Possession is nine tenths of the Law

by Kodiak Bear Country

While on a mission, Sheppard and team run into some unexpected trouble. A Halloween challenge response. Team and Carson, whumping and the paranormal.

Title: Possession is nine-tenths of the Law
Author: Kodiak bear
Rating: T
Category: gen
Status: WIP (sorry, groan)
Summary: While on a mission, Sheppard and team run into some unexpected trouble. A Halloween challenge response. Team and Carson, whumping and the paranormal.

AN: Latin translation: aequo – come, meus – mine. I had to get this out before the deadline, I'm sorry to post another uncompleted fic, I was really hoping to get it finished this week but this week was just scary and not in a ghoulish, fun, spooky way either! It involved kids, dogs, possibly physical pain. But nothing that motrin and a weekend can't fix, right? Will this be finished by Tuesday? I don't know but I'm gonna try, promise!

Possession is nine-tenths of the Law

Jensen was stupid. How many times had Kayle told him, "Don't cross the haunted caves after sundown." A hundred times? As the wind howled through his woolen jacket, ruffling the collar against his neck, Jensen figured at least a thousand. She'd packed his lunch, kissed him goodbye, and warned, "Don't stay in town too late!"

And what did he do? The bar had been full of friends, good drink, and lots of stories to tell. Time had sped unfairly by and now he was making his way home with the sun slipping behind the mountains. The caves that had seemed as harmless as dead rock on the way in, now loomed before him, dark, forbidding…Jensen shivered and swore.

"You're a dakla of a man," he chided himself.

He could turn back…even though it was twilight, it wasn't full dark, there was still time…

But then Kayle might come looking for him, and he couldn't risk that. Couldn't risk her facing what he was too scared to face, just because he'd gotten careless. No, he'd go on, he'd just be careful. They were just stories, fables, told to scare kids -- that's all it was. No one had been lost in his time, so why was he going to be scared like a nursing baby in his cradle?

Jensen pushed his hands deeper into his pockets, trying to stay warm. His chilled fingertips brushed against balled lint and wax wrapper from his eaten sandwich. He should've thrown that it in the trashcan at the bar.

The trees were thinning as he left the woods; the well-worn trail veered ahead, out along the edge of the mountains, sandwiched between swamps on the right and the sheer rise of flat gray cliffs on the left. Already, darkness had claimed the forest thicket. Wind scuttled dead leaves across the worn trail, and rattled them into the rock.

It was just scary looking, that's all. It wasn't haunted. Everyone knew ghosts weren't real; he was just letting Kayle's superstitions get to him. "Really stupid," Jensen muttered. Stupid for letting his wife's paranoia creep into his mind and sit there like a king on a throne.

Still, when he passed the first hollow leading into one of the many caves, Jensen's leather clad feet quickened their pace. He shivered, swore, and found himself following the trail as far right as he could manage without wetting a foot in the marshy reeds. The inky blackness of night began to press down on him.

Aequo.

His step faltered, and Jensen glanced over his shoulder…then swearing to himself, he redoubled his efforts to walk faster. Pausing on the trail was inviting danger to come and seek him. If there was any, and he wasn't saying there was, but ifthere was… The wind. Just the wind, that's all. There was nothing behind him but cold rock, looming black and silent. The whispering woods muttered to his right. Ahead, another opening cut into the cliffs, this one not so much a cave, as a crevasse. A large gouge in the monolith that spanned the entire horizon of the swamp lands.

It was the demarcation line between marsh and mountains. During the summer months, the thin path was the only traversable way to get from the outlying homes to the town. When winter arrived, the ground would freeze and one could cross much further south, and most villagers did.

Just his dumb luck that the one time he threw caution to the wind, it wasn't frozen yet, and he'd had no choice but to skirt right by the haunted cliffs.

But they weren't haunted. They weren't.

Aequo…aequo….

His head jerked back again, and this time, he twisted at the waist, looking uneasily behind him, even while he hurried onwards, moving even faster; no faltering steps now. He was hearing whispers in the thin spindly spires of blowing trees that grew in the marshes. His mind was playing tricks on him, forming words when there wasn't any.

