Eyes Wide Open

by

Stealth Dragon

Rating – T

Disclaimer – It ain't mine, get over it.

Synopsis – Even in the darkest hour, one is never truly alone. John whump in a bad way, nasty team angst, and lots of friendship.

A/N: I can't believe I wrote this. Sheppard's going to hate me for this one. It may very well surpass all previous abuse I've laid on him, but the shock value was too good to pass up. I usually don't get this vicious (ha!) so please don't judge me for it. The concept was both fascinating and delightfully disturbing.

Though I wrote this some time ago, I still dedicate it to all the morbid Shep whumpers out there, especially all you sickos at the Gateworld Forum. I like lurking there for all the nifty pictures you people put up. They make me grin.

SGA

" You look like crap, sir."

John peeled sticky eyelids apart, and rolled his head over an uneven surface, looking right. No, wait, maybe it was left. No, had to be right, he was facing his writing hand. It was a little too dim to be distinguishing any details, yet Ford stood out as though a night-light were behind him. He was dressed mission ready with P-90 in hand, which struck John as odd what with his own self lying weapon-less, shirtless, empty stomach and freezing on an arctic cave floor. John lifted his rock heavy head on an unsteady neck and squinted at his former second.

John's brain asked 'what are you doing here? Did they catch you too?' His mouth rasped, " What the hell!"

Ford shrugged. " Know what you mean, sir. But I wouldn't waste energy over it. I'm just in your head."

Made sense. John set his head back on the floor and heaved out a breathy chuckle. " Then I'm..."

" Delirious sir? Oh yeah. Big time. Your body's pretty much starting to cannibalize itself and I don't think your brain's particularly happy about it. Then there's that stuff they just gave you. I think you're right, it's supposed to render you compliant, not kill you."

John closed his eyes and groaned. " Goody." He lifted a quaking hand with the intent of bringing it to his face to rub his eyes. He got as far as his chest before it dropped and slid down his discernible ribcage back to the floor.

" What happened, sir?"

John took a deep breath and sighed. He stared at the thick black hiding the ceiling except for the small illuminated section just above the cell door. If he stared hard enough and long enough, he would start to see things, vague shapes at first that organized themselves in his mind to become cats or dogs or faces. But it was a trivial way to pass the time now that he had an honest to goodness genuine hallucination to talk to.

His brain didn't want to cooperate. The fine misty haze was pleasant to loll in, making the gnawing cold in the pit of his shriveled stomach a passing annoyance – like an itch. John blinked several times and forced his mind to slap itself awake enough to recall.

It was the story of his Pegasus Galaxy life. They came, they talked, they traded, they were attacked. Except there was a little extra something to this mission that actually gave it more intrigue. This time around, there had been no village of unhappies or Genii thugs waiting in the shrubs. No wraith either. The Galathaans had been a nice bunch – John would grant them that much. They'd been friendly about trying to kick John and team out of the village. Trade had gone well – fast – ending with a 'get thee hence, hines, you really shouldn't be here' closer to it all. John had caught on even before then. Frightened looks said it all. Today had not been a good day for new arrivals, and especially to form alliance treaties. The Galathaans may not have been technically savvy (rifles and electric lights were as far as techno went) but they were good farmers and had a plant that really did the trick of curing what ails ya. They'd hesitated when John talked of an alliance, and that's when the rush turned into a frantic dash to get the Lantean's out – fast.

Too little too late, obviously. It was while they were heading out that Gale, the town leader, had whispered a nasty tale into Sheppard's ear concerning a group who called themselves the Free Regiment. Freedom fighters John's ass. Very Talibaan/ Iraqi terrorist in John's mind. They wanted things run a certain way, and since they weren't getting their way, whined and cried about it by getting exceedingly brutal. They were best known for midnight kidnappings of government officials and those they deemed untrustworthy; starving them, beating them, and stringing them up to die.

Idiots, freakin' idiots. Worlds had enough to handle with the wraith, and these little wraith morsels were having a pissing contest just because their leader couldn't play dictator. The head of this supposed organization had been a former official who thought declaring Marshall Law would solve all their problems. The guy sounded like Hitler and Bin Laden rolled into one.

Ironically enough, he probably would have gotten into power if the wraith hadn't popped up, nearly sucking the planet dry. It had been unforeseen, therefore with no time to prepare, and Furl or Feral or whatever the hell his name was had lost a crap load of status – from Hitler to Bin Laden, probably even less than that. Now he was just a cold blooded bully with an amoral streak a mile wide.

And here John was, in the man's hell-hole domain, when the freedom freaks had popped out of nowhere, guns blazing, separating the team. While providing fire for his team and escorts to get away, John was clocked over the head, and woke up weaponless, shirtless, and freezing on an arctic floor. The empty stomach followed not long after. They'd yet to feed him a thing, just keep him alive with small cups of stale water.

" Wow, that's rough sir."

John looked back at Ford. The young Lieutenant was looking genuinely sorry, which proved once and for all that he was indeed only in John's head. The new and not so improved Ford would be more concerned over his slowly depleting enzyme collection.

