SGA Fanfic: Hunting Season (AU, PG-13) Part 1/4
Title: Hunting Season, Part 1
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Untamed AU
Length: 22,000
Warnings: some bad language and mild violence
Disclaimer: Don't own them, not for profit, blah blah blah copywrite cakes
Summary: After a camping trip John and Rodney have an accident and wind up stranded in a picturesque little town in the BC Rockies that isn't quite the Rockwellian place it seems. They have to survive until dawn, but the big question is who will kill them first - the townspeople or their new allies?
Author's Note: I'm baaaaaack. And here's another story idea that came from a dream. I'm sad I couldn't work the polar bear into it, tho.
Hunting Season
Rodney paused and watched John break down the tent that had been their home for the last five days and let out a rather bearish snort. Even with his doctorate in engineering, augmented with a slide rule and a surveyor’s transit, he could never get the damn things to roll up and fit back into their cases like they were supposed to. So he returned to loading their rented Xterra while John tackled the nylon monstrosity from hell.
And he just could not believe he willingly went camping for almost a week. Yup, him, the pasty lab denizen who made his own one hundred SPF sunscreen and broke out in hives at the mere thought of the great outdoors…. But then, he was still having trouble believing he was a werebear now, for crap’s sake, and had just survived his third successful transformation. While camping in the woods, without hot showers, or a cafeteria, or multiple computer access, or even a, a toilet….
Yeah, the last few months had been strange, but this … this topped the cake.
When Rodney turned around to grab the camp stove he saw John watching him and smirking. “What?”
“Oh, nothing. You just, ah, keep snorting and shaking your head is all. Everything okay over there? You’re not having some kind of allergic reaction to all the fresh air, are you? Do I need to break out the Benadryl? Call for a medi-vac?”
“Everything is just hunky dory,” Rodney snapped back. “Now, could you please get a move on? I hear a real shower, with hot water, and a mocha quad espresso super grande whatever, somewhere, calling my name. Frantically.” He cocked his head and put a hand to his ear. “And there it goes, again. So….” He waggled fingers impatiently towards John. “Chop chop.” He turned and shoved the camp stove into the little space he had created for it - he knew all those years of playing Tetris would come in handy for something - then ran the cargo netting across the stuff and fastened it down. Nobody could pack like he could. Except for tents, that is, and that was why he preferred hotel camping, thank you very much. When he turned back to start grabbing the soft stuff to pack on top he saw John still grinning at him. “Now what?”
“C’mon, admit it,” John drawled as he broke down a carbon-shaft tent pole. “You had fun.”
“Out in the middle of nowhere, away from computers and cell phones? Smelling you for five days, and drinking your god awful camp coffee? Puh-leeze.” But as he started loading the sleeping bags a crooked grin slowly split his face, and pretty soon he was nodding his head like a total spaz. “Okay, okay, I admit it, but only because absolutely no one except you can hear this…. Yes, I did have fun.”
“Ha! I knew it!” John grabbed the next long pole.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all cocky.” Rodney suddenly froze, his grin slipping and eyes going wide. “Um, you’re not going to tell anyone I ate ants, are you?” He hadn’t been able to stop himself when he came across the old stump full of carpenter ants while in full bear form - something in his brain went ooo yum and he tore into the thing like a, well, bear possessed. It was, was freaky.
John chuffed. “Oh, yeah, right - like anyone would believe Mister If-it-ain’t-deep-fried-and-smothered-in-ketchup-I’m-not-touching-it ate bugs.” As he slid the poles into their bag, his own grin went smug. “So, your secret’s safe with me.”
“Good. And I promise I won’t tell anyone you ate Thumper.” Yeah, that had freaked him the hell out - one second they were ambling back to camp, the full moon still high, and the next John was flying through the air. Launched a good thirty feet, too, and came up with a rabbit. In. His. Teeth. He shuddered at the memory of how absolutely wild his friend’s eyes looked right then. There wasn’t anything remotely human he could recognize in them, and his inner Yogi cowered.
“Hey, you ate some of Thumper, too.”
“Only after it was cooked. And with ketchup. Lots of ketchup.”
“There ya go,” John said as if confirming the revelation to some unseen audience. He turned and started smoothing out the tent now that all the air had oozed out. “Now, get over here and help with this, Baloo.”
“All right, all right. Don’t get your shorts in a twist, Baggy.”
Twenty minutes later they were bouncing down a narrow road that was more of a glorified goat trail than anything meant for vehicular travel. It followed a small clear stream that had been their very cold bathtub during their stay. Carson was the one who told them about the place - one of his favorite camping/fishing spots, as a matter of fact. It sat far enough from civilization for peace and quiet, but still close enough that if they really needed a beer and a cheeseburger it didn’t take hours to find them. Rodney rolled down his window and stuck his head out. “Oh, man - dogs so have the right idea,” he said after a deep breath. His newly enhanced sense of smell was a royal pain in the ass most days, but right now he was in olfactory heaven. The pine, the earth, the clean air - he never knew the great outdoors could smell so, well, great.
John glanced at Rodney, then rolled his window down. He leaned his arm on the open frame and stuck his head out as well. “Yeah,” he drawled , enjoying the wind in his face as he drove.
“Hey! Watch the road!”
John flipped Rodney off and smirked.
They only closed the windows once they got to the highway and picked up speed. Now that they were out of the trees Rodney kicked back and pulled his sunglasses out of the glove box. John slid his own aviator shades on, but every once in awhile he’d glance sideways at Rodney. “What?” Rodney blurted out after the third time it happened.
“Oh, nothing. Was just sitting here wondering if the ant’s legs stuck between your teeth. Never eaten bugs myself.”
Rodney flipped him off, then leaned forward and turned the vent to internal air. The road was freshly chip sealed, and the smell of the tar was giving him a headache. He flopped back. “They did crunch,” he added rather thoughtfully a few minutes later. “Kind of like tiny Rice Krispies, actually. Had a bit of a nutty flavor, too, reminded me of almonds.”
John let out a bark of laughter that was closer to a cough. “TMI, McKay, TMI.”
“Hey, you asked.”
“I know, and now I’m really sorry I did.” John flicked on the CD player and Creedence filled the SUV. They drove on in relaxed, companionable silence, their heads bobbing occasionally to the beat and the flash of shadows and sunlight from the tall trees lining the highway creating a strobe affect that seemed to match the rhythm of the classic rock.
Three songs later they came across a large sign announcing they were about to enter Briscoe, the Friendliest Little Town In BC, population nineteen hundred and change. As they passed the grounds to a huge lumber mill and into the town itself a banner telling them not to forget Logger Days in August stretched across the main drag, which in itself was all of maybe a half a mile long and lined with false-fronted buildings easily a century old. Then John was slowing the SUV down for someone crossing the street. She was in a tank top and Daisy Dukes, had a mass of loose curly brown hair, and when she crossed right in front of them she flashed them a smile over the top of the grocery bag she was carrying as she clearly checked them out.
John and Rodney watched her until she was up on the opposite sidewalk, and only then did John start the rig moving again. “Friendly locals,” he said with a grin.
“Might have to come back for Logger Days,” Rodney added as he leaned forward and turned down the music. “What in the hell are … is Logger Days, anyway?”
John shrugged. “Well, if they’re like Libby’s, there’s probably a parade, a barbeque, logging demos, music, and beer. Kind of fun, actually.” He suddenly pulled into a slanted parking slot in front of a café and shut off the engine. “I don’t know about you, pal, but I could really go for a big greasy double bacon cheeseburger and a shake right now.”
“Oooo. And onion rings,” Rodney said wistfully. “I hope they have onion rings.”
John opened his door. “Hey, I bet if you’re nice to the waitress she’ll throw a handful of ants on your burger for you.”
“Asshole,” Rodney muttered as he got out. While he was still hidden by the open door he pulled a tube of mentholated lip balm out of his pocket and daubed a little under his nose. He was still getting used to smells, and going into new places where lots of unfamiliar people might be was always a trial. He didn’t have too many problems on Atlantis - he was used to all those smells now, even the obnoxious ones that wafted off of Zelenka whenever he got into one of his bizarre food cravings - but strange places were a whole new ball game. And it had been pointed out several times by Sheppard that he tended to make horrendous faces whenever he’d encounter something particularly strong. Of course he only brought this up after the third or fourth time he got weird looks from people and they were shying away from him like he was some crazy man in their midst.
He slammed the door and took in a big, deep breath - even over the minty menthol of the lip balm he could still catch a whiff of road tar, fresh cut lumber and pitch from the mill, hot engine, and fried food. His stomach let out a loud gurgle at the latter, and he saw one of John’s eyebrows rise over his dark shades as they came around the front of the rig. “Hey, breakfast was ….”
