearest plane and busted on out here to Hastings, but absent legal proof of Cam’s paternity, they won’t let us see him.”

“Well, they won’t let us talk to him,” Wendy said. “But I saw him. He’s the spitting image of Cameron when he was the same age.”

Sam had no doubt he was.

Carter cleared her throat. “Mrs. Mitchell, I’m Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter. Your son and I didn’t work on the same team, but I work for the same project.”

“Oh, Samantha! Cameron always had lovely things to say about you,” Wendy said.

“So you’re at the police station in Hastings right now?”

“That’s right.”

“Can you find out who’s in charge of the investigation about the boy? We’d like to speak to whoever that is,” Carter said.

“Will do.” Wendy’s voice went muffled. “Frank, Frank! Go get Detective Flood.”

There was some shuffling, and everyone around the table shifted, exchanged looks. Except for Ben, who was staring at Vala’s phone fixedly.

There was some more shuffling, and then a man said, “This is Detective Teddy Flood, Hastings PD. I understand you’re from the Air Force?”

“That’s right, Detective. Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter. I’m one of the senior officers assigned to the project Major Cameron Mitchell belonged to before he passed,” Carter said.

“What does the Air Force care about a little kid? Unless you have records about this nice couple being his next of kin -”

“We know about the tattoo on the back of his neck,” Carter said.

“What do you know about it?” Flood’s tone went from skeptical to dark and forceful.

“We know he’s not the only child with such a tattoo, that because of that tattoo he’s in danger, and we are currently tasked with rescuing all similar children,” Carter said.

“Oh yeah? Then what’s his name?”

“Zane.”

“DNA don’t lie,” Flood said. “According to our test, he’s Major Mitchell’s kid. But there’s zero paperwork on him. He don’t know his mama’s name or his daddy’s name. Obviously this Mitchell character just abandoned him. He says he don’t have a mama, says he’s looking for The Blue Lady. Think he might be a little slow.”

“He’s not slow,” Carter said patiently. “Can I speak to him?”

“You ain’t family either -”

“I have his brother with me,” Carter said. “He’s very anxious to make sure Zane’s okay.”

“Brother?”

“That’s right.”

“Fine. But I’m keeping you on speakerphone.” There was some more muffled shuffling, and then, “Hey, kid, your brother’s on the phone.”

“Brother? Which one?”

Carter beckoned to Ben.

Ben leaned in to the phone.

“Hello?” Zane asked.

“Zane, it’s me, Ben.”

“Ben! Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. Where are you? Did you find the Good Place?”

“I’m almost there,” Ben said. “Some Ordinaries are helping me.”

“What about the others?”

“I’m looking for them, too.”

“There’s an old man and an old lady here. They say I’m their grandson, that their son was my dad,” Zane said in a small voice.

Ben glanced up at Dean. He had no way of knowing what he’d look like in a few decades, but with his superhuman hearing, he had to have heard the talk.

“He was your dad,” Ben said, and Dean’s eyes went wide.

“He was?”

“He didn’t know about you,” Ben said. “If he did - if he did, he’d have come to get you.”

“Should I go with them?”

Ben looked to Carter for direction.

Carter cleared her throat. “Zane, my name is Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter. Ben is staying with me and my team right now.”

“Ma’am,” Zane said.

“Zane, you should go with Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell, and they’ll bring you to us, all right? So you can see Ben, and hopefully some of your other brothers and sisters as we find them.”

“Ben?” Zane asked, his tone wary.

Ben said, “Zane, they give us chocolate here.”

There was a long pause. Finally Zane said, “What was it like?”

“Better than we imagined.”

Carter broke in. “Detective Flood?”

“Yes, Colonel Carter?”

“Release Zane to his grandparents, and let me speak to them.”

“I need paperwork -”

“It’s on its way,” Carter said, when Jennifer, who’d been typing rapidly at her laptop, flashed her a thumbs up.

“Of course it is,” Detective Flood said flatly.

A moment later, Wendy Mitchell was back on the phone. “He’s really Cameron’s boy, then? We can take him home with us?”

“Actually, ma’am,” Carter said, “we need you to bring him to Central Command so we can give him a thorough medical exam. Tickets will be waiting for all three of you at the airport.”

“Medical exam? Is he all right?”

“We’re pretty sure he’s in perfect health,” Carter said, “but you know about the military and redundancies.”

“I do. Thank you, Colonel.”

“Cam was a good man,” Carter said softly.

“One of the best,” Wendy agreed.

In the background, Frank Mitchell said, “Hi there, Zane. I’m Frank Mitchell, your grandpa.”

The call ended.

“Well, this just gets weirder and weirder,” Rodney said.

“Guess we’d better make up paperwork, and fast,” Jennifer said. “For the other kids.”

“Already on it,” Miko said. She held a hand out without looking up from her laptop. Jennifer gave her a high five.

“Sam, we need you,” Jennifer said, tugging on Sam’s wrist.

He nodded, started to follow her. Then he turned to Ben. “Hey, buddy, do you want to go back to the commissary for more food? Or do you want to sleep? It’s been a long day for you.”

Ben said, “It’s not lights out yet.”

It was easy for Sam to lose track of time under the Mountain, but Ben seemed to have a perfect internal clock.

“I know it’s not,” Sam said, “but that’s not what I asked. Are you tired?”

Ben started to shake his head, but then he yawned, clapped a hand over his mouth. He gazed up at Sam with wide eyes, caught in a lie.

Sam patted him on the shoulder. “Yeah, you’re tired. C’mon, let’s find somewhere for you to sleep.”

“Not on the bus?”

“The beds on base are better,” Sam said. “C’mon.” He knew where the guest quarters were.

Ben followed him out of the briefing room. “But Captain Winchester and Lorne stay on the bus, as do Major Sheppard and Rodney.”

Sam remembered how wide-eyed Ben had been, when he’d seen the men being affectionate with each other.

“They have to guard the bus,” Sam said, “but the beds here are nicer. Plus you’ll have your own room, so no one will disturb you.”

Ben nodded. “How will I know when to wake up?”

“Wake up whenever you want,” Sam said. “You can sleep in as long as you like.”

“But -”

“But you’re not here to fight a war. You’re just a little boy. Let us do the fighting, okay?”