John closed his eyes. " Tell me about it." Then reopened them. " You wouldn't happen to know..."

" What they have planned for you? Sorry sir. Like I said, I'm only in your head. Maybe they just like starving people."

John smiled ruefully. " Or they like to pick on the little guy. Make 'em weak, easier to beat and break. My dearly despised guard looked like he wanted to have some fun with me. Probably almost time. His grin keeps getting bigger." Sheppard knew he should probably be more scared, but the haze was too much fun to interrupt concerning the inevitable.

" So what brings you into my mind, Lieutenant? Are you in my head, or haunting me?" He gave Ford a quizzical look. " Are you dead?"

Ford pursed his lips thoughtfully. " Can't say, sir. I only know what you know."

" And I know crap," John moaned.

Ford smiled that 'innocent kid' smile of his. " You know more than even you realize, sir."

Something clanked, echoing sharp so that Sheppard winced. Voices floated to him, a string of murmurs interspersed with ringing footfalls. Keys rattled on a ring, being shoved into a lock that clunked. The door moaned inward and pale light spilled over John, blinding him. He lifted a shaking head on a shaking neck, plus his shaking hand to shield assaulted retina. The figures entering were shadows to him, faceless and nameless, not that he cared. They surrounded him, looking down at him, just staring.

" Looks like he's ready," someone simpered. The forms descended on him like vultures to grab him, lift him, and carry him from his cell. With his head hanging from his useless neck, he saw an upside down Ford watching sorrowfully.

" See you in a minute, sir."

SGA

Rodney rubbed his face along a sand-paper jaw that worked well as a way to scratch the palm of his hand. His eyes darted back and forth between the LSD and the heat signature detector displayed before him as per the mental wishes of Stackhouse piloting the Jumper cloaked and low over the trees. Both detection units could reach depths that would have allowed them to find live lava flows and mole people, but there was a little matter of magnetic and metallic interference to consider. Gale had said the Free Regiment liked to bunk deep below ground. The Galathaans may have been nineteen hundreds in their technology, but they weren't naïve about what it was capable of. Plus this had been a once highly technical world, probably close to earth's current level, and they still retained much of their past history in writing, including scientific finds. So there was a good chance the FR were hiding in a spot the detectors were going to have a hell of a time getting through to.

It was a probability Rodney didn't give a damn about. Everybody screwed up eventually, and chances were there were energy signatures to be found, or groups milling about outside the caves.

Just because Rodney was a pessimist didn't mean he gave up hope.

" Come on," McKay urged. " Show yourselves."

" Anything yet?" Teyla asked, coming up from behind to lean with hands against the head rest of the seat.

" Well, if we were in the mood to go hunting, there are a couple of creatures shaped like boar. But other than that, no. Nothing remotely human in form." He turned and leaned back some to get Gale in sight. " Are you sure they like to hang out at these ruins you keep talking about?"

Gale, tall, lean, with stringy blond hair and a sharp face, nodded. " Yes. It is always where we find the bodies."

McKay screwed his mouth into a sneer. " Don't say bodies please! And just because this is where they like to... do – what they do... doesn't mean they're going to be nearby."

" It'd be more convenient for them if they were," Ronon interjected with his usual, almost flawless logic.

Rodney exhaled sharply through his nose. " True, but since it's also such a known location, there'd be too much risk in someone stumbling on their hideout."

" They'd just kill 'em," Ronon countered.

Rodney gritted his teeth to keep from retorting. Ronon's straight forward comments were irritating in that the man always had a point. Rodney had always deemed himself the king of straightforward, and didn't like that he'd been so surreptitiously knocked from the thrown. Not that that had been Ronon's intent, it just felt that way.

Rodney looked at his watch. It may not have been in sync with the hours of this planet, but after being on this world for a week and three days, he'd figured out a workable system. It was getting late, the light would soon fade, the day would be over, and then they would have two, maybe three days left to find Sheppard anywhere but in the ruins. Because once in the ruins...

He turned back to the detectors and watched. Teyla's hand touched him lightly on the shoulder.

" We will find him," she assured.

Sarcasm wanted to worm it's way onto his tongue, but he swallowed it back. " Yeah, yeah, we'll find him." He let the sarcasm have him instead.

SGA

John was floating, and he found it rather pleasant. The giggling spilling from his throat, however, wasn't so pleasant. It was making him nervous, actually, but he couldn't quite help the way it sounded. He wanted to laugh because floating was fun. He just wished he sounded a little more sane about it.

The giggling stopped when the floating became falling, and he landed painfully on a cold, hard, uneven surface. He rolled from his side to his back with a grimace and groan.

" Hey," he protested, and got kicked hard in the side for it.

" Shut up."

John didn't cry out, but had no intentions of giggling ever again. Wherever he was, it was dim, dusky, like late afternoon. Except that he wasn't outside, and neither was he in the cell. This cave was bigger with a high ceiling and wide walls. That was all he could distinguish as his vision wasn't up to par, going in and out of focus, and veiling everything in a thin mist.