“Three hours ago. I know, I know, hypoglycemic. Let’s get you fed before you start gnawing on an arm.” He made a reserved after you gesture, as if he thought his arm might be the one in danger, and after a smarmy little grimace Rodney gladly led the way into the little café. The sleigh bells on the door rattled more than jingled as they stepped inside, and for a split second John paused. The air that rushed at him held the normal scents of any small diner he’d ever set foot in - bacon, hot grease, bread, coffee, bleach - but underneath he caught a hint of something else. It was musky, sharp - primal - and made a ripple of fur run along his spine. He set his features as he followed Rodney to a booth by the windows. There were eight other people in the place, and most of them watched the strangers enter. And of the eight, John saw the nostrils on five of them flare briefly and their eyes widen. He gave them a brief acknowledgement that was an upward flick of his head and a faint smile, then plopped down in the corner booth with his back to the wall. Rodney seemed completely unaware as he picked up one of the laminated menus sitting upright between the ketchup and the napkin holder.
Rodney flipped open his menu. “Yes! They have onion rings!” he said triumphantly.
John took off his sunglasses, hung them on the collar of his t-shirt, and grabbed a menu just as the waitress appeared. “Can I get you boys something to drink?” she asked as she sat some silverware rolled up in napkins on the table. She was older, heavy set, and looked part Native. And she smelled completely human.
“Do you have milkshakes?” he asked, then saw on the menu that indeed, they did. “I’ll take a chocolate one.”
“You want whipped cream on that?”
He grinned and she giggled. “Sure!”
“Figures,” Rodney mumbled. “Coffee for me, black.” She nodded and disappeared. Only then did Rodney notice how tense John was. Or, more precisely, his inner Yogi did. The bear spirit had been fairly subdued ever since the third night of his first change, but it still piped in now and then with essential information and observations he normally did not catch. He glanced around and noticed a few sets of eyes watching them. Didn’t surprise him actually - small town, strangers, stink eye. He’d witnessed it before. But there was something else that was making the hair on the back of his neck, well, prickle…. He lifted the menu to act as a mini-blind between him and the rest of the room. “What?” he barely whispered.
“Let’s just eat our lunch and hit the road,” John replied softly, his attention never leaving his own menu.
Rodney refrained from glancing around again. He didn’t argue with his friend since his inner bear seemed to be emphatically agreeing. And, sometimes, he found it did pipe in with suggestions he actually found worthwhile, especially when it involved some of the weirder vargyr crap. “Okay. I’ll go with that, for now.” The waitress returned with the coffee and a couple glasses of water a moment later, and at least she acted friendly towards them. She left and Rodney took a sip of the steaming drink. And sighed contentedly. “Now that’s coffee.”
“Hey, there was nothing wrong with my coffee.”
Rodney waved a hand through the air. “Please, that crap could eat through a nuclear containment shield.”
“I didn’t see you turning your nose up at it. Drank the whole pot this morning, if I remember right.”
Rodney snorted. “Live in Russia for a few years and you can drink anything.” The waitress returned with John’s shake and for a second Rodney wished he’d ordered one. She took their orders and left them again. Rodney leaned back, one arm draped across the back of the booth, and watched John swipe a large portion of the mound of whipped cream off the top with a spoon and stuff it in his mouth.
“You’re drooling there, pal,” John said through a mouthful of cream which made him look a tad bit on the rabid side. Rodney actually swiped at his chin, then glowered at John. He started to reach out to snag some of the whipped cream, but John pulled the old fashioned glass closer and possessively wrapped an arm around it. “Mine,” he growled, then lifted his lip briefly to bare a fang in an Elvis sneer.
Rodney snatched his hand back, then snickered and made do with his own coffee. He looked out the window, past their rented rig and several pick-up trucks, and could see the edge of a little motel down the street. It’s front actually faced a side street, and the faded sign said something like Lazy Pines Inn. The only vehicle in its lot was an older model Subaru station wagon with mismatched doors, and the view of that was briefly blocked by a fully loaded logging truck roaring by at a little bit faster than the posted speed limit. Yeah, not much going on in Briscoe right now as far as he could tell. He looked back at John and wondered what had put him on edge, so he leaned forward and rested one arm on the table. “You’re freaking me out,” he sing-songed quietly as he lifted his mug to his lips.
John stirred the remaining whipped cream into his shake, and under the sound of the spoon lightly striking the side of the glass he barely whispered, “Smell.”
Rodney blinked - his hearing had grown incredibly sensitive now that he was a werebear. He took a chance and wiped the balm away with his napkin. He waited a moment for that lingering odor to clear before he started taking a few tentative sniffs. His eyes got huge and he started to turn his head.
“Don’t look,” John hissed under his breath. “Just stay calm. We mind our business, we’ll be fine.” From where he was sitting he could see the rest of the diners by just sliding his eyes to the side. Only one person was openly watching them - a big bearded guy in a t-shirt and a trucker hat sitting at the counter, and the outright hostility he could feel radiating off of him was making fur ripple occasionally down his spine - and the rest were seemingly busy with their own meals and conversations. There were five other vargyrs in the room besides him and Rodney, and he did not like it one bit.
“This part of the Rockies is still neutral territory, right?” Rodney whispered. He was still learning all the vargyr clan stuff, or as he called it, the butt-sniffing, chest beating, peeing-on-trees crap.
“Yup.” John took the spoon out and licked it. “I just smell mainly Lupis right now, but I caught Ursus when we first came in, and it wasn’t you.” He was keeping his voice soft so it wouldn’t carry much farther past the booth to sensitive vargyr ears. Even with the muted voices of other diners, the normal kitchen noise, and the piped in country music making the place fairly noisy, he still didn’t want the chance of being overheard. Not that everyone in the room with a sensitive nose already knew what he and Rodney were….
Rodney blinked. “Aren’t they, like, rivals?” He still kept his voice down.
“All clans are rivals, Rodney. And that’s what makes me worried with this … bunch.” He shrugged. “We’ll just eat and leave.”
The big guy at the counter paid his bill and left a moment later. He passed in front of the window and gave the two strangers a less than welcoming once over before climbing into a huge Dodge truck. John ignored him, but Rodney watched the guy back out and gun the engine. Then the mouthwatering smell of his own cheeseburger distracted him as the waitress sat it down in front of him. He didn’t even bother with ketchup - he just slapped the thing together and dug in. He actually groaned as he chewed away happily on his first bite. “Oh, man - I can feel my arteries clogging already,” he said around a mouthful.
John nodded enthusiastically and had to grab a spare napkin to catch juice running down his chin. “I haven’t had a burger this good since, since the Knotty Pine Café.”
“Is that in Montana?” Rodney asked before he shoved an entire onion ring into his mouth.
“Yeah. Little bar on Highway 2 near West Glacier. Burgers I swear the size of this plate.”
They ate in relative silence until the burgers were gone, and while they picked at their remaining sides Rodney suddenly asked, “You liked it there, didn’t you?” Then his eyes widened a fraction as he realized he’d asked a personal question, and this was John Sheppard he was talking to - the man was so tight lipped about his past you’d think he was in Witness Protection.
John shrugged casually with one shoulder and Rodney relaxed, and the little smile on his face was actually wistful. “Yeah, I did. Good people there.” He dragged a fry through a puddle of cheese and grease on his plate. “But I like where I am now, too. Good people there, also.”
Rodney ducked his head. “There are, aren’t there?” he muttered. He didn’t think he could have retained his sanity, let alone survived his Change without the support he had. And still had. It boggled even his exceptional mind that he had actual friends now. And since the guy was being, well, open, he blurted out before he could change his mind, “So, are you and, ah, Espinoza still, you know…?” He wobbled his head in his nod/shake that always showed up when he was embarrassed.
“We are.” John felt his ears get a little warm as a wave of guilt washed over him. “We’re taking things a little slower right now.” He couldn’t help flashing back to their first night together, and what he did to her neck when he lost control. It was so bad in the morning he took her to the infirmary and shortly thereafter found himself in Carson’s office getting the ass chewing of his life. John took it, too - he wasn’t human and he had to be careful. He understood it completely, and the evidence of his dual nature had caused someone he cared about an awful lot of pain. “We both decided it was the best thing right now.”
“Good. Good.” Rodney killed his last onion ring. “Glad to hear things are still okay.” He had come down pretty hard on John, too, for hurting one of his scientists, then spent an entire day freaking because his inner Yogi was certain he’d overstepped his bounds in that whole annoying and illogical vargyr alpha thing and expected retaliation of some kind. He did get a rather hard smack upside the back of his head at dinner, but that was all, and he, well Yogi was twitchy for a week waiting for the other boot to drop. His human part considered the matter closed. “Because, well, she’s a catch. Gorgeous, smart … smart.”
