Notes: So, I was showing my sis the Atlantis story I had just finished, and we got to talking. We happen to share a love of Stargate AND Supernatural, so we thought, "wouldn't it be cool if Sam and Dean met Sheppard and his team?" I was telling her about the "Vegas" episode of Atlantis, and an idea started forming.

Oh, and before I forget...I DO NOT own any of the characters portrayed within. Kripke or whoever owns the Winchesters, and MGM owns Shep and his team...*sigh* too bad...

This takes a little of the AU from Vegas - little things like Shep's car - and most from canon of the show. Both shows, actually, now that I think about it. Anyway, hope you enjoy this story...

Chapter 1

Denver, CO

Sam Winchester woke up to a familiar clicking sound, and turned his head toward the right side of his bed. Sitting on the bed next to his was his brother, Dean, who, after having cleaned his guns meticulously, was loading bullets into the handguns' clips. When he saw his younger sibling awaken, Dean gave him his characteristic grin before turning back to his work.

"Hey, Sammy. Welcome back to the land of the living."

Realizing the irony of Dean's comment, Sam curled his upper lip at him. "What time is it?"

"Almost eight. You slept like a baby." Dean's grin turned almost evil as he added, "You missed the Asian twins."

Sam didn't reply to Dean's obvious, baiting remark, and merely swung his legs out of the bed, rolling his sore shoulders backward and then forward. When they were sufficiently loosened, he shuffled into the tiny, closet-sized bathroom.

"Why can't we ever stay in like, a Sheraton or something? These motel toilets are disgusting," he called from behind the half-closed door.

Dean grinned. "I like torturing you. Besides, nothing helps a hangover better than the wonderful smell of rusty pee-water."

Dean could hear Sam groan from where he sat, now sharpening a wooden stake with his hunting knife. His guns lay beside him on the bed, on top of the fabric case he kept them wrapped in.

"You're so gross, Dean."

"Yes, I am," he replied. The same wide smile was still on his face as Sam walked by and punched him in the shoulder. "So," he continued, "anything on the demon-radar?"

Catching the half-serious tone to his brother's voice, Sam sat down at the small, round table in the room, and flipped open his laptop. He opened his web-browser, typed something into the address bar, and scrolled down the page that popped up.

About three-quarters of the way down, something caught his eye, and he cocked his head to the side.

"Nothing on demons…" he trailed off. Suddenly interested, Dean tossed aside his stake and came to stand behind Sam's left shoulder.

"But?" Dean prompted. He knew by the tone in Sam's voice that something interesting had popped up, and despite his overwhelming weariness, it managed to excite him a little as well.

"But, there may be something happening in Las Vegas."

Dean grinned again. "Isn't there always?"

Again, Sam ignored Dean's remark, and kept reading the article on the screen. "Seems a few people have turned up dead there recently. Five, to be exact."

"Maybe they lost too much money."

"Dean," Sam warned, throwing a sigh at the end. He sometimes wished that Dean would take things a little more seriously, especially considering the horrible things they'd been through over the years. But humor was Dean's way of dealing with stress, Sam knew, and he wasn't likely to stop now.

Hearing the weary sound that escaped Sam's lips, Dean forced himself to become serious, and leaned a little farther over Sam's shoulder.

"So what's the deal?" He asked.

"Well, the report is a little fuzzy on details, but from the description of the bodies, I'd say it was vampires."

"Oh, come on. Again?" Dean growled. Out of all the creatures they'd dealt with since becoming hunters, vampires were second on his "hate list", after demons, of course.

"Seems like it." Sam leaned back, folding his arms over his chest as he scanned the rest of the article. "So, what do you think? Should we check it out?"

Dean pondered his question for a moment. He was tired of this; he had been for quite some time, actually, but this was a responsibility that their father had given them, and Dean wasn't too keen on disappointing him, even though he'd been dead for quite some time. As he glanced down at his brother's face – was that excitement he saw there? – he rubbed a hand over his face and nodded.

"Yeah, we should go check it out. Get packed, Sammy. Bus leaves in an hour."

While Sam stood inside the motel settling the bill with the front desk, Dean waited for him outside, his thoughts rolling through him a mile a minute. The usual worries were there – would he be able to protect Sammy if anything attacked him? Would they be able to track down whatever was responsible for the deaths of the five people in Las Vegas? – as well as a few others he wasn't willing to explore any deeper at the moment. He always felt this way just before a hunt, doubting himself and his abilities as a hunter, and as a brother. And it only got worse as time went on, more so after he'd been pulled out of Hell. Frustrated with himself, he blew out a sigh and pulled his keys out of his pocket.

He was just tossing his duffel bag into the trunk, when he felt a sudden gust of wind beside him.