" You ready doc?" Someone called.

" Yes," came the nervous, quivering reply. " B-bring him in."

John was lifted, and he was floating again, but the slap-happy giggles were gone. Still, it was nice to be floating, so he let himself smile.

Then he was set on something smooth, cold, and wonderfully flat. Hands moved over him and turned him to be lying chest down. His arms were pulled forward, stretching him. He jerked weakly in alarm at a sensation so familiar it made him want to vomit – leather cinched around his wrists and bared ankles, pinching, pulling, stifling proper circulation.

" Oh hell no," he wanted to growl, but it came out as a whimper. He looked up, past the shadow people, to Ford standing before him, looking a little too apologetic.

" You may not want to be conscious for this sir," he said.

John tilted his head and narrowed his eyes dangerously. " And how am I supposed to accomplish that, Ford?"

A stranger's voice snapped. " Who's he talking to?"

" Delirious," came the reply, and a hard smack to the side of John's head. " Shut up?"

John gritted his teeth. " Bite me."

Another slap, this time getting stars to erupt and die within his foggy vision.

" That the best you got?" John slurred.

" Stifle it, Lantean!"

John chuckled. " Come on, show me what you got."

Another slap, this one hard enough to snap his head to the side. The stars exploded as one, but his awareness wasn't clinging to him as hard.

" Probably good enough, sir," said Ford. " Just... close your eyes. And whatever you do, don't open them."

John's head was too happily swimming to argue. He let his eyes slide closed and the air sigh from his lungs.

SGA

Ronon circled the fire, a man on the prowl with no where to prowl. He swung his weapon upward to rest on his shoulder, let it fall, and swung it up again. The fire popped and sparked, clawing the evening air loud with the chirp of nocturnal insects and animals. With each go around the fire, Ronon lifted his head to the brightly lit interior of the puddle jumper where McKay, Stackhouse, Lorne, three other marines, and Gale were gathered like animals at a carcass, the carcass being a map divided into quadrants.

The other two puddle jumpers were cloaked for false appearances, in case the Freedom Regiment decided to pop in. They might not have been so endowed with technology, but that didn't mean the back-woods scum wouldn't have ways of disabling a jumper.

" Ronon, please sit," Teyla said from the log she sat on.

" Been sitting," Ronon replied. " Sick of it."

Teyla was sick of it too, just adept at hiding it. Not too adept, though. Her hands wouldn't keep still, fidgeting with her own fingers, her weapon, vest, pockets, hair. She didn't want to be sitting as much as Ronon. She wanted to be moving, searching on foot, tracking and hunting. That's how it needed to be done.

Except they had already tried, and with time not on their side, had to find quicker means.

They were trying, Ronon new they were. Even now Rodney looked ready to keel over – pale, shadow-eyed, and wired on too much coffee, candy bars and MREs. Ronon gave it one more day before he found the scientist passed out on the jumper floor.

Ronon wasn't putting the man down. If anything, he was impressed. A week trudging, searching, hoping, and finding nothing, and the physicist had yet to complain about it – the searching, not everything else. Mostly, he preoccupied his verbal efforts to bad mouthing the Ancients for not having something more useful, like a portable DNA detector that could draw them a straight line to Sheppard, or something like that. Ronon hadn't been quite sure what McKay was going on about until Lorne explained it.

Ronon had never seen McKay so determined to find Sheppard. He hadn't even bad mouthed the Colonel once the entire time, as though doing so would hasten what McKay referred to as 'dooms-day'.

They had two days, if even that, to find Sheppard.

Ronon stopped, and turned his head to look over the fire at Teyla.

Two days.

" Do you think..." Ronon dropped his eyes to the fire with the words lodging in his throat. He couldn't say what was on his mind, since what was on his mind was making him shudder with fury. When he returned his gaze to Teyla, he caught the amber flash of firelight off of tears tracing paths through the grime down her cheek.

Somewhere - maybe close by, maybe far away, but still on this world, as they stood there, saying nothing but sharing one thought - Sheppard was being tortured.

Ronon resumed his prowl, altering his thoughts from the blood of a friend, to the blood of an enemy pouring hot over his hands.

SGA

Welcome to the wonderful world of nothing!

It wasn't completely empty. John could still see Ford. The young man seemed quite determined not to make eye-contact with the Lt. Colonel. John assumed it to having something to do with the excruciating pain focused – it seemed – on his shoulder blade, but moving. Heralding it had been the rather uncomfortable sensation of something cold and sharp trailing down his spine that made his skin prickle, and laughter in his ear that made his hammering heart shrink.

Now it was pain, pain, pain.

Gee, hadn't seen that coming. John would have laughed, but the pain didn't let him. He promised himself a good chuckle later.

