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The door swung open easily under Dean’s lock picks. Standing from his crouch, he signaled to Sam, who was keeping watch at the end of the hallways and entered the apartment. He felt a little uneasy breaking into an apartment building – more people around as potential witnesses – but so far this place seemed quiet and pathetically easy to get into.
Inside, a couple of computer monitors dimly lit the main room. It looked clear, and Dean flicked on his flashlight to scan the area. What it revealed made him stop in shock, because, damn, he had encountered weird before. Plenty of weird. Shit tons of weird. But this…was a whole different brand of weird. Sam, coming in behind him, ran into his back before he could see where Dean had stopped.
“Dean,” he hissed, trying to keep his balance. “What the hell are you doing? Why did you stop—“ And then he stopped too, looking around the apartment in shock. “What is this?”
Dean let his flashlight pan over the room slowly. “This, Sammy, is the Starship Enterprise.”
Sam stared at him blankly. “What?”
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“So tell me what this is supposed to do,” Dean asked, watching Sam putting down chalk lines on the floor of the abandoned shack they were using for this ritual.
“It’s supposed to be a ritual of protection against really powerful spirits,” Sam said, intently sketching out runes of some kind.
“Really powerful…Sam, it’s a ghost. A really angry one, I admit, but still just your garden variety ghost. Why drag out a ritual for this?” Dean was uneasy. Rituals were too indirect, unless they were something like an exorcism. Now there was a ritual that you could see the results from right away. He didn’t like the idea of messing with hoodoo for this job. Besides, he wanted another crack at this spirit himself.
Sam, however, glared at him. “Dean, it was shooting a light saber gun at us. That calls for more than standard protection.” He went back to drawing, stopping to consult with the book he’d been using.
Now Dean had to sigh with exasperation. “It was a phaser, not a ‘light saber gun,’ Sammy. The man was a Trekkie, not a Star Wars fan.”
“Whatever!” Sam growled at him. “This Trekkie was apparently so delusional he thought his living room was actually the bridge of a space ship. And now he’s haunting it. And we can’t destroy his focus, because it’s the whole damn room. We can’t burn it, because it’s an apartment building, burning his bones didn’t work, and we can’t exorcise him because he has a fucking phaser! So please, let me finish this, so we can finish this job!”
Dean frowned at him, but let him alone. He thought maybe that Sam was maybe a little grumpy at having to burn a body that was buried in an authentic Captain Kirk uniform while having to dodge phaser blasts from the spirit.
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“Sam,” Dean said, looking at the chalk circle between them. “Was this supposed to happen?”
Sam was also looking down at the circle, a pinched expression on his face. “No, this isn’t what I expected at all. I thought it would be some kind of…shield or something that would repel the spirit.”
“Yeah, well, this sure ain’t a shield,” Dean said, enjoying this moment in spite of himself. He rocked back on his heels and grinned at Sam.
“I know,” Sam growled, “Just let me look—“
Dean just talked over him. “In fact, I’m pretty sure that what I’m looking at here is an unconscious Spock.”
Sam glared. Dean grinned.
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“It appears you have the advantage of me.”
Spock – if it really was Spock, which Sam doubted – the stranger who looked like Spock anyway, was still, but tense, even if his voice was calm. Sam was glad they’d taken his gun – phaser, whatever – away from him before he’d come to, even if Dean hadn’t let Sam tie the stranger up.
Sam opened his mouth to demand how he’d busted into the middle of Sam’s ritual when Sam barely knew enough about Star Trek to know who Spock was, much less conjure an image of him, but Dean beat him to the punch. Even though he’d told Dean he’d do the talking. Typical.
“I thought Vulcans could read minds,” Dean asked, eyebrows shooting up, and wait, Vulcans? Mind reading?
“He can read minds?” Sam demanded, and didn’t Dean think that was pertinent information to tell him?
“Only if I can touch you,” the stranger said. “Why do you ask?”