Ben trailed to a stop. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Little boy things,” Sam said, because despite his upbringing, he knew them, had had some of them, most of them from Dean. “Play videogames. Read comic books. Ride bikes. Catch tadpoles in a stream, go fishing. Go roller skating. Go to the movies. Eat too much cake and ice cream on your birthday, and play catch in the park.”

“How do I do those?”

“It starts with a family,” Sam said, and he knew he was fast losing control of this conversation.

“Like Zane has now? With his grandparents?”

“It doesn’t have to be biological family.” Sam thought of Bobby.

“What about my grandparents?”

“Mine and Dean’s parents are dead,” Sam said.

“Is Dean my dad?”

“In the strict biological sense - not really.” Sam started walking again. “On a DNA test, because you have a different blend, you aren’t a strict match for Dean, so it looks like you’re his son. But - you’re more like his kind-of twin brother.”

“Does that make me your brother, too?”

Sam paused, looked down at him. “Yeah. I guess it does.”

Sam didn’t entirely know the protocol for putting a kid to bed, especially where Ben was nine and not five or something. Ben knew to brush his teeth and change into pajamas - Sam would have to find the rest of the new clothes the others had bought for him - and crawl into bed.

He asked Sam to sing to him, so Sam sang Let It Be.

Ben fell asleep before Sam got to the end, so Sam trailed off, tucked the covers around him, and ducked out.

*

No one slept that night. Sam, Miko, and Jennifer worked with Evan - whose knowledge of military paperwork was uncanny - to forge forms for all of Ben’s fellow cadets so if any of them were apprehended by law enforcement, Central Command would be notified, not Manticore.

McGee, Carter, and Rodney were working on searching for Manticore’s computer database, which involved hacking the VA.

Rachel, Zach, DiNozzo, and Ziva were on the phones all night, calling out to local LEOs and hospitals around the spot where Sam’s team had encountered Ben, widening their search radius, hoping someone had seen any of the kids or reported them. Hobbes and Fawkes, once they were done with their crash course, joined the kid search, both of them working some of their federal agency contacts.

Bobby and Dean were putting the word out to all the hunters they knew, asking them to keep an eye out for the kids. Dean looked mildly horrified when he suggested to Rachel that she and Zach put the word out among their people as well, and she informed him that the phone tree had been activated, and word had started spreading across the nation as soon as she and Zach were done with their initial briefing.

“Phone tree?” Dean asked.

Zach nodded earnestly. “You know, I call three people, they each call three people, and it spreads from there.”

“Phone tree,” Dean said again, like he couldn’t believe his ears.

Sam patted him on the shoulder. “Dude, let it go.”

Rachel shrugged, completely unembarrassed by how PTA that sounded. “Division of  labor and delegation. It’s why we can mobilize an entire army in under an hour.”

Dean considered. “Fair enough.”

The entirety of Team McShep was present when Ma and Pa Mitchell arrived with Zane in tow.

They stood at the security checkpoint, Zane between them. He was wearing the same colorless pajamas Ben had been wearing, but he also had a red and black Nebraska Cornhuskers jacket and brand new socks and sneakers.

The airman at the checkpoint was smiling nervously at them.

Vala was the one who moved first, went to embrace Wendy. Wendy held her tightly, then surrendered her to Frank, who leaned in and let her kiss him on the cheek.

Then Vala knelt and smiled at the boy who was Cameron Mitchell minus a few decades and plus - well, a life, and some animal DNA.

“Hello. You must be Zane.”

He nodded.

“My name is Vala. I used to work with your father.” Vala straightened up. “Come along. There are lots of people who are excited to meet you.”

“Where’s Ben?” Zane asked.

“He’s sleeping,” Sam said. “He was tired.”

Zane bit his lip. “Can I just - see him?”

“Well,” Sam said, “I promised I wouldn’t wake him up, because this is a place where he can sleep in as long as he wants, but I didn’t promise you wouldn’t wake him up -”

Zane was past Sam and at the elevator in a flash, inhumanly fast.

Wendy and Frank cried out, surprised.

The poor little security airman had his gun drawn.

Sam immediately stepped between the airman and Zane. “It’s fine, Airman. He’s just excited to see his brother. No cause for alarm.”

The airman nodded, holstered his gun. “Yes, sir.” He glanced at Wendy and Frank. “What about -?”

“They have clearance,” Rodney said. He beckoned to them. “This way, please.”

Frank and Wendy looked bewildered at the long elevator journey. Zane practically vibrated with excitement, standing between them. Frank and Wendy were going to be read into the program - had to be, to keep Zane, but O’Neill also wanted to see if they were willing to take in any other children they found. Carter was alarmed that there was a clone of her, and O’Neill was alarmed that there was a clone of him, but neither of them were equipped to adopt children. Janet Fraiser had passed about six months before Cam, took a nasty injury in the field against a nest of vamps while she was rescuing a downed Marine. She didn’t have any next of kin who could take on a super-child either.

The briefing room was one way, the guest quarters were another.

Zane turned in the direction of the guest quarters without hesitation. John made to stop him, but Sam shook his head. How did Zane knew where Ben was? Were the clones also psychically connected? Could Zane smell where Ben had been?

Zane flung open Ben’s door without so much as a by-your-leave.

And then he froze in the doorway.

Ben was out of bed and on his feet and in a combat stance so fast Sam didn’t even see him move. Then he saw who it was, and he relaxed, fell into parade rest.

“Ben,” Zane said.

“Zane.”

Sam expected them to hug or high five or - something.

But of course, they didn’t. They were soldiers. They had to maintain composure.

Frank looked confused.

Wendy looked broken-hearted.

“Are you all right?” Zane asked.

Ben nodded. “You?”

Zane nodded.

Ben flicked a glance at Frank and Wendy. “These your grandparents?”

“Yes.”

Ben said, finally, “You look like them.” He looked at Sam. “Is Dr. Lam going to do tests on him too?”

“Probably the same ones you did,” Sam said. “But he deserves to rest, and you should go back to bed, and I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell need to rest too. Zane will be just next door, all right?”

Ben smiled. “Okay. I’m glad you’re okay, Zane.”

“Me too.” And then Zane reached out, offered Ben his hand.

Ben shook it solemnly, and the boys saluted each other, and then Zane turned and looked up at Sam.

