Clenching the flashlight in his teeth, John dropped to his knees, trying to ignore the warm liquid now swiftly soaking through his jeans. Hoping against hope that there was something he could do, he reached down gingerly and tilted Rodney's head towards him. It moved far too easily, and with good reason; Rodney's neck had been all but severed, which would explain the massive quantity of blood.

Nothing to be done about that, is there? the sword observed. It sounded as though it might be laughing at him.

John closed his eyes in horror, rocking slowly back and forth, unable to bear the sight in front of him. Rodney had come after him, tried to help, and he'd . . .

"Killed me," a voice rasped. John looked down and almost choked on the flashlight that he still held between his teeth. Rodney's eyes had opened, revealing blue irises that were glazed, dead, but looking straight into John's face. And he was—oh, God—talking¸ even though his throat was a tattered mess. "You killed me," Rodney croaked again, his dead lips stretching into a toothy grin. "Enjoying your new toy, I see."

The flashlight clattered to the ground. "Oh, no . . ." John scrambled backwards, but there were only a couple of feet of backwards to go before he hit the wall of the cave. "No way in hell is this happening."

"It's happening," Rodney assured him. He was getting up now, his head lolling gruesomely on one shoulder. "Or are you saying you'd rather just be insane?"

"No," John whispered again. He squeezed his eyes shut, very tightly this time.

But he could still hear Rodney—or what used to be Rodney, anyway. "But you are." Hear him crawling over. "You're going insane. Didn't you know that, John?" And now he (it?) had John by the shoulders, shaking him and hissing his name over and over again as if he (it?) actually expected some kind of sane answer. "John? John? John?"

"Get away from me!" John bellowed, finally breaking out of his paralysis and shoving Rodney away from him.

Rodney hissed again, this time in pain. "What was that for?"

John opened one eye, then the other, and then sat up and discovered that Rodney had sat down hard, looking disgruntled but otherwise intact. He reached over and grabbed Rodney's shoulders; they were comfortingly solid and warm. "You're alive," John said weakly.

"Yes, I am," Rodney responded cautiously. "Thank you for verifying that. I wasn't quite sure."

"Never mind," John told him tiredly, but he didn't let go of Rodney's shoulders. "Just a weird dream. Sorry."

"I noticed." Rodney looked at John's hands on his shoulders, hesitated a second, and then brought one of his own up in response, squeezing John's shoulder gently. "The sword?"

"Well, I sure as hell hope it wasn't my own subconscious, because that'd just be scary." John laughed nervously and let his hands fall from Rodney's shoulders.

Rodney stared at him a moment, obviously unconvinced, and then pulled his hand back as well. "I'd ask if you were all right, but I have a feeling you'd lie."

You're going insane. You know that, right?

John shrugged, trying to stop himself from staring at Rodney's throat in order to make sure it was still in one piece. "You're probably right."

"Aren't I always?" Rodney tried to smile; it didn't work very well. "Oh, by the way—" He waved vaguely towards the other end of the cave. "I moved the sword handle over there. You were feeling around for it in your sleep. Besides, I was sick of having to look at the thing."

John squinted into the shadows. He thought he could just make out a glint of metal back there; then again, maybe not.

Rodney reached into his pack and handed over a protein bar. "Here. Tastes like shit, but it might make you feel a little better."

"I wish." John took it nonetheless and tried to focus on eating, even though the bar did taste like shit, and not blink too often. Every time his eyelids closed now, he saw Rodney's corpse in his mind's eye, no matter how firmly he told himself it had only been a dream.

"So do you at least want to talk about it?" Rodney was still watching him closely.

John looked back at him and shook his head. "Not really."

"Well—" Rodney shifted uncomfortably. "It wasn't that hard to tell in any case, considering the way you reacted when I woke you up . . ."

"Just forget it, okay?" The words came out far harsher than John had meant them to be, but all he wanted right now was to forget the dream, forget what the sword wanted him to do. "It's not worth talking about."

Rodney looked a bit hurt, but the expression passed as quickly as it had appeared. "The wind sounds like it's gone down a little," he said at last, chewing his lip in a way that made John feel worse about himself than ever. "Maybe the storm's going to die down soon."

"Maybe," John agreed. "And when it does, you're going back to Atlantis."

Rodney gaped. "You're not serious."

No. Keep him here, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. John shoved it away as best he could. "I'm very serious," he said heavily. "You said you could tell what happened in my dream. I don't want it happening for real."

(Unless this was the dream, not the other way around. "You're going insane . . .")

No, John told himself—and the sword, if it was listening—firmly. I'm not going insane.

Not yet, anyway.

"I don't want you here," he continued. "I know you wanted to help. And I appreciate it, I really do. But there's nothing you can do for me."

"John—" Rodney began.

"Damn it, Rodney!" John slammed his fist down on the ground, ignoring the fresh pain the blow brought on. "I could go Norman Bates on you at any second, and you want to stay with me?"

"Precisely." Rodney had gone chalk-white, but his expression was more mulish than ever. "You can't make me abandon you."

John pointed into the other corner, where the sword handle gleamed. "You're right, I can't. But that thing there can make sure you never leave at all."

Of course, it said. Isn't that what we have to do?

Shut up, John barked silently. You're not getting me again. Not that easily.

Rodney said nothing, but his face remained set. He didn't even glance back to where John was pointing.

"I came here in the first place to be alone. To make sure no one else would get hurt. And then you followed me, so I've been trying as hard as I can to stay in control." John shuddered—the nights here were cold—and hugged himself. "But I can't keep it up forever. For both of our sakes, Rodney . . . please."

There was silence between them for another few seconds—and then Rodney noticed that John was shivering, moved closer, and hugged him gently.

Startled, John took a moment to wrap his arms around Rodney in turn. "I want you out of here as soon as this storm ends," he insisted.

Rodney smiled a little, sadly. "It hasn't ended yet."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Wahaahh. Mush. Somehow Rodney seems more romantic when he's quiett. Or maybe that's just me.

Yes, I admit it—that was a really retarded way to resolve a cliffhanger. But I enjoyed having myself a little Stephen King talking-corpse moment first, even though I actually freaked myself out in the process. (OK, maybe a tad excessive. But I'm the writer, so there. sticks tongue out) Also I've always liked the idea of überscary Rodney. He might show up again.

Part of that dream sequence actually is going to be important at some point. Not for a while . . . but it's not totally random, I promise you.

Much gratitude to Leah for overanalyzing my writing and to Lady DarkAngel for sending me such glowing feedback that I actually got a little high off it.