John grinned. “Yeah, she is.” Then he narrowed his eyes. “Say, are you coveting my girlfriend?”
Rodney started. “What? No, no, I’m not. Just saying….” He saw John barely containing himself. “Asshole,” he grumbled.
John chuffed. “You know, I think that Doc Brown is harboring something for you.”
“Katie?” Rodney said hopefully, then immediately went nonchalant. “Eh, she only has eyes for her plants. And those, those tiny flying WMD’s she has working for her.”
“I’m going to tell Eira you called her a WMD.”
“Oh, God no! I don’t want to be….” He glanced around, mindful of listening ears. “You know.”
John chuckled. “Relax - she’ll think it’s a compliment.”
Rodney thought about that for a moment. “Huh. She would, wouldn’t she?” Then he had to chuckle, too. “She nailed Ronon again the other day, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. Was there. Slipped and called her Tink, and bam. Thought he learned the first time.” The waitress came with the check right then and left with their empty plates. John started to reach for his wallet but Rodney snatched the check away before he even got his ass cheek far enough off the bench so he could get a hand in his back pocket. He raised an eyebrow.
“Just go with it,” Rodney snapped as he pulled money from his wallet.
“Okay,” John drawled out. “The fresh air did something strange to you, and it’s freaking me out.”
Rodney just sneered at him
A short time later they were backing away from the café, and they did see someone come to the window to watch them, a cell phone to their ear. “Now that’s just creepy,” Rodney muttered as John straightened the rig out and pulled away. “I know we’re strangers and all, but c’mon - really? Is that necessary? We didn’t, like, pee on the walls or anything. Just … creepy.” He put his sunglasses back on and just kind of scrunched down in his seat.
“No arguing there,” John said. He was hyper vigilant as they drove down the short main drag, and not quite near the edge of town, in front of a hardware slash car parts store, he spotted Trucker Hat chatting with a couple other men. Their conversation stopped and the three turned to watch them drive by. He ignored them, but he noticed Rodney crane his head around to watch them until the load in the back blocked his view. A minute later they passed the “leaving city limits, please come back” sign and John chuffed. “Doubt that,” he said under his breath as he put more pressure on the gas pedal than was necessary and the heavily loaded rig surged forward. He glanced at the clock before looking back at the steadily rising needle on the speedometer. “Hey, I think we might be able to catch the last ferry out of….”
“Oh shit!” Rodney yelled. John’s head snapped up and he saw the black bear running out onto the road right in front of them.
Sometimes vargyr reflexes were too good.
“Shit!” John echoed as he swerved to the right. He was pretty sure he took hairs off the bear’s ass just before he felt the front passenger tire leave the tarmac and hit the soft muddy shoulder. He tried to keep control of the wheel but the tire was caught, the back end slid sickeningly sideways, and he felt the heavy rig start to tilt….
-oOo-
Rodney wasn’t sure how many times the SUV tumbled - he kept his arms wrapped around his head to protect it from any flying camping gear and his eyes squeezed shut. He was dimly aware of the side impact airbag deploying, and when things finally quit doing their best imitation of riding inside a cement mixer he found himself hanging upside down, the seatbelt digging into his shoulder and … elsewhere. The silence was deafening and his eyes shot open, but he still kept his head cradled in his arms. It was a testament to his packing abilities that there wasn’t as much crap in the front with them, and it seemed it was mainly the softer stuff that was on top. The windshield was a mass of cracks and a sleeping bag sat between him and John. “Sheppard,” he called out.
He didn’t get a reply.
“Sheppard?” Rodney frantically started pushing at the sleeping bag until it was shoved out of the way. John was hanging limply from his own seatbelt, his head at an odd angle because the tent case was trying to fit between him and his head rest, his forehead pressed against the steering wheel. “John!”
“Huh!?!” John jerked awake and for a second a shadow passed across his face as he almost Changed in surprise. He growled and struggled and got the tent out of the way. “You all right, McKay?” he asked as he blinked and glanced around as if it was just registering that they were upside down. Then he cradled the back of his head and grimaced, and when he pulled his hand away there was some blood on it.
“I’m okay,” Rodney grumbled and started tugging at his seatbelt. “’Bout to lose circulation in my…. Gyah! It’s stuck.”
“Just a second, Rodney.” John started moving stuff out of the way with one hand while he braced the other against the ceiling to ease some of the pressure from his own seatbelt. Then Rodney got his undone and the next thing John knew there was an ass in his face. “Jesus, McKay! Watch it!” He got tagged in the ear by a hiking boot a second later. “Ow! Dammit!”
“Sorry!” Rodney squirmed and got turned right side up and only kicked John one more time. “Here, I can….” He started to reach for the release on John’s seatbelt but got his hands batted away.
“I can manage,” John growled. He went back to bracing himself, but this time with both hands. “While you’re down there, how about you try kicking out the windshield?”
“I can’t….” Rodney started to protest then remembered he was a lot stronger now and gave an experimental one foot kick. One corner popped free, so with a crooked grin he attacked it with gusto. Didn’t take much to pop it out. He started to crawl out, feet first, and when he was halfway free he saw John release the catch to his seatbelt and just gracefully ooze out from behind the steering wheel. “Showoff,” Rodney grumbled as he carefully finished backing out.
John crawled out a moment later, and for close to a minute he and Rodney just stood there and stared at the bits and pieces of the Xterra that were scattered for close to a hundred feet down the highway. There was no sign of the bear. “Damn bear,” John grumbled as he rubbed his forehead - he could tell he was going to have a bruise and goose egg there from the steering wheel - and he could just imagine what the seat belt bites were going to look like in a few hours.
They were both distracted by the sound of a big engine and air brakes and turned to find a flatbed delivery truck coming to a halt on the other side of the road, its hazards flashing in the tall tree induced gloom. It wasn’t Trucker Hat, but it could have been a cousin. He leaned out his window. “Hey, you guys all right?”
John raised his left arm and offered a grimace laced with both pain and embarrassment. “Yeah, we’re fine. Just got bounced around.”
“What happened?”
“A bear ran out in front of us,” Rodney said. He was rubbing his right shoulder. “He swerved, ditch caught us….” He made a little rolling motion with his hand and shrugged. Then he turned and glanced back at the trail of pieces-parts and all he could think was holy crap, were we lucky. He turned back and glowered at John, then smacked him in the arm. Hard.
John went sideways for a couple steps, a hand rubbing the point of impact. “Hey! What the hell?”
“That’s for almost killing the greatest mind on this planet!” Rodney let out in one quick rush.
John blinked, chuffed, blinked again, then broke out in snickers. Rodney glared murderously at him for a moment, but then started snickering as well. They both let loose as survivor relief kicked in. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to deprive the poor world of that, now, would I?” John choked out.
“Please wait until I’ve won the Nobel, at least,” Rodney replied between giggles. “That’s all I ask.”
“You and your spork. Will it be black to match your tux?”
They both completely lost it and doubled over with laughter, and the trucker just shook his head as he picked up his radio to call in the accident. He climbed out of the cab a moment later, and he was grinning as he retrieved his hazard markers and a couple flares. By the time he got over to them Rodney was sitting on the ground and John had one hand braced against the overturned vehicle’s front bumper. “Constable’s on his way,” the guy said.
“Thanks,” John wheezed out as he wiped his eyes. He suddenly caught a whiff of corn chips and straightened up to find their good Samaritan werebear pale faced and staring at him. That sobered John up instantly. “Can I, ah, help with that?” he asked and gestured to the flares and markers.
“Nope. I got it.” The guy hustled off quicker than necessary before waiting for any kind of reply from John.
John immediately checked his pockets for his phone then remembered it was in the glove box. “McKay - you got your cell?”
Rodney nodded as he got his breathing under control and dug in a pocket. “Right … here.” He flipped the top and made a surprised huh over the fact that he did have a signal.
John was about to ask him to call Atlantis when he spotted the police, no, constable’s four-by-four approaching, lights flashing but no siren. He pulled up behind the overturned Xterra and got out. He was a tall wiry fellow, dark, narrow featured, and when he gave them a nod and small smile, John couldn’t help thinking he looked like a ferret.
Then the man’s scent hit him, and he wasn’t too far from the mark.
The constable was controlled - his expression didn’t change but his step faltered briefly. Rodney shot to his feet rather gracefully, his eyes wide and darting to John, the question broadcasting clearly - what is he? The constable gave Rodney a cursory once over, then focused on John. “You boys are lucky,” he said, his voice surprisingly deep and with a hint of the slow cadence of a Native.
John had his wallet in his hand and was pulling out his driver’s license. “Yeah. Bear ran out in front of us, missed him, not the ditch.” He handed it over and concentrated on being as non-threatening and calm as possible to what his senses were telling him was a true born vargyr. Rodney came over and produced his ID as well.