Sam showed Zane the room next to Ben’s, and then the team stepped back, let Frank and Wendy get Zane all settled in. After that, it was back to the briefing room.

Carter greeted the Mitchells respectfully, and they were given pride of place at the conference table. Both of them signed the NDAs willingly and with little question. Then it was left to Sam and Dean, who had the most experience, to read them into the program.

Dean cleared his throat. “It’s like this - ghosts, demons, angels, vampires, werewolves, things that go bump in the night - they’re all real.”

Frank huffed. “Very funny. What’s really going on?”

But Wendy patted his hand and said, “He’s not kidding, dear.”

Frank turned to look at her.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Ma’am?”

“Cameron told us you were born in Kansas,” Wendy said. “I didn’t think much of it until he came home on leave and had an anti-possession tattoo, and then I did some digging around. Reached out to my second cousin Steven.”

“Steven? Caldwell?” Frank asked.

Wendy said, “His real name is Steven Campbell.”

“Campbell?” Dean echoed. “Like -?”

“Yes. Mary wasn’t the only one who wanted a normal life. There was a whole branch of us who weren’t interested in the Family Business. They never talked about us, and we never talked about them. And then - that tattoo.” Wendy clasped her hands on the table top. “How did Cameron really die, then? A hunt gone wrong?”

“No, ma’am,” Evan said.

“Wendy, slow down. What are you saying?” Frank asked.

Sam hadn’t been sure what to think, when he first learned that hunting had been not only Dad’s self-declared family business but Mom’s actual, official family business. As excited as he was to learn more about his extended family, he’d been nervous, that everyone in the Campbell family was going to be like Dad - gruff, obsessed, paranoid.

But the Campbells were, first and foremost, family. Their family gatherings involved family recipes, lots of cooking, hanging around and trading stories while people worked on their cars or threw a ball around the back yard or pushed kids on the tire swing that hung from the big tree in the front yard. The stories they traded just tended to be about hunting.

Listening to Wendy explain to Frank what had gone unspoken in the Campbell household, that hunting was a way of life, was eye-opening. Mitchells served in the Armed Forces. Campbells combated the forces of darkness. For Sam, who’d grown up hunting, that concept had been a lot to take in.

Frank looked shell-shocked.

Wendy patted his hand. Evan brought him some coffee.

“So Zane, then. Is he a cambion or a nephilim or something else?” Wendy asked.

“No,” Rodney said. “Zane and Ben are, for lack of a better word, experiments. An organization has been harvesting DNA samples from servicemen and women. Some of those samples became - Zane and Ben.”

Frank raised his eyebrows. “You mean Zane is a clone of Cam?”

“A modified one,” Carter said hastily. “Not an exact match. Not raised the same as Cameron, obviously.”

Understanding lit in Wendy’s eyes. “That’s why the DNA test said he was Cameron’s son.”

Carter nodded.

“What do we need to do, to keep that boy safe?” Wendy asked.

Carolyn explained the basics of what she’d learned from Ben, both in the tests he’d undergone and his interview. Physically, Zane would be an easy child to care for. He was faster, stronger, and smarter than almost every other kid his age, and he had a super immune system, but he’d need to take tryptophan supplements and drink insane amounts of milk. The harder part was combating the trauma and brainwashing Zane had suffered, helping him have a normal childhood after he’d been trained and programmed to hunt and kill.

On that score, Wendy and Frank were united, unquestioning. They’d take care of Zane, and they’d take care of Ben and any other child who needed a good home.

Sam was grateful, because Ben deserved a normal childhood. He shuddered to think of what he and Dean would have become, had their father not wised up and settled down, let them finish out their adolescence with some stability. Sam also realized he’d miss Ben. Ben was his little brother.

Sam was the crooked mirror in this scenario, Dean on one side, Ben on the other, little brother to one, big brother to the other. Sam wondered when Dean saw when he looked at Ben.

*

Once Frank and Wendy were fully briefed, they were assigned to the room beside Zane’s, and the real work began.

Even though no one could find exact coordinates on the Wyoming Manticore facility, McGee had the brilliant idea to search through archived Google Earth photos of the search radius the team had identified (through careful calculations of Ben’s running speed and his approximate time on the run) to see if there were any images of the facility, since they couldn’t retask a government satellite to just take a look for them.

It was a genius idea (even Rodney admitted it), and everyone with even moderate computer skills was put to the task, because without a location, the entire effort was pointless.

Miko was the one who found it.

She launched out of her seat with a cry of, “Eureka!”

She startled several people so much that there were cries of alarm, spilled coffee, and curses, but then everyone was gathered around her computer so they could see.

Of course. Out in the middle of nowhere. Accessible by only a single road. On high ground, so they’d have visibility for miles. Sneaking up on the place would be difficult, even if they went in at night.

A massive map was printed, assembled and laid on the briefing room table with everyone crowded around it.

“Ben listed Jace, or X5-798, as someone who was left behind, someone who died. Assuming Ben and his classmates were numbered sequentially,” Carter said, “that means we have up to eight hundred super-children with extensive military training who can be deployed in defense of the facility. That’s not including any of the ‘Nomlies’ from earlier series, as well as the adults who guard the facility. Also, even though neither Ben nor Zane make any reference to an X6 series or beyond, there may be more advanced children.”

“Wouldn’t they be younger, though?” Zach asked.

“That’s assuming these children go through a typical human gestation period,” Jennifer said.

“Will they actually deploy the children if the facility is attacked, though?” John asked. “Seems like these children are a valuable asset. So much time, money, and effort has gone into raising them and training them. Sending them out en masse and risking losing any of them would be counterintuitive.”

O’Neill - who’d changed into regular AF BDUs somewhere in the endless madness - whistled. “Eight hundred super kids. How many adults does it take, to keep that many kids in line?”

“Given how the children are indoctrinated for obedience, not as many as you’d think,” Jonas said. “Schools don’t function on a one-to-one adult-to-child ratio. Neither do juvenile detention centers.”

“But these kids are super smart and super fast and super strong,” O’Neill said.

“They’re still children,” Daniel said patiently. “That only fifteen of eight hundred escaped or even thought to escape says the rebellion level is low.”

“Or the adults have overwhelming numbers,” O’Neill said.

Carter said, “Then we overwhelm them right back.”

