"FUCKING CHRIST!" Rodney yelled as his body tightened, his lungs prepared for a terrified scream that never came. It wasn't right, it just wasn't right, Carson was dead, dead dead dead, and the dead didn't breathe, as much as he wanted them to, the dead just did - not - breathe! He gasped in fear, clutching the dirt as though to use it as a weapon. He desperately needed to pee. His chest expanded and threatened to explode as those bright blue eyes blinked, and focused.

"R-Rod. . .ney," the voice croaked.

Rodney gaped, his eyes watering, his head shaking from side to side in denial as he scooted back. This was a cruel joke, the cruelest any being could play on anybody, anywhere. . .ever. "No! Go away!" His voice was a growl, he could feel it deep within his soul. "Whatever you are, GO THE FUCK AWAY!"

"Rodney. . ."

Alien possession. It had to be. "SHUT UP! Oh God, just leave him alone!"

". . .can't move. . ."

Rodney's breath hitched. He was pressed so far back against the rock wall he knew he was about to meld with it. He tore his eyes from the morbid sight, those blue, blue eyes staring at him, blinking. . .

He was blinking, and confused. Rodney had to look back. Good – good god, his head was turning, and it was so like Carson that Rodney leaned forward slightly. The head turned back, his vision clearer, and the expression was one of utter pain. "Rodney? What's happened?"

The accent melted over him like velvet, though the speech was forced and labored. Rodney decided breathing would ruin the illusion so he refrained from doing so. Instead he leaned forward slightly, his good hand stretched in front, bracing him. He was ready to jerk back at the slightest notion of not-Carsonness coming out. This. . .this was too real. "Who are you?" he choked, his voice low with distrust. "I'll have you know I don't believe in God or the Devil, so I know you're not one of them. Who. . ." his anger grew, "ARE you?"

Carson's brows furrowed slightly. His chest rose more and more as he took in deeper and deeper breaths, the oxygen putting the very slightest hint of color back into his skin as his blood pumped.

Rodney slowly crawled forward, limping along with one hand. He stopped periodically, then continued until he reached his friend. And carefully, ever, ever so timidly, he reached out and touched his arm. It wasn't warm.

But it was warmer.

And the eyes that looked at him definitely belonged to Carson.

Rodney just stared, his attention roaming over the body and back to the pale face, the dry lips, the disoriented eyes that followed his every move with confusion. Once again he reached out, this time cupping Carson's cheek with his hand. He shifted until he leaned over him, protecting him. His hand drifted down to the chest, feeling each breath as it fattened the lungs, and just beyond that, a steady thump. A heartbeat.

Rodney was trembling. He almost laughed, his smile lingering before fading back into shock. They stared at each other for several moments, then Rodney gathered his friend into his arms, and cried.

He held him until the pain in his hand was too great, and then he shifted the body to lie in his arms. He couldn't stop staring, and he was scared to speak the word, scared that the wrong person would answer. But he had to know. "Carson?"

Carson just looked up at him, still confused and disoriented. His mouth moved slightly, and formed more words. "Are you crying?"

A laugh forced its way through. "No, I'm not. And don't ever tell anyone you thought that."

"What happened to me?" It was painfully obvious that Carson knew something drastic had happened. Rodney wasn't a crier.

"What hap– you don't remember?" Carson shook his head slightly, making Rodney raise his tear-stained face to the ceiling in wonderment. "You died, Carson," Rodney whispered, choking on the words.

"I did not."

"You – you," he laughed again, certain he was going mad, or that this was a crazed nightmare. He sobered and looked at Carson with an expression that made the sick man wary.

"What it is?"

"I can't do this." He scrambled out from under his friend, carefully laying him back on the blanket and covering him to the chin. "I'm sorry. . .oh god."

"Can't do what?" The voice carried from the far tunnel, and Lan appeared. He took in the sight, and hesitated.

Rodney didn't. He stormed towards the man, furious. "What the hell did you do?"

"I don't know what you're. . ."

His hand flung toward Carson. "That! That's not natural! He was dead! DEAD! How did you do this? Wh-why did you do this?" He collapsed against the wall.

The Wearden's brows merely raised as he glanced towards the covered man, who was staring back. "Hmph," was all he said, and casually walked over to his things.

Rodney was far from appeased. "Don't walk away from me! I want answers! Dammit, I need answers! People don't just wake from the dead like that!"

"Would an answer make you feel better?"

Rodney tried to answer. It took a while. "I don't know."

"You ask too much." He jerked his head towards the fire. "Your friend needs soup."

"What?" he almost laughed. It was such an ordinary statement, and absurd to be thinking about. But why? He mourned his friend's death, why was he suddenly mourning his resurrection?

The Wearden's eyes were dark. "You would spit on such a wonderful gift. You wanted his life. You have it back. You want it taken from you again?"

"NO! No, I . . ."

"Then see to him and stop acting like a fool." He huffed and returned to the odd books he pulled from a bag.

Wordlessly Rodney crossed the room. Carson had drifted asleep, which didn't surprise him, and in fact satisfied him. He needed time to think, to process, to get used to not being in sorrow-mode. He had to figure this out. "He's asleep. I'm - I gotta get some air."

He had no idea the man could move as fast as he did with his grotesquely bent back. One minute Rodney was heading out, the next he found himself slammed against the pale rock, Lan's fist twisted in his shirt. "Did you not hear me earlier? I said to stay put. You dare not go outside."

"Why not?" Rodney snapped. "I was warned to avoid the Wearden. You are the Wearden. So consider yourself avoided."

"What about them?"

"They won't come out here! They avoid the barren land, remember?"

Lan's face worked in frustration, and he reached out for his staff, which leaned against the wall beside Rodney. "Fine. Come with me."

Rodney stared. "Obviously you didn't hear me. I said I was avoiding you, that implies a lack of association. Going anywhere with you implies association, which is exactly what I'm trying to avoid!"

Lan walked up to him, glared up at him. "I said, come with me."

"Okay," Rodney found himself answering, meekly.

They walked out into the night. The moon cast a white glow on everything it touched, and looked astoundingly clean compared to the dismal illness they had found. Rodney found himself taking a deep breath and letting out a sigh. His tension eased slightly.

Lan placed one hand on Rodney's shoulder, and pointed with the other. "There. Watch."

There was nothing to see. Not for a while. Then, the darkness moved.

Not only did it move, it whined, cried, screeched with the voices of a thousand shrill birds. It folded in on itself, and outwards, like geometric shapes, like angry black wings. It grew as it approached, filling the air with the musty smell of an old attic, or a tomb.

Rodney didn't know whether to be scared or fascinated. "What is that?"

"That," Lan said quietly, "is Wearden."

The cries filled the valley below them, stirring the loose sands, creating clouds of dust which coated the Wearden and made it glow in the light. It ate at the space around it, filling it with darkness. It glinted as the wings flapped and flexed, the motion mesmerizing and disturbing. "Is that just one creature?"

"The Wearden is many and one."

"Yeah. Thanks for clarifying."

Lan shrugged.

The Wearden grew, filling the space below them. It descended with a cry, landing on the ground, over another cry that made Rodney's hair stand on end. "What the hell was that?"

"It has found a way to feed. We must go." Rodney felt himself being pulled from the sight and the odd, inhuman shrieks. He was glad to return to the place of his torment, for his confusion was better dealt with than the sight he just saw.