Visitation, by Sophonisba [supernatural challenge]
-title- Visitation
-author- Sophonisba (saphanibaal)
-rating/warnings- Suitable for general audiences. Gen. AU (ton Zophonisbeion).
-spoilers- General for first through third season. This is something of a sequel to "Miko and the Bears" and a prequel to "Lead Casket," but I hope it stands on its own.
-characters- Sheppard. And somebody else. ^_^ (And a guest appearance by "Chuck" the technician.)
-disclaimer- SGA, of course, is not mine. Neither, of course, is the Beren Onehand mentioned. Or any of the Witchkings. Or Cei ap Cenwr, although I'd treat him and his foster brother better than the Stargate franchise has.
-word count- 1300
-summary- He would tell someone when he woke that his dreams had crossed over into the land of the tales of his childhood, if he had had anyone to care even to listen.
Visitation
It was a long flight to Antarctica, especially as a passenger, and Sheppard wasn't really surprised that he'd dozed off like the others; the first he knew of it was that a man with a squarish expressive face and a plaid flannel shirt was apparently sitting next to him, despite the fact that no such man had been among those boarding the flight.
"There you are," the dream-figment said happily in a Northern accent, and then his face fell. "...no, you're not."
Sheppard arched an eyebrow at him. He was really too tired for this, even if he weren't asleep.
"Not like that," Plaid Shirt said. "I knew your son."
Son? Knew? Questions sprung to his lips too fast for any one to be voiced for a second, and in that moment Plaid Shirt hastily interrupted.
"Not the two you have now, they're both fine... huh. So that's how you're related, I always thought there had to be some connection. Not that it would be a relation per se, given -- anyway. I knew the son with your face you might have raised if you hadn't been doing something else at the time, also called John, got a lot of his, well, everything from you. About my age."
"So you know people who might exist. Interesting trick, that."
"Oh. No, see, I was from the future, only when I came back some things changed by accident, and I was trying to keep the important things from changing, only I can't do much about it any more now that I'm all, oh, glowy."
"Glowy," Sheppard repeated.
"It'll all make sense this time next decade," Plaid Shirt said helpfully, for a moment seeming almost to be a much older, bald version of himself. "Anyway, I meant to say useful things in your presence, that is, his, such as would be helpful if things were to go as they ought, and since you aren't the Major I probably really should."
"How do you know these important things of yours are so important?" He might as well play along, as he didn't seem to have any luck falling deeper into sleep.
"Well, the surface of the Earth is still there, there are still an ungodly number of humans living on it, that kind of thing."
"Oh. That kind of thing."
"Yeah."
"So," Sheppard finally broke the uncomfortable silence, "I may not be this nonexisting kid but I am a Major, if that helps."
Plaid Shirt nodded. "And you're -- I guess I don't have to tell you to go in after your people if they're there to be gone after."
No. He didn't.
Sheppard jerked his head sharply.
"The thing they say about a crummy decision being better than no decision is true, especially when the clock's ticking. I know you've got that man-slut thing going for you -- "
"Man-slut?!"
Plaid Shirt went on as if he'd never been interrupted at all. "-- but be sure to listen to them, too. In fact, always listen to the expert in his or her field, particularly her field; there's a reason why they're an expert and you're not, but don't forget that there's a reason you're an expert in making things go die, too. Um. I think it's far enough on that it won't crash if I bring this up, so, um, if someone wants to change a vicious predator into a human being..."
"Who would take care of him?" Sheppard wondered.
"Of who?"
"The former predator. I mean, you'd be making a new human being, so that's like making a child, so you'd be responsible for him forever after..."
"Huh. That is different." Plaid Shirt sounded almost happy.
"No, it's not," Sheppard argued. "It's what you do, or you'd be as bad as the Others in the stories and their abominations, running around making vampires and Furies and whatnot."
"Ohhhhh." Now Plaid Shirt was, if not happy, fascinated and openly curious. It looked good on him. Fitting. "You already know -- here."
He pulled his hands apart, and behind Sheppard's eyes a word danced in his head, strangely-shaped black letters against a pale background.
"This is the address of the planet where the abominations went," he began.
"The Furies weren't abominations," Sheppard argued. "Making them as they were made was the abomination."
"Do I look like I care? I mean, obviously I do, but do I look like it? My point is, this is where they are, memorize the symbols, tattoo them on the back of your eyelids if you have to, but don't go there. You can't do anything for them."
"What language is that?" He didn't bother bringing up the fact that abominations were everyone's business.
"It isn't language, it's symbols -- and please, you really can't, you'll get your people killed if you try."
