Author's Note:
Hi, y'all,
So... I recently watched SG1 seasons 9 & 10 and thought, hmm, it would have been so nice if John Sheppard was also here. (Because that man makes everything watchable) Since John Sheppard was doing fine at SGA around this time, I thought, hey, why not do a fix-it for the poor man who died at the end of 'Vegas.'
'Dismantling Destiny' was born.
Now, this is a very different story compared to my others, where I do a whole lot of world-building and introduce funny little creations of my own. Here, I only introduce a subplot that emerges here and there, along with generous sprinklings of Sheppard and his interactions with the rest of the team.
So, I follow the script of the Stargate SG1, mostly, and I'm sticking to the original storyline of seasons 9 & 10 ... until I don't.
The series, Dismantling Destiny has three story arcs; Discovering the Enemy, Recovering Atlantis & The Battle. Each arc will have three of four stories, due to the way I have divided the episodes of the seasons.
Ends, Transitions & New Beginnings is the first story of the 'Discovering the Enemy' arc.
Cameron Mitchell and John Sheppard will end up together, driving towards their pretty sunset and happily ever after at the end of the series.
That is the main reason I wrote this.
Well, that's about it.
Oh, Wait!
As always, a big thank you goes out to my friend, idea-bounce buddy and beta, Aethir. She's a star!
Now I'm done.
Hope you all will enjoy the ride!
'Dismantling Destiny' Series summary:
Detective John Sheppard's life took a wrong turn when something from a higher plane intervened. Not that he ever knew. After decades of watching his life spiral down a drain, he thought he regained some of his dignity back by saving the world.
He died for his troubles.
Or so he figured until it became clear he didn't.
Instead, he was given a chance to fix things; in his own life and the world around him.
Now, living his life in a wholly new direction, as it should have been, he has a lot of inner demons to battle, relationships to navigate and aliens to meet and kill.
All the while hoping he could live up to the expectations and achieve the task he had been trusted with by the meddling Ascended beings.
Dismantling Destiny:
1. Discovering the Enemy arc
2. Recovering Atlantis arc
3. Final Battle arc
Dismantling Destiny (Discovering the Enemy Arc)
Ends, Transitions & New Beginnings
Summary:
John Sheppard died. Then woke up fifteen years back in time, at the exact point where his life when to hell. This time, he took the advantage of the knowledge to do something good, something right with it. He got the chance to take down rings of spies and save lives, make a place for himself at the Stargate Command before getting captured by the enemy at the end of Battle Antarctica.
Now, he was home, among friends and people he could trust.
Only that peace of mind doesn't get to last long because trouble is brewing on the horizon in the form of a new powerful enemy.
Warnings of Note:
Canon divergence AU, Torture, Swearing. (More warnings on AN's at the beginnings of chapters when applicable)
Prologue - The Time It All Went to Hell
Somewhere in the Higher Plane of Existence...
Orlin watched.
He was frustrated, enraged even, at the unfairness of it all.
They were the most powerful beings in the universe. They existed in a higher plane as pure energy, watching the insignificant lives scattered all over the insignificant little worlds go by at their own pleasure.
Time, the mighty flow that slowed or stopped for no one, was merely a plaything they could use to entertain themselves.
There was nothing in the whole damned universe that could stop them from doing any damn thing they wished.
Except for a set of old, archaic, decrepit rules, reinforced by…themselves.
Those same annoying Rules dictated that he was not to intervene, that he could not interfere while the others - the arrogant bunch of assholes even now - who called themselves the Ori, stomped all over precious Rules to do whatever they wanted.
What was the use of all his power if he could not simply prevent a disaster that had the potential to ripple out into creating chaos of wildly massive proportions?
Do not interfere. No matter what. Those were the Rules.
Fuck the Rules.
He was tempted. He was oh so tempted.
He watched the scene unfold before him with mounting anger and frustration, wishing he had teeth to grind and hands to curl into fists.
In a desolate piece of dry land on the planet Earth, a manipulated event took place to tamper with the set flow of time.
