Outside the Wall (2/2)
Part 2
He came to the surface choking, clawing at the water to keep his head above the surface. The river swept him away from Reshtiv, and John caught the tail end of a frustrated scream before he was pulled under again. He tasted and felt the cold liquid in his mouth, then came up gagging a second later. The trees whipped past him and he was dunked three more times before he finally saw the scenery on either bank slow down.
The river curved then widened, and the current slowed down drastically. John scraped at the water, trying to swim. It was almost easier than walking had been, since there was no danger of falling. He let his body float along until he reached shallow water, then pulled himself to shore. He stood as soon as he was out of the water, then blinked and found himself back on the ground.
“Whoa,” he mumbled. He raised a shaking hand to his forehead and caught sight of the ragged cut from the dog-sized insect’s pinchers. It had stopped bleeding and whatever pain he had briefly felt before was gone, but it still looked horrible. He dug into his vest for a bandage and slapped it over the wound.
Any dexterity he might have gained over the last several hours was gone, and he grunted in frustration as he tied a sloppy knot to keep the bandage in place. It took too long to fasten it to his arm, and by the time he was done, both hands were trembling. He stared at his knuckles, and for a second he thought it was a trick of the light. They looked bruised, like big purple-blue splotches had been painted over pale white skin.
The shaking got worse, and he checked himself over for any other injuries. The one on his head from the cliff fall wasn’t bleeding, nor was the insect bite. It wasn’t until he spotted his foot still sitting in the water that the answer dawned on him. Cold. He was cold.
No-freezing.
“Dammit,” he muttered. He pulled himself to his feet, swayed, and only managed to stay upright when he grabbed onto a nearby tree. He was about as uncoordinated as he’d been when he’d first woken up from the marble flashbang. “Gott…wwwaa...rrmmmmupp.”
It was late afternoon, and in the thick cover of the trees, darkness was falling fast. He had no idea how far he’d traveled, but he hoped it would take Reshtiv a while to catch up to him. Better yet, he made it to the gate before Reshtiv even got close, now that he probably had John’s gun.
John cut through the trees, hitting a path again. In the growing darkness, he spotted ruined walls made of black stone, and he tried to gauge where he was. He’d seen rough maps of the ruins, but he didn’t remember a river. He staggered forward, as careful as possible of the rocks and holes and other obstacles threatening to send him pitching forward. More ruins appeared, but John finally gave up on locating where he was.
The path curved and suddenly the trees opened up, and John forgot the lack of cold sensation or the fact that he was still shivering at the sight. This world really was incredible-every postcard photographer’s dream. The trail he was on jutted out across a glassy lake, and steep hills rose up on all sides alive with color. Through the leaves he caught an occasional glimpse of ruined buildings on plateaus.
“Prime real estate,” he mumbled, stepping out cautiously onto the trail over the water. The path was made of stone and held steady. John had regained some of his coordination, and he made it across the lake to the trees on the other side within minutes, and without falling.
The difference in light was startling. It had been relatively bright out on the lake, but now that he was under the trees again, he realized night was falling fast. He held out his hands, seeing dusky blue around his knuckles still. His clothes were wet-or looked wet-as well. He needed to get warm soon.
“Fire,” he mumbled, enunciating the word carefully.
A bird chirped then fluttered at his sudden pronouncement and John wiped a shaking arm across his forehead. He was getting tired, probably an effect of the cold. And the flashbang. And the fights with Reshtiv. And his two tumbles-one off a cliff and one into a river.
“What a crappy day.”
He pressed forward along the trail, traveling another twenty minutes before he spotted a black stone wall several yards off the trail. He trudged through the bushes, falling once, then surveyed his surroundings. The ruined wall turned out to be three and a half ruined walls, creating a refuge from the wind he could hear but not feel. The structure wasn’t large, maybe twelve by twelve, but the only entrance was the crumbled gap he’d walked through, making it easy to defend. It would also block all sight of a fire from the path.
After several more trips through the woods around him, John had a stockpile of logs and the beginnings of a good-sized bonfire. His hands shook, but he managed to spark a flame with the lighter he carried in his vest. Within seconds, the tinder caught and he threw logs onto the blaze.
“Right, fire,” he said, holding his hands out. His knuckles still looked blue, but it was diminishing. He stood and shed his clothes, stripping down to his underwear and praying his team didn’t pick that moment to finally show up. He hung the wet garments on the stone walls to let them dry, then crouched near the opening of the ruined building.
The small room should warm up fast enough, and he didn’t dare get so close he burned his skin. He poked at his arms, then rubbed his chest, frowning at the lack of sensation. The pressure was there, so in some ways he could feel what his hands were doing, but still no pain or any idea of temperature. It hadn’t gotten any better either. If this had been a regular Wraith stunner, he should have recovered from its effects by now.
A twig snapped out in the forest and he snapped his head in that direction. A second passed, then another, but nothing else moved. A draft of wind picked up, blowing through the trees overhead, and a log on the fire snapped, shooting sparks into the dark air. John glanced up, seeing the deep blue of the sky veer toward purple. The sun was setting, and the shadows in the woods outside the ruined building grew dark fast.
He crawled back to his pants and pulled out his knife. It was the only weapon he had left. With a curse, he realized his only flashlight had been attached to his P90. He dug his fingers into his eyes in exhaustion, then jerked his hand away at the sudden image of literally poking his own eyeballs out of his head.
“Damn, I gotta be careful.” He scooted a little closer to the fire and held his hands out, seeing the skin had changed from white and blue to a healthier, warmer pink, and that his shivering had stopped. The bandage on his arm was holding and the wound showed no sign that it was still bleeding. He also thought he could feel a burning stab deep in the muscle. His hands were scraped, as were his knees, shins, and elbows, and what he could see of the rest of his body was spotted with bruises.
“This is gonna hurt like hell tomorrow,” he muttered, letting his gaze lose focus as he stared into the fire. “I hope.”
A log crackled in response, and an animal shrieked distantly in the woods. He checked his clothes, hoping they were dry, then laughed when he felt nothing. He flipped them around instead, deciding to give them a little more time, then returned to crouching near the door, holding the knife high enough that he could still see it was in his grasp. All he could do now was wait and hope that either Reshtiv didn’t catch up to him or his team found him first.
The fire snapped and logs crashed together. John jerked awake, reeling in confusion until he remembered where he was. Ruined building. Fire. No sense of touch. He breathed deeply and stared up at the sky. Stars glittered back through the tree branches.
“Crap,” he mumbled. The fire had died down to a small flame and a pile of glowing embers. He must have slept for hours.
He grabbed his clothes, trusting that they were dry enough by now, and pulled them on. It wasn’t until he was scanning the ground for his knife that he noticed he had plenty of light even without the bonfire. He spotted the blade near the structure’s entrance and grabbed it, feeling like he was moving with a lot more ease. Maybe the flashbang was finally wearing off. He licked his lips, feeling cool air touch the tip of his tongue.
It was cold out, so either he had to keep moving or he had to get the fire going again. He glanced into the trees and saw pale light shining through the branches. Straining his ears for any sign of Reshtiv or other predators, he picked his way back toward the path. There was a wider gap in the trees here, and he spotted the source of the light: two huge full moons. It was as bright as snowfields on cloudy nights in winter, and enough light that John decided he could risk traveling. Better to be on the move than to let Reshtiv sneak up on him while he slept.
The fire was almost out, but the embers were pulsing with heat. He grabbed a shorter log then ripped the sleeves off his long-sleeve tee and wrapped them around one end. He stuffed gauze and field bandages in as well, then cut open the lighter and dumped the rest of the lighter fluid onto the fabric. The doused cotton erupted into flames after a few seconds of being pressed against the cinders, and he smiled in satisfaction.
Armed with a torch and knife, John pushed forward on the trail, hoping it led back toward the gate.
The stone path took John through a series of interconnected lakes dotted with small islands, over rivers-or possibly one river multiple times-and across thick forest. The moons crawled across the sky, lighting the way, and he finally figured out a gait that kept him moving but upright, not too fast and not too slow. Who would have guessed losing his sense of touch would be so unnerving? He’d always imagined blindness or deafness as being the worst, but it had never occurred to him that he could lose his sense of touch.
Animals scratched and shrieked and flapped through the trees around him, their sound amplified in the darkness. John suspected his hearing was on high alert as well, picking up sounds he might not have heard otherwise. He caught errant splashes in the lake out of the corner of his eye, but never quite saw the creatures causing those.
Halfway across the third lake, he saw a fish jump out of the water then land with a splash. He stumbled to a halt and stared at the ripples, wondering if the fish would reappear. The flame of his torch was dying down and he held his hand out over the water, wondering if the light would attract the creature’s attention. It was then that he saw the back of his hand. It was bright red and starting to blister, little bubbles of white glistening in the flickering light.
