Cataclysm
By Flossy
Disclaimer: The following story is a work of fan fiction, and as such is for fan enjoyment only. All recognizable characters/settings are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is made. The only ones I own are Jameson, Captains Anderson and Ashford, Jessie and Drs Grace and Alexis. However, if anyone knows how I can get my hands on a certain Canadian astrophysicist, there could be a Snickers bar in it for you...
Summary: The team head off-world to investigate an Ancient outpost supposedly capable of manufacturing ZPMs. Unfortunately, things don't ever quite turn out the way you expect and soon it's a race against time to save John and Rodney. So it's pretty much your average off-world mission, then…
Central Character(s): Team Sheppard, Elizabeth, Carson, Radek, Lorne, plus a couple of original characters.
Category (ies): Angst, Action, Drama, H/C, some humour. (Yeah, I know: I suck at this part.)
Placement: Season Three, sometime after 'McKay and Mrs Miller'.
Rating: +15 for strong language in both English and Czech (yes, Rodney, Radek and John, I'm talking about you…), blood and… oh, you'll see.
Spoilers: There are a couple of vague references to Season One's 'Underground', Season Two's 'Trinity' and a few general ones for Season Three, including 'Progeny' and 'McKay and Mrs Miller'. And maybe some I missed. If you can spot 'em, you deserve a Mars bar!
A/N: This happened for a number of reasons and yes, insanity is pretty high up on the list (*grins and cackles manically*). I just thought it'd be a nifty idea for a story: I've wanted to do another 'boys getting trapped somewhere' tale for a while now…
My dearly beloved beta Moony requested whump for both of the lads and plenty of it, as well a whole host of other outrageous and seemingly impossible demands. One in particular was worried!Carson so I hope you approve, missy! My militant badgers agreed with her – they have a disturbing fondness for things that go boom. (They also beat me with a big stick until I said yes, so if you don't like this, then you'll have to take it up with the damn fuzzballs, provided they don't maim you first.)
In truth, I'd actually envisioned this with a completely different ending, but those pesky badgers snuck in and messed about with my laptop. I'll get you, you damn furballs! D'you hear me?! I'LL GET YOU!!! Anyways, enjoy the whumping!
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Part 1:
Chapter 1: Many Things About This Are Not Good…
Pain.
That was the first thing that his brain managed to register as Lt Col John Sheppard came to. He was in pain. Trying to move, he let out an involuntary yelp (which he would later vow and declare was in fact a manly grunt) as he felt red hot spikes shoot through his back and legs. Okay, so it was actually a lot of pain. Not good. Not good at all. Staying still seemed to be a pretty solid idea at that precise moment in time.
As his eyes slowly started to become accustomed to the gloom surrounding him, John realised that he appeared to be lying face down on a cold stone floor. That wasn't very useful by any definition of the word. Then again, he didn't really seem to have much of a choice in the matter – carefully snaking a hand around to his back, Sheppard found that he was pinned under what felt like a large and very heavy slab of rock. On the bright side, he'd found both the source of and reason for his discomfort. Now all he had to do was remember what the hell was going on, where he was and why his team were nowhere to be seen. They wouldn't just leave him here.
Hang on…
Rodney! He'd been with Rodney – or at least, that was what his disturbingly fuzzy head was telling him. Where the hell was he? And why was it so dark? John tried hard to call out, but his vocal chords had picked a damn fine time to go on strike, and all he could manage was a wheezing rasp. As his hand flitted about, he felt his fingers brush past something cold and metallic. Turning his head as far as he could, he managed to make out the distinctive shape of a P-90.
His P-90.
A couple of false starts later, he managed to latch onto it and dragged it closer. After fumbling around with fingers that were not in a particularly co-operative mood – he was going to have to undertake some serious talks with his body later because all this rebelling was not helping, dammit – he succeeded in clicking on the small, mounted flashlight.
The Air Force man almost cackled hysterically over the fact that this time, for once, the bulb hadn't broken. He'd have to tell McKay about this: there had been at least seventeen separate incidents involving P-90s with broken torches that month alone. So, the two men had set up a betting pool with Zelenka concerning who was most likely to bust the next one. Sheppard knew for a fact that the abrasive physicist had put a large bet on him, seeing as the Colonel had been responsible for nine of the breakages.
John was up seventy bucks.
The thought of the scientist was like a kick in the gut and he quickly re-focused his attention to the matter at hand. As a weapon, the P-90 was a remarkable feat of warfare engineering – light, easy to use and deadly in the right hands. As a flashlight, it was a no-good, useless piece of crap that even a toddler would have been pissed with. John strained to see anything in the tiny light, shifting it back and forth as his eyes re-adjusted. The gloom took on an ominous feeling as the beam hit jagged, uneven surfaces, making the shadows jump and flicker. Dust hung in the air, tickling John's nose and throat, and he feebly tried to wave it away, coughing.
That was when he saw McKay.
