Fandom: Stargate: SG-1, Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Crossover
Word Count: 997
Characters: Dean Winchester, Hank Landry
Season/Spoilers: Takes place sometime before "Ark of Truth" in Stargate's timeline and sometime after "Sympathy for the Devil" in Supernatural's. Do not stare directly at the continuity, as it is extremely fudged and may perceieve such behavior as an affront.
Warnings: What is this "beta" of which you speak?
Written for A Ficathon Walks Into a Bar, which I couldn't not sign up for. I signed up to write a crossover with Dean Winchester and anybody from a handful of my other tv shows. My prompt ended up being "Dean Winchester walks into a bar and meets... Hank Landry!". *headdesk* Of all the Air Force Generals in a all of Stargate. But I actually ended up having fun with it, which just goes to show why I sometimes impulsively sign up for awesome ficathons
I'm kind of hoping sabinelagrande runs this ficathon again, because I adore the concept of it and can't wait to see all the other ficlets that got written for it. Anyway! On to the fic!!
Dean is most of the way through his first whiskey when the big guy in the USAF sweatshirt takes the stool next to him, balancing two beers and a basket of onion rings. The guy takes a pull off one beer and slides the other in front of Dean like he and Dean always go out drinking together on Tuesday nights in the middle of BFE, Minnesota. When Dean simply cocks an eyebrow, first at the beer and then at its source, Air Force Guy pushes the onion rings toward him and gestures with his own beer.
"Help yourself. I hate drinking alone almost as much as I hate conversations about deer hunting." He waves his free hand to encompass the bar's population, which is almost entirely composed of vacation hunters in digi-cammies.
Dean shrugs. Sam won't be back with the car for a while yet, so he snags an onion ring. "Thanks."
Air Force Guy seems to view the acceptance of onion rings as the conclusion of some formal agreement. He holds his hand out. "Hank Landry."
"Dean Winchester." Dean shakes the guy's hand, giving him a closer look. He's somewhere in his sixties, on the heavy side, and Dean gets the sense that he's used to people humoring him in unusual behaviors like buying beer and onion rings for complete strangers in backwoods Norsky bars.
Dean doesn't add, "pleasure to meet you," but Hank says "The pleasure's all mine, Mr. Winchester," as if he had and continues, "So what brings you to the wilds of rural Minnesota?"
"I'm with Fish and Wildlife," replies Dean, giving the line he and Sam have been using while they've been in town. "Got sent up here to look into a series of drownings. Maybe you heard about the deaths out at Skywater Lake?"
Hank harrumphs an acknowledgment. "The police investigations have wrecked havoc on the Smew population."
Dean blinks. "Smew population?"
"Mergellus albellus," Hank intones. "Skywater is one of the few places they've been spotted in the past several years, and I'm determined to add one to my life list."
Dean is at a loss for a long moment, but then the term "life list" reminds him of a witness he interviewed once who spent an endless half-hour of Dean's life talking about herons. "A Smew is a bird?"
"A duck, more specifically," Hank corrects him brightly, producing a Sibley Guide seemingly from nowhere and beginning to thumb through its battered pages. "You ever try birdwatching, son?"
Dean shakes his head--no, but I'm getting better at my angelwatching these days-- and gives an inward sigh of resignation. He downs half of his beer in one go, reflecting that there is free beer and then there is free beer that obligates you to listen to people rave about their batshit hobbies for at least five minutes before you flee the scene. He hopes Sam gets back sooner rather than later.
Fifteen minutes later, Hank is still throwing around terms like merganser and ruddy crest, and periodically making a noise that Dean surmises is an imitation birdcall but which sounds more like Sam with a sinus infection than any bird Dean knows of. Dean's escape has been effectively cut off by the second round of beers that Hank signaled the bartender for without even a momentary pause in his lecture about the impact of commercialized hunting on migratory habits. Dean finally takes advantage of the fact that the guy has to breathe sometime and makes a desperate attempt to redirect the conversation.
"You know, speaking of hunting, I was in this same area in '06 investigating some weird bear attacks--hunters were getting pulled apart and eaten."
"Oh?" Hank sips his beer and shows no sign of diving back into his discourse.
"Yeah," says Dean, thankful that his bid to change the subject has apparently been successful. "Funny thing, though: I'd barely gotten to town and checked in with the local authorities before I was told to take a hike because the US Air Force was handling the situation and didn't need any help from the Service." He grins pointedly at Hank's sweatshirt. "Got me kind of curious. You wouldn't have had anything to do with that, would you, Hank?"
Hank gives him a bland smile. "Son, I only come here for the birds and the fresh air. I spend most of my time ordering people around under a mountain in Colorado Springs."
"Colorado Springs, huh?" Dean replies. "Been through there a few times. Nice place." If you like bizarre outbreaks of giant, incorporeal monster bugs. That case still bugs him. "So what is it you and your people do there?"
"Deep space radar telemetry," Hank replies.
Dean huffs a laugh. "So, lots of geeks in uniform in a facility with no windows. Sounds sweet."
The smile suddenly drops off Hank's face like it was never there. "It's very important work that we do. You might even say that we're going to save the world."
Yeah, aren't we all. Dean gives the guy a long moment to laugh and say he's kidding, but he doesn't so Dean shrugs a concession and says, "Well, God knows it needs saving."
Hank's eyebrows get less threatening. "Indeed."
Dean is struck by a strange sense of fellow feeling and on impulse he raises his beer. "To saving the world, then."
Hank clinks the necks of their bottles with a serious expression. "Cheers."
"Ducks and all," Dean adds magnanimously.
"Speaking of which," Hank's eyes light up in a way that makes Dean instantly regret his moment of weakness. "Did you know that the Common Eider, despite its name, has actually been sighted fewer than three times in Minnesota in the past ten years? Well, fewer then four times as of last Saturday because yours truly had a rare stroke of luck up at Lake Superior..."
Dean signals for another whiskey and wishes that Sam would hurry the hell up and come save him.