John seethed through gritted teeth as he lay with arched back on the floor of this mental nothing. He'd done a quick glance at himself, saw himself mission ready, like Ford, minus one P-90 or any weapon for that matter. He'd gone through the vest, finding more nothing. Nothing really was his cup of tea today, it seemed. Too bad the pain couldn't take a hint and be nothing.

" Ford," he coughed out with saliva flying. " You call this being knocked out?"

Ford grimaced apologetically. " Give it time, sir. Pain should get you sinking a little deeper soon enough."

The pain moved closer to his spine. John clenched his fist and writhed despite the pain going with him where ever he moved. " What the hell are they doing to me!"

" You really don't want to know, sir. Better you just keep your eyes closed."

John finally released the promised chuckle, sounding weak and pathetic. " A Lieutenant telling a Colonel what to do. That's just peachy," he ground out, and uttered a broken cry of pain and alarm when the sharp object trying to burrow it's way in hit bone, grating and gouging. " B-b-but... I'll take your word for it."

" Smart man." Colonel Sumner stepped from an unseen door in the black nothing to stand beside Ford.

The pain took a few steps back, allowing Sheppard enough thought to start laughing bitterly, wavering on a half-sob.

" Oh isn't this just special. The old gang getting together again. What's up, Colonel? Here to start the guilt fest? I'm assuming that's what this is. Rip Sheppard a mental new one since bad dreams don't cut it. You gonna show me what I'm missing? Maybe I should just open my eyes and get it over with. What is this Ford?"

Ford shrugged one shoulder. " Your head, sir. Not mine."

Sumner came forward and began circling Sheppard – very cat and invalid mouse like. Except John could have sworn Sumner's expression more thoughtful than predatory. Hell could freeze over and the wraith go vegetarian before that man would pity Sheppard.

Hope for the galaxy yet, then, because Sumner was showing no pleasure in John's current state.

" You're still on that, Lt. Colonel?" He emphasized John's rank, as though it held far more meaning that just being a step up from Major.

The pain, though dulled enough to be tolerable, was still at the forefront of John's awareness. It skipped over his spine, continuing on to the next shoulder blade.

" Killing my CO isn't something I'm going to be forgetting any time soon."

Sumner smiled, actually smiled, but it was brief and he was immediately back to his usual frown. " No. No one expects you to forget it."

" Dreams won't let me."

When behind Sheppard, Sumner stepped over him, turned, and crouched before the prone Colonel. " That's a state of mind, Lt. Colonel Sheppard. No one makes you dream."

John lifted his head, and narrowed his eyes. " Then what are you doing here?"

Sumner leaned in close. " Good question. It's your head, Colonel. And it's not my fault if I'm haunting it." He moved away, returning personal space to Sheppard. " I can't tell you why I'm here. I will say this much, though. I'd listen to the Lieutenant. Keep your eyes closed. And don't make me order you." He smirked, and it was freaking Sheppard out. " I'm dead. Ultimate retirement. So I'm not really in the mood to give orders."

Sumner straightened to take steps back until he was standing next to Ford.

The pain was crawling along Sheppard's back, row on row, always skipping over his spine like jumping a ravine of bone. The pain was a heated sting that throbbed with his heartbeat. The flesh felt wet, a heated wet, smothering him and tracing warm down his flanks. It was almost involuntary when he reached back through the collar of his jacket and shirt, except that he wasn't sure what it was he was looking for. He had an idea, say for that ideas didn't produce results, and when he brought his hand to his face he found it clean.

" It really is better for you not to know," Sumner said.

" What you don't know can't make it worse," Ford added.

John dropped his head back to the floor, and since floors tended to be naturally hard, his imagination filled in the blanks to make him wince. " How much worse can it get?" He shivered.

" You could be vomiting," Ford said. " Which is exactly what you'll end up doing if you open your eyes."

The pain was a constant until it finally reached the small of his back, then it was done. John relaxed, mentally and physically, more mentally since his muscles remained clenched against his will. Something was happening, a change he was aware of only through touch. The tightness around his wrists and ankles loosened, and he felt hands on his arms, shoulders, and legs. Movement without his permission, and pressure at his back that made the sting become fire that scorched him from the outside to the inside. He clenched his teeth hard enough to bite through steel if it had been placed in his mouth. He seethed, faster and faster to the jackhammering piece of meat that was his heart. He arched his back in the physical world that eased the burn down to uncomfortable, pulsating heat. The pressure returned to his wrist and ankles. He wanted so bad to writhe in the physical, because the mental wasn't doing a damn thing. He arched his spine and his neck, looking at Ford and Sumner, begging through his eyes, and - pride be screwed – his voice.

" What are they doing? What's happening?"

Ford was sad, painfully sad, on the verge of tears. Sumner simply looked away.

" Nothing you can do anything about," said Sumner.

" Just hang on, sir," said Ford. " I think this is gonna be bad."

John waited, tensing tight enough for his limbs to pull themselves apart, and breathing too fast for his blood to keep up. Or maybe it was his lungs unable to keep up with his heart. He couldn't tell, and didn't care. All he knew was he wasn't getting enough air. He was suffocating.

