OWN LITTLE WORLD
Author's Note: Hey guys! I'm back, with this little story. Okay, not so little, but littler than usual! I know, it's been a while, but life, hey, not much can do about it. In fact, at the moment I'm in the middle of studying for an essay, a tute presentation and an article, but in true university fashion, I decided to get this done and post it – hey, everyone needs to chillax every now and then.
Um, so what do you need to know. I guess just that it's set in Season 5, early-ish... No stories you need to read before, it's not a continuation of my NCIS crossovers. Though I am thinking about another story in that arc.
Oh, and... This is NOT an AU.
Disclaimer: I asked for them for Christmas... I think they're still in the post... I'll let you know when they arrive, but until then, I guess they're not mine
Warning: Dark themes, mention of torture, whump all round... well, whump all round for Sheppard.
Chapter 1
A jolt surged through him, and he tensed beyond control, his teeth cracking against one another, eyes squeezed shut…
… Blackness…
A fist, a bar, bones crunching…
… Blackness…
Someone hauled him up by his armpits, and he was too weak, too sore, too exhausted and tired to do anything else but groan and slip…
… Back into blackness…
A slap, bringing him back, and the guy stood in front of him, mouth opening and closing, twisting that pale scar, but the words so distorted that they appeared like shadows in his ears…
… Blackness…
Another slap, followed by water, and he tried to stand up straighter, only he was already straight, arms high above him, toes just touching the ground, slipping, slipping in blood and slipping…
… Blackness…
Another bucket of water, and he coughed, gasped, not sure what was going on, so far beyond lucid that only one thought remained in his head…
… No…
… Blackness…
… No!…
Something cold against his temples… other cold things, attaching themselves to his head, SEARING PAIN and screaming, worse than anything he had felt yet, like something drilling... something cold but it hummed, it hummed gloriously…
… Blackness…
Another bucket of water, and another punch, grating his drumming head… Voices, still distorted, but he could sort of make out what they were saying… device… memory… confusion…
… No…
… Blackness…
… Light, glorious light…
… NO!…
Falling… Falling through voices, he can hear them as he zooms past… falling, and the voices are shouting… machine… breaking… crashing… losing him…
… Falling…
And something's seeping into his mind, someone, pressing against it, and he reels away, knowing that he can't… He pushes away, and suddenly all there is… is pain… pain, and shouts, and blackness growing deeper, and deeper and he tries to fight back and does, and someone screams and for the first time in a long time it isn't him…
… "The machine shouldn't be doing this." … "We're losing him!" … "What the hell is happening?" …
… Blackness…
Something beeps, and his world is grey as he blinks once, head lolling to the side, before he slips back into the darkness, not a word, not a sound, not a sight strong enough to keep him from falling…
Again, a beep, but he doesn't open his eyes, just moans, or groans, and suddenly someone's holding his hand, and it's trembling, and he wants to comfort that hesitant touch.
"John…"
The word filters in through his ears, but even that caress of sound and rhythm isn't enough to anchor him to this world of halves, and he slips back into the pit that comforts him with its darkness…
Again, a beep, and this time the world is a darker grey, and there's someone by his bed. He can make out the shadowy shape, a human, a person, and he swears he recognises that figure, but he can't put his finger on it.
But the figure is crying softly, he thinks, or is struggling to breathe at the least. And again words filter into his head, and even though he can hear them, he doesn't know enough to know what they actually mean.
"Come on, John. You saved my life… You have to pull through… I'm so sorry."
But the darkness is pulling him, and he knows he can't go back just yet…
Again a beep, and this time he feels stronger, but still not strong enough. He moves, and someone else moves, coming into his line of sight as a hand grabs his. The world is like light, dancing across his eyes.
"John? Come on, I'm here." There's a sigh, half-relief, half-desolation. "John?"
And he slips back under….
Again, a beep, and this time John Sheppard didn't immediately feel the pull of unconsciousness. The world was dark as well, again, slightly blurry, but his eyes were open. He looked around, not moving his head, but dragging his eyes, wondering where he was, why he was here, and what the heavy thing over his mouth was. He tried to think it through, but his thoughts weren't working, like he couldn't catch them.
Feeling frustrated, his head flopped to the other side, too heavy to actually lift. The scene was different there, a window instead of a door, a figure looking out into the darkness of the night. John shifted with surprise as he recognised the man with his hands in his pocket, the man who looked so tired and stressed even with his back to Sheppard.
"Dave?" he mumbled, but with the mask on his face, and after however long asleep, his voice wouldn't work properly. The name of his brother came out as a guttural groan.
But it still managed to catch David Sheppard's attention, and he turned, the light of the moon catching the surprise and relief plastered all over his face.
"John!"
Slowly coming to grips with reality, John struggled to sit up, but before he even got halfway up, his stomach protested loudly, and he gave another groan, flopping back down. Dave only slightly aided him with a small push.
"Don't try to sit up, John," the older man ordered. "You shouldn't even be awake just yet, but you never were one for orders. No, dammit, John, keep the oxygen on."
John scowled up at him, not needing the tone when he was confused as all hell. What he needed were answers, and for those, he needed to ask questions. He pulled the mask, letting it slip under his chin when he couldn't move it any further.
"What you doing here?" he asked, his voice croaky.
Dave wasn't even looking at him anymore, searching for the button to call for the doctor. "What do you think? Your boss calls me, tells me you've been in a… an accident… I dropped everything and came to be with my little brother just in case he up and died on me."
John still didn't need the tone, but he was still far too confused to pick up on it. "Accident? What? Where am I?"