Teldy frowned. “How would we even get that many troops? We have eight hunting teams with seven members per team, sixteen back-up teams with ten members per team. That’s less than three-hundred people.”

“You’re talking just troops that are part of Project Orion,” Bobby said. “I could round up about a hundred hunters who are ex-mil, who have the discipline and training for a hunt this big.”

Rachel cleared her throat. “You forget us.”

“How many numbers could you pull?” Carter asked.

“From just our state, you’re looking at three hundred and twenty-seven thousand armed and trained hunters. Not military training, mind you. But trained in hunting on a mass scale as compared to road hunters,” Rachel said.

“And that’s just our state,” Zach said.

O’Neill blinked. “That’s - that’s a lot.”

Rachel said, “If you wanted just the ones who have actual military training, that’d be about four percent of us, so -”

“Thirteen thousand,” John said.

“That’s still a lot,” O’Neill said. “How many can you get to Wyoming?”

“The smart thing to do would be to call up the people with the appropriate skill set from Wyoming, and if there’s not enough of them, we can draw from the surrounding states,” Rachel said. “How many people do you think you need?”

“That depends on how we structure the attack,” Teldy said.

Evan cleared his throat. “If I may, sir.” He directed himself to O’Neill.

“Yes, Captain?”

Evan didn’t correct him about his rank and retired status. “We don’t know how many troops they have. We can guess how many they could easily house, given the size of the building, but we don’t know how many underground floors there are. Ben refers to a basement, but it may not be the only sublevel of the building. Ben has further indicated the presence of a Psy Ops department. He thought my magic was evidence of Psy Ops skills. As much as we need overwhelming military might, in the face of superhuman fighters, we should consider a large of contingent of magic-users as well. If the superchildren have heat vision, we can use invisibility spells to mask our approach. We can cast mass sleeping spells to take down the guards. Because we don’t want to hurt the children, right? We want to save them, if we can.”

Even after a decade of fighting the supernatural, most people - including Sam - turned to physical force first. Evan had once been the same.

Evan had once been fully human.

“That might be the best approach, sir,” Carter said. “Send in a troop of magic users, have the rest of us as backup in case anyone escapes the spells they weave.”

O’Neill eyed Rachel. “How many magic users can you rustle up?”

“To throw down some invisibility spells and sleeping spells?” She huffed. “If you want to violate child labor laws -”

“We don’t,” Teldy said.

“Then - anyone over the age of eighteen can be part of a magic squad,” Rachel said.

O’Neill nodded. “Shake that phone tree of yours. We have children to rescue.”

*

Sam had never fully appreciated Evan’s logistics skills till the bus pulled into the troop muster point, a small municipality southeast of Gillette proper, and he saw the veritable army camped out. Rows upon rows of tents were stretched out as far as the eye could see. Some of them were definitely military issue, but among the rest of the regular camp tents a casual observer would think the campers were just using military surplus.

There was a central bonfire with people milling around. Surrounding the bonfire were booths where people could trade - anything. Homemade food preserves, handmade weapons, other handcrafted goods. Portable toilets were set at regular intervals. Water coolers were also set at regular intervals, and several water trucks were slowly patrolling the perimeter of the camp.

Evan and Teldy had been on the phone for seemingly hours before O’Neill ordered people to roll out. Rachel and Zach and Bobby had also spent lots of time on their phones, making arrangements for their people to join the rendezvous point, but they’d all turned the final arrangements over to Evan and Teldy. Before Evan had joined Project Orion, he’d been a logistics officer. Sam had understood that it was a logistics officer’s job to make sure that a combat theater was properly supplied so troops had everything they needed to stage a successful defense or mount a successful assault, but -

“Damn.”

Evan turned to him. “Damn what?”

“You and Teldy organized all of - this? On your phones?”

Evan had been checking over his weapons for the thousandth time. “General O’Neill trusted us with the logistics responsibilities, but this operation wouldn’t have been nearly as effective without the skills of the people to whom we delegated. The Brotherhood of Aaron and Sisterhood of Miriam really do have excellent organizational skills. And structure. It’s like the Roman army of old, everything broken into units and sub-units to allow mass mobilization and quick mobilization of smaller units as needed.”

Dean frowned. “Kinda reminds me of those LARPer kids and those giant camps they’d set up.”

“But these people are here to fight a very real battle,” Vala said.

Everyone sobered at the reminder.

Then Miko parked the bus, and it was time for the big meeting.

Sam had never really gone to war before, not on a grand scale like this.

But he walked with the others to the central bonfire and saw - men, women, boys, and girls, all ages and races, all dressed in either military uniforms or standard hunter gear (sturdy jeans, good boots, long-sleeved shirts and jacket). All of the teams from Project Orion were assembled closest to the bonfire, with Bobby’s hunters, the NCIS team, and Agents Hobbes and Fawkes assembled around them. Zach and Rachel’s people were spread out beyond them in neat concentric circles.

General O’Neill was closest to the fire, his former teammates standing with him.

Daniel cast a voice amplification spell, the kind Sam had always associated with Harry Potter books, and General O’Neill began to speak.

“Thank you all for coming. I know there are places most of us would rather be. Fishing. Reading. Taking a nice long walk, or a nap.”

Sam knew O’Neill would probably rather be fishing.

“What we’re about to embark on is the first effort of its kind. We’re making history. But that’s not what’s important. What’s important is the mission. The mission is not to make war or eradicate evil. It’s to rescue some children. Remember, this is for the children.”

People were nodding, grinning, amused at O’Neill’s light tone. He was never the kind of soldier who’d indulge in grandiose speeches to his troops. But he was also a man who cared fiercely for society’s most vulnerable, especially its children.

“Today’s kind of a prize fight. You know the rules - obey commands at all times, protect yourselves at all times, and give me a good, clean fight.”

There was no such thing as a clean fight in war, and they all knew it.

Message received, though. They were here fighting to save children - but some of those children would be fighting against them.

“So...go. Fight. Win.”

O’Neill stepped back.

There was an uncertain pause.

Before people could applaud, Carter stepped forward. She started issuing commands. Everyone was to gather into their assigned units. Unit commanders would receive an initial briefing, then they’d brief their own teams. Everyone would have till half an hour before nightfall to prepare, and then they’d mobilize.