"Dean," a deep voice rumbled, and despite already knowing who was there, he jumped in surprise.

The man who stood there was dressed in his characteristic tan duster, his hands resting loosely at his sides. Though his dark eyes were serious, his mouth held a hint of a smile. Dean wondered silently if it was a remnant of the person being used as a vessel, or not.

Dean frowned at the man. "Cass."

Castiel, who Sam sometimes jokingly referred to as "Dean's guardian angel", nodded once, his eyes still serious.

"There an angel convention nearby, or something?" Dean asked as he slammed his black Impala's trunk closed and moved toward the driver's side of the car. Castiel followed him, obviously still not understanding Dean's sense of humor.

"No," he said. "I came to warn you."

"Warn me?" It was Dean's turn to be confused. "About the vamps in Vegas?"

Castiel nodded again, but Dean stuck out his bottom lip and shrugged. "We've handled these bastards before. Piece of cake."

Castiel took a step forward, and leaned toward Dean, to emphasize his next words. "These are not your usual vampires, Dean."

"Whaddya mean?" He asked the angel, who took a deep breath as he found the right words to explain.

"They are not from…here."

"What, from Earth?"

Castiel nodded.

"Okay," Dean said. "So, then, what are they? Demons?"

"No."

Dean waited for him to continue, his arms folded over his chest. When Castiel remained silent, Dean said, "No?"

"Unfortunately, I can't tell you any more than that."

"Orders, huh?" Dean asked sarcastically, though Castiel nodded in complete seriousness.

"Can you at least tell me how to kill 'em?" Dean asked, agitated more by the second. He was beginning to think that the only time Cass showed up was when he had bad news for the brothers, and that really irritated him.

The shake of Castiel's head only served to worsen his irritation. "I don't know. I only came to warn you to be careful."

With a sardonic smile, Dean nodded. "Well, thanks so much for stopping by. I'll tell Sam you said 'Hi'."

"You're welcome, Dean," Castiel replied, and Dean turned away to pull open the driver's-side door. Then, a question suddenly came to his mind, and he turned back to ask it to Castiel. As usual, however, the angel had disappeared, and Dean gave a sigh and slid into his seat, resting his palms on the steering wheel.

A minute later, Sam pulled open his door and got in, shutting the door behind him a little harder than Dean liked.

"Hey! Treat my girl with some respect, huh?" He shot at Sam, who just shrugged.

"Sorry," the younger brother replied. Then, a strange look passed over his face, and he asked, "What's wrong?"

Dean shrugged and started the Impala's engine. "Cass dropped by."

This made Sam sit up a little straighter. "What for?"

"Apparently, these vamps we're lookin' for in Vegas, well, they're not your run-of-the-mill, cut-their-head-off-type vampires."

"So, what are they, then?"

Dean shrugged again as he pulled the car away from the curb and drove down the street. "Didn't say. And he didn't tell me how to kill 'em, either, so I guess we're on our own for that, too." Then, he remembered something, and glanced over at his brother. "Oh, but he did say 'Hi' to you."

Sam frowned and leaned his head back against the headrest. "Great."

Seeing the look of disappointment on Sam's face, Dean quickly reached over and ruffled his brown hair, causing Sam's frown to deepen slightly. Dean knew he hated it, but he couldn't help himself.

"Lighten up, Sammy. It's no worse than when we first started out," he commented, but Sam merely shrugged. "Long way to Vegas, you should probably get some sleep."

Sam heard the tone of Dean's voice, and knew he was ribbing him about sleeping so late in the motel room. A grin slipped onto his face then, and he turned to look at the side of Dean's head.

"Nah. I've got some reading to do if we wanna stop these things."

Glad that Sam's foul mood had lifted, Dean smiled wickedly and muttered, "Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam replied, playing their usual name-calling game. Then, he dug around in his bag and pulled out the thick, black book he'd been looking for. They had at least twelve hours before they reached Vegas, so he knew had plenty of time to read the entire book, as well as the other three in his bag.

Las Vegas, NV

Dean's Impala pulled to a stop outside a small diner, in the desert just outside Las Vegas, the rumbling of its exhaust echoing off the hills. The night air was cool, but comfortable as it drifted through Dean's open window. Both men sighed quietly as Dean cut the engine, staring appreciatively at the neon sign advertising "Fresh Coffee".

"Well," Dean said as he nodded at the diner's filled seats, "Looks like a busy joint."

"Yeah, let's just hope we didn't pick the one that's full of vampires. Or demons," Sam commented, curling his upper lip at the memory of walking into a bar that had been owned, operated, and patronized by nothing but demons. A good hunter had died that night, and his wife had almost joined him. If he, Dean and Bobby hadn't been there…he shuddered at the thought of what might've happened to her.