“Are you really Spock?” Dean blurted, and Sam glared. All these years, and he’d never suspected Dean fostered a secret, inner Trekkie.
The stranger looked tenser, if possible, as least as far as body language went. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met,” he said, voice belying his posture. “how do you know my name? Where am I? How did you bring me here?”
Sam wouldn’t blame the guy – Vulcan? whatever – if he’d woken up propped in a chair in an abandoned shack, with strangers who knew his name, he’d freak out too. He could sympathize, really. But Sam had to know something before he even thought about letting this guy up. “What’s a Vulcan?” he demanded, leaving it up in the air as to whether Dean or Spock would answer.
The stranger’s eyebrows flew up even more impressively than Dean’s. “You do not know what a Vulcan is?” his voice registering surprise this time.
“Sam, I definitely explained this,” Dean exclaimed. “Remember, Spock is from—“
“Yes, yes, a galaxy far, far away,” Sam interrupted. “But that doesn’t—“
“No! Not a galaxy far, far away!” Dean paused, then scowled. “Well, technically yes, but no, he’s from Space: The Final Frontier!”
Sam blinked at him. “What?”
The stranger blinked at both of them. “Are you both in full possession of your mental capacities? Vulcan is a respected member of the Federation, and—“
Sam turned his blink on the stranger. “Wait, Federation?”
“Where are we that you do not know the Federation?” The stranger pushed himself to a stand, frowning at Sam.
Dean suddenly stepped between them. “Wait, ask me the current star date,” he said, grinning.
“Star date? Dean, what—“
“Can it, Sam.”
The stranger frowned at both of them now, but did as Dean asked after a pause. For the first time since he’d woken up, the stranger’s face showed surprise.
“I believe you had better explain,” was all the stranger said.
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“I still think, in the interest of gaining valuable experience, you and me should switch weapons,” Dean said to Spock, casting a covetous eye on the phaser hanging from Spock’s belt.
“I believe that is as likely as you permitting me to operate your mode of transportation,” Spock said calmly. “Explain again what part you wish me to play in your plan.” He had taken his new circumstances rather more calmly than either brother had expected, although his eyebrows had flown sharply up at the sight of the Impala.
“Explain this to me too,” Sam demanded. Dean could tell that he was rather miffed that his plan had been usurped by Dean’s.
“It’s simple. The ritual was supposed to do something to repel the spirit, right? And the man we’re dealing with was an extreme Trekkie—“
“I still find it somewhat disturbing, if fascinating phenomena, that people of your time follow our lives to that extent,” Spock interrupted, to Sam’s accompanying snort.
“Anyway,” Dean said meaningfully, glaring at Sam. “The spirit should react to Spock here.”
“By shooting him with a phaser,” Sam muttered. “So Spock’s just supposed to go in there and say ‘Mr. Wilson, I am your—“
“Do not even finish that if you want to continue living,” Dean threatened.
“Dean’s logic is sound,” Spock chipped in. “If this man devoted such energy and time to this topic, it is logical to assume that he would respond to a stimulus related to his interest.”
“Stupid, this is. Delusional, you are,” Sam muttered stubbornly.
“Sam, I swear, you are one Star Wars reference away from an ass-kicking!”
The rest of the ride passed in silence.
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Spock’s eyes widened at the sight of the apartment. “This man indeed had great attention to detail,” was his comment as he took in the replication bridge situatED over most of the living room of the apartment. He had not known what to think of Dean Winchester’s explanation of how his life had become an entertainment program and of the nature of these ‘Trekkies,’ but it was clear that the owner of this apartment had an obsession with detail. Had Spock woken up here, he would have assumed he was still on the Enterprise.
“The man was a loony,” Sam Winchester muttered. Spock wondered what about this job was making him so aggravated by his emotions since Spock had woken up.