The Canadian was lying on his back, slightly off to the side of Sheppard, and trapped awkwardly under more debris. The man had been so still that the Colonel had assumed that he was just another pile of rocks. If Sheppard had had his own legs free, he would have kicked himself for the casual dismissal. Now that he looked properly, he could make out Rodney's mop of brown hair under the dust and, more importantly, the slight but comforting rise and fall of his chest.
From his pale and slack features, combined with the trickle of blood running down his temple, John could tell that McKay was unconscious. That was probably for the best – Rodney's left arm was bent at an impossible angle, and his shoulder looked like it was dislocated. John moved the tiny light around and groaned as he saw the worryingly large pool of blood that was spreading out from underneath the scientist.
Suddenly, McKay not being awake was a very big problem.
John could just about reach his team-mate's face and shoulders, but that was as far as it went. Even that was a stretch: despite his efforts and a considerable amount of pain, he couldn't reach the injury to McKay's side. He knew that he had to stop the blood loss as quickly as possible and unfortunately, there was only one way to do it.
Gritting his teeth, he tried again to call out and was rewarded with a hoarse whisper. "Rodney? C'mon, Rodney, open those blue eyes for me." He coughed again as he inhaled yet another lungful of dust, wincing as the movement jarred his back.
The physicist didn't reply.
"Hey! I'm not screwing around here!" John reached out and grabbed a handful of Rodney's hair. "Wake up, McKay! That's an order!" He tugged as hard as he could.
Rodney let out a low moan and his eyelids fluttered briefly.
John's voice seemed to grow stronger as he felt a brief flicker of hope. "That's it! Come on, wakey wakey."
"…Wha…?"
"Rodney!" Sheppard nearly sobbed out loud in relief. "No, no, don't move," he urged as he watched the physicist's shoulders tense up. "I need you to listen to me."
The scientist blinked lethargically and swivelled his somewhat wonky gaze up and across to John. "Sh-Sheppard?" He flinched and then groaned as the pain flooded his body.
"You're bleeding, Rodney. I need you to concentrate!" John knew that McKay and the sight of blood were not a happy couple, but right now, he didn't have any other options.
The Canadian raised his good hand to his head and hissed as his fingers came into contact with the open wound. "Hit… hit my head…" His eyes drifted shut again.
"God dammit, McKay, stay awake!" Sheppard growled, tugging once again at Rodney's hair. A small voice at the back of his mind yelled abuse at him for using his death grip on McKay's already battered head – it was the last thing that anyone with a concussion needed – but it was his only choice.
The voice was quickly told where and how to get off in graphic detail.
"'M awake," McKay slurred, opening his eyes. "Stop it." He tried to push the pilot's hand away, but missed it by a couple of inches.
"I need you to focus. You're bleeding and I can't reach the wound," John stated, alarmed by how out of it Rodney seemed to be.
"What? I…" Rodney's voice sounded slow and sluggish. "Oh, God… It hurts…"
"I'm sure it does, buddy, but you've gotta do exactly what I tell you." John snaked a hand down to his vest and managed to find a couple of pressure bandages. He held them out to the Canadian. "Take these and get whatever's bleeding dressed."
Wide, panic-stricken blue eyes met worried hazel ones. "I'm bleeding?"
Rodney sounded confused and John knew that wasn't a good sign. Biting back his pain and frustration, he stretched as far as he could and placed the dressings in McKay's good hand. "Now, Rodney!" he growled. "C'mon, move it!"
His 'military' voice seemed to do the trick – Rodney snapped out of his concussion induced stupor and tightened his grip on the bandages. He then howled in agony as he tried and failed to move his left arm.
Sheppard winced in sympathy. "That's not such a good plan, McKay."
"Thanks… for that," the physicist ground out through gritted teeth. The sudden pain from his arm had dislodged some of the cotton wool that seemed to be filling his head.
"Well, you know me," replied Sheppard, trying hard to keep his voice casual, "I'm a helpful kind of guy."
McKay managed a painful eye roll at the comment and used his teeth to tear off the wrappings. "Any… helpful advice on… where I'm bleeding?" he asked, panting hard.
"Right hand side," John said, moving the light down, "just under your tac vest and across from your hip."
"Great…" Rodney tilted his head down and saw a jagged cut running across his lower abdomen. Wow, that was a lot of blood, he thought absently, trying his hardest not to pass out or throw up. He took a couple of deep breaths, bit his lip and slammed the bandages in place.
The pain was excruciating, ricocheting up and down his flank like lightning strikes, forcing the air from his lungs and tears to form in his eyes. He felt the howl building up in his chest and tried hard to suppress it even as his vision greyed, but lost the battle.
John winced again as he heard his friend's agonised screams. He reached across and managed to grip McKay's right shoulder, trying to instil some kind of support. It was about the only thing he could do other than talk. He kept up a litany of chatter, as much for his benefit as McKay's, telling the physicist to hold on, to stay focused and breathe through the pain, that everything was going to be alright.