Instead of each of the hunting teams being units together, each member of a hunting team was a unit commander. Sam, along with Evan, Jonas, Daniel, Rachel, Zach, and some other Brotherhood and Sisterhood members, was leading a unit of magic-wielders. Half of them were going to maintain carefully-woven invisibility spells to get the troops as close to the facility as possible. The other half were going to bomb the facility with sleeping spells. Daniel was pretty sure that there had never been a magical attack on this scale in the history of anything (and he knew a lot of history) so no one knew how effective the spells would be. Given that Evan was wading into battle shirtless with a pistol strapped to his thigh and an assault rifle strapped to his back said something about the level of magic he anticipated needing.

Colonel Dixon had been recalled from Afghanistan through a Daniel-made portal, and he had been assigned command of the rear guard, a perimeter of Marine and Road Hunter troops who would catch anyone fleeing from the facility. The rest of their troops would focus on capturing any of Ben and Zane’s classmates and facility staff, the children for rescuing, the staff for interrogation.

Jennifer, Carter, and Gibbs were leading tech strike forces into what Ben had described as the facility’s central command to capture as much data as possible. Jennifer had Miko on her team, Carter had Rodney on her team, and Gibbs had McGee on his team. The three best hackers would go after the computers. Between Evan, Miko, Rodney, and Vala, there was a mobile server farm at the campsite, so the hackers could wirelessly transmit any data they captured so they wouldn’t be weighed down by memory storage devices.

O’Neill hadn’t been kidding. They were making history today.

And no one would ever know about it.

As far as the locals were concerned, the camp was some kind of mass religious revival. It wasn’t a bad cover, especially since the Brotherhood and Sisterhood prepared for battle by praying and singing hymns. Sam walked past a unit of them - college-age boys and girls - and they were standing in a circle, heads bowed, while one of them prayed. It wasn’t a recited prayer, just a prayer from the heart. Sam paused, listened, and the girl praying stopped talking, and the boy beside her took up the prayer. It was a group prayer. One person said all he or she wished to say, squeezed the hand of the person to the right, and that person picked it up. There was power in that kind of collective will. Tulpas were just the tip of the iceberg.

Another group was singing a hymn together. Sam wondered if it was cultural or learned or genetically inherent or something, that every group he passed sang in lovely four-part harmony. He recognized some of the songs as classic American hymns - Battle Hymn of the Republic, How Great Thou Art, Amazing Grace, Come Thou Font Of Every Blessing, Prayer of the Children - but others were completely unfamiliar.

The hunters were clustered together, giving their weapons last checks, penning temporary protective sigils on themselves and each other with permanent markers, trading diagrams of more sigils and copies of spells. The soldiers were engaged in similar rituals of checking their gear and revving each other up for go time. The hunting teams had been split up, but the backup squads were not. The Marines and Airmen who were going to lead the charge on the facility were comprised of units who worked and trained with each other full-time. Each unit was a well-oiled machine.

Today’s battle was going to have it all: fire power, magical power, techno power. Daniel would probably document the day’s events in one of his journals with glee, interview as many participants as possible.

O’Neill’s actual point to his speech was spot-on, though. This was about the children.

Sam’s smart watch buzzed.

Incoming video call from Ben.

Sam ducked back into the bus for some privacy, answered. “Hey, Ben.”

“Hey, Sam. How are things going?”

“We’re in final prep,” Sam said.

Ben was sitting on his bed in his quarters, which looked terribly barren.

“Are you all right?” Sam asked.

Ben nodded.

“Tired of playing with Zane?”

“Zane’s with his grandparents.”

And Sam realized - Ben was lonely. “Even if they’re his biological grandparents, Zane is still your family, your brother.”

“I know, I’ll be staying with Ma and Pa Mitchell till I turn eighteen,” Ben said.

“Unless a family adopts you,” Sam pointed out.

Ben gazed at him. “You and Dean are my family.”

“Yes, we are. If you get adopted, we won’t ever stop being your family. You’ll just have a bigger family.” Sam smiled.

Ben frowned. “I should be there, with you.”

“No, you’re where you need to be.”

“I’m a soldier. I should be fighting my own battles -”

“You’re a little boy -”

“I am not!”

“You are. And that’s okay.”

Ben’s mutinous expression was one Sam knew all too well.

“Ben,” Sam said, “you’re nine years old. You’re not supposed to be fighting any battles. Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should.”

Ben bit his lip, looked away. Then he pinned Sam with his gaze. “My brothers and sisters. You have to protect them, too.”

This was the first time he’d referred to his fellow cadets as siblings rather than classmates. Ben was cut from the same cloth as Dean. Dean’s fierce loyalty to his family was a thing of legend, had nearly literally brought on the Apocalypse once. Of course Ben was worried about his family.

“We have plans in place to protect them,” Sam said.

Ben and Zane had been subject to an extensive debriefing once both of them were properly rested, cleaned, and fed. They’d confirmed that Jace 798 had the highest designation they knew, that they didn’t know how many Nomlies were in the basement, and they were unaware of any children younger than them or beyond the X5 series. As far as they knew, Psy Ops both utilized children with psychic gifts and was responsible for a lot of the psychological programming the children underwent. The only psychic abilities they were aware of out of Psy Ops were voice control, telepathy, and telekinesis.

“Do you promise?” Ben asked.

Sam nodded. “I promise.”

Ben sighed, tugged his knees up to his chest. He had his phone resting against some kind of stand at the foot of his bed. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Well,” Sam said, “what do you want to do?”

Ben shrugged sulkily. So like Dean.

Sam resisted the urge to laugh. Even though Ben understood he had been born from Dean’s DNA, he didn’t understand Dean and wouldn’t have understood Sam’s amusement at seeing how similar they could be to each other.

“Then you should try a whole bunch of things and see what you like,” Sam said.

Ben nodded slowly.

Sam’s watch buzzed.

“Okay, buddy. I have to go.”

“Okay. Godspeed and Good Hunting, Lieutenant Winchester.”

“Thanks, Ben.” Sam ended the call, tucked his phone away, and climbed off of the bus.

It was go time.

*

Half an hour before sundown, they mobilized. On foot. All that marching in basic was finally paying off.

There were no marching jodies, though. And not much in the way of rhythmic, ritualized marching. Just Sam leading his unit across the flat grassland, doing his best to keep an appropriate pace but stay on the line with the units marching parallel to him.