A stray root tripped him, and Jensen went down, pulling his hands free of his pockets just in time to prevent a broken nose. The ground on the trail was hard, scarce layers of dirt clinging to the underbelly of the mountains. Jensen's palms burned from the scrapes, and he swore again. Now he was filthy and Kayle would lecture him for hours on end about adding more clothes to the weekly washing. As he pushed himself to his knees, a branch snapped in the gloom ahead.

Jensen froze, half up.

Meus. Aequo…Meus.

The whispers blew against his back, and Jensen scrambled the rest of the way to his feet, throwing a look behind him, searching for the source. Forget the winds, and the trees, something was coming for him, something that he wasn't going to wait around for. He was half-way through the trail, he could make it.

Wind whipped his hair and his heart pounded in his chest.

He gave up walking and started running. More roots grabbed at his feet; sometimes he stumbled into the cliffs when he tried to look behind, to see what was coming for him. It was more than he could stand, to not look back, to not know the moment it'd be on him.

It was coming.

It was coming.

It was coming.

Jensen's skin prickled, like invisible hands of bone stroking along the sliver of bare skin on the nape of his neck. His blood shivered and his hair stood on end.

It was coming for him.

Meus…meus…MEUS!

The end of the trail beckoned; a soft light played in the darkness ahead. Could it be Kayle had a lantern in the window guiding his way? Almost there, he thought, for sure he could make it. Just to the light. He could run faster, he would. Jensen's breath came in pained gasps, the frozen air made his chest hurt. The wind buffeted his face, to his right the reeds rippled and danced a mockery on his chances, and one more cave gutted the face of the cliff. One more, one more, Jensen focused on running harder and faster. He was going to make it. Don't look back, don't look back, don't look back.

He looked back, unable to stomach the growing terror. He could feel it in the air, growing thick and suffocating. The darkness ran at him, faster than the wind, and Jensen knew he wasn't going to make it. "Oh, Ancestors," he moaned, and hit a solid wall.

"What's the hurry?"

The light wasn't the end of the trail, it came from the large men that now held him firmly in an iron grip. He fought to get free; he'd been tricked by the light.

"It's coming, we've got to go!" he shouted, panicked.

It'd been there, just about to claim him; the stories were true. Running into more strangers on the trail wasn't going to save him if he didn't run. Run. RUN.

The tall man with the braided hair peered around Jensen casually, scowled and grunted, "What's coming?" with no sense of the danger or despair flying towards them.

"It," Jensen said, terrified. "It's coming." The stories were true. The horror was real. The cliffs weren't haunted; they were possessed. Then Jensen's body stiffened, his eyes rolled up in his forehead, and he passed out.

OoO

It was Cold. Muddy. And it was getting progressively darker, colder and muddier. Did he mention cold?

Rodney was hard pressed to imagine a worse planet that they'd been to lately – note, that was lately, because this was by far not the worst in their recorded mission history. Keeping everything in perspective was important. So, anyway, back to this planet…

The temperature hovered around 7 degrees Celsius, winds gusting to…Rodney fumbled with his scanner…there it was, 20 knots, which alone wasn't a big deal, but coupled with the aforementioned 7 degrees, well, it was cold! It was also late, the walk from the 'gate to the village was taking longer than they'd counted on.

At the last house they'd asked for directions, yet again, only to be told it wasn't safe to travel at night and maybe they should think about sleeping in the barn. Sheppard had actually considered it until Rodney had stepped in and reminded him that a) it wasn't dark yet and b) always the timetable, and lastly c) he was allergic to hay and if everyone wanted to spend the night listening to him become congested, fine, but he hadn't packed an extra supply of Kleenex.

Still, Sheppard had been close to caving.

Good thing the woman had just begun to stable the animals for the night. One whiff, and the colonel had clarified, "Just through the trees, take the trail by the cliffs, first right?"

Then again, Rodney was beginning to think maybe a stinky barn was preferable to walking along a thin trail in almost freezing temperatures; a night lit only by a sliver of a moon, and a trail illuminated by flashlight. One misstep and he'd be floundering in a germ-infested bog. Cess pools, backwater hovels, something straight out of one of his RPG's, and he knew how midnight hikes across trails in the forest ended in those…

He found himself stepping faster to decrease the distance between him and Ronon. Sheppard was bringing up their six, Teyla was right behind him, but no offense to either one, in a fight, Rodney would throw his chips in with Ronon.