His new proximity elicited a true double-take from the constable and for a second he slipped and sniffed in Rodney’s direction. Then he shook his head and got himself back under control. He studied the two ID’s. “Whose vehicle?”
“It’s a rental,” John supplied. “Papers are, uh, in the glove box. I can….”
“It can wait for the moment,” the constable replied a bit too quickly. He twitched his head towards his rig. “Let’s start the paperwork.”
John nodded and he and Rodney followed the man over to his vehicle. He kept himself as subdued and neutral as possible and hoped Rodney’s inner Yogi would pick up on that fact. And that Rodney would actually listen to it for a change.
-oOo-
Nearly four hours later, after a crapload of paperwork and being checked over by an EMT who was human and a small volunteer fire crew where several weren’t, John was carrying their cooler into room number seven at the Lazy Pines while Rodney was on the phone with Elizabeth. Now that the adrenaline from the accident was gone he ached everywhere and was looking forward to a long hot shower and just collapsing on the motel bed. He sat the cooler near the door, the rest of their gear already in neat little piles in the corners and any open space in the surprisingly large room, and pulled out a beer. It wasn’t very cold, and he might have to go over to the little market down the street for ice and more beer later, but he really didn’t care at the moment. He popped the tab and had half of it down before he turned to Rodney.
“We’re fine, Elizabeth. Really,” Rodney repeated for the fourth or fifth time. He noticed John had a beer and snapped his fingers. John just smirked and plopped down on the end of the bed closest to him. Rodney grimaced at him and stomped over to the cooler. “Okay, okay, we’ll check in first thing in the morning. I promise. Bye.” He sighed rather heavily as he snapped the phone shut and bent over to grab a beer - the last one. He just gingerly sat down on top of the cooler. “She’s sending Ronon and Teyla out first light to come get us.” He popped his own beer and took a long drink.
“Cool,” John just sort of sighed out. He slowly laid back and rested his beer on his stomach.
“How are the beds?”
“Pretty damn nice.” He rubbed his sore forehead then let his arm just flop down on the loud flower print bed spread. He was absolutely exhausted from trying to keep his vargyr nature completely contained and nonthreatening as possible as they dealt with Constable Martin and the emergency crew. He was of royal blood and other vargyrs could sense it as well, so trying to keep from acting alpha around others when every instinct screamed at him to show dominance …. Well, it was incredibly tiring. He hadn’t had this much of a problem when he lived on his own - he had suppressed his true nature so heavily for so long that his body and senses were beginning to believe he really was human. But ever since he first came to Atlantis and was forced to face that part of himself again, the old instincts were awakening. And he hated it. Around Rodney it wasn’t so bad - he was first and foremost a friend, and even though Yogi still responded to the old cues, Rodney was the dominant one. Well, his ego was, that was for damn sure. But in this place…. He was going to have to walk on eggshells.
Rodney got up with a groan and shuffled over to the other bed. “Oh, hey, they are nice,” he said after he sank down on the edge. He took another drink. “So, what is he?”
John had his eyes shut and was actually starting to doze off. “Weasel.”
Rodney almost choked. “Really? There are wereweasels?”
“Minor clan indicative to North America,” John mumbled. “Know a guy in Whitefish who’s a wolverine. Part of the same clan.” He cracked an eye and chuffed at the expression on Rodney’s face. “Really.”
“Huh.” Rodney’s mouth settled into his crooked grimace as he digested that bit of new information.
The door was still propped open letting in fresh air, so John caught the scent before he heard the soft footsteps. He lifted his head just as a curly haired one peeked in around the edge of the door frame. He sat up abruptly because the scent was actually starting to wake him up. Well, part of him anyway. “Hey!” John blurted out and focused on his aches and pains.
Rodney’s head snapped toward the doorway. First his eyes just lit up and a slow crooked grin followed.
“Howdy, neighbors,” the woman said with a grin and a little wave as she stepped fully into the door but didn’t cross the threshold. She was still in the tank top and Daisy Dukes but was now barefoot. “Saw the police drop you off. You boys alright?”
She had a hint of a rasp in her voice that John found appealing, and man did she have nice legs, but the scent…. He ran a hand down his face. “Yeah, we’re okay. Single vehicle rollover.”
She made a sympathetic cringe. “Totaled?”
“Yup,” John replied. He glanced at Rodney and noticed he looked pretty glazed over at the moment.
“Ouch,” the woman said. “I’m stuck here with car trouble myself. Oxygen sensor went kaput - waiting for the parts store to get one shipped in.” She took one step into the room and held out a hand. “Hi. I’m Larrin.”
John stood and reached out to take her hand. “John.” He indicated Rodney with a jerk of his chin. “The dazed one is Rodney.”
“Hey,” Rodney said rather, well, dazedly.
“Bumped his head,” John added quietly.
Larrin laughed - it was a throaty, slightly husky thing that sent a ripple of fur down his thighs - and nodded in understanding. At that moment a man suddenly appeared in the doorway behind her. He was tall, easily as tall as Ronon, lanky but broad shouldered, and couldn’t have been much older than twenty-five. And he didn’t look very friendly. Larrin turned briefly when the shadow from the guy passed over her. “This is my little brother, Devin.” There was a family resemblance, especially around the nose and line of his jaw, and though his slightly darker hair was close cropped it had a hint of curl, too.
Devin’s eyes were incredibly dark and glittered like obsidian as he looked over his sister’s head at John and Rodney. He stared at each one intently, then just jerked his chin upwards for a greeting and disappeared.
John was relieved - all he could get off the guy with his empathy was a sort of wild buzzing and no real emotion to speak of. That had all the hairs on his inner jaguar standing on end.
Larrin shrugged. “He doesn’t talk much.” She looked John up and down and a faint sly smile touched her lips. “Well, you two look beat - I should let you get some rest. Maybe we can get together later, if you’re up to it?” She put her hands in her back pockets and swiveled back and forth a few times. It emphasized how small her tank top really was.
John made a unintelligible sound before saying, “Maybe.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat.
Larrin laughed again and spun gracefully around on the balls of her feet, and before she left she glanced over her shoulder and waved at Rodney. “Bye, Rodney. Hope your head feels better.”
“Um, bye,” Rodney replied as if he were stoned.
John closed the door behind her, then turned around and leaned heavily against it. He ran a hand down his face again and wasn’t surprised to find sweat in his week old beard.
“She smelled really good,” Rodney practically sighed.
“No, she smelled like trouble,” John growled. “A shitload of trouble,” he added under his breath.
Rodney blinked a few times, and though he was looking at John, it was clear it took a moment for him to actually see him. “Huh?”
“She’s a Pretender, Rodney.” He pulled back the curtain and glanced out the window briefly, and after he let it flop back into place he scrubbed at his face again. Hard. “She was pumping out pheromones like crazy.” He killed his beer and dropped the empty in the garbage can by the television. “And was it just me, or did her brother seem bugfuck insane?”
“She had a brother?”
John growled, low and dangerous.
Rodney reacted as if he’d been slapped. Then he shook his head and scrubbed at his own face, and when he looked at John his eyes were wide and clearer. “Pheromones? Really? Is she a shifter, too?”
“No.” John hadn’t been able to get a lockdown on her true scent because of the pheromones messing with him, but now that they were dissipating, his brain was starting to function again. And it was the brother’s scent that it was focusing on at the moment - hot, metallic, with just the tiniest hint of carrion…. “You need to stay away from her. Them.”
Rodney blinked at the command in John’s voice. Then he ignored Yogi, who was telling him to back off and drop it, and stiffening his own human spine met his friend’s glare. “Why?”
John put his hands on his hips and drew his lips in. He glared at Rodney and damn near said because I said so, then forced himself to remember that Rodney was new to this world he had taken for granted since birth. He chuffed and ran a hand through his hair, then hissed when he hit the bump and crusted blood on the back of his head. “They’re Travelers, Rodney. Bad news by any other name.”
Up went one of Rodney’s hands and motioned for more information.
John just slumped. “They’re demon spawn.”
Rodney’s hand froze and his mouth dropped open. Then the hand was in motion again, and one finger came up. “Excuse me, did I hear you say ‘demon’?” When John nodded his hand dropped down between his knees. “Of course you said ‘demon’. Makes perfect sense. There’s already elves and wereweasels and vampires and pixies with built in riot control. Huh. Why the hell not? Oh, crap,” he muttered and a second later downed the rest of his beer.
“Yeah,” John added. First a town filled with comingling mixed vargyrs, and now half-demons. “I think we need to stay low until Ronon and Teyla get here,” he drawled out.
“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Rodney replied and tossed his empty at the garbage. And missed. “After we get more beer. Because, seriously, this whole effed up day calls for more beer.”