While they walked, Sam got to know his unit a bit more. A dozen people, the equivalent of a Marine squad. Kim was a mother of three, a pair of twins and another boy, and also a lawyer. Dawn was also a lawyer, just married to an Army sergeant, and she spoke Spanish. Holly was yet another lawyer, though her thing was bankruptcies, and she had a little girl with her demure postman husband.

“Why so many lawyers, do you think?” Brian asked. Brian was a father of three, a PhD chemist.

Half of Sam’s unit belonged to the Brother and Sisterhood.

“We’re good at memorizing things,” Kim said.

The rest of Sam’s unit was rounded out by Zach and Rachel’s college friends.

Sam glanced at Kim. “Who’s watching your boys?”

“My husband,” she said. “Though they’re pretty much old enough to fend for themselves at this point.”

Sam glanced at her again. “What if you don’t come back from this mission?”

“They’ll have to go on without me. His family lives nearby, so they’ll rally, as will the rest of our community.” Kim met Sam’s gaze. “It’s the same risk any of us take, when we accept a mission. Same risk you take.”

Sam opened his mouth to point out he wasn’t leaving children or a spouse behind, but then he remembered the things Dean had done, when he had died in the past. Loss hit everyone differently. He wondered if it was easier for Kim and people like her and her family, who’d grown up understanding not just hunting and the supernatural but the bigger picture, where souls lived on, where there was a heaven and a hell and, best as Sam knew, families could be reunited after death. If they all made it to the same place.

The signal went down the line. Silence. They were just beyond the edge of the Manticore facility’s plane visual radius.

Spells went up, invisibility and soundlessness. Sam led his unit forward, all of them moving in lockstep, maintaining the spell as one. Even though the Brotherhood and Sisterhood had access to more powerful spells, not everyone was capable of using their brand of soulmagic. To avoid spells canceling each other out or affecting each other, it was agreed: everyone would use the same spells.

The same spell, massive and amplified, rendered the entire army invisible and perfectly soundless. The problem, of course, was that they couldn’t see each other and they couldn’t hear each other, and so they all had to march in perfect synchronicity so as not to trip each other up.

They’d practiced it over and over again in the hours leading up to the maneuvers.

Sam was counting in his head, making sure he was keeping tempo.

He could feel the people around him, which was helpful. More than a few people, soldier and civilian alike, had made faces at the notion of having to hold hands to stay together, like little kids crossing the street, but if that was what it took to stay together and stay alive, Sam would do it. Kim and Dawn were on either side of him. Their grips were tight, so tight Sam’s hands were going numb. There was no point in speaking, and he didn’t dare let go. If they were afraid, Sam didn’t blame them one bit.

And then alarms went off.

Tripwires. Of course. No matter.

Sure, they’d set off the tripwires, but they wouldn’t be visible on any security feeds.

They might be visible to anyone with feline heat vision, though.

Dawn stumbled on Sam’s right. He tightened his grip on her hand, kept marching.

They established a perimeter, halted. Didn’t drop the spells.

Sam watched as the facility, which had seemed up to that point pretty much uninhabited save a regular complement of guards, came to life. Every window was battened down so it was practically airtight, and every doorway was bristling with armed guards.

Thankfully, none of them looked like children.

Sam dropped the soundlessness spell and hurled the first sleeping spell.

It wasn’t like Harry Potter, where a sizzle like a miniature firework went off to accompany the magic.

Sam murmured the syllables, and a handful of guards fell asleep.

Beside him, other guards fell over.

Each magic unit fired off a mass of sleeping spells and ducked for cover.

Sam and his unit were crouched behind a low wall, part of some kind of outdoor obstacle course, and fired up their radios. Sam could hear chatter from above. His team would only be able to hear him.

Perimeter was in place. Assault troops were in place.

Some of the guards opened fire, but the rest of them retreated.

Didn’t take their fallen with them.

Sam’s heart pounded. None of this made sense, fit with any training he’d had, not from his father, not from the Air Force, not from John Sheppard or Cam Mitchell before him.

O’Neill ordered the troops to hold, asked for sit reps from the advance units.

Sam listened to the reports trickle in. Everyone was seeing the same thing. Windows barred. Sleeping guards left where they lay. Everyone else retreating. No sign of children. No sign of scientists. No sign of other facility personnel.

Had Ben and Zane lied to them? Was this some kind of trap? Was this a first move toward a mass elimination of hunters?

Sam made his report, but he wasn’t seeing anything anyone else wasn’t.

O’Neill ordered the tech teams to infiltrate, ordered Sam, Rachel, and Evan’s magic units to back them up, and John, Teldy, and Dean’s combat units as back-up as well. They had to drop the invisibility spells so they could see each other, coordinate their movements, but Sam and Evan - and various members of their units - threw up shield spells, the magical equivalent of locking shields to stave off a rain of arrows.

Or, in this case, bullets.

There were none.

The halls were perfectly deserted.

O’Neill, coordinating with what building schematics he’d been able to get out of Ben and Zane, directed them toward the place most likely to have the best data storage. John and his team went first, Evan behind them, the three tech teams in the middle interspersed with Teldy’s combat team, Sam and his team behind hers, Dean and his team bringing up the rear.

The halls were deserted.

The stairwells were deserted.

The main office was also deserted.

The computers were deserted.

All of the teams fanned out, formed a protective perimeter while Carter and her team set to work, breaking into the computers just enough to set all of the facility’s data to download to the mobile server farm.

“This isn’t right,” Dean said. “They all just - left.”

Evan said, “If they try to bring the building down on us, I’m pretty sure I can portal us out of here before any of us die.”

The tattoos on his skin were pulsing, glowing softly. It was disturbing and beautiful at the same time.

“How much longer, Carter?” John asked.

She glanced at her watch briefly. “Twenty minutes.”

Twenty more minutes of quiet would be a miracle. It’d be a miracle if Sam’s nerves didn’t fray completely before then.

“Any sign of children?” O’Neill asked.

“Negative, sir,” John responded promptly.

“I don’t like this,” O’Neill said.

“None of us do, sir,” Carter said.

Teal’c said, “I have a visual on smoke rising from the southeast quadrant of the facility.”

Seconds later, Sam heard the screams.