“Shit!”
He dropped the torch, and it hissed as it hit the water. A second later, he dropped to his knees and plunged his hand into the water. The stone path was a hard pressure against his knees, but his hand was numb. How long had it burned? He scooped some of the lake water up with his other hand and tested the temperature with his tongue, nodding at its coolness.
He waved his burned hand around in the water, then snapped his head at the sound of another splash, this one relatively close. Had it been a fish he’d seen earlier? Or part of something larger? He glanced down at his arm buried in dark water almost up to his elbow.
Something could gnaw away at your fingers below the surface, and you’d never know it.
He jerked his hand out of the lake, sighing in relief when all of his fingers emerged intact. He sat back in relief, then flinched at another splash in the water somewhere behind him. He took a number of deep, calming breaths and studied his hand. The moons were still bright and almost directly overhead, making it easy to see. His skin was red but the blisters hadn’t broken. It looked like a bad sunburn more than anything.
He’d gotten lucky. With the brightness of the night, he should have skipped the whole torch thing anyway. Muttering curses under his breath, he climbed back to his feet and continued along the trail. At the other side of the lake, it split, and John paused studying his choices.
“I am completely and hopelessly lost,” he said, loud enough that dry leaves rustled away from him as a startled creature made its escape. At this point, he was almost hoping Reshtiv found him. He’d be willing to fake surrender if it meant the trader led him back to the gate.
The lefthand path curved around the lake and disappeared into dark woods. The righthand path sloped upward, through the trees toward the steep hill a hundred yards ahead of him. John walked back out onto the lake and studied the hill, noting a dark line zigzagging across its slope.
“Switchbacks,” he muttered. The hill-large hill. Small mountain, really, at least a few hundred feet up. At the top, he caught the faint outline of a building against the starry sky and nodded. The trek would not be easy, but the height of the hill-mountain-would give him a pretty good vantage point. Once there, he could scope out the territory, hopefully spot the gate or something recognizable. He was better with direction from great heights anyway.
He took off at a brisk pace for about two minutes, then tripped and landed hard. Groaning, he pushed himself back up and took the path at a more careful pace. It cut straight through the trees, ascending the entire time. The path twisted at the bottom of the hill, narrowing as it hit the bottom of the mountain and began climbing up the slope.
The trail was rougher and more grown over, and John fell twice more before reaching the tiny ruins of a rest station at the third switchback. He stopped, breathing hard and surveyed his progress with a frown. He was just barely above the canopy of trees and still had a long hike ahead of him. Five minutes later, he was hiking again, tasting salt on his lips as his worries over hypothermia dissipated.
He fell again on the fifth switchback, landing awkwardly on his left hand. His wrist folded underneath him, and a dull pain erupted in his forearm. He squirmed until his weight was off it, then lay still.
Pain. He’d been terrified of not feeling pain, but now that it was there, his stomach curled in apprehension. How badly had he injured his arm? Bad enough that even the surface numbness wasn’t enough to mask it? He had the sudden urge to throw up. He swallowed it back, wishing he had a water bottle with him.
A scraping sound far above him finally motivated him enough to sit up. He leaned against the steep hill on one side of the path and stared at his arm. It looked a little swollen, but it was hard to gauge. The night was bright, but he felt like all of his perceptions were off. He squeezed his left hand into a fist and grimaced at the throb that flared for a second in his forearm and wrist.
“Tape it,” he mumbled. “Just in case.” He picked his knife up-and he really needed to figure out how to keep that in his hand-then scrounged around for a couple straight sticks. Pulling out the bottom of his t-shirt, he cut off two strips. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but using his good, albeit slightly burned, hand and his teeth, he tied one strip of his shirt around the makeshift splint. When that was secure, he held the knife in a tight grip and wrapped the other strip of t-shirt to secure it. Now, no matter how many times he fell, he wouldn’t drop it.
He might cut himself open a couple dozen times, but he would not drop the knife.
He crawled back to his feet, then froze. For a split second, he’d felt a ghost of sensation across his skin, the rough fabric of his pants brushing against his thighs. He jiggled his legs a few times, but the sensation was gone.
“Not real,” he whispered. He was halfway up the mountain and the moons were starting to move to the far side of the one he was climbing. He had to reach the top before they disappeared from sight, otherwise he’d be as good as blind.
Blind. Blind people had walking sticks to help them pick out the obstacles they couldn’t see that might trip them up. John reached up and snapped a branch off the nearest tree. It was a little short, but maybe he could use it the same way. With renewed determination, he started climbing again.
Maybe it was the stick, or maybe he was getting used to the roughness of the trail, but he didn’t fall again. He made it to the top and sighed in relief. The top was a flat plateau with the ruins of a building on one side, two and half walls still standing, and another path that zigzagged down the opposite side. The plateau was solid stone, and John realized it was part of the ruins and not a natural formation on the hill-mountain. Wind whistled through nearby trees, shaking the leaves and pressing his clothes against the back of his skin.
He felt it. It lasted no more than a few seconds, but he definitely felt his clothes rub against his skin. His left arm was aching continuously, but now his right one was starting up. Sensation was returning. John smiled and stared out over the valley on the other side of his mountain. His grin grew wider when he spotted the wagons and campfires of the traders at the bottom. His gaze traveled from them to the hills behind them. Not too far beyond that first hill was the stargate.
And home. And medical care. And food and water. John breathed in deeply as another breeze rushed around him, over the top of the mountain and back down into the forest below.
“Sheppard.”
John jerked at the sound of Reshtiv’s voice and twisted toward him, raising the hand holding the knife. He had just enough time to see the trader raise his gun, before the barrel flashed. He felt the slugs hit him in the chest, the pressure smacking deeply against his vest. He was mid-air, flying backward, when he heard the explosion of sound.
One, two. Three.
Three shots. He lay on the ground staring up at the sky as he tried to match the sounds with the pressure he’d felt. Two quick shots, then a half-second pause, then a third shot. It hadn’t hurt, though, of course. The stars above him blurred, and he blinked, sucking in a desperate breath. The pressure was still there, on his chest, and he forced more air into his lungs.
Scraping footsteps against the stone plateau signaled Reshtiv’s approach, but John lay still. Shot three times in the chest and yet…he was still breathing, even if it was a little hard. And his arm hurt-deep in the bone where he’d twisted it or broken it. He felt pain there. He didn’t feel pain in his chest the way he expected if the bullets had ripped through ribs, heart, and lungs.
Vest.
The shots had hit his vest. He realized it just as he caught sight of Reshtiv approaching him, weapon down at one side. Cocky bastard. He assumed John was dead with those shots. He didn’t know about Kevlar. When he was within a foot, John twisted and kicked out his leg, screaming with the effort. He caught the trader in the side of the knee, and the larger man tumbled to the ground.
John kept rolling, ignoring the vise around his ribs or the pulsing in his head. He scrambled forward, tackling Reshtiv before the other man could sit up and bring John’s gun around to finish the job. The two men rolled, wrestling for the weapon, and two more gunshots ripped harmlessly through the air. John reared back then swung his fist, and Reshtiv’s head snapped against the ground at the impact. The rest of his body went limp.
“Bastard,” he muttered. He pushed back away from the trader and stood up, then immediately swayed and sat back down. “Whoa.”
Breathing was hard. He pressed a hand to chest and saw it was the one with the knife tied to it. He should take the knife off before he stabbed himself, but the world was blurring badly.
“Breathe,” he mumbled. “Gotta…breathe…shit…”
His head hurt, right in the middle between his ears. His left arm hurt. His chest was tight and refusing to let more than a minimal amount of air in. He felt the ground beneath him, and the weight of the vest hanging on his shoulders. A breeze whipped over the top of the hill, ruffling his hair.
“I felt that,” he said, then stopped and forced another deep breath into his tightening chest. He paused, waiting for the wind to return. He had felt that. Not much, and only on one side of his head, but he’d felt the wind. “Coming back…”
“I will…have my re…reward money,” Reshtiv grunted out.
John rolled to his knees, bracing himself to continue the fight, but Reshtiv was faster. The other man was swinging as he climbed to his feet, catching John in the mouth with the butt of his weapon. John moaned, tasting blood, and crumpling to the ground. His headache expanded, and air exploded out of his chest as Reshtiv kicked him over onto his back.
“I don’t know what you did to me, but I will have retribution,” he said, and even in the bright moonlight, he looked pale. His face glistened with sweat, and one shoulder was covered in blood.
“Shot,” John whispered.
“That’s right,” the other man sneered. “This is…a fine weapon.” He held the gun up, swaying like a drunk.
John shook his head. That wasn’t what he’d meant. He remembered now, shooting the trader near the river. Did the man even know? They’d been at the height of their numbness at that point. John forced his chest to expand and pull in air, and he felt his clothes brush against the skin. The numbness was fading, and John grinned. He would be in a world of hurt soon, but the effects of the flashbang had been temporary after all.