Then came his old pal pain, sharp and forceful like one of Beckett's injections, except it was exploding from his left eye.

John's mental eye fluttered while the physical one refused to open. " What the hell!" John gasped, and his hand shot to the eye, mental image trying to convey to his real arm that wouldn't move because – preoccupied as he was – he'd forgotten it to be strapped down.

The pain was rhythmic, over and over, worse with each stab.

" What the freakin' hell!" John pressed the heel of his hand into his eye. " What are they doing to me!" He arched, writhed, squirmed like a worm being dissected. Then he screamed, in his head and out loud until his throat was rubbed raw and he knew it had to be bleeding. When his lungs emptied, he pulled in air enough for the next round that morphed into an agonized sob.

" Stop! Please stoooooop! Make it stoooop!"

" Shhhhhh... It's all right."

John knew that voice. It cut through to him like a rock through glass, and he rolled his pain-free eye up to the oval face framed by midnight black hair spilling passed slender shoulders. John felt, distantly like a memory more than real touch, long fingers brushing through his hair, and a lap beneath his head. Sad green eyes stared down at him, flooded with love and moisture. He wished to hell that he was seven again, and just now waking up from a bad dream.

John wanted to laugh and cry, but the agony didn't let him do either. Still, though he wasn't exactly sure how, he managed a tremulous smile.

" H-h-h-hey mom." He choked on his own breath when the pain jumped across his face to his other eye. He screamed again.

" Shhhh. It's all right baby. It's all right. Just listen to my voice and you'll be all right."

John heaved in breaths and pooled his focus onto the hand running through his hair, and the voice whispering sweetly to him. Laughter became a need, like water for a thirsty man and food for a starving man. Insane, pathetic laughter against an insane, inexplicable situation. His mother was exactly how he remembered her, still young and always with a kind look in her eyes, before she died and his world went shooting off into hell. She'd been a young mother, pregnant at seventeen and forced to grow up fast because of it. Had she regretted it? Young John had never known, being blissfully unaware of the truth as he was. Biological daddy wasn't present, only step-dad when his mom finally married at age twenty. He was step-dad now, but had been nothing but dad before the truth shoved its ugly head through the door. He'd been a good father as far as John was concerned, a real father, a present father. Then he died in war, mom died in a car wreck, and real dad was shoved back into John's life because the courts were so hell-bent on sticking him with his biological father who'd taken his sweet time on deciding he wanted John in his life after all.

Lucky for John, biological dad hadn't had a good track record. Drinking, drugs, and an inability to hold down a job pretty much saved John from suffering having to live with a stranger. Instead, custody was awarded to step-dad's brother, and John got to keep the name Sheppard. He'd almost become an Anderson. Real dad had been pissed – more than likely had also been high during the court appearance – and screamed at John for not wanting to be with him. He told him the truth, that John was an accident, never intended, never wanted, shouldn't have been born, and called his mother a whore. John had been ten at the time.

Now that had hurt. Depression had been inevitable, lasting until John's ever honest and always wise uncle assured him that whatever the situation that brought John into the world, his mother had loved him. John couldn't deny it, because the memories of mom were of a woman that could have been June Cleaver's clone. For a woman who had supposedly not wanted kids, she certainly hadn't acted like it.

" I did want you, John," his mom said. Her fingers were warm, like he always remembered, as they stroked his head.

The pain in his eyes jumped to his mouth, and his hands jumped with it. He pressed his hands hard, which stifled the mental scream though the physical scream vibrated his skull.

His mother kissed his forehead, and pressed her cheek against it, still stroking away. " Easy, John, easy. It'll be all right. Over soon. It'll be over soon. You'll be all right. It'll be over soon."

All right? How can I be all right? Come out of this all right? What they're doing to me can't be healthy. What are they doing to me, gouging my eyes out, ripping out my tongue? Except my tongue isn't hurting, just the outside of my mouth. What the hell are they doing to me!

" You don't want to know, baby. You really don't."

Then how the hell am I supposed to come out of this all right?

" That depends on you, Colonel," Sumner said. John rolled his eyes to him. The problem with hallucinations was that all thought wasn't private anymore. In John's case, it was a helpful commodity seeing as how he couldn't use his mouth at the moment.

What do you mean?

Ford was the one to answer. " How quick you want this to end, sir. It's the only control you got, really."

What the hell are you talking about!

" You'll know soon enough," Sumner said.

Something was happening. The pressure on his limbs was taken away, and his body was lifted.

Yay, floating! He felt almost giddy from the weightless sensation, and even in the nothing his head swam and spun. Now what? Pain clung to him like clothes, unbearable and nauseating. He wasn't opposed to the floating though, but like most good things, it didn't last. He was lowered until his bare feet touched cold floor and his hands were raised above his head. Rough, thick cords were cinched around his wrists, and then the hands supporting his form against gravity released him. His legs gave without a fight, his body dropped and his arms pulled.