A sound of scrabbling across the detritus-littered trail was amplified in the lulls between gusts. Rodney's hand on his scanner tightened. He paused to read for life signs, but all he got was a wavering, slight fritzing sound that ended when the scanner emitted a thin trail of smoke, quickly whisked away by the wind. It was hard to swear with his flashlight in his mouth, but Rodney tried anyway, " 'ammit!"

The scrabbling sound intensified. Someone or something was coming towards them. Again with the fact that Rodney had played way too many nights of Baldur's Gate. It wasn't a far leap to imagine some hunched-back wood troll about to burst around the slight curve of the path ahead, and start slashing at them with poisoned weapons of some kind. Great sword, axe, spear – pick your vehicle of mayhem, they all ended in the same depressing way -- death.

He saw a blurry dark-brown object barrel into Ronon. If it'd been him in the lead, Rodney would've been down, screaming for mercy, or shooting at anything that blinked, but Ronon just grabbed the thing, steadied it and asked, "What's the hurry?"

The thing cried, "It's coming, we've got to go!"

Now that the object in motion had stopped moving, Rodney saw what the 'thing' was -- just a pitiful looking, shabbily dressed village man -- Rodney's backbone asserted itself, and he huffed. Could you believe he'd actually let himself get creeped out by this place? Ridiculous, what was wrong with him? He wasn't like some ignorant primitive, susceptible to hearing words in the howling trees, and thinking every movement of the branches was something reaching for him…

…still, Rodney stepped even closer to Ronon. Just to give him support. In case the villager tried anything.

That's when the villager's eyes rolled up and he collapsed against Ronon.

Figures. Wasn't this typical? Rodney thought longingly of his lab, a steaming cup of coffee, and turned around to shout past Teyla, "Sheppard, get up here, Ronon caught a villager!"

OoO

Sheppard usually got off on stuff like this, in small sample portions. Hiking in the rough, facing less than ideal elements. It was the stuff to get your blood pumping. But after a few hours in the driving wind, negative chill factor, he'd almost taken the woman up on her offer to bunk down in her barn. They had a couple tents, but it was growing late, the wind was going to be a pain in the ass, so the offer of a building full of warm hay sounded pretty good. That was until the woman opened the door and the smell had hit them like an incoming tidal wave. Think auction day at the stockyards on a stagnant 90 degree day in the mid-west.

He'd figured after that they'd press on to the village. The woman said there was an inn, a bar – Ronon had grinned – and they could get a warm meal if they walked fast. 'Course that was after she'd warned them about how dangerous it was to travel after dark.

Superstitions were usually not worth the salt people tossed over their shoulder, but he'd be failing in his duty if he didn't take it somewhat seriously, so when they'd moved out of the empty field, bare and dormant, and onto the trail, he'd taken the rear and had Ronon on point. One benefit, nothing was likely to come up from either side, with the one being a swamp and the other, solid rock.

The light from his P90 gave off a weak glare directly ahead of him. He'd be better off if he went to night vision goggles.

A few yards into the trail, the hair on the back of his neck stood up and practically shouted, 'Danger, John, Danger.' He shook his head self-consciously, wondering if the woman's warnings were getting to him.

All the same, Sheppard tightened his hold on his P90. Nothing was going to get past him, and nothing was gonna get by Ronon.

A gust blew up from behind, making him stumble forward. He caught his balance and fought back the shiver that ran through his skin. He was wearing their standard cotton uniform and coat, and now he wished like hell he'd listened to his gut and wore his leather jacket. It'd have been a heck of a lot warmer.

It'd be a cold day in hell before he agreed with Rodney about the crappy status of a mission, but mentally, he seconded Rodney's earlier, "This sucks."

"Sheppard, get up here, Ronon caught a villager!"

