AN: Good morning, Starshine! The Earth says, "Hello!" This fic is, of course, for my Wonder Triad, Read300300, Light of the Shadows, and DarkJediQueen. My most beautiful of friends! I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: Don't own Stargate: SG-1. Don't own the characters.
What The Hell Happened?
Blood soaks his sullen form, dripping from his finger tips and the ends of his tangled hair . . . His blood? He cannot remember. There were so many. Men, women, and children alike. All cut. All sliced. All . . . bleeding.
What the hell happened?
His hands tremble furiously, his pool-blue eyes still wide with shock. He had been trapped for far too long. The bodies. So many bodies had crushed him, had bled on him, had ground him into the dirt. But he dared not move for fear of detection.
What the hell happened?
Slaughter. A massacre. Innocents befallen at the hands of an enemy too numerous to defeat. Had they known, had they been prepared . . . perhaps they would have stood a chance. But the small village was not equipped to withstand a butchery such as this.
What the hell happened?
A gasp. A cry of his name. Hands upon him now, shaking, examining, prodding, poking. Too much contact. They mustn't. They'll only condemn themselves. He attempts to pull away, but the hands grow rough, the grips upon his slippery skin tightening. He thrashes . . . but to no purpose.
What the hell happened.
Restraints clasped around his wrists. He cries. The tears stream and drip, mingling with the blood. They say the blood is gone, that he is clean, that he is safe. They are liars. The blood still stains his form, still coats his being, still . . . remains. He struggles, his pleas ignored. They will no longer listen to his rambling.
What the hell happened?
A familiar white cell. Familiar white clothing. Familiar white people surrounding him with that familiar sting in his arm as they pump him full of the burning liquid. He takes it quietly, without struggle. There is no use. There is no help. Not even from him.
What the hell happened?
A face. A swirling image, but a well-known face none-the-less. The one and only who can save him . . . but does not know how.
"Danny," his words echo through the haze as if from afar, "what the hell happened?"
Had he not told them? Had he not explained over and over again about the bodies? About the horrible things that had been done to them? About who had done this?
. . . Who had done this?
What the hell happened?
The pit of his stomach falls, his insides churning painfully. The events collide with his mind like a freight train. He could not have. Surely, these memories are false. This is not possible. One man against nearly two hundred? No.
What the hell happened.
Men, women, and children . . . all slaughtered . . . at his hand. Blood pouring from wounds and spurting over his form . . . And he smiled. He had smiled while killing them . . . especially the children. So small, so innocent, so . . . easy to break.
What the hell happened?
"Danny," the soft voice comes once again, "what happened?"
A deep gold flashes in those beautiful pool-blues, and Daniel smirks, replying in a metallic and sultry voice, "Why, nothing, Jack. Nothing at all."
AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?
There's truthfully not meant to be another chapter (after all, I don't have any idea where to go with this), but I suppose with the right amount of wheedling, I could wrack my brain for something.
Much love to all! And a very good school year to those who shall be starting shortly! (I know I will be! Packing for college is such a bummer. Haha!)