And then came pain again. It exploded out from his back, then his chest, his face – several times – ribs, hips, legs. Laughter cackled in his ears to rattle about his head. He clenched his jaw, groaned out, growled, whimpered, and sobbed. It hurt too damn much to put up with it for dignity's sake.

His mother spoke, whispering, stroking and he tried to focus on that. Yet the bursting pain kept catching him off guard and yanking him back. It was relentless for attention, like a spoiled brat breaking everything and screaming.

How the hell am I supposed to get out of this all right!

" By making a choice."

A whole new voice this time around. John tilted his head down until his chin touched his chest. Standing at his feet all blindingly angel bright was Teer.

Tears ran hot down John's face. A choice. What choice?

" Wait, John. Just wait."

He doubted he could, wanted to scream that he couldn't. Then like a switch being flipped, the pain stopped, and he jolted from the sudden lack of it.

" What's going on?" he yelped, swallowing.

" You are completely unconscious, John," Teer explained. " But it will not last. I must explain quickly."

John nodded numbly. Odd to be numb in his own head. " Okay. Hey Teer," he said, and smiled drunkenly. " Meet my mom."

Teer nodded to the memory image. " We have met. Listen to me, John, because we don't have much time. You need to make a choice while your mind is clear enough to do so, before the pain returns."

It took effort, but John pushed himself to his feet and straightened on quaking legs. Happy as he should have been to see Teer, he was more afraid than jubilant. The look on her face, sorrowful and even a little strained, wasn't making him feel too up toward any form of happiness. He eyed Teer warily.

" What choice?"

Teer looked down at her clasped hands. " This can end, John." She said. " This pain, torment... You can will it to end. And I can help you to do so. All you have to do is..."

John took a step back, and narrowed his eyes to slits. " Come with you."

Teer's gaze shot up to lock with his. " Yes."

" To... die..." It finally hit John, and he laughed. Hysterical, wavering, mingled with a sob laughter that made his mental body shake and more tears burn his face. " This is what it's all about." He spread his arms wide to either side of himself, and took another step back. " All this. Ford, Sumner, my mom... You. It's why you're all here. To get me to do the whole head toward the light thing. Guilt trips and me missing mom, is that how you're doing it? By getting me to wish I was dead!"

Ford shook his head stoically. " I don't know why I'm here, sir."

" Do you want to die?" Sumner asked.

" Hell no!" John shouted, and flinched at the conviction of his own words. McKay would have loved this. For all John's self-sacrificing tendencies that had a way of pissing off his team, he had no real desire to die. Sure, he was prepared for the eventuality, but it scared the hell out of him all the same. He preferred being alive, he just had a problem of showing it.

He was also realistic. The tension leaked from him, and his shoulders sagged. " But I don't have much of a choice in the matter, right? Can't, not with what they're doing to me."

" I can make the transition simple for you," Teer said. " Painless. But it is your choice."

John snorted. " Choice? What choice? Didn't I just say I don't have much choice in the matter?"

" Actually, sir," Ford said. " You do."

John turned on him. " What, die a horrible death or take the quick way out? What the hell kind of choice is that!" He shook his head vehemently. " No, I don't buy that. There's gotta be a chance. My team... My team could find me before... you know... They could come. Nick of time thing, we're always pulling those off," he finished with a nervous laugh.

" Do you really believe your team will make it in time?" said Sumner

John's body ached, and not in a tolerable way. He started to pace, and shot a glare at Sumner. " I know they'll try."

" How do you know they're even looking for you?" Sumner challenged.

John, still pacing, stabbed a rigid, shaking finger at him. " Because they are! I know them. I know they're looking, I know they're trying... I know!" John grimaced and he fell to his knees when the pain raged through him in one massive onslaught for attention. He gasped, doubling over, hugging his chest and holding an arm wrenched from the socket. And a fat lot of good it did him, because now he could feel nothing of his mental self.

And even through that, he did not want to die. Not like this, in this place, alone...

No, not really alone. His mother came to him, kneeling by him to take him in her arms and resume stroking his hair. Teer knelt before him and placed her hand on his shoulder.

" You are right, John. You do have that choice."

Inside and out, John was shaking. " So's Sumner," he slurred. " How do I know my team'll make it in time?"

Her hand moved from his shoulder to stroke his cheek. " You don't."

It was like a declaration of defeat. John lowered his gaze, and his head, closing the eyes of his mind.

" But you can try..." Teer said. " You can wait. That is your choice, John."

He hurt beyond sane comprehension. But seeing as how he had already lost all sanity a long time ago, it didn't really make a difference. Tears poured fast, and his chest jerked in quiet, agonized weeping. When he opened his eyes, he forced them up to meet with Teer's compassionate gaze.

" I'd..." he coughed, and something about it didn't feel right. Not his chest, but his mouth. " I'd like to wait. Just a little longer. Wait 'til I'm dead. Can we do that? Wait that long?"

Teer smiled sadly. " Yes John. We can wait."

John chuckled caustically. " Trust me. It won't be long..."

SGA

Stupid son of a...! Those slimy bastards!