There were probably a lot of colonels that would've balked at getting that kind of report, but as it floated back to him on another gust of harsh, biting wind, he figured it was SOP. Sheppard inhaled, felt the sting of icy air run down his nostrils, and pushed forward towards the rest of his team, clustering just ahead on the trail. With Ronon, you never could predict what'd happen.

He touched Teyla lightly on her shoulder, and moved around her to get a look at the bundle of brown wool being held by Ronon. Huh. Rodney was right, Ronon had caught himself a villager. Sheppard grinned. "Good catch."

Ronon scowled.

"We should take him to the home we passed before we came to the trail," Teyla suggested. "It is nearer than the village."

Sheppard guessed Teyla was right. Looks like they might be staying the night in the cold after all. He'd still say no thanks to the barn, no matter how tired he was getting. As long as the wind held to its current speed, their gear was strong and warm enough, it was just going to be a heck of a lot less than fun getting them set up in the dark; a lot less than fun and a whole lot of cold.

"Sheppard, forward or backward?" Ronon's voice had a bit of an edge to it. When Sheppard twitched an eyebrow at the runner, he grunted, "He's getting heavy."

The man was a little on the pudgy side. "Looks like we're going back." He flattened himself against the rock face so Ronon could get past him and retake the front, felt the nettles of cold from the cliffs seep through his vest and jacket – like they'd been cold for decades. Teyla led the way, which left Rodney falling back to walk just ahead of Sheppard.

"You don't think…"

Sheppard guessed what was coming next. "That he's got some kind of alien disease?"

"Well, now that you mention it, yes."

"You're the one that mentioned it. And no, I don't think he does." That was a lie. Knowing their luck, well, suffice to say, Sheppard had already gone there, made some mental connections that he preferred he hadn't, but only time would tell. They'd get the guy back to that house, ask the woman for some help, and see what the hell was going on this time.

"I didn't mention it. You did."

Rodney tripped on a root and would've fallen if Sheppard hadn't grabbed for him. All their extremities were becoming slow and numb in the cold, making them clumsy. "I finished the thought you were too afraid to say." Sheppard let go of Rodney's arm. "But you were thinking it."

"Thinking is not the same as mentioning."

"Semantics," Sheppard said with a shrug as they cleared the threshold of the trail and stepped into the stiff dirt of the field. Remnants of harvested plants crunched under his boots, growing stiff in the settling frost. Damn, but it was cold. He thought about his bed, his book, a steaming cup of coffee –maybe a night flight in the Jumper – those were always fun. Then again, just about anything would be better than being here. And if this guy did have some version of the village plague, they'd just earned an 'all you can stay' buffet, because doc wouldn't clear them without quarantine, blood work and isolation.

Another gust of wind shoved him forward, and it was his turn to bump into Rodney, and get steadied. He scrunched himself farther into his jacket and swore, "Next time you calculate time of arrival, make sure it's right."

"This wasn't my fault!" Rodney tripped over a gnarled stump of a root. Sheppard caught him. Shaking his dignity back into place, Rodney snarled, "Simpson ran the program, and believe me, when we get back, she will be running that program repeatedly until she works out every remaining bug in it."

The warm light of the cabin spilled from the windows ahead, beckoning them towards a temporary break from the cold wind and constant numb-induced tripping and fumbling. The field gave way to grassy ground, smoother and easier on the knees. As they neared the home, Sheppard was surprised to find the woman was sitting in a chair out front, bundled up thickly in layers of clothes. She spied them about the time they saw her, and she leapt to her feet, running towards Ronon and crying, "Jensen!"

Now what are the odds?

OoO

Teyla tried to ease Kayle's fears. After Ronon had carried her husband, Jensen, inside the cabin and placed him on the couple's bed, they had done a fast round of introductions. Ronon, John and Rodney had moved to the living area, while Teyla stayed with Kayle to get the woman's husband into nightclothes and settled under blankets.

"Will he be all right?" demanded Kayle.

"I do not know," Teyla admitted.

The man was catatonic, and not responding. She went through the training Carson had given her, assessing his physical condition, but could find no reason for his continued unresponsiveness. They went to join the others by the fire, the three members of her team stood warming their hands by rubbing vigorously in front of the massive stone hearth along the rear wall. Golden planks of wood ran from corner to corner, making the entire room glow warmly.

