What Doesn't Kill You
Title: What Doesn't Kill You
Author: Wraithkeeper (aka Lonely Angel)
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Timeframe: Any
Characters: Lt. Col. John Sheppard
Warnings: Contains torture
Summary: Sheppard is held captive and tortured for information. Contains torture, obvioudly, and lots of Shep whump!
Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis and its characters don't belong to me.
John could no longer hold back the pained scream that ripped out of his lungs and pierced the air. His head rolled back to rest against the back of the chair and he tried to choke back the sobs that escaped him. He would not betray his friends; he’d die before he told his captors anything - and that possibility was looking more and more likely as the days continued. He knew he was too weak to last much longer, and he almost welcomed the escape of death. Anything had to be better than this. His thoughts turned to his friends on Atlantis. They were the closest thing he’d ever had to a family. He wondered if they were still searching for him, or if they had given up yet. Another knife slid into his arm and he was drawn out of his reverie.
One of the guards grabbed a handful of John’s hair and jerked his head up to look at the interrogator. “Tell me! What’s the code needed to gain access to your stargate?”
“Go to Hell” John forced out through clenched teeth.
His reward was a blow to the jaw that sent the chair toppling to the ground. He received a few kicks to the stomach before he was finally left alone again. He heard the door slam shut and tried to look over his shoulder to make sure all the men had left, but the position of the fallen chair prevented him from seeing anything behind him. He listened carefully but didn’t hear anyone else in the room, so he gave a relieved sigh and allowed himself to succumb to unconsciousness.
John awoke to the sound of heavy footsteps and the door swinging open to hit the wall. His arm was numb from being pinned under the chair, and he knew he had several broken ribs from the kicks he had received last night - or had it been morning? He’d long since lost track of time and was only guessing that he’d been here four days.
“Sleep good?” the interrogator taunted and motioned for the guards to pick up the chair.
Once he was sitting upright again, John was able to see what was going on. What he saw terrified him. The guards had wheeled in a cart carrying what appeared to be the alien equivalent of a car battery. John struggled against the ropes that bound his hands, hoping that this time they would finally break; but he was unlucky, as he’d known he would be. “Please…no…” He whimpered, aware of the pleading note in his voice.
“But we’ll have such fun,” The interrogator laughed.
When the man nodded at the guards standing behind the chair, John fought to turn his head far enough to see what they were doing. He was shocked to feel a bucket of water dumped over his head. Even knowing what was coming, he couldn’t help but lick the water greedily off his lips in an attempt to quench his unbearable thirst. His tormentor chuckled at John’s actions. John closed his eyes and fought the nauseous feeling rising in his stomach as the guards prepared everything for their next round of “interrogation” - at least that’s what they insisted on calling it.
“So, do you feel like answering any questions today?”
John steeled himself for what he knew was coming. His expectations weren’t disappointed as the electricity ripped through his body like liquid fire. His back arched involuntarily against the pain, and his chest tightened until he couldn’t breathe. John’s head was filled with an intense roar as he began to lose consciousness. Then, blessedly, the current stopped and John was able to breathe again. He gasped desperately for air and attempted to regain his composure. Tremors ran through his body and it still felt like every nerve ending was being assaulted simultaneously.
John was unable to say anything when he was asked for his access code. He gasped for air and looked up at his tormentor, his eyes pleading and desperate for relief. His gaze was met with a cold, hard stare. John flinched when he saw the man reaching for the device again. “Last chance” he heard, before the pain returned full force. The electricity danced over his nerve endings and the pain was unbearable. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but wait for it to stop. Then it was finally over and John slumped in his chair. His body was beginning to shut down, he knew that. As he slipped into unconsciousness, he wondered how much longer he could survive.
The sound of the door being thrown open jerked John awake, and he looked down at the floor as he heard footsteps approaching from behind. He waited for the assault that was sure to come, but was confused to see the man before him kneel down to be eye-level with him. John kept his eyes trained on the floor to avoid angering the man before him.
John cringed away from the hand that reached toward him, and was shocked when it withdrew. Looking up, he saw not the interrogator, but Dr. Beckett. John drew in a ragged breath and met Carson’s pity-filled eyes. He felt his hands being untied, and he heard orders being shouted. He felt himself lifted up and placed gingerly on a stretcher.
John knew it was safe to sleep now. He allowed himself to be swallowed by the blackness that crept into his vision; knowing that when he woke, he would be safe in Atlantis. His family had come for him, and he would be safe with them. He was going home.
FIN