“You’re…crazy…”
John shook his head. His body felt like it was swelling up, thawing after being out in the cold for too long. Maybe it was swelling up. On the next breath, his chest caught and jerked against a sharp lance of pain.
Reshtiv raised the gun again, but he was gaining sensation too, and he cried out in surprise at the movement, dropping the gun and pawing at the gunshot wound in his shoulder. His fingers came away bright red, and he stumbled back, tripping over his own feet and landing on his butt.
“Take that, bitch,” John rasped out. He lurched to his feet, his body feeling big and uncoordinated but alive, and kicked out at the other man’s wound.
Reshtiv screamed, falling all the way to the ground and writhing in pain. John staggered to his gun, but his left arm was throbbing, the fingers refusing to move, and his right one still had a knife tied to it. With a growl of frustration and growing pain, he used his teeth to rip the band of t-shirt wrapped around his hand off. The knife dropped to the ground, landing near the gun.
John knelt and scooped up the gun, ignoring the fiery flare in the bug-bite wound, then aimed his weapon at Reshtiv. His opponent was whimpering now, huddled in a ball on the floor and ignoring John completely. Good thing-John’s arm was shaking badly enough that he probably wouldn’t hit the broad side of a jumper at this point.
“Didn’t have to happen this way,” he said.
“I pray to the Ancestors the rest of your team is dead.”
“Doubtful,” he answered. “They’re better at this fighting thing than I am.”
His breaths were coming in harsh pants now. The Kevlar might have stopped the bullets, but he’d taken the shots close enough that they’d done some damage. His whole chest burned with every breath, and a sharper pain on his right side made him wonder if he hadn’t cracked a rib or two as well. He knew Ronon and Teyla could handle themselves, and he pushed away all thoughts of Rodney. There was nothing he could do for any of his teammates right now, besides getting back to the gate in one piece and getting them help.
“Go ahead,” Reshtiv spat out. “Finish it.”
John shook his head, then winced at the gnawing pain in his head. He could still taste blood, and damn if his lip wasn't swelling up from that last hit in the mouth. Another gust of wind ripped across the plateau, and the air was cold, piercing through his clothes.
“I have no intention of killing you,” he answered, eyeing the trader. He lowered his weapon slowly but Reshtiv continued to lay huddled on the ground. “Never did. You attacked me.”
“What did you do to me?”
“The numbness thing?” At Reshtiv’s nod, John shrugged. “I just picked up one of your little relics and it went off. I had no idea what that thing was or what it would do. I was just trying to defend myself.”
Reshtiv sat up slowly, scowling. “A whole cycle’s pay,” he spat out.
“Give it up. I wasn’t lying when I said the Genii are our allies now. They never would have paid.”
The trader rolled to his knees then pushed himself to his feet. John stood with him, raising his gun. His arm was shaking, but neither man got any closer to each other.
“I don’t believe you,” Reshtiv said, jutting his chin out.
“Tough shit,” John snapped back. “Get out of here. Go back to your family.”
Reshtiv narrowed his eyes at John, then winced. He glanced down at his bleeding shoulder and John spotted more bruises on his arms and pants that were shredded at the knees. He must have had as hard a time as John keeping his balance in those first few hours. John’s knees throbbed suddenly at the thought, waking up to the damage that had been inflicted on them for hours.
“Go!”
The trader flinched at John’s barked order then staggered away. John stayed on his feet, bracing himself for the other man to return, but he heard him stumbling down the switchback trail on the other side of the mountain. The moons were still high in the sky, and John stared at them, waiting. Reshtiv’s stumbling had slowly faded, but he sounded far enough down the path that John didn’t think he was waiting for him-at least not nearby. He’d have to watch out for an ambush just in case, though.
He’d have to actually move his feet forward and hit the trail back toward the gate first. He lifted one foot and felt scrapes and bruises stretch and scream across the nerves of his skin. Barely stifling a moan, he staggered forward one step, then two. The moons above him swam across the sky, spinning out of focus. The pain erupting through his body brought tears to his eyes, but all he could think to do was laugh, the sound of his voice ringing out over the mountains and valleys.
He was still laughing as he collapsed forward, stopping only when he smacked into the hard ground of the plateau and letting the moonlight around him fade to darkness.
“John? John, wake up.”
The darkness stayed, encasing him in numbness. He wanted the numbness. He hadn’t for a long time, when he’d been awake, but then the numbness had gone away, and he’d been relieved for three seconds before he’d been submerged in fiery pain and wishing the numbness was back.
“What’s wrong with him? He looks like hell!”
Now it was back, but the voices around him were like sharp needles poking away at his dark pain-free cocoon.
“We should move to that building-aaagghh!”
“Ronon?” Teyla’s voice cut through loud and clear, and John felt himself move that much closer to full consciousness.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You look as bad as Sheppard. How hard was-ow, ow, ow, ow!”
“Ronon! Let Rodney go.”
His team. He groaned, wanting to see them and giving in finally to the fact that he had been worried sick about them the entire time. He hadn’t wanted to think about what was happening to them, but now that they were there and obviously not dead, he needed to see them.
“John?”
The ground grew hard beneath his body, its uneven surface digging into his back. Both arms throbbed, but one was a deep, swollen pain and the other sharp and burning. He moaned again, forcing his eyes open and pushing back the knife stabs through his chest with every breath.
“Hey, Sheppard,” Ronon said, bending over him.
John blinked, taking in his teammate’s battered face. He looked like he’d gone up against two dozen Wraith and only barely escaped. He smiled, feeling only half of his mouth respond. The other half felt swollen and tender.
“John, how badly are you hurt?”
He shifted his head slightly to the side and saw Teyla kneeling on his left. She had a dark bruise under one eye, dirt all over her face and mussed up hair covered in dead leaves.
“John?” she repeated.
“Hurts,” he whispered. A gust of wind picked up, rushing over the plateau and whipping through the trees on the mountain side below them. It was an icy wind, a touch-sense signal of the coming change in seasons. John smiled, then shivered. “C-cold.”
“He’s delirious!” Rodney squawked, and John noticed him standing at his feet, shifting his weight from side to side. He looked…remarkably fine.
“We are overdue for check-in. We will wait here and have them send a jumper to retrieve us,” Teyla was saying.
“We should move to those ruins. They’ll block the wind.” Rodney turned and pointed to the half-standing structure at the head of the switchback trail.
“You’re okay,” John grit out.
“I’m freezing,” the scientist shot back.
“John, where are you hurt?”
John turned to focus on Teyla again, blinking suddenly heavily eyes. He wanted to go back to that dark, numb place again. He shivered harder at the thought, moaning as the full body shudders ignited nerve endings.
“John, focus.”
“H-hurts,” he stuttered. “Everywhere.”
“What about your back or neck? Any broken bones?”
He shook his head, cringing at a blast of wind. The air was getting colder. He looked up at the stars and saw patches of sky obscured by clouds.
“Come on, let’s-ah.”
“Ron’n? Wh-what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
John stared at him. He had blood on one ear running down the side of his neck, bruises around both eyes, a split lip, a long scrape along his jaw, and a cut across the bridge of his nose. Dried flecks of blood ringed one nostril.
Ronon stared back for a moment, then shrugged. “Got into a fight.”
“The traders paired with us attempted to take Ronon and I out, with the intent of turning you and Rodney over to the Genii for the posted reward money.”
Teyla and Ronon dug both arms under John’s back and lifted him to a sitting position. The world spun wildly and John groaned, clenching his jaw as nausea swirled in his gut and clawed its way up to the back of his throat. The pain in his chest amplified, and he dropped his head forward, willing himself to black out.
“John?”
“Sheppard?”
“John, what is wrong?”
“We need to get out of this wind.”
“Rodney, we need your help.”
He didn’t black out. After a moment, his head stopped spinning and the pain dialed down to a steady throb. He felt Teyla shift away from him, letting in biting cold air for a second before another warm body took her place. John opened bleary eyes and looked at Rodney.
“Hang on, Sheppard,” the scientist said, wrapping an arm around his back to hold him steady.
Teyla crouched in front of him, lifting his chin up so she could look at him.
“Chest,” John muttered, before she could ask him what was wrong. “Reshtiv shot me.”
“What?” Rodney squawked and John flinched at the sound so close to his ear.
“Hit my vest, but still…packs a punch.”
“McKay, on three,” Ronon said. Before John had time to process what they were doing, Ronon had counted and both men stood, bringing John up with them. They half-carried, half-dragged him to the two standing walls, then dropped into the corner, huddling together. Wind danced across the plateau, blowing dried leaves across its surface, but the space between the two walls was slightly warmer, and John relaxed against his teammates.
