Title: Not With a Bang, But a Whimper
Author: linziday
Rating/ genre: PG 13 (mild language and scariness), gen
Warning: Not a death fic, but it does have an ambiguous ending that may lead you to imagine a death fic scenario.
Disclaimer: Various people/corporations own them. I am one of the six billion or so people/corporations that does not.

AN:Written for the coping mechanisms challenge over at flashfic on LJ. The coping mechanisms were denial, avoidance, repression, substitution and fantasy.

So. . . I planned to write a 5 things story using one coping mechanism for each. Um. Yeah. Instead I ended up using all 5 coping mechanisms in one story. All on poor Rodney.

Rodney pushed farther back into the corner.

"This isn't happening," he whispered, pulling his knees to his chest as his heart hammered against it. "This isn't happening. This isn't — "

He squeezed his eyes shut. It was dark in the corner — the whole lab had been plunged into darkness when. . . when. . . — and he couldn't stand it any longer, couldn't stand how his eyes automatically strained, peered, searched the darkness for the thing he didn't want to see, the thing he so really, really didn't want to see.

"This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This —"

There was a thump — no, a thud — no, a bump — off to the side, to the left, his left, the sound of his last-minute, last-chance barrier tossed away and Rodney hunched, shaking, shoulders up, head down, to make a smaller target even as he chanted softly, hoarsely, almost a whimper, "This isn't happening."

Then something landed on his shoulder, a weight but not heavy. A hand, his brain supplied even though his eyes were still shut tight. A hand that was not clutching or pulling or doing anything more than resting, but Rodney frantically tried twisting away.

"McKay!"

He froze. It couldn't be.

"Buddy. What the —"

Couldn't be.

"Breathe!"

Rodney inhaled sharply, automatically, instinctively following the command in Sheppard's voice, even if it wasn't really Sheppard's voice, even if it couldn't be because Sheppard and his team and the city, the whole goddamn city, had —

"Rodney, c'mon, look at me."

Request, not command. Rodney didn't move. The hand left his shoulder and reappeared at his chin, nudging until Rodney couldn't help raising his head. He refused to open his eyes.

He couldn't control anything else, but he could control that.

"Hey." The hand left his chin and returned to his shoulder, where it gave him a little shake. "Are you tracking?"

Rodney let out a small, choked sob before could clamp his jaws shut around it. The — it — felt like Sheppard, sounded like Sheppard, used Sheppard's words. But there was no way, no way —

"It's just a nightmare, buddy."

A nightmare. It couldn't —

"Open your eyes. It's all right."

— couldn't —

"Jesus, Rodney, I promise you. I promise."

— could it?

Rodney laid his forehead on his knees, tired. Exhausted. The hand moved to the back of his neck, where it rubbed slow, soothing circles.

So very exhausted.

A nightmare. Yes. It could be a nightmare. It was. That's all it was.

Rodney raised his head and opened his eyes.