McKay's word ringing true and appropriately in Teyla's head. She ran through underbrush, dodged debris, and dashed hot-headed and without second thought into every decrepit door and gaping wall hole. Shouts echoed distantly, coupled with the occasional repetitive pat of a P-90 or the single explosive bang of a rifle. They were on the hunt, and as McKay's infuriated words raged through her brain, a very Ronon feral sneer graced her lips. She wanted nothing more than blood as compensation for the blood she knew had been spilled from the body of her friend.

The FR had come sooner than later, a day early. Life signs and heat signs detectors didn't lie. Forms had popped up spread throughout the labyrinthine ruins – literally. Body's with strong heat signatures, body with weak, all over the place like insects crawling about a decaying corpse. McKay had a theory as to how they did it, involving underground passages and hidden trap doors, which would also explain how they eluded Galathaan authorities so easily.

Teyla had never wanted to hug the Ancestors more. Their technology had given the insects away, and the bugs couldn't scurry fast enough to escape.

To Teyla's growing annoyance, however, she had yet to run into any of them. Ronon seemed to be having a good time of it, though. Every few minutes his voice would rumble over the radio with a gruff " got another one." Cries of pain and terror resounded to her, along with cries of anguish.

Teyla had yet to run into any bodies. Tricky to find with an LSD, which made her stomach twist itself.

She got her slice of vendetta when a bullet ricocheted off the corner of a dilapidated stone wall that Teyla quickly ducked behind, only to twist back out and return fire. There was a yelp of alarm and silence. She plowed on, not even giving the body the courtesy of putting a face to it by looking at it. She was getting deeper to the heart of the ruins. Had to be with the fewer crumbling walls and greater number of doors. In the center was the largest of the structures, probably a temple since that's usually how it went. Life signs were everywhere, but not near enough to her position to act on. She made her way to the supposed-temple as a kind of goal, and the life signs moved further away.

It was only when she was within sight of the temple doors through the shrubs that a sign crept from the top of the LSD screen. It wasn't moving, probably lying in wait. Teyla crouched and kept within the shrubs, skirting the clearing leading to the door. When close enough, she darted out and pressed herself to the wall adjacent to the entrance. She craned her neck around and peered into the gloom. Momentary visual adjustment, and she could make out a corridor stretching into darkness. The dot on the LSD seemed somewhat to the right.

Teyla darted in and pressed her back to the next wall adjacent to the corridor. She clicked on the light to the P-90 and flashed the beam into the darkness. There was a room, just right where the corridor began. Another peek at the LSD showed her the life's further lack of movement. So she darted again, back to the wall, inching toward the door. The light went in first.

" Drop your weapon and you will not be harmed!" she called, voice echoing. No answer, and no return fire. But she wasn't hot-headed to the point of going in with weapon blazing. She craned her neck to peer into the light-less room. The light of her weapon danced over a body suspended by the wrists. It was officially safe to assume no danger here. She did a quick glance to the left and right, then slipped in to stand before the limp form.

Starting from the spiky dark hair that already had her gut clenching, she forced the light to travel down, illuminating a pale bare chest splashed in a multi-colored mess of bruises. She could outline his skeleton with her eyes. Stretched arms spread the ribs until even the sternum looked ready to rip through the skin, and the bruises just kept going to vanish beyond the waistband of the pants

It was the pants - the spiky hair and the BDUs together - that had Teyla dropping her gun and running to the Colonel. She groped along his neck until her fingers found the weak but present pulse, and her sigh of relief sounded more like a broken cry. She put her hands to his obscured face, gently patting his jaw and cheek.

" Colonel Sheppard," she pleaded. " Colonel, Sheppard, it is me, Teyla. Wake up, please wake up..."

She heard a moan, or thought she did, but the head remained hanging limp and motionless. Good enough. She needed to asses damage and wasn't going to do it in the dark. She reached down to yank the knife she kept hidden under her pant leg, and cut the ropes securing John to the ceiling. The Rotten ropes gave out fast, and Teyla dropped her knife clattering on the floor in surprise when John's body started to fall. She had him in a kind of semi-embrace beneath the arms, and quickly dragged him from the room toward the front entrance. She veered toward the wall just before the corridor and set John against it at the corner to hold him up.

In the light, the bruises formed an almost solid mass down his body. She gulped against an increasingly tightening throat while she felt down the visible ribs. A lot of breaks, even more cracks, probably his entire ribcage a shattered mess, but that was for Beckett to determine. She returned focus back to his sagging head, caressing his scalp with one hand, and cupping the side of his jaw, thick with stubble, using the other.

" John?" Her voice cracked when she spoke, and she coughed to clear it. " Please, John, wake up. Look at me. Please..." Nothing like catching the hint of green through slitted lids to open the dam and let sweet relief smother her.

" Please. It is Teyla. We found you. You will be all right now. Can you look at me? John?"

The head twitched, and the chest heaved when John sucked air through his nose. Teyla applied upward pressure to the jaw until the limp head started to ascend.