Ronon roughly explained to the upset Kayle how Jensen had ran into him; the farmer had been scared of something.

Kayle said that Jensen had been fine earlier; he'd left that morning to arrange a sale for the livestock in their barn. When he was late returning, she had grown worried. "The trail, it's haunted," she breathed, her eyes wide and her hands trembling. She took a kettle from a metal stove and filled cups with a steaming drink. It smelled like the hot spiced cider Sheppard had cajoled Teyla into trying just a few weeks ago. Once she was finished pouring, Kayle handed each one a speckled brown and white mug, lazy trails of smoke rising from the contents, before taking one for herself. "During the summer months, when the only choice is to travel near the caves, everyone knows you don't walk it after dark. Stories tell of ghosts, beings that take a person…I told him to not stay late!" Kayle's hand shook, spilling some of the cider over the brim.

Sheppard passed a disbelieving look at Rodney and Ronon, but Teyla helped Kayle wipe up the spill, and listened. She knew enough that some tales had seeds of truth. "Tell us more," she said kindly.

The woman bit her lip, her limp brunette hair sliding over her eyes as she nodded. Her face was pale, and worried, her thin body still trembling nervously. "Please," Kayle said, "sit and I'll tell you what I know." She gestured to a pair of wooden couches, cushioned with blue and white checkered pillows.

Sheppard leaned lazily near the hearth, but Rodney and Ronon moved to the couches and sat awkwardly, their long legs sticking ridiculously up from the seats. These people were shorter than most of the men on Atlantis. Kayle sat beside Teyla in the chair nearest the window; the light they'd seen from the field still burned brightly from the oil lantern perched carefully in the window sill. "You must understand, it's a legend told from one generation to the next. It's been so long now, no one is certain of every detail."

"The telephone game," Rodney interjected.

"Telephone game?" Kayle's forehead creased in confusion.

"One person whispers a sentence to another, and so on, and it goes around a big circle of people. When it reaches the original person, the sentence no longer resembles the original."

Kayle nodded. "I see. Yes, it is much like this telephone game. But still, it's driven into each child as soon as they begin to play outside without their parents. Stay away from the cliffs at night. Do not go on the trail after dark. The ghosts will take you. They will kill you. It's not safe." She sipped her drink again, as if trying to gather strength. "Everyone knows, and believes enough to stay away at night. Not since I can remember has anyone been foolish enough to be caught after dark on the trail…" Kayle's lips pushed together, wavered, and she raised a knuckle to her lips and bit worriedly. Teyla wondered if the woman was going to be able to hold it together for very much longer.

"And you only told us," Rodney air quoted, "'it's not safe to travel after dark'? You never said anything about soul-sucking monsters haunting the trail!"

"I…I thought you knew." Kayle's cheeks flushed. "I was just…reminding you, with the warning. That's all…just reminding." She drifted off, staring mesmerized into the flickering flames. "Why didn't he listen? He knew better!"

Teyla met Sheppard's assessing look. She knew they were both thinking the same thing. "These ghosts," she began, "do they have white hair?" Not everything fit – wraith would not remain in one place, and they would not care if it were night or day, but they had found one village not long ago with a similar fear. Teyla shuddered at the memory of Ellia, and the colonel's subsequent infection.

Sheppard's mouth tightened and she knew he was remembering as well. His hand unconsciously rubbed against the small remaining mark on his arm, even through the fabric of his coat.

"No one has seen them and lived to tell it." Kayle looked at the door leading into her bedroom. "If Jensen has been taken over, he will speak nonsense and will act as if his mind was lost -- so the stories say." The woman's lips trembled, and she let loose a scared sob, unable to control it any longer. "Ancestors save him," she cried.

The men looked uncomfortable as Teyla let the woman lean against her and cry. What could she say?

Noise from the bedroom broke Kayle's hiccupping sniffles and interrupted the pained expressions on Sheppard, Rodney and Ronon's faces. Kayle pulled up, her eyes widening and she shook her head, starting to chant, "No no no no …"

Inside the room, the man screamed.