Part 2
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Untamed AU
Length: 22,000
Warnings: some bad language and mild violence
Disclaimer: Don't own them, not for profit, blah blah blah copywrite cakes
Summary: After a camping trip John and Rodney have an accident and wind up stranded in a picturesque little town in the BC Rockies that isn't quite the Rockwellian place it seems. They have to survive until dawn, but the big question is who will kill them first - the townspeople or their new allies?
Author's Note: I'm baaaaaack. And here's another story idea that came from a dream. I'm sad I couldn't work the polar bear into it, tho.
Hunting Season
Rodney paused and watched John break down the tent that had been their home for the last five days and let out a rather bearish snort. Even with his doctorate in engineering, augmented with a slide rule and a surveyor’s transit, he could never get the damn things to roll up and fit back into their cases like they were supposed to. So he returned to loading their rented Xterra while John tackled the nylon monstrosity from hell.
And he just could not believe he willingly went camping for almost a week. Yup, him, the pasty lab denizen who made his own one hundred SPF sunscreen and broke out in hives at the mere thought of the great outdoors…. But then, he was still having trouble believing he was a werebear now, for crap’s sake, and had just survived his third successful transformation. While camping in the woods, without hot showers, or a cafeteria, or multiple computer access, or even a, a toilet….
Yeah, the last few months had been strange, but this … this topped the cake.
When Rodney turned around to grab the camp stove he saw John watching him and smirking. “What?”
“Oh, nothing. You just, ah, keep snorting and shaking your head is all. Everything okay over there? You’re not having some kind of allergic reaction to all the fresh air, are you? Do I need to break out the Benadryl? Call for a medi-vac?”
“Everything is just hunky dory,” Rodney snapped back. “Now, could you please get a move on? I hear a real shower, with hot water, and a mocha quad espresso super grande whatever, somewhere, calling my name. Frantically.” He cocked his head and put a hand to his ear. “And there it goes, again. So….” He waggled fingers impatiently towards John. “Chop chop.” He turned and shoved the camp stove into the little space he had created for it - he knew all those years of playing Tetris would come in handy for something - then ran the cargo netting across the stuff and fastened it down. Nobody could pack like he could. Except for tents, that is, and that was why he preferred hotel camping, thank you very much. When he turned back to start grabbing the soft stuff to pack on top he saw John still grinning at him. “Now what?”
“C’mon, admit it,” John drawled as he broke down a carbon-shaft tent pole. “You had fun.”
“Out in the middle of nowhere, away from computers and cell phones? Smelling you for five days, and drinking your god awful camp coffee? Puh-leeze.” But as he started loading the sleeping bags a crooked grin slowly split his face, and pretty soon he was nodding his head like a total spaz. “Okay, okay, I admit it, but only because absolutely no one except you can hear this…. Yes, I did have fun.”
“Ha! I knew it!” John grabbed the next long pole.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all cocky.” Rodney suddenly froze, his grin slipping and eyes going wide. “Um, you’re not going to tell anyone I ate ants, are you?” He hadn’t been able to stop himself when he came across the old stump full of carpenter ants while in full bear form - something in his brain went ooo yum and he tore into the thing like a, well, bear possessed. It was, was freaky.
John chuffed. “Oh, yeah, right - like anyone would believe Mister If-it-ain’t-deep-fried-and-smothered-in-ketchup-I’m-not-touching-it ate bugs.” As he slid the poles into their bag, his own grin went smug. “So, your secret’s safe with me.”
“Good. And I promise I won’t tell anyone you ate Thumper.” Yeah, that had freaked him the hell out - one second they were ambling back to camp, the full moon still high, and the next John was flying through the air. Launched a good thirty feet, too, and came up with a rabbit. In. His. Teeth. He shuddered at the memory of how absolutely wild his friend’s eyes looked right then. There wasn’t anything remotely human he could recognize in them, and his inner Yogi cowered.
“Hey, you ate some of Thumper, too.”
“Only after it was cooked. And with ketchup. Lots of ketchup.”
“There ya go,” John said as if confirming the revelation to some unseen audience. He turned and started smoothing out the tent now that all the air had oozed out. “Now, get over here and help with this, Baloo.”
“All right, all right. Don’t get your shorts in a twist, Baggy.”
Twenty minutes later they were bouncing down a narrow road that was more of a glorified goat trail than anything meant for vehicular travel. It followed a small clear stream that had been their very cold bathtub during their stay. Carson was the one who told them about the place - one of his favorite camping/fishing spots, as a matter of fact. It sat far enough from civilization for peace and quiet, but still close enough that if they really needed a beer and a cheeseburger it didn’t take hours to find them. Rodney rolled down his window and stuck his head out. “Oh, man - dogs so have the right idea,” he said after a deep breath. His newly enhanced sense of smell was a royal pain in the ass most days, but right now he was in olfactory heaven. The pine, the earth, the clean air - he never knew the great outdoors could smell so, well, great.
John glanced at Rodney, then rolled his window down. He leaned his arm on the open frame and stuck his head out as well. “Yeah,” he drawled , enjoying the wind in his face as he drove.
“Hey! Watch the road!”
John flipped Rodney off and smirked.
They only closed the windows once they got to the highway and picked up speed. Now that they were out of the trees Rodney kicked back and pulled his sunglasses out of the glove box. John slid his own aviator shades on, but every once in awhile he’d glance sideways at Rodney. “What?” Rodney blurted out after the third time it happened.
“Oh, nothing. Was just sitting here wondering if the ant’s legs stuck between your teeth. Never eaten bugs myself.”
Rodney flipped him off, then leaned forward and turned the vent to internal air. The road was freshly chip sealed, and the smell of the tar was giving him a headache. He flopped back. “They did crunch,” he added rather thoughtfully a few minutes later. “Kind of like tiny Rice Krispies, actually. Had a bit of a nutty flavor, too, reminded me of almonds.”
John let out a bark of laughter that was closer to a cough. “TMI, McKay, TMI.”
“Hey, you asked.”
“I know, and now I’m really sorry I did.” John flicked on the CD player and Creedence filled the SUV. They drove on in relaxed, companionable silence, their heads bobbing occasionally to the beat and the flash of shadows and sunlight from the tall trees lining the highway creating a strobe affect that seemed to match the rhythm of the classic rock.
Three songs later they came across a large sign announcing they were about to enter Briscoe, the Friendliest Little Town In BC, population nineteen hundred and change. As they passed the grounds to a huge lumber mill and into the town itself a banner telling them not to forget Logger Days in August stretched across the main drag, which in itself was all of maybe a half a mile long and lined with false-fronted buildings easily a century old. Then John was slowing the SUV down for someone crossing the street. She was in a tank top and Daisy Dukes, had a mass of loose curly brown hair, and when she crossed right in front of them she flashed them a smile over the top of the grocery bag she was carrying as she clearly checked them out.
John and Rodney watched her until she was up on the opposite sidewalk, and only then did John start the rig moving again. “Friendly locals,” he said with a grin.
“Might have to come back for Logger Days,” Rodney added as he leaned forward and turned down the music. “What in the hell are … is Logger Days, anyway?”
John shrugged. “Well, if they’re like Libby’s, there’s probably a parade, a barbeque, logging demos, music, and beer. Kind of fun, actually.” He suddenly pulled into a slanted parking slot in front of a café and shut off the engine. “I don’t know about you, pal, but I could really go for a big greasy double bacon cheeseburger and a shake right now.”
“Oooo. And onion rings,” Rodney said wistfully. “I hope they have onion rings.”
John opened his door. “Hey, I bet if you’re nice to the waitress she’ll throw a handful of ants on your burger for you.”
“Asshole,” Rodney muttered as he got out. While he was still hidden by the open door he pulled a tube of mentholated lip balm out of his pocket and daubed a little under his nose. He was still getting used to smells, and going into new places where lots of unfamiliar people might be was always a trial. He didn’t have too many problems on Atlantis - he was used to all those smells now, even the obnoxious ones that wafted off of Zelenka whenever he got into one of his bizarre food cravings - but strange places were a whole new ball game. And it had been pointed out several times by Sheppard that he tended to make horrendous faces whenever he’d encounter something particularly strong. Of course he only brought this up after the third or fourth time he got weird looks from people and they were shying away from him like he was some crazy man in their midst.
He slammed the door and took in a big, deep breath - even over the minty menthol of the lip balm he could still catch a whiff of road tar, fresh cut lumber and pitch from the mill, hot engine, and fried food. His stomach let out a loud gurgle at the latter, and he saw one of John’s eyebrows rise over his dark shades as they came around the front of the rig. “Hey, breakfast was ….”