“Don’t be such a pretty pretty princess,” Dean Winchester said. “Not all boys like to play with dolls and tea sets like you do.” He smirked at Sam, even as he scanned the room warily. Dean Winchester was also controlled by his emotions, but unlike Sam, they seemed to make him more, not hold him back. Not unlike Jim back on the Enterprise. Dean often showed a marked lack of logic, but a great sense of intuition.
“How do we summon this spirit?” he asked. Both brothers had expressed surprise at his willingness to believe in their spirit, but Spock was no stranger to strange things. Granted, those things were usually physically in front of him, but, then again, waking up in a different time and dimension wasn’t exactly something he could see and touch either. So it wasn’t a stretch to believe in their spirit.
“Last time it appeared as soon as Dean started fiddling with the counsel,” Sam said, gesturing towards the consoles normally occupied by Chekov and Sulu.
“I wasn’t fiddling, I was investigating!” Dean protested, scowling at Sam.
“Believe you, I don’t,” Sam smirked.
“That’s it, I warned you, Sammy,” Dean said, advancing on his brother.
Spock ignored them – he didn’t really get the big deal behind these ‘Star Wars’ references Sam apparently kept making. He walked cautiously over to “his” station. It was quite a good replication, really. The small differences would have been hard to notice if he hadn’t been looking for them. He reached out to toggle a switch.
The spirit appeared.
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Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever heard of a spirit taking orders before, at least, not without some kind of ritual or amulet to give someone that control. But then again, he was positive he hadn’t ever seen a spirit look so…flabbergasted before. Spock hadn’t even had to say a word – the spirit’s jaw had practically hit the ground as soon as he’d appeared. And he didn’t know if anyone else would believe him if he said this spirit had just…left. Because Spock had told him to. Sometimes you could get the nonviolent ones to move on, if you gave them whatever closure they were looking for. Sometimes.
He thought that only a Trekkie’s closure would involve Spock telling them they were relieved of duty and that they should stand down.
“I can’t believe you came up with that speech about laying down arms and shit so fast,” he told Spock as they watched Sam put down the finishing touches on the ritual he’d found. Something about sending the target back to its proper place.
“Since the spirit was in awe of me, I simply Spoke as I would in a similar situation were I still on the Enterprise. His obsession with the ship suggested that he would take such authority seriously,” Spock said gravely, not taking his eyes off Sam. The ritual fascinated him much more than it did Dean.
“Good work though,” Dean insisted. He knew he was being more talkative than he normally was – a lot more, if Sam’s incredulous looks were anything to go by – but this was fricking Spock. He’d spent a lot of time watching Trek reruns with Sam fast asleep in the other bed, waiting for their Dad to come back.
Spock turned to look at him, the corners of his mouth quirked up. “Thank you. You and your brother do a more than satisfactory job yourselves.”
Suddenly, Sam was before them. “It’s ready. Spock, just stand in the circle.”
Dean thought it quite brave that Spock didn’t ask if Sam were sure this would work; he merely clasped both of their hands quickly and firmly and took his place, giving a sharp nod of his head to show he was ready.
Sam took his place and started chanting.
Spock met Dean’s eyes and lifted his hand in his iconic sign. “Live long and prosper, Dean Winchester—“ And then he was gone.
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There was silence for a moment, and then Sam looked back at Dean, who was unexpectedly grinning.
Sam frowned. “I thought you’d be more beat up your space buddy left.”
“He told me to live long and prosper – me specifically!” Dean’s grin was gloating and pleased. “Fucking Spock told me to live long and prosper.”
Sam rolled his eyes. He started to turn to clean up the circle, btu he was halted by his brother’s next statement.
“Plus, I swiped his phaser.”
Sam turned horrified eyes to hwere Dean was indeed holding up Spock’s gun. “You didn’t.”
“I did, and this is gonna be awesome.”
Sam wondered if Dean would kill him if he ritual’d the thing back to Spock. He eyed the circle he already had laid out…