Teyla was there immediately, kneeling in front of him and unzipping his vest. Her hands were cold as she ran her fingers over his chest, looking for bullet holes, but John was too tired to react. He watched her sigh in relief when she saw for herself what he already knew-that none of the bullets had pierced his vest.
“You are very lucky.”
“Don’t feel…so lucky.”
“What happened to you, Sheppard?” Rodney griped. “We tried reaching you for hours. I thought…we thought…”
“Alien flashbang.”
“What?” Ronon asked, shifting a little as he glanced down at John.
“Reshtiv had it…in his b-bag of relics. Turned on when I p-picked it up.”
“You’ve got to stop doing that,” Rodney said.
John grinned, letting his head rest against someone arm behind him. “M-made me numb…like…Wraith st-stunner, but diff…differ’nt…”
Teyla leaned forward and pressed a hand against his forehead, then tsked and rifled through her vest, pulling out an emergency blanket a minute later and spreading it over John’s legs and chest. He was shivering hard, like he had been when he’d crawled out of the river, but this time he felt the cold. As the warmth gathered around him, he let himself drift, managing to hold onto consciousness just long enough to hear his teammates answer Atlantis’ radio call. With a jumper on the way, he closed his eyes and reveled in the encroaching painlessness.
“Good morning, Colonel,” Jennifer Keller announced, breezing into the small curtained space around his bed.
John heard the click of her shoes across the hard floor and the soft swish of her clothes as she moved toward the head of his bed, then smelled her faint flowery perfume. He was not going to open his eyes. He may have been awake for the last twenty minutes, but he wasn’t ready to give into it one hundred percent yet.
“I know you’re awake.”
He groaned, turning away from her. His body was numb again, but this was a familiar numb-the kind that came with a lot of painkillers. He heard a rattle of metal rings against a curtain rod, and the infirmary grew suddenly brighter.
“It’s a gorgeous day out today,” Keller said, but softly like she was half talking to herself.
He still wasn’t going for it. He was not opening his eyes. He felt the pinch of an IV in his arm, a cast on his left wrist that was making his hand and arm sweat, and a heavy bandage on his right arm. He squirmed deeper into the pillow, managing only to awaken a dull, pulsing throb in his chest.
“Ah, there you are.”
A second later, something ice cold pressed against his chest. He jerked, opening his eyes in surprise then slamming the lids shut again when bright sunshine invaded.
“Oops,” Keller said. “Sorry.”
Except she didn’t sound very sorry. She slid the chestpiece of her stethoscope to the other side of his ribs, and John finally gave in to morning. He let his eyes open to half-mast and watched as Keller listened to his lungs and heart.
After a few minutes, she nodded and pulled the stethoscope away. “Sounds good. Pulse-ox looks good too, but I think we’ll keep you on oxygen for a little bit longer to give your lungs a break. The bruising on your chest is awfully deep.”
“How about this?” John rasped out, his voice hoarse. He lifted his arm with the IV and flicked the tubing toward the doctor.
“How about some breakfast?” she shot back. “Finish off this bag of fluids and eat a full meal, and I think we can safely take the IV out.”
He nodded, letting a small smile flit across his lips. “What’s the damage?” He’d heard bits and pieces of it, and he could probably guess at half, but he wanted to get it straight from her all at once.
She frowned, surveying him. “That alien flashbang seems to have worn off. The scanner picked up only the tail-end of its effects when we brought you in, and nothing since then. Other than that, you’ve got a broken left wrist, a deep laceration on your right arm, second degree burns on your right hand, massive bruising on your chest including one cracked rib, bruising and lacerations on your knees, shins, and elbows, a split lip, a laceration above your left ear, mild hypothermia, dehydration, and exhaustion.”
John’s eyebrows rose as she rattled off her list, but before he could respond, she lifted a finger in the air.
“Actually, we can probably knock those last three off that list-your temperature is back to normal, you’re mostly hydrated, and you just woke up from a solid twelve hours of sleep.”
He blinked, remembering laying under the stars and the bright moons of the planet. It had been night then, probably almost morning, but it was morning now…
“Time difference,” Keller said, then giggled. “Planet lag.”
“How’d you…”
“You’re thinking out loud.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry. You’re on some strong painkillers and still waking up a little.” She patted his arm and he scowled, because he was not still waking up. He’d given up on not waking up as soon as he’d opened his eyes. He raised one hand to rub at gritty eyes and stared at the thick bandage on the arm, an image of a dog-sized insect biting into his muscle suddenly flashing through his mind.
"Bug..." he mumbled.
Keller raised an eyebrow in curiosity and John waved his bandaged arm at her.
"I got bit. Huge insect."
She frowned, worry creasing her forehead. "We ran blood tests when we got you home and didn't find anything odd, but we'll double check again. Anything else?"
He blinked, staring at her as he processed the question. Anything else what? Or any other bugs? Or maybe she was asking if he wanted anything else. But she hadn't asked if he wanted anything in the first place, so the else didn't make sense.
Keller cocked her head, then rolled her eyes. “I believe your team just arrived. Let me see about getting you some breakfast."
She shuffled out, replaced almost immediately by Rodney, Ronon, and Teyla. John fumbled with the bed controls, feeling suddenly vulnerable, but Teyla moved faster. A few seconds later, he was sitting part of the way up while Ronon and Rodney busied themselves with arranging chairs.
“What happened to you two?” John asked once everyone had settled. His gaze shifted between Teyla and Ronon, studying the bruising on their faces that looked worse than he’d remembered.
“Told you yesterday,” Ronon said, his voice gruff. “Got into a fight.”
“The traders attempted to take us out, just as Reshtiv did with you,” Teyla added.
Rodney cleared his throat and John looked over at him. He was sitting up in his chair with his arms crossed, looking…smug.
And bruise free.
“Why aren’t you beat up?” he blurted.
“I think his guy didn’t get the message. Didn’t know he was supposed to do anything but look for a missing kid,” Ronon said first.
“That is not true,” Rodney answered. “I did fight.”
John raised an eyebrow and looked at Teyla, who was very carefully not looking at him and not smiling, although he could see the muscles in her cheek twitching.
“What?” Rodney squawked, throwing his hands up in the air. “He wanted to trade me in to the Genii, just like you. I can defend myself. Actually, I did defend myself. Quite well. Better than all three of you.”
Ronon leaned forward. “How do you figure that?”
“Looked in the mirror lately?”
“He’s got a point, big guy,” John said, relaxing back into the pillow. All that time he’d been worried about Rodney, believing Teyla and Ronon could handle themselves easily, and Rodney was the only one to emerge without a single scratch.
One day, he’d get the full story.
“No way are you ever getting the full story from me.”
“Huh?” John asked, startled out of his thoughts.
Ronon leaned forward and patted him on his shin. “You’re thinking out loud, buddy. Painkillers, remember?”
“What about the traders? Still on the planet?” John asked, deliberately changing the subject.
“Gone,” Teyla answered. “Major Lorne returned after retrieving us, but they had already left the planet.”
“Reshtiv was hurt pretty badly. You didn’t see him on the trail?”
“Nope,” Ronon said.
“Lorne checked. There are no lifesigns left on that planet. Also, you were right-he loved that place.” Rodney threw his arms up in the air. “Rambled on and on and on about color this and color that.”
“I knew he’d dig that place.”
The smell of eggs and toast wafted through the infirmary, and John pushed his bed up a little higher. He was suddenly starving, hunger pangs gnawing at the inside of his stomach. A nurse stepped in, depositing the food on John’s table tray and giving him his next dose of painkillers before retreating. He took a long sip from the glass of grape juice and ignored the longing looks Rodney was shooting at his plate.
“I wonder if that flashbang thing is still there.”
Rodney’s expression lifted in sudden excitement. “The trader guy didn’t take it?”
“Nah. Left it on the ground after it went off.”
“We have to go back. You have to tell me where you left that thing. I can’t believe you didn’t bring it with you.”
“Aren’t you worried it will go off again?” Ronon asked, but Rodney was already shaking his head.
“Hello? You don’t think I’ll take the utmost precaution before retrieving something like that?”
“Of course we do,” Teyla answered quickly.
But it was too late. John dug into the rest of his breakfast, listening to Rodney recount every dangerous situation he’d faced since arriving in the Pegasus galaxy, as well as every precaution he’d taken to minimize every possible risk to his health in every situation. Teyla and Ronon slumped back in their chairs in resignation, shooting pleading looks at John, but John shrugged them off.
Maybe it was the painkillers hitting full strength, but it felt good to relive those first few trips through the gate and bask in the memories of exploring alien planet after alien planet.
Yeah, definitely the painkillers.
“Sheppard, you’re thinking out loud again.”
END
Prompt: Sheppard loses one if his senses (temporarily). Which sense he loses is your choice, but he has to lose it in a life or death struggle to survive and has to compensate to survive.