“Three hours ago. I know, I know, hypoglycemic. Let’s get you fed before you start gnawing on an arm.” He made a reserved after you gesture, as if he thought his arm might be the one in danger, and after a smarmy little grimace Rodney gladly led the way into the little café. The sleigh bells on the door rattled more than jingled as they stepped inside, and for a split second John paused. The air that rushed at him held the normal scents of any small diner he’d ever set foot in - bacon, hot grease, bread, coffee, bleach - but underneath he caught a hint of something else. It was musky, sharp - primal - and made a ripple of fur run along his spine. He set his features as he followed Rodney to a booth by the windows. There were eight other people in the place, and most of them watched the strangers enter. And of the eight, John saw the nostrils on five of them flare briefly and their eyes widen. He gave them a brief acknowledgement that was an upward flick of his head and a faint smile, then plopped down in the corner booth with his back to the wall. Rodney seemed completely unaware as he picked up one of the laminated menus sitting upright between the ketchup and the napkin holder.
Rodney flipped open his menu. “Yes! They have onion rings!” he said triumphantly.
John took off his sunglasses, hung them on the collar of his t-shirt, and grabbed a menu just as the waitress appeared. “Can I get you boys something to drink?” she asked as she sat some silverware rolled up in napkins on the table. She was older, heavy set, and looked part Native. And she smelled completely human.
“Do you have milkshakes?” he asked, then saw on the menu that indeed, they did. “I’ll take a chocolate one.”
“You want whipped cream on that?”
He grinned and she giggled. “Sure!”
“Figures,” Rodney mumbled. “Coffee for me, black.” She nodded and disappeared. Only then did Rodney notice how tense John was. Or, more precisely, his inner Yogi did. The bear spirit had been fairly subdued ever since the third night of his first change, but it still piped in now and then with essential information and observations he normally did not catch. He glanced around and noticed a few sets of eyes watching them. Didn’t surprise him actually - small town, strangers, stink eye. He’d witnessed it before. But there was something else that was making the hair on the back of his neck, well, prickle…. He lifted the menu to act as a mini-blind between him and the rest of the room. “What?” he barely whispered.
“Let’s just eat our lunch and hit the road,” John replied softly, his attention never leaving his own menu.
Rodney refrained from glancing around again. He didn’t argue with his friend since his inner bear seemed to be emphatically agreeing. And, sometimes, he found it did pipe in with suggestions he actually found worthwhile, especially when it involved some of the weirder vargyr crap. “Okay. I’ll go with that, for now.” The waitress returned with the coffee and a couple glasses of water a moment later, and at least she acted friendly towards them. She left and Rodney took a sip of the steaming drink. And sighed contentedly. “Now that’s coffee.”
“Hey, there was nothing wrong with my coffee.”
Rodney waved a hand through the air. “Please, that crap could eat through a nuclear containment shield.”
“I didn’t see you turning your nose up at it. Drank the whole pot this morning, if I remember right.”
Rodney snorted. “Live in Russia for a few years and you can drink anything.” The waitress returned with John’s shake and for a second Rodney wished he’d ordered one. She took their orders and left them again. Rodney leaned back, one arm draped across the back of the booth, and watched John swipe a large portion of the mound of whipped cream off the top with a spoon and stuff it in his mouth.
“You’re drooling there, pal,” John said through a mouthful of cream which made him look a tad bit on the rabid side. Rodney actually swiped at his chin, then glowered at John. He started to reach out to snag some of the whipped cream, but John pulled the old fashioned glass closer and possessively wrapped an arm around it. “Mine,” he growled, then lifted his lip briefly to bare a fang in an Elvis sneer.
Rodney snatched his hand back, then snickered and made do with his own coffee. He looked out the window, past their rented rig and several pick-up trucks, and could see the edge of a little motel down the street. It’s front actually faced a side street, and the faded sign said something like Lazy Pines Inn. The only vehicle in its lot was an older model Subaru station wagon with mismatched doors, and the view of that was briefly blocked by a fully loaded logging truck roaring by at a little bit faster than the posted speed limit. Yeah, not much going on in Briscoe right now as far as he could tell. He looked back at John and wondered what had put him on edge, so he leaned forward and rested one arm on the table. “You’re freaking me out,” he sing-songed quietly as he lifted his mug to his lips.
John stirred the remaining whipped cream into his shake, and under the sound of the spoon lightly striking the side of the glass he barely whispered, “Smell.”
Rodney blinked - his hearing had grown incredibly sensitive now that he was a werebear. He took a chance and wiped the balm away with his napkin. He waited a moment for that lingering odor to clear before he started taking a few tentative sniffs. His eyes got huge and he started to turn his head.
“Don’t look,” John hissed under his breath. “Just stay calm. We mind our business, we’ll be fine.” From where he was sitting he could see the rest of the diners by just sliding his eyes to the side. Only one person was openly watching them - a big bearded guy in a t-shirt and a trucker hat sitting at the counter, and the outright hostility he could feel radiating off of him was making fur ripple occasionally down his spine - and the rest were seemingly busy with their own meals and conversations. There were five other vargyrs in the room besides him and Rodney, and he did not like it one bit.
“This part of the Rockies is still neutral territory, right?” Rodney whispered. He was still learning all the vargyr clan stuff, or as he called it, the butt-sniffing, chest beating, peeing-on-trees crap.
“Yup.” John took the spoon out and licked it. “I just smell mainly Lupis right now, but I caught Ursus when we first came in, and it wasn’t you.” He was keeping his voice soft so it wouldn’t carry much farther past the booth to sensitive vargyr ears. Even with the muted voices of other diners, the normal kitchen noise, and the piped in country music making the place fairly noisy, he still didn’t want the chance of being overheard. Not that everyone in the room with a sensitive nose already knew what he and Rodney were….
Rodney blinked. “Aren’t they, like, rivals?” He still kept his voice down.
“All clans are rivals, Rodney. And that’s what makes me worried with this … bunch.” He shrugged. “We’ll just eat and leave.”
The big guy at the counter paid his bill and left a moment later. He passed in front of the window and gave the two strangers a less than welcoming once over before climbing into a huge Dodge truck. John ignored him, but Rodney watched the guy back out and gun the engine. Then the mouthwatering smell of his own cheeseburger distracted him as the waitress sat it down in front of him. He didn’t even bother with ketchup - he just slapped the thing together and dug in. He actually groaned as he chewed away happily on his first bite. “Oh, man - I can feel my arteries clogging already,” he said around a mouthful.
John nodded enthusiastically and had to grab a spare napkin to catch juice running down his chin. “I haven’t had a burger this good since, since the Knotty Pine Café.”
“Is that in Montana?” Rodney asked before he shoved an entire onion ring into his mouth.
“Yeah. Little bar on Highway 2 near West Glacier. Burgers I swear the size of this plate.”
They ate in relative silence until the burgers were gone, and while they picked at their remaining sides Rodney suddenly asked, “You liked it there, didn’t you?” Then his eyes widened a fraction as he realized he’d asked a personal question, and this was John Sheppard he was talking to - the man was so tight lipped about his past you’d think he was in Witness Protection.
John shrugged casually with one shoulder and Rodney relaxed, and the little smile on his face was actually wistful. “Yeah, I did. Good people there.” He dragged a fry through a puddle of cheese and grease on his plate. “But I like where I am now, too. Good people there, also.”
Rodney ducked his head. “There are, aren’t there?” he muttered. He didn’t think he could have retained his sanity, let alone survived his Change without the support he had. And still had. It boggled even his exceptional mind that he had actual friends now. And since the guy was being, well, open, he blurted out before he could change his mind, “So, are you and, ah, Espinoza still, you know…?” He wobbled his head in his nod/shake that always showed up when he was embarrassed.
“We are.” John felt his ears get a little warm as a wave of guilt washed over him. “We’re taking things a little slower right now.” He couldn’t help flashing back to their first night together, and what he did to her neck when he lost control. It was so bad in the morning he took her to the infirmary and shortly thereafter found himself in Carson’s office getting the ass chewing of his life. John took it, too - he wasn’t human and he had to be careful. He understood it completely, and the evidence of his dual nature had caused someone he cared about an awful lot of pain. “We both decided it was the best thing right now.”
“Good. Good.” Rodney killed his last onion ring. “Glad to hear things are still okay.” He had come down pretty hard on John, too, for hurting one of his scientists, then spent an entire day freaking because his inner Yogi was certain he’d overstepped his bounds in that whole annoying and illogical vargyr alpha thing and expected retaliation of some kind. He did get a rather hard smack upside the back of his head at dinner, but that was all, and he, well Yogi was twitchy for a week waiting for the other boot to drop. His human part considered the matter closed. “Because, well, she’s a catch. Gorgeous, smart … smart.”
