Bedlam

By Denny J

Carter had her shirt pulled up over her nose, trying to block out the stench of this god-forsaken place.

He figured it wasn't working, if the look on her face was anything to go by, so he didn't bother.

Teal'c's scowl was threatening, but not enough to scare any of these people away. If you could call them 'people'; not much about them was recognizable as human. The big man was using his staff to ward off the grasping hands and stinking bodies as they pushed their way further into the dank, festering cesspool the Rastarians called a 'containment center'. A civilized term for one of the most uncivilized places he'd ever seen. And he'd seen a lot.

A filthy hand grabbed his ankle and he shook his leg to disentangle himself from the creature who looked like something out of a horror movie.

And the sound. Screaming, moaning, shrieking, wheezing, gurgling voices, constant and unending, pushing his nerves even further to the edge. If the inmates weren't crazy before they'd been sent here, they would quickly be driven insane. An even more unpleasant thought considering why they were here.

Carter cried out as two walking—more like crawling—skeletons grasped her clothes, their eyes bulging in sunken faces, lips cracked around lolling tongues as they babbled incoherently. Teal'c used the end of his staff to easily push them away.

He tried—oh, how he tried—not to replace their faces with that of the person they were searching for. That was just unacceptable. But that tight knot that had formed in his stomach six weeks ago when he'd been given the news had steadily grown until it felt like a bowling ball filling his gut. He'd wanted to take a contingent of Marines, storm the Rastarian Assembly building, and threaten to shoot every last one of the bastards. However, his option had been vetoed in favor of 'diplomatic avenues', which was why they were here, six weeks later. He did have the satisfaction of punching the First Minister in the face. What difference did it make if they were diplomatic or not? No SG team would ever set foot on this planet again. Not after this.

Stepping over heaps of rags he assumed were bodies, he pushed ahead, deeper into the recesses of the dumping ground for the outcasts of this world's humanity. How could anyone do this to another human being?

"Bedlam." Teal'c spoke the single word with disgust and Jack looked over at him.

Teal'c answered the unasked question. "Daniel Jackson explained its meaning to me; I believe this personifies his description."

Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath, which he quickly regretted. He opened them when he heard a strangled sound from Carter. She still had her nose stuck in her collar and her eyes were watering, probably due in part to the stench, and in part to the desperate feelings she was dealing with—they were all dealing with.

"Keep moving." Time to push those thoughts away and do what he was here to do. They'd already wasted enough time. Six weeks—good God.

At a fork in the passage, he asked, "Which way?"

Carter nodded her head left as she moved towards the passage, and they followed, stepping around more bodies, boots squishing as they tramped through the putrid muck. Rats scuttled past, their squeals echoing unnervingly off the stone walls.

He felt in his pocket for the key the First Minister had handed him, the image of the pompous man holding a handkerchief to his bloody nose somewhat satisfying. The guard at the first gate hadn't been forthcoming either, that is until Teal'c had changed his mind.

Which is how they got here, at the gate to the section where the most dangerous and violent criminals were kept, or in this case, someone who tried to escape, taking the other inmates with him. Dangerous and violent—what a crock. He wished he'd done more than punch the bastard.

This gate was unguarded; he quickly stuck the key into the rusty lock and turned it. Or tried to—it wouldn't budge. He took it back; punching was too good for the smug minister who undoubtedly knew the key wouldn't work here.

"Teal'c." He nodded towards the gate and immediately Teal'c lifted his staff weapon and fired, blowing the lock to pieces.

Kicking the gate open, they followed the passage until it opened onto a block of cells. No one would be grabbing them here—all bodies were chained in one way or another to the floor. Silently, they began methodically checking each cell, trying to get a good look at each of the occupants, hoping to find the object of their search, while at the same time, dreading it. Six weeks. Six stinkin' weeks.

"Nothin'. Let's move on."

Carter hung back, eyes gazing over each of the pitiful creatures in the cells. "Sir?"

Nope. "No time, Carter, besides, what would we do with them?"

He could see the realization hit her, blue eyes turning to his, resigned. Without another word, she followed him.

On to the next cell block. More bodies, but the one thing that was missing was the sound. Moans and screams echoed from the area they'd passed through, but here, all was quiet. Eerily so. These people were either too far gone to be able to make noise, or they'd given up. Again, he shoved that thought aside and focused on scanning the cells.

"O'Neill!"

He was at Teal'c's side in a heartbeat, along with Carter, eyes drawn to the figure chained to the floor. Hands manacled to a foot long chain, bare feet also chained together, and a band of metal around his neck, its chain attached to his bound hands. The only other article of clothing was a pair of tattered pants—camouflage green—or at least, they looked like that's what they had once been.

A choked cry from Carter confirmed what he already knew—what he didn't want to believe. A command was unnecessary; Teal'c was already moving back and taking aim. They backed away until the smoke cleared, then rushed into the cell.

"Oh, God." Carter's gaze traveled up and down the body that barely resembled their lost friend.

Dried blood and filth covered the torso and matted the once sandy-colored hair. Wrists and ankles were chaffed and raw under the manacles and open sores festered on bare skin.

His need to touch his friend overcame any revulsion he felt at the pathetic condition of his body. Gently, he laid a hand on the grime-covered cheek and spoke softly. "Daniel."

Daniel didn't move—didn't respond.

Taking the barely familiar face between his hands, he tried again. "Daniel."

This time, Daniel's body moved, slowly curling in on itself.

"C'mon, buddy, look at me. Carter and Teal'c are here, too."

Daniel turned his head, eyelids rising slowly, revealing hazy blue eyes. The voice was raspy as it whispered, "Perditus."

"What did he say?" Carter asked.

"To be lost—hopeless," he supplied, surprised he remembered any Ancient words. He held Daniel's face firmly in his hands and stared into the unfocused blue eyes, willing his friend to come back to them. They'd just gotten him back; there was no way they were going to lose him again. No way in hell. "No—no, you're not lost. We've found you—and we're getting you out of here." Grasping the chains, he gave them a yank, but they held firm. "Teal'c, get him out of these."

Carter helped him move Daniel so his hands were as far from the bolt in the floor as possible. Wrapping his arm around the battered torso, he leaned over, protecting Daniel's head.

The zap of the staff resounded off the walls, but Daniel didn't so much as flinch. It had done its job, though, and as he pulled his friend carefully into his lap, Carter began checking his wounds more thoroughly.

Daniel blinked and turned his head, looking directly at him. "Somnium."

"Dreaming," he quickly translated, instinctively knowing what Daniel was trying to say.

He had no idea why Daniel was speaking Ancient, but the fear that they wouldn't be able to get through to him was growing. He refused to believe they were too late, that the brilliant mind of his friend was damaged beyond repair.

"You're not dreaming, Daniel. I'm really here. You understand?"

As though a veil was lifted, the blue eyes cleared and sharpened, and this time the voice was stronger. "Jack?"

Jack pulled Daniel's head to his chest and laid his cheek on the matted head, heart swelling with relief. He knew he was grinning like an idiot, but he couldn't help it. They hadn't lost him—Daniel was going to make it.

"Yeah, Daniel, it's me. It's Jack. And we're going home."

The End