"Not without an unbinder, I won't." He would tell someone when he woke that his dreams had crossed over into the land of the tales of his childhood, if he had had anyone to care even to listen. "I don't suppose your next visit is a Witchking or Bern Onehand or Meredith au-Kei au-Kenoor, by any chance?"
Then he thumped Plaid Shirt in the shoulder, because the man looked rather as if he was choking on his own breath. The other man was reassuringly solid; it was almost as real as the time he'd dreamed he'd gone to a Chinese buffet and had three plates, including the perfect honey chicken from that place that wasn't there anymore.
"Not really, no -- and it's Beren, by the way -- "
"Well, originally, yes."
" -- but you're going to meet that last guy yourself. Only. Uh. Don't call him Meredith, it's a stupid name."
"Hey! Just because it's mostly a girl's name round here these days -- my mom wanted to name me Meredith!"
"Oh. Ohh. Ohhhhh." Plaid Shirt's azure eyes were gleaming, and his smile seemed to lift his chin as well as the corners of his mouth. "I am so going to make you remember you said that. Or, well, he will, I'm sure."
"I'm sure," Sheppard echoed, thinking that he wanted to remember this dream; anything that involved both the archwizard of the lost city, the son Sir Kei's fair cousin bore him, and being trusted not to screw the fate of the world up was almost certainly one for the record books.
"Yes, well. Gotta run, places to go, people to see, thought police to avoid, all that. Oh, and! This is really, really important."
Sheppard nodded.
"If you get the chance, sit down."
And the guy in the plaid shirt dissolved into an amorphous blob of light and floated away, fading as he went.
"Those are really crummy last words, you know," Sheppard told the place where he'd been sitting. "It's not as if it isn't notorious soldier's wisdom. I'd have to really stretch myself to come up with crappier ones."
*
Their second night in Atlantis, Major Sheppard wandered into the gate room and stood looking at the gate for a while.
He didn't remember most of the details of the Really Weird Dream on the way to Antarctica -- the guy's face, for instance, had long since become something of a blur -- but he remembered the word, the address, quite distinctly.
All of its letters were on the gate, among the other constellation symbols.
"Can I help you?"
"No, not really," Sheppard told the Canadian tech guy. "Just looking."
And he wandered back out, wondering why all the Canadians on the expedition looked vaguely familiar, as if he'd met them somewhere before and just couldn't place them. Dr. Singh did, and this guy whose name he really ought to remember did, and Dr. McKay had until he sort of washed those sorts of questions away through force of presence...
-author- Sophonisba (saphanibaal)
-rating/warnings- Suitable for general audiences. Gen. AU (ton Zophonisbeion).
-spoilers- General for first through third season. This is something of a sequel to "Miko and the Bears" and a prequel to "Lead Casket," but I hope it stands on its own.
-characters- Sheppard. And somebody else. ^_^ (And a guest appearance by "Chuck" the technician.)
-disclaimer- SGA, of course, is not mine. Neither, of course, is the Beren Onehand mentioned. Or any of the Witchkings. Or Cei ap Cenwr, although I'd treat him and his foster brother better than the Stargate franchise has.
-word count- 1300
-summary- He would tell someone when he woke that his dreams had crossed over into the land of the tales of his childhood, if he had had anyone to care even to listen.
Visitation
It was a long flight to Antarctica, especially as a passenger, and Sheppard wasn't really surprised that he'd dozed off like the others; the first he knew of it was that a man with a squarish expressive face and a plaid flannel shirt was apparently sitting next to him, despite the fact that no such man had been among those boarding the flight.
"There you are," the dream-figment said happily in a Northern accent, and then his face fell. "...no, you're not."
Sheppard arched an eyebrow at him. He was really too tired for this, even if he weren't asleep.
"Not like that," Plaid Shirt said. "I knew your son."
Son? Knew? Questions sprung to his lips too fast for any one to be voiced for a second, and in that moment Plaid Shirt hastily interrupted.
"Not the two you have now, they're both fine... huh. So that's how you're related, I always thought there had to be some connection. Not that it would be a relation per se, given -- anyway. I knew the son with your face you might have raised if you hadn't been doing something else at the time, also called John, got a lot of his, well, everything from you. About my age."
"So you know people who might exist. Interesting trick, that."
"Oh. No, see, I was from the future, only when I came back some things changed by accident, and I was trying to keep the important things from changing, only I can't do much about it any more now that I'm all, oh, glowy."
"Glowy," Sheppard repeated.
"It'll all make sense this time next decade," Plaid Shirt said helpfully, for a moment seeming almost to be a much older, bald version of himself. "Anyway, I meant to say useful things in your presence, that is, his, such as would be helpful if things were to go as they ought, and since you aren't the Major I probably really should."
"How do you know these important things of yours are so important?" He might as well play along, as he didn't seem to have any luck falling deeper into sleep.
