He found himself in that dark room again, protesting loudly as he was pushed ahead of a group of people. There were lights now, the people behind him using them to illuminate the dark room. Sheppard was somewhere behind him, crumpled on the floor. The weapon that woman had used – he wasn't sure what that weapon was capable of, but it seemed far too advanced for the current state of this place. Maybe something they'd found, or traded for. He hoped to hell that Sheppard was unconscious, rather than dead. He hadn't seen Teyla, and he hoped she'd grabbed Sheppard and gotten away.

The lights revealed a patch of the floor covered in debris from the roof, and leaves that must have tumbled in from openings in the ceiling. A dark hand reached down and, pushing away the leaves, grabbed a handle he hadn't realized was there, opening a door – a hatch. Yanking it open, the woman who'd used the weapon on John stepped fully into the light, then down - there was obviously some sort of ladder or similar, and the woman descended for several minutes – place must be deep. He heard her call up, and then someone shoved him forward. He swore, but seeing no other choice, he took that first step.

John opened his eyes, unsure for a moment where he was. He'd been dreaming… of… he wasn't sure what. It felt like he'd been seeing through Rodney's eyes, but that was impossible. It had seemed so real.

John heard a rustling near him, and remembered in a rush where he was. Infirmary. He must have fallen asleep after Carson had – damn the man, Carson had shot him up with something and knocked him out. He focused, thinking hard, trying to remember the dream. There had been something, an opening in the floor, hidden under a cover, that hidden under leaves.

He waited until whoever was in the room moved off. Then slowly, not wanting to set off any "Sheppard is trying to get out of here without permission" alarms, John pushed himself to sitting. He pulled out his IV with a soft hiss. He needed to talk to Elizabeth, tell her what he'd seen. Without bothering to find slippers, John slid off the bed and moved carefully to the door, hissing at the cold floor against his bare feet. Luckily, it seemed to be night, because the corridor lights were dimmed and the hallway was empty.

Trailing one hand along the wall, John made his way back to his quarters. He stumbled to his dresser and drew out some sweatpants, changing from the scrubs Carson or one of the medics must have dressed him in. He left the scrubs crumpled where they fell and slumped into a chair, tired and dizzy. He needed to get up and go see Elizabeth, but he was wiped. He just needed a minute. Then he'd finish dressing, and go.

He noticed blood, now dried, on back of his hand, where IV had been. As he rubbed at it, the world tilted, and –

He lowered himself through the hatch, feeling with his feet for the rungs of the ladder he knew must be there. Leaves, long dry, fell past him and down. Following them, his hand touched the metal of a ladder, and he felt wetness – not water. He must have cut his hand in the struggle. He purposefully reached up and moved his hand along the top edge of the hatch, hoping that he'd leave a trace of blood there, some evidence of where he'd gone.

John realized he'd fallen asleep only because he woke up, unsure of how much time he'd missed. He needed to get going. His feet were freezing. He should at least get some socks on. Stiffly, he reached over to the open drawer and pulled out socks, tugging them on. Cold, he added the first thing he could reach out of the dresser without having to stand up, which ended up being the only hoodie he'd brought on this mission, the one he never wore, with "Stanford" written on the front. He pulled the sleeves down over his hands to warm them.

John pushed himself to standing, then steadied himself with a hand to the wall. Deciding to skip the shoes as too much hassle, he triggered his door. Still night, thank God. And not far. He walked down the corridor, one hand to the wall. After what seemed like forever, he finally reached Elizabeth's quarters, and he triggered the chime. He heard Elizabeth's voice respond. He slid his hand up the wall and let his head hang down, eyes closed. This was ridiculous. He'd been dreaming. It wasn't real. He should go back to his quarters. Maybe he would. He just needed a minute.

Carefully, he reached down with his foot, feeling for the next step or rung…

The door opened, and he raised his head.

Elizabeth ran a hand through her hair drowsily, then her eyes widened. "Woah, John." She reached out and grabbed his arm, concern clear on her face. Elizabeth's frank gaze made John suddenly aware of how he must look, what he was wearing, the fact that he had forgotten to comb his hair.

"Does Carson know where you are?" Elizabeth asked.

John shrugged. "Not so much, no."

Elizabeth guided John to the nearest chair. He put a hand on the chair's back to steady himself and peered up through his bangs at her, blinking slowly. He'd come here to tell her what he'd been seeing. Now, he wasn't so sure that was a good idea.

"You should probably sit down before you fall down," Elizabeth said. She turned away, radioing Carson. "I think I've found your errant patient, Doctor."

"Aye, yes," Carson said, not even asking who it was she was talking about. John lost track of the rest of their conversation, head spinning, trying to hold back a rising nausea as his vision grayed.

Then Elizabeth was in front of him. John stepped forward, shaky, but trying to hide it. "Rodney's out there."

"He is," Elizabeth replied. "We have search teams…"

"I can see him," John rephrased. "I saw where they brought him."

"When you were there?" Elizabeth asked, seeming a bit cautious.

"No." John knew that what he was about to say, plus how he looked, plus his showing up here like this, never mind the fact that he'd been injured and unconscious for however long made it unlikely she'd believe him, but he had to try. Just in case what he was seeing in his dreams was real, he had to try. He wavered on his feet, and closed his eyes. He just needed a minute.

John felt Elizabeth grab him, lowering him into the chair. In a low voice, eyes still closed, John tried to get out as much as he could, so that Elizabeth could understand. "I can see the leaves." John paused, because that wasn't the important part. "Hold on," he murmured, focusing on what he could see, trying to get clear. He took a breath. "There's blood on the floor, just there; I'd cut my hand when they pushed me down." Or Rodney had. It was confusing.

"You obviously aren't well," Elizabeth said from quite nearby, voice soft. She sounded like she was crouched in front of him. Probably making sure he didn't fall off the damn chair.

John held up a finger, as if to pause the world. Eyes still closed, he heard the door chime. Probably Carson's team.

"John…"

John opened his eyes, and met Elizabeth's concerned gaze.

"You need to go back to the infirmary. Let Carson look at you."

John just got out, "You need to go back," as the darkness rushed in.