Dave seemed to notice his voice for the first time, grabbing a plastic cup from the bedside table and dunking a straw in it. "Here, so you don't actually sound like you haven't been breathing on your own for the past week." He let his little brother take a sip before snatching the cup away. But the drink was enough. Almost too much, as Sheppard felt his stomach rebel again.
Dave finally sat down, the exhaustion apparently coming back to bear. And he looked at John, a frightened smile on his face. "God, John, it's good to see you open your eyes."
And that was when John got the first inkling that something had gone terribly wrong. He went still, heart beating a little furiously, taking notice of all the niggling pains in his body, the thumping aches in his left leg and right shoulder. He swallowed.
"Where am I?" he asked, though looking around, taking in the highly-sanitized smell, the white walls… there was only one place he could be.
"Hospital," Dave told him with a sigh. "You've been in here for the past… I think it's ten days now. I don't know. You kind of loose track when your little brother's inches from dying."
"What happened to me?" Sheppard asked, frowning, voice still hoarse.
Dave looked away. "I don't know, John… If you can't remember…" He looked up, tears in his eyes. "It might be better off if you don't. I wish I didn't have to remember any of it, and I only saw the results."
Swallowing again, Sheppard made his brother look him in the eye. "Dave. What happened to me? Tell me."
Dave sighed, and closed his eyes. They stayed like that for a moment, as the older man composed himself. It didn't work: when he opened his eyes, Dave was still inches from crying. His stoic older brother… crying.
That scared John more than anything.
"I don't know much," Dave admitted. "Just what your boss told me. Or at least, just what I managed to squeeze out of him. I don't think I would have got as much if they hadn't been so proud of you acting like the suicidal hero."
"Dave," Sheppard warned. He didn't need the intro. "Please."
His brother scowled. "For crying… John, I don't think you're up to this. You just woke up. You were in a coma for more than a week, you weren't even breathing on your own."
"What happened to me?"
"You were working undercover," Dave snapped. "You and some other guy. He got found out. You'd think they would teach you how not to get caught or something." He sighed. "Anyway… he got caught, and you… you, being the stupid, reckless, selfless hero that you were through high school, you went back for him. Even managed to rescue him."
"Come on!" Sheppard screamed, as shots came their way from within the warehouse. He gave the figure a heave, recognised the figure, but was too caught up in the rush of the escape to place a name to him.
The rushed out of the warehouse instead, inches from being shot, or caught, their only possible escape off this –
His head gave a solid thud and he winced away from the memory, and from thinking, tuning back into his brother.
"… got caught." Dave continued, and John realized he had lost track of where he was. He didn't say anything, but hoped he could catch up without asking too many questions. Dave sighed. "Only you could pull off a spectacular rescue and still manage to get caught yourself."
John went cold. He knew what that meant. "How long did they have me?" he asked. Who they were, he still wasn't sure, but if he was undercover… and they had caught him rescuing someone else…
"Four days," Dave sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I got the call after two. Your boss said you were missing, and I should get here as soon as I could. I've never been so frightened, John."
Which was a big admission for him. Sheppard shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry."
Dave laughed, obviously not meaning to and just as obviously unsure of what else he could do. "Sorry? Right. You know… John… God, sorry just doesn't cut it sometimes. I got here as soon as Carter called to tell me they'd found you. Told me to get here, cause it wasn't looking good. I saw you, dammit!" He stood up, tracing a hand through his hair, beginning to pace. "You were covered in blood, it was everywhere. I had no clue what had happened to you! What you'd gone through… but you're damn lucky you don't remember it, John, cause no one should go through that much suffering."
He turned back, hands on his hips. "The bastards tortured you, John. So no, you don't just get to say sorry. Dammit, why don't you ever think of yourself! After… after what happened between us last year, what if you'd died, and the last thing I said to you was to get out?"
"Dave…" Sheppard tried, feeling tired and old all of a sudden. Tortured. He tried not to shiver. No, he didn't want to remember that. Ever. "Please… just sit."
Dave sighed but did as he was asked. Sheppard swallowed, realizing he should probably put the oxygen mask back on.
"Dave, it's okay. I didn't die." He licked his lips and tried to suck in a deep breath. "And what happened… it happened, okay? There's not much we can do about it now."
Dave just glared at him. "I doubt you'll be getting out of here any time soon," he began. "But when you do, you're coming home with me. No, John, no arguments. I don't care what you say. You're coming home and living with me until you're cleared for duty again."
"Or until you get sick of me," John told him, gasping slightly, hands fumbling for the oxygen mask.
Dave sighed again. He was getting good at that. "That's not going to happen. And if it does, I'll just have to see you limping about the house to be reminded exactly why you're there." He paused, watching his brother struggle with the oxygen mask. "See, John, it's not like you can take care of yourself anyway," he snapped, though there was no harsh emotion behind it. It was just Dave's way. He grabbed the mask and slipped it back on for John. "I told you not to take it off."
Not able to speak through the mask, John settled for a glare. Dave just glared right on back, before standing up. "Just sit tight – I know, it's not like you're going anywhere. I'm just going to find out what happened to that doctor I paged. I'll be right back, kay."
He left before John could respond, but it wouldn't have mattered if he had been able to scream, shout and wave his arms. Dave was downright pig-headed when he was in this mood.
Sheppard sighed, and leaned back, looking towards the window his older brother had been staring out of not half an hour ago. The lights of the city burned bright, and John smiled, glad to see it. Glad to see the skyscrapers, the way the city never seemed to grow dim even at night, the sounds, even from this height, of cars and traffic, horns and trucks.
New York might have been a hell of a place to live, but it was his place, and he wouldn't swap it for anywhere else.
So... intrigued? Bored? Meh? See you tomorrow night, because I'm going to get some sleep!
See you tomorrow night... unless the Athenian Empire sucks me into oblivion - a distinct possibility!