John grinned. “Yeah, she is.” Then he narrowed his eyes. “Say, are you coveting my girlfriend?”
Rodney started. “What? No, no, I’m not. Just saying….” He saw John barely containing himself. “Asshole,” he grumbled.
John chuffed. “You know, I think that Doc Brown is harboring something for you.”
“Katie?” Rodney said hopefully, then immediately went nonchalant. “Eh, she only has eyes for her plants. And those, those tiny flying WMD’s she has working for her.”
“I’m going to tell Eira you called her a WMD.”
“Oh, God no! I don’t want to be….” He glanced around, mindful of listening ears. “You know.”
John chuckled. “Relax - she’ll think it’s a compliment.”
Rodney thought about that for a moment. “Huh. She would, wouldn’t she?” Then he had to chuckle, too. “She nailed Ronon again the other day, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. Was there. Slipped and called her Tink, and bam. Thought he learned the first time.” The waitress came with the check right then and left with their empty plates. John started to reach for his wallet but Rodney snatched the check away before he even got his ass cheek far enough off the bench so he could get a hand in his back pocket. He raised an eyebrow.
“Just go with it,” Rodney snapped as he pulled money from his wallet.
“Okay,” John drawled out. “The fresh air did something strange to you, and it’s freaking me out.”
Rodney just sneered at him
A short time later they were backing away from the café, and they did see someone come to the window to watch them, a cell phone to their ear. “Now that’s just creepy,” Rodney muttered as John straightened the rig out and pulled away. “I know we’re strangers and all, but c’mon - really? Is that necessary? We didn’t, like, pee on the walls or anything. Just … creepy.” He put his sunglasses back on and just kind of scrunched down in his seat.
“No arguing there,” John said. He was hyper vigilant as they drove down the short main drag, and not quite near the edge of town, in front of a hardware slash car parts store, he spotted Trucker Hat chatting with a couple other men. Their conversation stopped and the three turned to watch them drive by. He ignored them, but he noticed Rodney crane his head around to watch them until the load in the back blocked his view. A minute later they passed the “leaving city limits, please come back” sign and John chuffed. “Doubt that,” he said under his breath as he put more pressure on the gas pedal than was necessary and the heavily loaded rig surged forward. He glanced at the clock before looking back at the steadily rising needle on the speedometer. “Hey, I think we might be able to catch the last ferry out of….”
“Oh shit!” Rodney yelled. John’s head snapped up and he saw the black bear running out onto the road right in front of them.
Sometimes vargyr reflexes were too good.
“Shit!” John echoed as he swerved to the right. He was pretty sure he took hairs off the bear’s ass just before he felt the front passenger tire leave the tarmac and hit the soft muddy shoulder. He tried to keep control of the wheel but the tire was caught, the back end slid sickeningly sideways, and he felt the heavy rig start to tilt….
-oOo-
Rodney wasn’t sure how many times the SUV tumbled - he kept his arms wrapped around his head to protect it from any flying camping gear and his eyes squeezed shut. He was dimly aware of the side impact airbag deploying, and when things finally quit doing their best imitation of riding inside a cement mixer he found himself hanging upside down, the seatbelt digging into his shoulder and … elsewhere. The silence was deafening and his eyes shot open, but he still kept his head cradled in his arms. It was a testament to his packing abilities that there wasn’t as much crap in the front with them, and it seemed it was mainly the softer stuff that was on top. The windshield was a mass of cracks and a sleeping bag sat between him and John. “Sheppard,” he called out.
He didn’t get a reply.
“Sheppard?” Rodney frantically started pushing at the sleeping bag until it was shoved out of the way. John was hanging limply from his own seatbelt, his head at an odd angle because the tent case was trying to fit between him and his head rest, his forehead pressed against the steering wheel. “John!”
“Huh!?!” John jerked awake and for a second a shadow passed across his face as he almost Changed in surprise. He growled and struggled and got the tent out of the way. “You all right, McKay?” he asked as he blinked and glanced around as if it was just registering that they were upside down. Then he cradled the back of his head and grimaced, and when he pulled his hand away there was some blood on it.
“I’m okay,” Rodney grumbled and started tugging at his seatbelt. “’Bout to lose circulation in my…. Gyah! It’s stuck.”
“Just a second, Rodney.” John started moving stuff out of the way with one hand while he braced the other against the ceiling to ease some of the pressure from his own seatbelt. Then Rodney got his undone and the next thing John knew there was an ass in his face. “Jesus, McKay! Watch it!” He got tagged in the ear by a hiking boot a second later. “Ow! Dammit!”
“Sorry!” Rodney squirmed and got turned right side up and only kicked John one more time. “Here, I can….” He started to reach for the release on John’s seatbelt but got his hands batted away.
“I can manage,” John growled. He went back to bracing himself, but this time with both hands. “While you’re down there, how about you try kicking out the windshield?”
“I can’t….” Rodney started to protest then remembered he was a lot stronger now and gave an experimental one foot kick. One corner popped free, so with a crooked grin he attacked it with gusto. Didn’t take much to pop it out. He started to crawl out, feet first, and when he was halfway free he saw John release the catch to his seatbelt and just gracefully ooze out from behind the steering wheel. “Showoff,” Rodney grumbled as he carefully finished backing out.
John crawled out a moment later, and for close to a minute he and Rodney just stood there and stared at the bits and pieces of the Xterra that were scattered for close to a hundred feet down the highway. There was no sign of the bear. “Damn bear,” John grumbled as he rubbed his forehead - he could tell he was going to have a bruise and goose egg there from the steering wheel - and he could just imagine what the seat belt bites were going to look like in a few hours.
They were both distracted by the sound of a big engine and air brakes and turned to find a flatbed delivery truck coming to a halt on the other side of the road, its hazards flashing in the tall tree induced gloom. It wasn’t Trucker Hat, but it could have been a cousin. He leaned out his window. “Hey, you guys all right?”
John raised his left arm and offered a grimace laced with both pain and embarrassment. “Yeah, we’re fine. Just got bounced around.”
“What happened?”
“A bear ran out in front of us,” Rodney said. He was rubbing his right shoulder. “He swerved, ditch caught us….” He made a little rolling motion with his hand and shrugged. Then he turned and glanced back at the trail of pieces-parts and all he could think was holy crap, were we lucky. He turned back and glowered at John, then smacked him in the arm. Hard.
John went sideways for a couple steps, a hand rubbing the point of impact. “Hey! What the hell?”
“That’s for almost killing the greatest mind on this planet!” Rodney let out in one quick rush.
John blinked, chuffed, blinked again, then broke out in snickers. Rodney glared murderously at him for a moment, but then started snickering as well. They both let loose as survivor relief kicked in. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to deprive the poor world of that, now, would I?” John choked out.
“Please wait until I’ve won the Nobel, at least,” Rodney replied between giggles. “That’s all I ask.”
“You and your spork. Will it be black to match your tux?”
They both completely lost it and doubled over with laughter, and the trucker just shook his head as he picked up his radio to call in the accident. He climbed out of the cab a moment later, and he was grinning as he retrieved his hazard markers and a couple flares. By the time he got over to them Rodney was sitting on the ground and John had one hand braced against the overturned vehicle’s front bumper. “Constable’s on his way,” the guy said.
“Thanks,” John wheezed out as he wiped his eyes. He suddenly caught a whiff of corn chips and straightened up to find their good Samaritan werebear pale faced and staring at him. That sobered John up instantly. “Can I, ah, help with that?” he asked and gestured to the flares and markers.
“Nope. I got it.” The guy hustled off quicker than necessary before waiting for any kind of reply from John.
John immediately checked his pockets for his phone then remembered it was in the glove box. “McKay - you got your cell?”
Rodney nodded as he got his breathing under control and dug in a pocket. “Right … here.” He flipped the top and made a surprised huh over the fact that he did have a signal.
John was about to ask him to call Atlantis when he spotted the police, no, constable’s four-by-four approaching, lights flashing but no siren. He pulled up behind the overturned Xterra and got out. He was a tall wiry fellow, dark, narrow featured, and when he gave them a nod and small smile, John couldn’t help thinking he looked like a ferret.
Then the man’s scent hit him, and he wasn’t too far from the mark.
The constable was controlled - his expression didn’t change but his step faltered briefly. Rodney shot to his feet rather gracefully, his eyes wide and darting to John, the question broadcasting clearly - what is he? The constable gave Rodney a cursory once over, then focused on John. “You boys are lucky,” he said, his voice surprisingly deep and with a hint of the slow cadence of a Native.
John had his wallet in his hand and was pulling out his driver’s license. “Yeah. Bear ran out in front of us, missed him, not the ditch.” He handed it over and concentrated on being as non-threatening and calm as possible to what his senses were telling him was a true born vargyr. Rodney came over and produced his ID as well.