Fire!

Dixon said, “We’ve got Tangos coming up from out of the ground. They’re heading straight for us. We could use some back-up.”

“Is there fire?” O’Neill said.

“The screaming children say there’s fire,” Sam reported.

“What’s going on?” O’Neill asked.

Daniel swore in a dozen dead languages. “It’s a fire-sail. Staff is bailing. They’re burning the evidence.”

“By evidence you mean children,” O’Neill said flatly.

Sam shifted, tensing, ready to move on O’Neill orders.

Rachel tapped his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

O’Neill ordered half of the shock troops to help Dixon and the perimeter guard capture the escaping facility staff, ordered the other half of the troops into the building to free the children.

“If I may, sir,” Evan broke in.

“What, Lorne?”

“I know a water spell.”

“Can you pass it on?”

“Or - if given leave - I can control the weather. Bring a storm.”

“There is much smoke,” Teal’c said.

Dean’s expression was pale and unreadable, but Sam knew he was terrified.

“Pass on the water spell,” Daniel said. “I know one too. What about you, Jonas? Samuel?”

“I’ve got one,” Jonas said.

Sam said, “Tell me yours? Let me see what my unit has.” He turned to Rachel. “Do you know any water spells?”

“As in...spells requiring water as a base?”

“Spells that produce water,” Sam said.

Rachel nodded. “Yes. We all do. For camping survival purposes. But it’s not a lot. Enough for a cup of water once every couple of hours.”

“Can you amplify it?” Sam asked.

It was Zach who said over the radio, “Maybe. If we cast together.”

“Daniel, take Jonas and Lieutenant Winchester with you, plus a team of backup each. Put those fires out, set those kids free. Lorne, you and Rachel stay on the tech teams. Zach, your team will back up Rachel and Lorne. Teldy, Sheppard, Captain Winchester, you stay with them.”

Sam, as the ranking military officer of the magic teams, selected three combat units: Hobbes (whose team included Fawkes), Bobby, and Vala. Hobbes was assigned to Daniel, Bobby to Jonas, and Vala to Sam. They’d rendezvous at the southeastern corner, putting out fires along the way.

Daniel’s water spell was difficult to pronounce. It was Ancient Egyptian, invoked the goddess Anuket, Goddess of the Nile. But when it worked, water poured.

The southeast quadrant was cells and barracks, all full of smoke and flames. Sam’s lungs burned. His eyes burned. He was a soldier, not a firefighter. But as soon as he saw flames, he sent magic and water pouring forth.

He couldn’t hear the flames over the screams.

High-pitched child-screams. Other screams that were - deeper. Growlier. Less human.

McGee had broken into the security system. The building had been set to lock down and burn.

Jennifer went to help McGee disable the self-destruct system and, more importantly, unlock the cell doors.

The first set of doors opened, and children came streaming out of the smoke, screaming and crying. Sam waded through them, flinging water spells, desperate for some kind of ventilation spell. None of the children were older than Ben and Zane. Plenty were younger. All wore the same colorless pajamas.

Sam directed the better magic-users to keep putting out the fires. Kim from his unit took over directing the children toward safety using what Sam strongly suspected was her Mom voice.

One girl - small, dark-skinned, latched onto Sam’s arm. “You have to save 494!”

Sam stumbled. She was inhumanly strong.

“Where is he? She?”

The girl dragged Sam into the smoke.

His teammates cried out in alarm.

“No, hold your positions, I’m getting a kid,” he said, and uttered another water spell when he saw flames licking up a metal door. It was locked shut. The heat from the flames had warped the door mechanism, so it hadn’t opened when McGee unlocked them all.

“Save him,” the girl wailed.

Sam uttered an unlocking spell.

It didn’t work.

There was no sound inside.

“494?” Sam asked. “Can you hear me?” He could barely see, barely breathe in all the smoke.

There was no answer.

“Lorne,” Sam said, “if you happened to know a quick portal spell, I could use one. Unlocking spell isn’t doing the trick.”

“Unlocking spell doesn’t work if the lock is damaged,” Lorne said. “Portal spell takes too long.”

“Is there a battering ram spell?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” Lorne said.

“Teach it to me?”

“Can’t. Soul magic.”

“Not helpful right now,” Sam said.

“I can do it for you.”

“What?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Sam said, because he did.

“Then let me do this.”

Sam had heard of out-of-body experiences before. He’d never had one.

Having one in the middle of a battle was horrifying. He had to be in control, to command his unit, to respond orders.

But he felt himself straighten up, trace a sigil in the air, and say, “494, get away from the door.”

And then he blasted the door.

It flew backward off its hinges, crumpled like a piece of paper, and smashed into the back wall of the burning cell.

A boy stumbled out, grabbed the little girl and hugged her.

He was Ben.

No, not Ben. Ben was 493.

494, the girl had called him. Another clone of Dean?

And then Sam was back in his body, disoriented by the sudden leaden sensation of his own limbs.

“Lieutenant?” Holly asked.

“Is there anyone else down here?” Sam asked the girl, who was still clinging to 494.

She shook her head.

Sam tapped his radio, informed Daniel and Jonas he’d cleared his sector.

Teal’c informed him that the southwest quadrant was also on fire.

Daniel and Jonas would rendezvous there.

Sam gazed at 494 and the little girl he had hoisted up on his shoulders as he ran behind the other fleeing children.

“We’ll meet you there after we check the basement,” he said.

“Roger that,” Daniel said.

Sam took a combat team with him.

The basement was already empty by the time they arrived, the cells opened, whoever had been inside them all fled.

There were no fires.

But there was evidence of - animals. Fur. Scales. Feathers. Other substances Sam didn’t want to think too closely about.

Once the tech teams made their exfil, the other magic teams joined in putting out the fires. Some of the facility staff escaped, but a good number were captured and would be detained for interrogation. Efforts turned to organizing the children.

Some of them fled, were impossible to catch. Others responded to military commands, formed up in ranks and units, submitted to being counted. None of them had names, names they called themselves or had had given to them.

What Sam had expected to be a violent, firepower-heavy battle was instead a protracted putting out of fires, literal and figurative.

Prisoners were secured. Fires were put out. Children were being organized. O’Neill assigned a skeleton crew - two magic units and eight combat units - to maintain control of the facility while captives and children were being processed.