He came to the surface choking, clawing at the water to keep his head above the surface. The river swept him away from Reshtiv, and John caught the tail end of a frustrated scream before he was pulled under again. He tasted and felt the cold liquid in his mouth, then came up gagging a second later. The trees whipped past him and he was dunked three more times before he finally saw the scenery on either bank slow down.
The river curved then widened, and the current slowed down drastically. John scraped at the water, trying to swim. It was almost easier than walking had been, since there was no danger of falling. He let his body float along until he reached shallow water, then pulled himself to shore. He stood as soon as he was out of the water, then blinked and found himself back on the ground.
“Whoa,” he mumbled. He raised a shaking hand to his forehead and caught sight of the ragged cut from the dog-sized insect’s pinchers. It had stopped bleeding and whatever pain he had briefly felt before was gone, but it still looked horrible. He dug into his vest for a bandage and slapped it over the wound.
Any dexterity he might have gained over the last several hours was gone, and he grunted in frustration as he tied a sloppy knot to keep the bandage in place. It took too long to fasten it to his arm, and by the time he was done, both hands were trembling. He stared at his knuckles, and for a second he thought it was a trick of the light. They looked bruised, like big purple-blue splotches had been painted over pale white skin.
The shaking got worse, and he checked himself over for any other injuries. The one on his head from the cliff fall wasn’t bleeding, nor was the insect bite. It wasn’t until he spotted his foot still sitting in the water that the answer dawned on him. Cold. He was cold.
No-freezing.
“Dammit,” he muttered. He pulled himself to his feet, swayed, and only managed to stay upright when he grabbed onto a nearby tree. He was about as uncoordinated as he’d been when he’d first woken up from the marble flashbang. “Gott…wwwaa...rrmmmmupp.”
It was late afternoon, and in the thick cover of the trees, darkness was falling fast. He had no idea how far he’d traveled, but he hoped it would take Reshtiv a while to catch up to him. Better yet, he made it to the gate before Reshtiv even got close, now that he probably had John’s gun.
John cut through the trees, hitting a path again. In the growing darkness, he spotted ruined walls made of black stone, and he tried to gauge where he was. He’d seen rough maps of the ruins, but he didn’t remember a river. He staggered forward, as careful as possible of the rocks and holes and other obstacles threatening to send him pitching forward. More ruins appeared, but John finally gave up on locating where he was.
The path curved and suddenly the trees opened up, and John forgot the lack of cold sensation or the fact that he was still shivering at the sight. This world really was incredible-every postcard photographer’s dream. The trail he was on jutted out across a glassy lake, and steep hills rose up on all sides alive with color. Through the leaves he caught an occasional glimpse of ruined buildings on plateaus.
“Prime real estate,” he mumbled, stepping out cautiously onto the trail over the water. The path was made of stone and held steady. John had regained some of his coordination, and he made it across the lake to the trees on the other side within minutes, and without falling.
The difference in light was startling. It had been relatively bright out on the lake, but now that he was under the trees again, he realized night was falling fast. He held out his hands, seeing dusky blue around his knuckles still. His clothes were wet-or looked wet-as well. He needed to get warm soon.
“Fire,” he mumbled, enunciating the word carefully.
A bird chirped then fluttered at his sudden pronouncement and John wiped a shaking arm across his forehead. He was getting tired, probably an effect of the cold. And the flashbang. And the fights with Reshtiv. And his two tumbles-one off a cliff and one into a river.
“What a crappy day.”
He pressed forward along the trail, traveling another twenty minutes before he spotted a black stone wall several yards off the trail. He trudged through the bushes, falling once, then surveyed his surroundings. The ruined wall turned out to be three and a half ruined walls, creating a refuge from the wind he could hear but not feel. The structure wasn’t large, maybe twelve by twelve, but the only entrance was the crumbled gap he’d walked through, making it easy to defend. It would also block all sight of a fire from the path.
After several more trips through the woods around him, John had a stockpile of logs and the beginnings of a good-sized bonfire. His hands shook, but he managed to spark a flame with the lighter he carried in his vest. Within seconds, the tinder caught and he threw logs onto the blaze.
“Right, fire,” he said, holding his hands out. His knuckles still looked blue, but it was diminishing. He stood and shed his clothes, stripping down to his underwear and praying his team didn’t pick that moment to finally show up. He hung the wet garments on the stone walls to let them dry, then crouched near the opening of the ruined building.
The small room should warm up fast enough, and he didn’t dare get so close he burned his skin. He poked at his arms, then rubbed his chest, frowning at the lack of sensation. The pressure was there, so in some ways he could feel what his hands were doing, but still no pain or any idea of temperature. It hadn’t gotten any better either. If this had been a regular Wraith stunner, he should have recovered from its effects by now.
A twig snapped out in the forest and he snapped his head in that direction. A second passed, then another, but nothing else moved. A draft of wind picked up, blowing through the trees overhead, and a log on the fire snapped, shooting sparks into the dark air. John glanced up, seeing the deep blue of the sky veer toward purple. The sun was setting, and the shadows in the woods outside the ruined building grew dark fast.
He crawled back to his pants and pulled out his knife. It was the only weapon he had left. With a curse, he realized his only flashlight had been attached to his P90. He dug his fingers into his eyes in exhaustion, then jerked his hand away at the sudden image of literally poking his own eyeballs out of his head.
“Damn, I gotta be careful.” He scooted a little closer to the fire and held his hands out, seeing the skin had changed from white and blue to a healthier, warmer pink, and that his shivering had stopped. The bandage on his arm was holding and the wound showed no sign that it was still bleeding. He also thought he could feel a burning stab deep in the muscle. His hands were scraped, as were his knees, shins, and elbows, and what he could see of the rest of his body was spotted with bruises.
“This is gonna hurt like hell tomorrow,” he muttered, letting his gaze lose focus as he stared into the fire. “I hope.”
A log crackled in response, and an animal shrieked distantly in the woods. He checked his clothes, hoping they were dry, then laughed when he felt nothing. He flipped them around instead, deciding to give them a little more time, then returned to crouching near the door, holding the knife high enough that he could still see it was in his grasp. All he could do now was wait and hope that either Reshtiv didn’t catch up to him or his team found him first.
The fire snapped and logs crashed together. John jerked awake, reeling in confusion until he remembered where he was. Ruined building. Fire. No sense of touch. He breathed deeply and stared up at the sky. Stars glittered back through the tree branches.
“Crap,” he mumbled. The fire had died down to a small flame and a pile of glowing embers. He must have slept for hours.
He grabbed his clothes, trusting that they were dry enough by now, and pulled them on. It wasn’t until he was scanning the ground for his knife that he noticed he had plenty of light even without the bonfire. He spotted the blade near the structure’s entrance and grabbed it, feeling like he was moving with a lot more ease. Maybe the flashbang was finally wearing off. He licked his lips, feeling cool air touch the tip of his tongue.
It was cold out, so either he had to keep moving or he had to get the fire going again. He glanced into the trees and saw pale light shining through the branches. Straining his ears for any sign of Reshtiv or other predators, he picked his way back toward the path. There was a wider gap in the trees here, and he spotted the source of the light: two huge full moons. It was as bright as snowfields on cloudy nights in winter, and enough light that John decided he could risk traveling. Better to be on the move than to let Reshtiv sneak up on him while he slept.
The fire was almost out, but the embers were pulsing with heat. He grabbed a shorter log then ripped the sleeves off his long-sleeve tee and wrapped them around one end. He stuffed gauze and field bandages in as well, then cut open the lighter and dumped the rest of the lighter fluid onto the fabric. The doused cotton erupted into flames after a few seconds of being pressed against the cinders, and he smiled in satisfaction.
Armed with a torch and knife, John pushed forward on the trail, hoping it led back toward the gate.
The stone path took John through a series of interconnected lakes dotted with small islands, over rivers-or possibly one river multiple times-and across thick forest. The moons crawled across the sky, lighting the way, and he finally figured out a gait that kept him moving but upright, not too fast and not too slow. Who would have guessed losing his sense of touch would be so unnerving? He’d always imagined blindness or deafness as being the worst, but it had never occurred to him that he could lose his sense of touch.
Animals scratched and shrieked and flapped through the trees around him, their sound amplified in the darkness. John suspected his hearing was on high alert as well, picking up sounds he might not have heard otherwise. He caught errant splashes in the lake out of the corner of his eye, but never quite saw the creatures causing those.
Halfway across the third lake, he saw a fish jump out of the water then land with a splash. He stumbled to a halt and stared at the ripples, wondering if the fish would reappear. The flame of his torch was dying down and he held his hand out over the water, wondering if the light would attract the creature’s attention. It was then that he saw the back of his hand. It was bright red and starting to blister, little bubbles of white glistening in the flickering light.