"Quit bein' a wuss," Dean said, popping open his door and sliding out. He stood beside the car, stretching his aching legs, as Sam got out on his side of the car.

"Shut up," Sam replied, shoving his stack of books into his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. Just to upset his brother, he slammed the car door shut after him.

It seemed to work. Dean glared at Sam as if he'd performed the worst crime in the world – and, to Dean, he had – and silently pointed his finger at him as a warning. Then, he nodded toward the diner.

"Let's get in there. I'm hungry."

Sam shook his head. "You're kidding!" He cried in mock-amazement. Dean ignored him, and led the way through the windowed door of the eatery. Inside, it was just as it seemed from outside, waitresses dressed in aprons, snapping their gum as they brought food to the small booths and tables; the music that surrounded them was some Bluegrass tune, bright and happy, and Dean wrinkled his nose at it. He'd rather be forced to listen to pop music than this.

Beside him, Sam seemed oblivious to the sights and sounds within the diner. He'd taken a quick, cursory glance at the people seated at the tables, and then walked up to the counter, sliding into one of three empty stools there. Dean followed, sitting on the stool beside his brother just as a pretty, blonde waitress walked up to the counter opposite them.

"Hi," she said, her face widening with a smile as she realized just how handsome these two newcomers were. "What can I get you?"

Sam's smile was friendly as he replied, "I'll just get a vanilla milkshake, please."

"No problem." She looked at Dean next. "How 'bout you?"

"Well…" he looked at her nametag, "…Shannon. I'll have your 'Famous Cheeseburger', with extra bacon. And a Coke."

Shannon nodded as she memorized their order, and shouted it to the cook, who gave her a thumbs-up in reply. Then, she went over to the soda fountain and filled Dean's glass, and stuck a straw in it as she brought it over to him. He thanked her, and she went to prepare Sam's milkshake.

"If she's a vampire," Dean said as he nudged Sam with an elbow, "then I'll gladly let her…"

Knowing exactly where Dean was going with his statement, Sam elbowed him back harder, while whispering "Dean" just loud enough for only him to hear.

A minute later, Shannon had returned with the shake, and set it down in front of Sam. "You sure you don't want anything else?" She asked him. "The pie here is really good."

Sufficiently tempted, mostly because of the empty growling in his stomach, Sam nodded. "Okay. I'll take a slice, then."

"Great!" She replied, her wide grin returning. She took a step sideways and reached into a glass case, selecting a slice of cherry pie from a shelf. As she set it before him, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a fork, which he took from her with a smile.

"So," Dean began as he watched Sam nearly shovel the pie into his mouth, "this is a great little place. How long you been working here?"

Shannon shrugged at him. "Pretty much all my life. My parents own this diner."

"Really?" Dean replied, feigning surprise even though he'd already glimpsed the picture of her standing with her parents hanging on the wall in the main part of the diner. Underneath the picture was a newspaper article containing a review of the food and service at the small restaurant, and it also mentioned the names of the owners and their waitress-daughter.

"It must be great to be able to go into the family business like that," Dean continued, and beside him, Sam suddenly choked on a bite of his pie. Sam held up his hand, telling them he was okay, that he just needed to catch his breath.

"It sure is," Shannon replied, then turned away to bid goodbye to a few patrons who were leaving. When she turned back, she explained, "Husband and wife. They've been coming here ever since I could walk."

Dean nodded. "You must know pretty much everyone in here, then, huh?"

Shannon nodded in return. "Yep. Everyone but you two, and the four people at the back table."

Dean turned to glance at the table she indicated. Three men and a woman sat there, talking quietly. The woman was dressed in regular clothes – dress slacks and a nice, shimmery tank top – but she seemed uncomfortable in them. Seated beside her was a tall, tan-skinned man, who wore dreadlocks that he'd tied at the back of his neck with an elastic band, and looked about as uncomfortable as she did. Across from the tall man sat a man who, in contrast to them, seemed perfectly at ease in the diner. Though all Dean could see of him was the back of his dark hair, he could see that the man's legs were crossed at his ankles under the table, and that he leaned back comfortably in his chair. Beside him was the third man, who was talking animatedly, his hands moving to emphasize whatever point he was trying to make. Every once in a while, the animated man glanced around, as if to make sure no one could hear their conversation.

They weren't acting suspiciously, exactly, but something about them just seemed off to Dean. He shrugged off the strange feeling, however, and turned back to Shannon.

"Well, I'm Dean, and the Sasquatch over there is Sam."

"Good to meet you. You come from nearby?"

Not wanting to give away too much, Dean shrugged one shoulder. "Colorado, actually. Coming here was Sam's birthday present." She nodded uncertainly, but said nothing, and Dean knew she didn't believe him. Not my problem, he thought to himself. Then, he asked, "You have any idea who they are, where they came from?"