" John, I..." Bile shot like magma into Teyla's throat. " Oh! Oh, by the Ancestors, no! No, oh please no, no..."

No slitted eyes, no flash of green, and definitely no cocky comment. John's eyes and mouth had been sewn shut.

Another dam had busted, one that constricted Teyla's chest until she couldn't breathe, and sent rivers of salty tears down her face. John's sunken eyes were bruised dark like the hollow sockets of a skull, but the eyelids themselves were swollen and red. His mouth was barely discernible under the mass of stitches. Like the rest of him, his face was bloody and bruised artistic insanity.

Teyla couldn't breathe. " No... No, no, no, no..." She pulled John to her, one hand on the back of his head to guide it to her shoulder. She looked down, intent on burying her face into the bony shoulder, and gaped at his back shredded like meat with odd markings that had painted his back the singular color of dried, brown blood.

Teyla wept until her body convulsed, and she tightened her embrace around Sheppard until his backbone dug into her arm. Irrational fear warned her of the possibility of shattering an already broken body. Hysterical fear wouldn't allow her to let go on the off chance he could be taken from her. She loosened the hold enough to satisfy the irrational, but doubted she'd ever be able to let go.

SGA

Two life signs, getting closer, just beyond the brush. McKay was wheezing with the effort of running just to keep up with Ronon.

" Oh yeah..." McKay panted. " He doesn't... need... LSD... big... bad... hunter... that... he is... oh crap... this... sucks!"

Rodney was given reprieve when Ronon slowed on approach to the entrance. He slowed even more when an odd sound – like broken wailing – moaned from inside. Ronon darted to the wall and crept toward the entrance to peer in. His stance immediately melted, and he simply stepped around. And since it was always a good idea to follow the Satedan's lead in order to avoid pissing him off, McKay followed with less caution though still maintaining proper wariness.

Stepping inside the dusty excuse for a structure, he squinted against the gloom. Ronon was just standing there, staring down at what looked to be a huddled figure with – two heads? Rodney blinked and rubbed his eyes. Two figures. One Teyla by the hair and the vest. The other with familiar black hair sticking out all over the place. The face, however, wasn't quite so easy to recognize, and when Rodney's eyes adjusted enough to see why, he turned and bolted out of the place to go heaving breakfast, lunch and dinner from the past three days into the bushes.

When he finished, he wiped his mouth, dropped to his knees, then his hands, and heaved again. Every time he closed his eyes, Sheppard's face faded into his brain like a morbid screen saver.

Involuntarily mute, involuntarily blind. Rodney heaved again. He wiped his mouth with the back of a quaking hand and pushed himself up onto legs that might as well have been Jell-O. He stumbled back into the temple to see Ronon kneeling by Teyla, reaching out to her. When the big hand met the slender shoulder, Teyla flinched.

" No!" she cried, and sobbed harder. Rodney wanted to join her. That face, eyes and mouth sealed like sutured wounds, the horror of it had McKay's brain frozen. He wanted to take off on another round of retching, except that he had nothing left to expel. Nightmares didn't pack this much of a sickening punch.

" Teyla," Ronon said, snapping Rodney from his stupor. The big man's voice was low, gentle, kind and, Rodney could have sworn, wavering.

" Teyla, please. Let me help," he urged. Never had Rodney thought that he would live to see the day when Ronon conveyed pure sorrow. Even his face, his eyes, poured out pity that shouldn't have been possible for such a natural stoic.

Teyla shuddered with sobs then sucked in a liquid sounding breath. Her arms, inch by inch, loosened their hold on Sheppard. Ronon kept Sheppard upright by his skinny shoulders, and the big man's eyes seemed quite interested in something on Sheppard's back.

" H-how..." Teyla gasped. " How will we move him? You cannot carry him. It may further his injuries, cause more pain."

Ronon, sights still lingering on Sheppard's back, nodded assent. " The clearing's big enough for a jumper," he said. " If not, I'll make it big enough."

Feeling like a lost interloper, McKay forced his wobbling legs to move his body forward. Ronon carefully set Sheppard back into Teyla's embrace. The naked upper body was making McKay cold just to look at. He removed his vest and his jacket, and forced himself those last few steps to kneel beside his motionless friend. He reached out to place the jacket over his back, but paused to stare slack-jawed at the mess of blood and oddly shaped cuts lined up in neat rows across that back, with the spine acting as the divider like the spine of an actual book. He dropped the jacket over the mess, and Teyla adjusted it to cover Sheppard's shoulders. Rodney rose, feeling numbly satisfied at having done something. Keeping that in mind, he stumbled out of the temple, considering ways he could help Ronon out.

Reality wouldn't have his attempts at self-desensitization. Sheppard's face and Sheppard's back flashed into Rodney's mind, bringing him to his knees just in time to heave out the bile, having nothing else to puke, but needing to puke something.

SGA

TBC...

A/N: Yeah, yeah, my cruelty knows no bounds, yadda yadda. You should see the crap I put my original characters through.