Sam trudged back toward the main camp, exhausted and emotionally wrung out, his throat aching and his eyes burning, and wondered when the other shoe would drop. He dismissed his team to clean up, eat, drink, rest. They’d reassemble and debrief in two hours.

Sam stumbled onto the bus and stripped out of his uniform. He probably ought to check in with some medics about possible smoke inhalation, but he just wanted the smell of smoke off his skin and out of his hair and -

The door of the bus swung open. Evan and Dean climbed onto the bus. As soon as the door was closed, Dean tugged Evan into his arms, held him tightly.

“I’m fine,” Evan said, with the air of one who’d repeated the words many times.

“I know,” Dean said. “You’re always fine. Just - don’t offer to do that, okay? I know you didn’t like it when Sycorax ordered you to unleash.”

“You’re not like her,” Evan said. “I know you’d never -”

Sam cleared his throat loudly, partially because he’d gotten there first, and also because Dean’s hand was sliding into Evan’s back pocket.

They separated quickly.

Evan’s entire torso was almost completely bare of tattoos save for a few that didn’t look like they were spells, were rather good old-fashioned body art.

“Sammy.”

“Dean. Evan.”

“You’re okay.” Dean smiled.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Just a little - smoky.”

“That was too easy,” Dean said. “I don’t like it.”

“Me neither.” Sam cleared his throat. “One of the kids I rescued - another kid called him 494.”

Evan raised his eyebrows. “Ben was 493.”

“He looked just like Ben,” Sam said.

“We should find him,” Dean said.

Evan nodded. “We will.”

*

If someone ever asked Sam what the most important part of national defense was, he’d say coffee. He wasn’t sure how he was even alive without coffee. Once the Manticore facility was under control and final debriefings were done, the army disbanded. Kim went back to her husband and kids. Holly went back to her husband and kid. Dawn went back to her sleek downtown apartment and collection of designer shoes and her brand new husband who wasn’t part of the Brotherhood and had no idea about hunting or what she did on the weekends. Law school reunion with Holly, she’d said.

Sam and his team returned to Central Command where once again anyone with even remotely useful computer skills was assigned to a computer, crammed into Carter’s lab, given a mug of coffee, and ordered to sift through the Manticore data for anything useful; about growing a homunculus, the experiments that led to the creation of the X series, the related organizations like Rossum and Hydra and Chrysalis.

Sam was literally running on fumes and coffee, so when he reached for his coffee mug and it was empty, he was confused and disgruntled.

“Refill?”

Sam blinked, lifted his head. Half of the computer team was slumped over their keyboards snoring, the other half was blinking blearily at their monitors.

Ben was holding a coffee carafe.

Sam summoned a smile for him, held out his mug. “Thank you.”

Ben poured blessed hot, sweet-smelling coffee into his mug, then set the carafe aside. “What have you found?”

“Not a super lot,” he said. “I mean - I’ve picked up pieces here and there.”

“Anything useful?”

“Not immediately. Not to send anyone out on a new hunt. Pretty sure our initial assessment was right, though. Sokar’s looking to create the perfect host.”

“Host for what?”

“Don’t know. Not sure I want to know.” Sam thought of the gold blades everyone carried, that no one had ever used and no one wanted to ever have to use. Maybe the time was finally upon them. “How are you doing?”

Ben tilted his head, looked confused.

“How are you feeling?” Sam asked. “You being fed right? Not that Ma Mitchell would ever not feed someone she considered one of her own.”

“I’m - fine,” Ben said. “I’m at optimal nutrition and hydration levels.”

Sam looked at him. “It’s not about optimal levels, remember? You’re allowed to indulge once in a while. You’re a kid, and that’s okay. So what if it’s been less than six hours since you ate last? Go down to the commissary and get a piece of chocolate lava cake. It won’t kill you.”’

Ben’s eyes went wide. “Chocolate -?”

And like that, Sam realized. “You’re not Ben.”

“No, Lieutenant Winchester.”

“What’s your name?”

“X5-494.”

“That’s not a name.” Sam set his mug aside. “What do people call you?”

“Smart-ass, mostly.”

Sam winced. “That’s not a name.”

“I know. I never took common parlance, but I know an insult when I hear it.” The boy lifted his head, and his defiant expression was pure Dean.

“Well - how about Alec?”

“Why Alec?”

“Because you’re a smart aleck, so it seems.”

“I suppose it’s better than dick,” the boy said, and Sam choked back laughter.

But the boy’s face lit up, and Sam realized that was what he’d been aiming for, making Sam laugh or smile. Was it a defense mechanism? Was he hoping Sam would be amused instead of angry? Or was it something else?

Dean was a master at making Sam laugh - to cheer him up when he was a kid, or to head off an argument between Sam and Dad before it could really begin.

“Sure. Alec. I’ll take it.”

“Pleased to meet you, Alec. I’m Sam.”

Alec shook his hand, grip strong and firm, just like Dean.

No. Sam would have to stop thinking of both Ben and Alec as versions of Dean. They were their own people.

“So,” Alec said, “who’s Sokar?”

Sam logged out of his workstation, stood up, stretched. “We can talk about that later. Can you play a musical instrument?”

“If I try.”

“We’ve got a piano on base, but I know for a fact there’s a guitar handy. Maybe there’s a cello, too.” Sam headed for the door.

Alec cast a glance at Sam’s workstation, but then he followed. “Music’s not really my thing. I like to draw. Can you draw?”

“In a pinch. I know someone who’s pretty good, though, if you want to learn.” Sam was pretty sure his teammates were still awake. He was also pretty sure that Evan, Dean, John, and Rodney were still on the bus. “This way.”

The look on Dean and Evan’s faces when Sam knocked on the door with Alec in tow told him that he’d interrupted important times - possibly New Tattoo Selection times. Sam might have felt guilty, only Vala and Miko appeared moments later, Zane and Ben with them.

Rodney and John were roused from the back by the noise. Dean whipped up glasses of chocolate milk, and Sam and his team spent the rest of the night getting schooled at poker by three nine-year-old boys.

When the sun began to peek over the horizon, Sam decided he would trust that for Ben, Zane, Alec, and their siblings, the other shoe wasn’t going to drop just yet, and when it did, they would be ready.

If Sam and his team weren’t in Atlantis.