Although it would have seemed to a casual observer that Rodney wasn't listening, lost in the haze of pain and concentrating on something far more important, he wanted nothing more than to be able to answer the Colonel. He wanted to tell him that he wasn't going anywhere and that he shouldn't be worried. Unfortunately, the only sounds that came from his lips were howls and cries that he had no control over.
After what felt to John like an eternity, Rodney's screams eventually died down to a quiet whimpering. "That… Jesus… fuck. That… that really hurt," he gasped, the tears that he had shed without realising streaking his dust covered face. He shuddered, more from the stress of his situation than the pain, suddenly feeling a bone-deep coldness sweeping over his broken body. A tiny, detached part of him knew that it was the onset of shock and that thought made him shiver more violently.
Apparently, rocks made for a lousy blanket.
Sheppard grimaced guiltily as he felt the trembling under his fingertips. God, he wished he could do something, anything, to make his friend more comfortable. "I know, buddy. I'm sorry."
The scientist let out a shuddering breath and looked back at Sheppard. Once he felt able to speak without throwing up, he frowned and asked, "How 'bout you?"
McKay knew that John would be his usual stoic (and therefore idiotic) self and spout off some cock and bull story about being 'fine' or having 'just a scratch'. The man could have a hole the size of a cue ball in him and brush it off. Hell – he'd probably just ask for a band aid. That being said, Rodney knew he had to ask the question regardless of the fairy tale he'd get as a reply.
It was pretty much par for the course with Sheppard, so the Air Force man's brutally honest answer shocked him to his core.
"Well, it's possible that I've got one hell of a concussion, judging from the heavy metal band that's playing a gig in my skull," the Colonel said. "Bruised my ribs and I think my leg's broken, but I can't really tell."
His surprise gave way to the more familiar feelings of annoyance and frustration. "What?" Rodney gave his team-mate a weak but exasperated scowl. "How can you… not know if… your leg's broken?"
"Well, I don't know whether you noticed, but I've got a damn slab of rock lying across pretty much all of my lower body!" Sheppard snapped. "I think that a broken fucking leg is probably on the cards, don't you?!"
It must be bad if John wasn't down-playing his injuries and McKay gave another shudder. "Sorry." He closed his eyes and gave a weak attempt at an apologetic shrug – well, half shrug to be precise. That was a stupid move, and his left shoulder immediately informed him that he really, really shouldn't do that again.
It was like having a drill sergeant kick you in the teeth to wake you up: direct, sharp and utter torture.
John's face softened at the sound of McKay's quiet groans and he forced his anger back. "To be honest, I can't really feel much down there at the moment," he admitted in a low voice. "I think I can move my toes, but they've started to go numb."
The blue eyes snapped open. "That s-sounds bad."
"I've had worse," the pilot answered with a small grin, trying to calm his own nerves and reassure his team-mate. He shone the light over McKay's body and let out an involuntary growl. The scientist was just as stuck as he was: the Canadian was more or less half buried and John couldn't even see his friend's legs. "Can you move?" he asked, not really expecting a positive answer.
"Don't think so," Rodney replied, dreading the very thought of any kind of physical exertion. He took in their surroundings, grimacing as he saw the sheer mass of detritus hemming them in. "What… what the hell happened?"
John carefully shook his head. "Cave in?" he suggested, obviously unsure.
"This doesn't look… like a cave, Colonel." The Canadian managed to point at the wall with his good arm. "See? Looks more… like a room or… or building maybe."
Sheppard tilted his head up and across, swinging the P-90 around. Now that he looked more closely, he realised that the walls and roof (or what was left of them) were not even remotely cave shaped. As McKay had so astutely observed, they did indeed look like some kind of building – not that he could remember where they were or why they were there in the first place.
Frowning, he returned his attention to his friend and said, "You may be onto something there, Rodney, but I can't seem to remember much at the moment. Like I said, I'm pretty sure I hit my head."
"Oh boy," the scientist groused weakly. "That's all… I need – you with even… less brain cells than… you had before."
"My brain's working fine, McKay," Sheppard replied, a small grin playing across his face. "Yours, I'm not so sure about." He paused for a moment, rubbing at eyes that felt gritty. "What's the last thing you remember?"
McKay's face scrunched up as he thought. "We… we were running," he said, biting back a groan as the pain in his side spiked suddenly. "There was… something wrong…"
John's eyes narrowed then widened almost comically as Rodney's words jogged part of a hazy memory. "Explosion," he whispered. "Something was gonna blow."
"Crap," Rodney breathed. "Explains the mess."
"Must have been one hell of a fireworks display." The Colonel let out a shaky sigh, closing his eyes.
"Teyla and Ronon?"
John shook his head. "I don't know. I'm pretty sure they weren't in here with us but..." He tried to sound affirmative, but Rodney could see the concern that flashed in the pilot's hazel eyes.
"Many things about this… are not good," McKay whispered. "In fact… I'd go so far… as to say… we're both screwed."
"I think I've got to agree with you on that one, Answer Man," John said with a sigh.