“Shit!”
He dropped the torch, and it hissed as it hit the water. A second later, he dropped to his knees and plunged his hand into the water. The stone path was a hard pressure against his knees, but his hand was numb. How long had it burned? He scooped some of the lake water up with his other hand and tested the temperature with his tongue, nodding at its coolness.
He waved his burned hand around in the water, then snapped his head at the sound of another splash, this one relatively close. Had it been a fish he’d seen earlier? Or part of something larger? He glanced down at his arm buried in dark water almost up to his elbow.
Something could gnaw away at your fingers below the surface, and you’d never know it.
He jerked his hand out of the lake, sighing in relief when all of his fingers emerged intact. He sat back in relief, then flinched at another splash in the water somewhere behind him. He took a number of deep, calming breaths and studied his hand. The moons were still bright and almost directly overhead, making it easy to see. His skin was red but the blisters hadn’t broken. It looked like a bad sunburn more than anything.
He’d gotten lucky. With the brightness of the night, he should have skipped the whole torch thing anyway. Muttering curses under his breath, he climbed back to his feet and continued along the trail. At the other side of the lake, it split, and John paused studying his choices.
“I am completely and hopelessly lost,” he said, loud enough that dry leaves rustled away from him as a startled creature made its escape. At this point, he was almost hoping Reshtiv found him. He’d be willing to fake surrender if it meant the trader led him back to the gate.
The lefthand path curved around the lake and disappeared into dark woods. The righthand path sloped upward, through the trees toward the steep hill a hundred yards ahead of him. John walked back out onto the lake and studied the hill, noting a dark line zigzagging across its slope.
“Switchbacks,” he muttered. The hill-large hill. Small mountain, really, at least a few hundred feet up. At the top, he caught the faint outline of a building against the starry sky and nodded. The trek would not be easy, but the height of the hill-mountain-would give him a pretty good vantage point. Once there, he could scope out the territory, hopefully spot the gate or something recognizable. He was better with direction from great heights anyway.
He took off at a brisk pace for about two minutes, then tripped and landed hard. Groaning, he pushed himself back up and took the path at a more careful pace. It cut straight through the trees, ascending the entire time. The path twisted at the bottom of the hill, narrowing as it hit the bottom of the mountain and began climbing up the slope.
The trail was rougher and more grown over, and John fell twice more before reaching the tiny ruins of a rest station at the third switchback. He stopped, breathing hard and surveyed his progress with a frown. He was just barely above the canopy of trees and still had a long hike ahead of him. Five minutes later, he was hiking again, tasting salt on his lips as his worries over hypothermia dissipated.
He fell again on the fifth switchback, landing awkwardly on his left hand. His wrist folded underneath him, and a dull pain erupted in his forearm. He squirmed until his weight was off it, then lay still.
Pain. He’d been terrified of not feeling pain, but now that it was there, his stomach curled in apprehension. How badly had he injured his arm? Bad enough that even the surface numbness wasn’t enough to mask it? He had the sudden urge to throw up. He swallowed it back, wishing he had a water bottle with him.
A scraping sound far above him finally motivated him enough to sit up. He leaned against the steep hill on one side of the path and stared at his arm. It looked a little swollen, but it was hard to gauge. The night was bright, but he felt like all of his perceptions were off. He squeezed his left hand into a fist and grimaced at the throb that flared for a second in his forearm and wrist.
“Tape it,” he mumbled. “Just in case.” He picked his knife up-and he really needed to figure out how to keep that in his hand-then scrounged around for a couple straight sticks. Pulling out the bottom of his t-shirt, he cut off two strips. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but using his good, albeit slightly burned, hand and his teeth, he tied one strip of his shirt around the makeshift splint. When that was secure, he held the knife in a tight grip and wrapped the other strip of t-shirt to secure it. Now, no matter how many times he fell, he wouldn’t drop it.
He might cut himself open a couple dozen times, but he would not drop the knife.
He crawled back to his feet, then froze. For a split second, he’d felt a ghost of sensation across his skin, the rough fabric of his pants brushing against his thighs. He jiggled his legs a few times, but the sensation was gone.
“Not real,” he whispered. He was halfway up the mountain and the moons were starting to move to the far side of the one he was climbing. He had to reach the top before they disappeared from sight, otherwise he’d be as good as blind.
Blind. Blind people had walking sticks to help them pick out the obstacles they couldn’t see that might trip them up. John reached up and snapped a branch off the nearest tree. It was a little short, but maybe he could use it the same way. With renewed determination, he started climbing again.
Maybe it was the stick, or maybe he was getting used to the roughness of the trail, but he didn’t fall again. He made it to the top and sighed in relief. The top was a flat plateau with the ruins of a building on one side, two and half walls still standing, and another path that zigzagged down the opposite side. The plateau was solid stone, and John realized it was part of the ruins and not a natural formation on the hill-mountain. Wind whistled through nearby trees, shaking the leaves and pressing his clothes against the back of his skin.
He felt it. It lasted no more than a few seconds, but he definitely felt his clothes rub against his skin. His left arm was aching continuously, but now his right one was starting up. Sensation was returning. John smiled and stared out over the valley on the other side of his mountain. His grin grew wider when he spotted the wagons and campfires of the traders at the bottom. His gaze traveled from them to the hills behind them. Not too far beyond that first hill was the stargate.
And home. And medical care. And food and water. John breathed in deeply as another breeze rushed around him, over the top of the mountain and back down into the forest below.
“Sheppard.”
John jerked at the sound of Reshtiv’s voice and twisted toward him, raising the hand holding the knife. He had just enough time to see the trader raise his gun, before the barrel flashed. He felt the slugs hit him in the chest, the pressure smacking deeply against his vest. He was mid-air, flying backward, when he heard the explosion of sound.
One, two. Three.
Three shots. He lay on the ground staring up at the sky as he tried to match the sounds with the pressure he’d felt. Two quick shots, then a half-second pause, then a third shot. It hadn’t hurt, though, of course. The stars above him blurred, and he blinked, sucking in a desperate breath. The pressure was still there, on his chest, and he forced more air into his lungs.
Scraping footsteps against the stone plateau signaled Reshtiv’s approach, but John lay still. Shot three times in the chest and yet…he was still breathing, even if it was a little hard. And his arm hurt-deep in the bone where he’d twisted it or broken it. He felt pain there. He didn’t feel pain in his chest the way he expected if the bullets had ripped through ribs, heart, and lungs.
Vest.
The shots had hit his vest. He realized it just as he caught sight of Reshtiv approaching him, weapon down at one side. Cocky bastard. He assumed John was dead with those shots. He didn’t know about Kevlar. When he was within a foot, John twisted and kicked out his leg, screaming with the effort. He caught the trader in the side of the knee, and the larger man tumbled to the ground.
John kept rolling, ignoring the vise around his ribs or the pulsing in his head. He scrambled forward, tackling Reshtiv before the other man could sit up and bring John’s gun around to finish the job. The two men rolled, wrestling for the weapon, and two more gunshots ripped harmlessly through the air. John reared back then swung his fist, and Reshtiv’s head snapped against the ground at the impact. The rest of his body went limp.
“Bastard,” he muttered. He pushed back away from the trader and stood up, then immediately swayed and sat back down. “Whoa.”
Breathing was hard. He pressed a hand to chest and saw it was the one with the knife tied to it. He should take the knife off before he stabbed himself, but the world was blurring badly.
“Breathe,” he mumbled. “Gotta…breathe…shit…”
His head hurt, right in the middle between his ears. His left arm hurt. His chest was tight and refusing to let more than a minimal amount of air in. He felt the ground beneath him, and the weight of the vest hanging on his shoulders. A breeze whipped over the top of the hill, ruffling his hair.
“I felt that,” he said, then stopped and forced another deep breath into his tightening chest. He paused, waiting for the wind to return. He had felt that. Not much, and only on one side of his head, but he’d felt the wind. “Coming back…”
“I will…have my re…reward money,” Reshtiv grunted out.
John rolled to his knees, bracing himself to continue the fight, but Reshtiv was faster. The other man was swinging as he climbed to his feet, catching John in the mouth with the butt of his weapon. John moaned, tasting blood, and crumpling to the ground. His headache expanded, and air exploded out of his chest as Reshtiv kicked him over onto his back.
“I don’t know what you did to me, but I will have retribution,” he said, and even in the bright moonlight, he looked pale. His face glistened with sweat, and one shoulder was covered in blood.
“Shot,” John whispered.
“That’s right,” the other man sneered. “This is…a fine weapon.” He held the gun up, swaying like a drunk.
John shook his head. That wasn’t what he’d meant. He remembered now, shooting the trader near the river. Did the man even know? They’d been at the height of their numbness at that point. John forced his chest to expand and pull in air, and he felt his clothes brush against the skin. The numbness was fading, and John grinned. He would be in a world of hurt soon, but the effects of the flashbang had been temporary after all.