She shook her head. "They just ordered their food, made a little small talk about the heat in Vegas, and started talking among themselves. They seem nice, just kinda private. Pretty much everybody who comes to Vegas is, though."

"Ain't that the truth," he nodded, turning once more to glance at the group. They were laughing quietly now, probably at some joke one of them had told.

"Here's your burger," Shannon said then, and he turned back again.

The monstrous burger before him looked delicious, and his stomach rumbled in agreement. "Wow," he said, "that looks…great."

He caught Sam's look of disgust, but ignored it, instead picking up the burger and taking a huge bite. The juicy beef easily complimented the cool crunch of lettuce, tomato and onion, and he soon found himself looking for a napkin to wipe away the grease that had escaped down his chin and hands.

"Oh, my God," he sighed as he swallowed that first, blissful bite. "You don't know what you're missin', Sam."

"I don't really care, Dean."

Shannon wiped the counter with a rag, her eyes flicking around the room every once in a while, watching for anyone who required her assistance. When she realized no one did, she asked, "So, you two brothers, or something?"

"How'd you guess?" Dean asked, taking a moment to wipe his hands and face, then take a long sip of his Coke.

"Years of practice. And, my brothers used to act the same way." Her eyes turned sad, and Dean noticed that Sam's best puppy-dog look had suddenly appeared on his face.

"We're sorry," Sam said softly, and Dean nodded.

"It's okay. It was a long time ago. It's just that you two act so much like they did," she gave them a smile, but this time, it failed to reach her eyes.

Dean was just about to ask her more, when she saw the group of strangers walking toward the counter. Dean watched them approach from the corner of his eye, and noticed Sam doing the same, while pretending to be focused on his milkshake.

"Coffee was great," said the man Dean had seen reclining in his seat earlier. Dean decided this was the perfect opportunity to get a better look at the man. He was in his late 30's or early 40's, and wore a dark t-shirt and jeans, paired with black boots. His face held just about a day's worth of stubble, and his eyes, Dean noticed before the man slid dark Ray-Bans over them, were a strange hazel-green shade. The smile he gave Shannon seemed genuine, but Dean felt his instincts bristle anyway.

"Yes, yes," the animated man said then, "And so was the pie."

"Glad you're happy with it," Shannon said with a smile, then gave them the total for their meal. Ray-Ban Man dug out his wallet and handed her a few bills, and nodded his thanks when she handed him his change.

Noticing Sam and Dean watching them, Ray-Ban said, "How's it goin'?"

"Great, thanks," Sam replied, and smiled in response to the others' nods of hello-and-goodbye.

With a final smile at the waitress, Ray-Ban led the way out of the diner, toward a red Chevy Camaro. It looked to Dean to be a late 70's or earlier 80's model – he couldn't tell which, since it was dark outside – but he immediately appreciated the guy's taste. The woman got into the back, as well as the man who'd commented on the pie, and the taller, dreadlocked man folded himself into the passenger seat as Ray-Ban got into the driver's side and started the engine. It rumbled almost as loudly as the Impala, and Dean found himself suddenly envying the man, wishing he could take the Camaro for a spin.

"Well, Sammy, I think we should get back to the motel, get some sleep," Dean said then, tearing his gaze away from the sight of the Camaro spinning out of the gravel parking lot.

Sam nodded. "Sure."

Dean turned toward Shannon. "How much do I owe ya'?"

Seeming disappointed that they were leaving, Shannon forced a small smile, then replied, "Seven seventy-seven."

Hearing that, Dean cocked his head. "Three sevens. Must be a sign, eh Sammy?"

Sam just rolled his eyes as Dean paid for their meal. When that business was taken care of, Sam reached over and shook Shannon's hand.

"Thanks for the pie. It was great."

She smiled and nodded. "No problem. You boys stay out of trouble."

"Oh, you know the saying…boys will be boys," Dean quipped, and she laughed.

After exchanging final goodbyes, the brothers left the diner, and slid into the Impala.

Dean put the key into the ignition, but didn't turn it on. He glanced over at Sam, who seemed deep in thought.

"What're you thinkin'?" he asked, and Sam shrugged.

"Something about those guys was off."

Dean nodded. "I thought so, too. You think they're the ones we're after?"

Sam thought about that, then shook his head. "Nah." An idea hit him then, and he frowned. "Though the guy with the sunglasses was carrying a gun. You think they're hunters?"

Dean shook his head. "If they are, I haven't heard about 'em. Maybe we should give Bobby a call."

"Yeah. Maybe," Sam replied.

Realizing Sam had ended his half of the conversation, Dean turned the key and started his car, then roared out of the parking lot, headed toward their motel.

TBC...