"Well, the surface of the Earth is still there, there are still an ungodly number of humans living on it, that kind of thing."
"Oh. That kind of thing."
"Yeah."
"So," Sheppard finally broke the uncomfortable silence, "I may not be this nonexisting kid but I am a Major, if that helps."
Plaid Shirt nodded. "And you're -- I guess I don't have to tell you to go in after your people if they're there to be gone after."
No. He didn't.
Sheppard jerked his head sharply.
"The thing they say about a crummy decision being better than no decision is true, especially when the clock's ticking. I know you've got that man-slut thing going for you -- "
"Man-slut?!"
Plaid Shirt went on as if he'd never been interrupted at all. "-- but be sure to listen to them, too. In fact, always listen to the expert in his or her field, particularly her field; there's a reason why they're an expert and you're not, but don't forget that there's a reason you're an expert in making things go die, too. Um. I think it's far enough on that it won't crash if I bring this up, so, um, if someone wants to change a vicious predator into a human being..."
"Who would take care of him?" Sheppard wondered.
"Of who?"
"The former predator. I mean, you'd be making a new human being, so that's like making a child, so you'd be responsible for him forever after..."
"Huh. That is different." Plaid Shirt sounded almost happy.
"No, it's not," Sheppard argued. "It's what you do, or you'd be as bad as the Others in the stories and their abominations, running around making vampires and Furies and whatnot."
"Ohhhhh." Now Plaid Shirt was, if not happy, fascinated and openly curious. It looked good on him. Fitting. "You already know -- here."
He pulled his hands apart, and behind Sheppard's eyes a word danced in his head, strangely-shaped black letters against a pale background.
"This is the address of the planet where the abominations went," he began.
"The Furies weren't abominations," Sheppard argued. "Making them as they were made was the abomination."
"Do I look like I care? I mean, obviously I do, but do I look like it? My point is, this is where they are, memorize the symbols, tattoo them on the back of your eyelids if you have to, but don't go there. You can't do anything for them."
"What language is that?" He didn't bother bringing up the fact that abominations were everyone's business.
"It isn't language, it's symbols -- and please, you really can't, you'll get your people killed if you try."
"Not without an unbinder, I won't." He would tell someone when he woke that his dreams had crossed over into the land of the tales of his childhood, if he had had anyone to care even to listen. "I don't suppose your next visit is a Witchking or Bern Onehand or Meredith au-Kei au-Kenoor, by any chance?"
Then he thumped Plaid Shirt in the shoulder, because the man looked rather as if he was choking on his own breath. The other man was reassuringly solid; it was almost as real as the time he'd dreamed he'd gone to a Chinese buffet and had three plates, including the perfect honey chicken from that place that wasn't there anymore.
"Not really, no -- and it's Beren, by the way -- "
"Well, originally, yes."
" -- but you're going to meet that last guy yourself. Only. Uh. Don't call him Meredith, it's a stupid name."
"Hey! Just because it's mostly a girl's name round here these days -- my mom wanted to name me Meredith!"
"Oh. Ohh. Ohhhhh." Plaid Shirt's azure eyes were gleaming, and his smile seemed to lift his chin as well as the corners of his mouth. "I am so going to make you remember you said that. Or, well, he will, I'm sure."
"I'm sure," Sheppard echoed, thinking that he wanted to remember this dream; anything that involved both the archwizard of the lost city, the son Sir Kei's fair cousin bore him, and being trusted not to screw the fate of the world up was almost certainly one for the record books.
"Yes, well. Gotta run, places to go, people to see, thought police to avoid, all that. Oh, and! This is really, really important."
Sheppard nodded.
"If you get the chance, sit down."
And the guy in the plaid shirt dissolved into an amorphous blob of light and floated away, fading as he went.
"Those are really crummy last words, you know," Sheppard told the place where he'd been sitting. "It's not as if it isn't notorious soldier's wisdom. I'd have to really stretch myself to come up with crappier ones."
*
Their second night in Atlantis, Major Sheppard wandered into the gate room and stood looking at the gate for a while.
He didn't remember most of the details of the Really Weird Dream on the way to Antarctica -- the guy's face, for instance, had long since become something of a blur -- but he remembered the word, the address, quite distinctly.
All of its letters were on the gate, among the other constellation symbols.
"Can I help you?"
"No, not really," Sheppard told the Canadian tech guy. "Just looking."
And he wandered back out, wondering why all the Canadians on the expedition looked vaguely familiar, as if he'd met them somewhere before and just couldn't place them. Dr. Singh did, and this guy whose name he really ought to remember did, and Dr. McKay had until he sort of washed those sorts of questions away through force of presence...