His new proximity elicited a true double-take from the constable and for a second he slipped and sniffed in Rodney’s direction. Then he shook his head and got himself back under control. He studied the two ID’s. “Whose vehicle?”
“It’s a rental,” John supplied. “Papers are, uh, in the glove box. I can….”
“It can wait for the moment,” the constable replied a bit too quickly. He twitched his head towards his rig. “Let’s start the paperwork.”
John nodded and he and Rodney followed the man over to his vehicle. He kept himself as subdued and neutral as possible and hoped Rodney’s inner Yogi would pick up on that fact. And that Rodney would actually listen to it for a change.
-oOo-
Nearly four hours later, after a crapload of paperwork and being checked over by an EMT who was human and a small volunteer fire crew where several weren’t, John was carrying their cooler into room number seven at the Lazy Pines while Rodney was on the phone with Elizabeth. Now that the adrenaline from the accident was gone he ached everywhere and was looking forward to a long hot shower and just collapsing on the motel bed. He sat the cooler near the door, the rest of their gear already in neat little piles in the corners and any open space in the surprisingly large room, and pulled out a beer. It wasn’t very cold, and he might have to go over to the little market down the street for ice and more beer later, but he really didn’t care at the moment. He popped the tab and had half of it down before he turned to Rodney.
“We’re fine, Elizabeth. Really,” Rodney repeated for the fourth or fifth time. He noticed John had a beer and snapped his fingers. John just smirked and plopped down on the end of the bed closest to him. Rodney grimaced at him and stomped over to the cooler. “Okay, okay, we’ll check in first thing in the morning. I promise. Bye.” He sighed rather heavily as he snapped the phone shut and bent over to grab a beer - the last one. He just gingerly sat down on top of the cooler. “She’s sending Ronon and Teyla out first light to come get us.” He popped his own beer and took a long drink.
“Cool,” John just sort of sighed out. He slowly laid back and rested his beer on his stomach.
“How are the beds?”
“Pretty damn nice.” He rubbed his sore forehead then let his arm just flop down on the loud flower print bed spread. He was absolutely exhausted from trying to keep his vargyr nature completely contained and nonthreatening as possible as they dealt with Constable Martin and the emergency crew. He was of royal blood and other vargyrs could sense it as well, so trying to keep from acting alpha around others when every instinct screamed at him to show dominance …. Well, it was incredibly tiring. He hadn’t had this much of a problem when he lived on his own - he had suppressed his true nature so heavily for so long that his body and senses were beginning to believe he really was human. But ever since he first came to Atlantis and was forced to face that part of himself again, the old instincts were awakening. And he hated it. Around Rodney it wasn’t so bad - he was first and foremost a friend, and even though Yogi still responded to the old cues, Rodney was the dominant one. Well, his ego was, that was for damn sure. But in this place…. He was going to have to walk on eggshells.
Rodney got up with a groan and shuffled over to the other bed. “Oh, hey, they are nice,” he said after he sank down on the edge. He took another drink. “So, what is he?”
John had his eyes shut and was actually starting to doze off. “Weasel.”
Rodney almost choked. “Really? There are wereweasels?”
“Minor clan indicative to North America,” John mumbled. “Know a guy in Whitefish who’s a wolverine. Part of the same clan.” He cracked an eye and chuffed at the expression on Rodney’s face. “Really.”
“Huh.” Rodney’s mouth settled into his crooked grimace as he digested that bit of new information.
The door was still propped open letting in fresh air, so John caught the scent before he heard the soft footsteps. He lifted his head just as a curly haired one peeked in around the edge of the door frame. He sat up abruptly because the scent was actually starting to wake him up. Well, part of him anyway. “Hey!” John blurted out and focused on his aches and pains.
Rodney’s head snapped toward the doorway. First his eyes just lit up and a slow crooked grin followed.
“Howdy, neighbors,” the woman said with a grin and a little wave as she stepped fully into the door but didn’t cross the threshold. She was still in the tank top and Daisy Dukes but was now barefoot. “Saw the police drop you off. You boys alright?”
She had a hint of a rasp in her voice that John found appealing, and man did she have nice legs, but the scent…. He ran a hand down his face. “Yeah, we’re okay. Single vehicle rollover.”
She made a sympathetic cringe. “Totaled?”
“Yup,” John replied. He glanced at Rodney and noticed he looked pretty glazed over at the moment.
“Ouch,” the woman said. “I’m stuck here with car trouble myself. Oxygen sensor went kaput - waiting for the parts store to get one shipped in.” She took one step into the room and held out a hand. “Hi. I’m Larrin.”
John stood and reached out to take her hand. “John.” He indicated Rodney with a jerk of his chin. “The dazed one is Rodney.”
“Hey,” Rodney said rather, well, dazedly.
“Bumped his head,” John added quietly.
Larrin laughed - it was a throaty, slightly husky thing that sent a ripple of fur down his thighs - and nodded in understanding. At that moment a man suddenly appeared in the doorway behind her. He was tall, easily as tall as Ronon, lanky but broad shouldered, and couldn’t have been much older than twenty-five. And he didn’t look very friendly. Larrin turned briefly when the shadow from the guy passed over her. “This is my little brother, Devin.” There was a family resemblance, especially around the nose and line of his jaw, and though his slightly darker hair was close cropped it had a hint of curl, too.
Devin’s eyes were incredibly dark and glittered like obsidian as he looked over his sister’s head at John and Rodney. He stared at each one intently, then just jerked his chin upwards for a greeting and disappeared.
John was relieved - all he could get off the guy with his empathy was a sort of wild buzzing and no real emotion to speak of. That had all the hairs on his inner jaguar standing on end.
Larrin shrugged. “He doesn’t talk much.” She looked John up and down and a faint sly smile touched her lips. “Well, you two look beat - I should let you get some rest. Maybe we can get together later, if you’re up to it?” She put her hands in her back pockets and swiveled back and forth a few times. It emphasized how small her tank top really was.
John made a unintelligible sound before saying, “Maybe.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat.
Larrin laughed again and spun gracefully around on the balls of her feet, and before she left she glanced over her shoulder and waved at Rodney. “Bye, Rodney. Hope your head feels better.”
“Um, bye,” Rodney replied as if he were stoned.
John closed the door behind her, then turned around and leaned heavily against it. He ran a hand down his face again and wasn’t surprised to find sweat in his week old beard.
“She smelled really good,” Rodney practically sighed.
“No, she smelled like trouble,” John growled. “A shitload of trouble,” he added under his breath.
Rodney blinked a few times, and though he was looking at John, it was clear it took a moment for him to actually see him. “Huh?”
“She’s a Pretender, Rodney.” He pulled back the curtain and glanced out the window briefly, and after he let it flop back into place he scrubbed at his face again. Hard. “She was pumping out pheromones like crazy.” He killed his beer and dropped the empty in the garbage can by the television. “And was it just me, or did her brother seem bugfuck insane?”
“She had a brother?”
John growled, low and dangerous.
Rodney reacted as if he’d been slapped. Then he shook his head and scrubbed at his own face, and when he looked at John his eyes were wide and clearer. “Pheromones? Really? Is she a shifter, too?”
“No.” John hadn’t been able to get a lockdown on her true scent because of the pheromones messing with him, but now that they were dissipating, his brain was starting to function again. And it was the brother’s scent that it was focusing on at the moment - hot, metallic, with just the tiniest hint of carrion…. “You need to stay away from her. Them.”
Rodney blinked at the command in John’s voice. Then he ignored Yogi, who was telling him to back off and drop it, and stiffening his own human spine met his friend’s glare. “Why?”
John put his hands on his hips and drew his lips in. He glared at Rodney and damn near said because I said so, then forced himself to remember that Rodney was new to this world he had taken for granted since birth. He chuffed and ran a hand through his hair, then hissed when he hit the bump and crusted blood on the back of his head. “They’re Travelers, Rodney. Bad news by any other name.”
Up went one of Rodney’s hands and motioned for more information.
John just slumped. “They’re demon spawn.”
Rodney’s hand froze and his mouth dropped open. Then the hand was in motion again, and one finger came up. “Excuse me, did I hear you say ‘demon’?” When John nodded his hand dropped down between his knees. “Of course you said ‘demon’. Makes perfect sense. There’s already elves and wereweasels and vampires and pixies with built in riot control. Huh. Why the hell not? Oh, crap,” he muttered and a second later downed the rest of his beer.
“Yeah,” John added. First a town filled with comingling mixed vargyrs, and now half-demons. “I think we need to stay low until Ronon and Teyla get here,” he drawled out.
“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Rodney replied and tossed his empty at the garbage. And missed. “After we get more beer. Because, seriously, this whole effed up day calls for more beer.”
Part 2