“You’re…crazy…”
John shook his head. His body felt like it was swelling up, thawing after being out in the cold for too long. Maybe it was swelling up. On the next breath, his chest caught and jerked against a sharp lance of pain.
Reshtiv raised the gun again, but he was gaining sensation too, and he cried out in surprise at the movement, dropping the gun and pawing at the gunshot wound in his shoulder. His fingers came away bright red, and he stumbled back, tripping over his own feet and landing on his butt.
“Take that, bitch,” John rasped out. He lurched to his feet, his body feeling big and uncoordinated but alive, and kicked out at the other man’s wound.
Reshtiv screamed, falling all the way to the ground and writhing in pain. John staggered to his gun, but his left arm was throbbing, the fingers refusing to move, and his right one still had a knife tied to it. With a growl of frustration and growing pain, he used his teeth to rip the band of t-shirt wrapped around his hand off. The knife dropped to the ground, landing near the gun.
John knelt and scooped up the gun, ignoring the fiery flare in the bug-bite wound, then aimed his weapon at Reshtiv. His opponent was whimpering now, huddled in a ball on the floor and ignoring John completely. Good thing-John’s arm was shaking badly enough that he probably wouldn’t hit the broad side of a jumper at this point.
“Didn’t have to happen this way,” he said.
“I pray to the Ancestors the rest of your team is dead.”
“Doubtful,” he answered. “They’re better at this fighting thing than I am.”
His breaths were coming in harsh pants now. The Kevlar might have stopped the bullets, but he’d taken the shots close enough that they’d done some damage. His whole chest burned with every breath, and a sharper pain on his right side made him wonder if he hadn’t cracked a rib or two as well. He knew Ronon and Teyla could handle themselves, and he pushed away all thoughts of Rodney. There was nothing he could do for any of his teammates right now, besides getting back to the gate in one piece and getting them help.
“Go ahead,” Reshtiv spat out. “Finish it.”
John shook his head, then winced at the gnawing pain in his head. He could still taste blood, and damn if his lip wasn't swelling up from that last hit in the mouth. Another gust of wind ripped across the plateau, and the air was cold, piercing through his clothes.
“I have no intention of killing you,” he answered, eyeing the trader. He lowered his weapon slowly but Reshtiv continued to lay huddled on the ground. “Never did. You attacked me.”
“What did you do to me?”
“The numbness thing?” At Reshtiv’s nod, John shrugged. “I just picked up one of your little relics and it went off. I had no idea what that thing was or what it would do. I was just trying to defend myself.”
Reshtiv sat up slowly, scowling. “A whole cycle’s pay,” he spat out.
“Give it up. I wasn’t lying when I said the Genii are our allies now. They never would have paid.”
The trader rolled to his knees then pushed himself to his feet. John stood with him, raising his gun. His arm was shaking, but neither man got any closer to each other.
“I don’t believe you,” Reshtiv said, jutting his chin out.
“Tough shit,” John snapped back. “Get out of here. Go back to your family.”
Reshtiv narrowed his eyes at John, then winced. He glanced down at his bleeding shoulder and John spotted more bruises on his arms and pants that were shredded at the knees. He must have had as hard a time as John keeping his balance in those first few hours. John’s knees throbbed suddenly at the thought, waking up to the damage that had been inflicted on them for hours.
“Go!”
The trader flinched at John’s barked order then staggered away. John stayed on his feet, bracing himself for the other man to return, but he heard him stumbling down the switchback trail on the other side of the mountain. The moons were still high in the sky, and John stared at them, waiting. Reshtiv’s stumbling had slowly faded, but he sounded far enough down the path that John didn’t think he was waiting for him-at least not nearby. He’d have to watch out for an ambush just in case, though.
He’d have to actually move his feet forward and hit the trail back toward the gate first. He lifted one foot and felt scrapes and bruises stretch and scream across the nerves of his skin. Barely stifling a moan, he staggered forward one step, then two. The moons above him swam across the sky, spinning out of focus. The pain erupting through his body brought tears to his eyes, but all he could think to do was laugh, the sound of his voice ringing out over the mountains and valleys.
He was still laughing as he collapsed forward, stopping only when he smacked into the hard ground of the plateau and letting the moonlight around him fade to darkness.
“John? John, wake up.”
The darkness stayed, encasing him in numbness. He wanted the numbness. He hadn’t for a long time, when he’d been awake, but then the numbness had gone away, and he’d been relieved for three seconds before he’d been submerged in fiery pain and wishing the numbness was back.
“What’s wrong with him? He looks like hell!”
Now it was back, but the voices around him were like sharp needles poking away at his dark pain-free cocoon.
“We should move to that building-aaagghh!”
“Ronon?” Teyla’s voice cut through loud and clear, and John felt himself move that much closer to full consciousness.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You look as bad as Sheppard. How hard was-ow, ow, ow, ow!”
“Ronon! Let Rodney go.”
His team. He groaned, wanting to see them and giving in finally to the fact that he had been worried sick about them the entire time. He hadn’t wanted to think about what was happening to them, but now that they were there and obviously not dead, he needed to see them.
“John?”
The ground grew hard beneath his body, its uneven surface digging into his back. Both arms throbbed, but one was a deep, swollen pain and the other sharp and burning. He moaned again, forcing his eyes open and pushing back the knife stabs through his chest with every breath.
“Hey, Sheppard,” Ronon said, bending over him.
John blinked, taking in his teammate’s battered face. He looked like he’d gone up against two dozen Wraith and only barely escaped. He smiled, feeling only half of his mouth respond. The other half felt swollen and tender.
“John, how badly are you hurt?”
He shifted his head slightly to the side and saw Teyla kneeling on his left. She had a dark bruise under one eye, dirt all over her face and mussed up hair covered in dead leaves.
“John?” she repeated.
“Hurts,” he whispered. A gust of wind picked up, rushing over the plateau and whipping through the trees on the mountain side below them. It was an icy wind, a touch-sense signal of the coming change in seasons. John smiled, then shivered. “C-cold.”
“He’s delirious!” Rodney squawked, and John noticed him standing at his feet, shifting his weight from side to side. He looked…remarkably fine.
“We are overdue for check-in. We will wait here and have them send a jumper to retrieve us,” Teyla was saying.
“We should move to those ruins. They’ll block the wind.” Rodney turned and pointed to the half-standing structure at the head of the switchback trail.
“You’re okay,” John grit out.
“I’m freezing,” the scientist shot back.
“John, where are you hurt?”
John turned to focus on Teyla again, blinking suddenly heavily eyes. He wanted to go back to that dark, numb place again. He shivered harder at the thought, moaning as the full body shudders ignited nerve endings.
“John, focus.”
“H-hurts,” he stuttered. “Everywhere.”
“What about your back or neck? Any broken bones?”
He shook his head, cringing at a blast of wind. The air was getting colder. He looked up at the stars and saw patches of sky obscured by clouds.
“Come on, let’s-ah.”
“Ron’n? Wh-what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
John stared at him. He had blood on one ear running down the side of his neck, bruises around both eyes, a split lip, a long scrape along his jaw, and a cut across the bridge of his nose. Dried flecks of blood ringed one nostril.
Ronon stared back for a moment, then shrugged. “Got into a fight.”
“The traders paired with us attempted to take Ronon and I out, with the intent of turning you and Rodney over to the Genii for the posted reward money.”
Teyla and Ronon dug both arms under John’s back and lifted him to a sitting position. The world spun wildly and John groaned, clenching his jaw as nausea swirled in his gut and clawed its way up to the back of his throat. The pain in his chest amplified, and he dropped his head forward, willing himself to black out.
“John?”
“Sheppard?”
“John, what is wrong?”
“We need to get out of this wind.”
“Rodney, we need your help.”
He didn’t black out. After a moment, his head stopped spinning and the pain dialed down to a steady throb. He felt Teyla shift away from him, letting in biting cold air for a second before another warm body took her place. John opened bleary eyes and looked at Rodney.
“Hang on, Sheppard,” the scientist said, wrapping an arm around his back to hold him steady.
Teyla crouched in front of him, lifting his chin up so she could look at him.
“Chest,” John muttered, before she could ask him what was wrong. “Reshtiv shot me.”
“What?” Rodney squawked and John flinched at the sound so close to his ear.
“Hit my vest, but still…packs a punch.”
“McKay, on three,” Ronon said. Before John had time to process what they were doing, Ronon had counted and both men stood, bringing John up with them. They half-carried, half-dragged him to the two standing walls, then dropped into the corner, huddling together. Wind danced across the plateau, blowing dried leaves across its surface, but the space between the two walls was slightly warmer, and John relaxed against his teammates.
Teyla was there immediately, kneeling in front of him and unzipping his vest. Her hands were cold as she ran her fingers over his chest, looking for bullet holes, but John was too tired to react. He watched her sigh in relief when she saw for herself what he already knew-that none of the bullets had pierced his vest.
“You are very lucky.”
“Don’t feel…so lucky.”
“What happened to you, Sheppard?” Rodney griped. “We tried reaching you for hours. I thought…we thought…”
“Alien flashbang.”
“What?” Ronon asked, shifting a little as he glanced down at John.
“Reshtiv had it…in his b-bag of relics. Turned on when I p-picked it up.”
“You’ve got to stop doing that,” Rodney said.
John grinned, letting his head rest against someone arm behind him. “M-made me numb…like…Wraith st-stunner, but diff…differ’nt…”
Teyla leaned forward and pressed a hand against his forehead, then tsked and rifled through her vest, pulling out an emergency blanket a minute later and spreading it over John’s legs and chest. He was shivering hard, like he had been when he’d crawled out of the river, but this time he felt the cold. As the warmth gathered around him, he let himself drift, managing to hold onto consciousness just long enough to hear his teammates answer Atlantis’ radio call. With a jumper on the way, he closed his eyes and reveled in the encroaching painlessness.
“Good morning, Colonel,” Jennifer Keller announced, breezing into the small curtained space around his bed.
John heard the click of her shoes across the hard floor and the soft swish of her clothes as she moved toward the head of his bed, then smelled her faint flowery perfume. He was not going to open his eyes. He may have been awake for the last twenty minutes, but he wasn’t ready to give into it one hundred percent yet.
“I know you’re awake.”
He groaned, turning away from her. His body was numb again, but this was a familiar numb-the kind that came with a lot of painkillers. He heard a rattle of metal rings against a curtain rod, and the infirmary grew suddenly brighter.
“It’s a gorgeous day out today,” Keller said, but softly like she was half talking to herself.
He still wasn’t going for it. He was not opening his eyes. He felt the pinch of an IV in his arm, a cast on his left wrist that was making his hand and arm sweat, and a heavy bandage on his right arm. He squirmed deeper into the pillow, managing only to awaken a dull, pulsing throb in his chest.
“Ah, there you are.”
A second later, something ice cold pressed against his chest. He jerked, opening his eyes in surprise then slamming the lids shut again when bright sunshine invaded.
“Oops,” Keller said. “Sorry.”
Except she didn’t sound very sorry. She slid the chestpiece of her stethoscope to the other side of his ribs, and John finally gave in to morning. He let his eyes open to half-mast and watched as Keller listened to his lungs and heart.
After a few minutes, she nodded and pulled the stethoscope away. “Sounds good. Pulse-ox looks good too, but I think we’ll keep you on oxygen for a little bit longer to give your lungs a break. The bruising on your chest is awfully deep.”
“How about this?” John rasped out, his voice hoarse. He lifted his arm with the IV and flicked the tubing toward the doctor.
“How about some breakfast?” she shot back. “Finish off this bag of fluids and eat a full meal, and I think we can safely take the IV out.”
He nodded, letting a small smile flit across his lips. “What’s the damage?” He’d heard bits and pieces of it, and he could probably guess at half, but he wanted to get it straight from her all at once.
She frowned, surveying him. “That alien flashbang seems to have worn off. The scanner picked up only the tail-end of its effects when we brought you in, and nothing since then. Other than that, you’ve got a broken left wrist, a deep laceration on your right arm, second degree burns on your right hand, massive bruising on your chest including one cracked rib, bruising and lacerations on your knees, shins, and elbows, a split lip, a laceration above your left ear, mild hypothermia, dehydration, and exhaustion.”
John’s eyebrows rose as she rattled off her list, but before he could respond, she lifted a finger in the air.
“Actually, we can probably knock those last three off that list-your temperature is back to normal, you’re mostly hydrated, and you just woke up from a solid twelve hours of sleep.”
He blinked, remembering laying under the stars and the bright moons of the planet. It had been night then, probably almost morning, but it was morning now…
“Time difference,” Keller said, then giggled. “Planet lag.”
“How’d you…”
“You’re thinking out loud.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry. You’re on some strong painkillers and still waking up a little.” She patted his arm and he scowled, because he was not still waking up. He’d given up on not waking up as soon as he’d opened his eyes. He raised one hand to rub at gritty eyes and stared at the thick bandage on the arm, an image of a dog-sized insect biting into his muscle suddenly flashing through his mind.
"Bug..." he mumbled.
Keller raised an eyebrow in curiosity and John waved his bandaged arm at her.
"I got bit. Huge insect."
She frowned, worry creasing her forehead. "We ran blood tests when we got you home and didn't find anything odd, but we'll double check again. Anything else?"
He blinked, staring at her as he processed the question. Anything else what? Or any other bugs? Or maybe she was asking if he wanted anything else. But she hadn't asked if he wanted anything in the first place, so the else didn't make sense.
Keller cocked her head, then rolled her eyes. “I believe your team just arrived. Let me see about getting you some breakfast."
She shuffled out, replaced almost immediately by Rodney, Ronon, and Teyla. John fumbled with the bed controls, feeling suddenly vulnerable, but Teyla moved faster. A few seconds later, he was sitting part of the way up while Ronon and Rodney busied themselves with arranging chairs.
“What happened to you two?” John asked once everyone had settled. His gaze shifted between Teyla and Ronon, studying the bruising on their faces that looked worse than he’d remembered.
“Told you yesterday,” Ronon said, his voice gruff. “Got into a fight.”
“The traders attempted to take us out, just as Reshtiv did with you,” Teyla added.
Rodney cleared his throat and John looked over at him. He was sitting up in his chair with his arms crossed, looking…smug.
And bruise free.
“Why aren’t you beat up?” he blurted.
“I think his guy didn’t get the message. Didn’t know he was supposed to do anything but look for a missing kid,” Ronon said first.
“That is not true,” Rodney answered. “I did fight.”
John raised an eyebrow and looked at Teyla, who was very carefully not looking at him and not smiling, although he could see the muscles in her cheek twitching.
“What?” Rodney squawked, throwing his hands up in the air. “He wanted to trade me in to the Genii, just like you. I can defend myself. Actually, I did defend myself. Quite well. Better than all three of you.”
Ronon leaned forward. “How do you figure that?”
“Looked in the mirror lately?”
“He’s got a point, big guy,” John said, relaxing back into the pillow. All that time he’d been worried about Rodney, believing Teyla and Ronon could handle themselves easily, and Rodney was the only one to emerge without a single scratch.
One day, he’d get the full story.
“No way are you ever getting the full story from me.”
“Huh?” John asked, startled out of his thoughts.
Ronon leaned forward and patted him on his shin. “You’re thinking out loud, buddy. Painkillers, remember?”
“What about the traders? Still on the planet?” John asked, deliberately changing the subject.
“Gone,” Teyla answered. “Major Lorne returned after retrieving us, but they had already left the planet.”
“Reshtiv was hurt pretty badly. You didn’t see him on the trail?”
“Nope,” Ronon said.
“Lorne checked. There are no lifesigns left on that planet. Also, you were right-he loved that place.” Rodney threw his arms up in the air. “Rambled on and on and on about color this and color that.”
“I knew he’d dig that place.”
The smell of eggs and toast wafted through the infirmary, and John pushed his bed up a little higher. He was suddenly starving, hunger pangs gnawing at the inside of his stomach. A nurse stepped in, depositing the food on John’s table tray and giving him his next dose of painkillers before retreating. He took a long sip from the glass of grape juice and ignored the longing looks Rodney was shooting at his plate.
“I wonder if that flashbang thing is still there.”
Rodney’s expression lifted in sudden excitement. “The trader guy didn’t take it?”
“Nah. Left it on the ground after it went off.”
“We have to go back. You have to tell me where you left that thing. I can’t believe you didn’t bring it with you.”
“Aren’t you worried it will go off again?” Ronon asked, but Rodney was already shaking his head.
“Hello? You don’t think I’ll take the utmost precaution before retrieving something like that?”
“Of course we do,” Teyla answered quickly.
But it was too late. John dug into the rest of his breakfast, listening to Rodney recount every dangerous situation he’d faced since arriving in the Pegasus galaxy, as well as every precaution he’d taken to minimize every possible risk to his health in every situation. Teyla and Ronon slumped back in their chairs in resignation, shooting pleading looks at John, but John shrugged them off.
Maybe it was the painkillers hitting full strength, but it felt good to relive those first few trips through the gate and bask in the memories of exploring alien planet after alien planet.
Yeah, definitely the painkillers.
“Sheppard, you’re thinking out loud again.”
END
Prompt: Sheppard loses one if his senses (temporarily). Which sense he loses is your choice, but he has to lose it in a life or death struggle to survive and has to compensate to survive.