The four of them surrounded the infirmary bed of the pilot, John Sheppard. The man was a beacon to Orlin's sight; an anomaly, a result of an unpredicted convergence, a life with potentially endless possibilities.
One was a Colonel in the pilot's military service branch. But he was pretending to be someone else. Two of them were agents of an enemy, an unknown enemy to John Sheppard at the time. They worked for the human organisation that went by the ironic designation; The Trust.
The other was the enemy. He was the host to an unpleasant creature called a 'Goa'uld.'
"…Anna will be waiting for you at this location." one agent intoned. "Here are the landing site coordinates. Your mission is to retrieve Dr Keffler and Anna safely and transport them both to this location."
"Who are they?" John Sheppard asked, making no effort to retrieve the piece of paper in the agent's hand.
"They are the two humans who are vital to the existence of the rest of the population in this entire world," The other agent declared. "The knowledge they carry is to be protected at all costs."
John Sheppard was still sceptical. "How do I recognize them?"
"They'll recognize you. All you have to do is land your craft at this place on time and announce yourself as the 'Courier.' They'll Join you after they confirm themselves as the 'package'.
"Very cloak and dagger like," John Sheppard drawled, smiling insolently at the agents. "Passwords and counter passwords."
"Do this for your country and for your fellow humans." The Goa'uld thundered.
John Sheppard was now suspicious. Possibly somewhat taken aback. "Except this is a no-fly zone," he pointed out. "It's behind enemy lines. I'm not authorised to fly that far and someone from that side or this side is going to take me down if I do."
"You're an experienced pilot, you know how to fly under enemy fire, you need to do this, Sheppard," the pseudo-Colonel finally intervened. "You're the only pilot in his base with the necessary skill set to see this through. The fate of humanity is in your hands."
"Yeah, right, you didn't answer the question…sir."
"This is an off-the-books operation, you will get a bird and flight clearance," the pseudo-Colonel continued, unfazed by the pilot's blatant disrespect. "We'll try to keep you from friendly fire from this end, after that you're on your own."
"Thank you, sir, for clearing that up."
"However, once you accomplish the mission, agent Crammer will retrieve you a the handover point–"
"You understand, this cannot be in your service records," said the Colonel. "Nevertheless, your achievements will be communicated to proper channels–"
Orlin saw how the persuasion of his superiors diverted John Sheppard from his fate towards a dark and dangerous path that had not even begun forging.
"Alright," John Sheppard nodded, accepting the mission that was going to change the course of his life. "When do I leave?"
Orlin vibrated with the need to intervene. To correct the mistake. To smite down the Goa'uld creature that was blatantly carrying out the bidding of the Ori.
Alas, he was not allowed.
"You will get your chance, Orlin," Ganos Lal's voice echoed around him in a soft, musical breeze. He had not heard her approach. "They broke the Rules, there are now certain doors open for you to rectify their tampering of events."
"The rules do not allow me to make myself known until the moment of his last breath, Ganos Lal."
"I know." She acknowledged. "Which is why we must hope that he is strong enough to linger a moment longer until you get your chance."
Orlin sighed. She was right. Unfortunately, for the moment, that was all he could do.
He had to wait.
He had to wait until John Sheppard died.
15 years Later.
Area 51 - Hallway
83 miles from Vegas
The man who introduced himself as Richard Woolsey stood outside the holding room, staring at him through the square window of the closed door. The man appeared frustrated and had absolutely no idea what to do with him. It was almost funny how easily he recognized that particular look. After all, he had been getting that one aimed at him all the damn time for the past few years, liberally sprinkled with varying degrees of anger, disappointment, and sometimes even hate.
Another 'agent' approached Woolsey as he watched, dressed in an upscale suit and just as uptight. A short discussion followed. Woolsey said something and the new suit countered. Woolsey sighed and slumped, agreeing to whatever the suit suggested. Shortly after that, the new suit opened the door and Woolsey departed. Sheppard squared his shoulders and got ready to face the next battle.
The new suit tossed a tablet computer onto the table and slid his hands inside his pockets. John stayed where he was, standing on the opposite side of the table, his expression crossed between blank, slightly confused and wholly uninterested.
"Detective? I'm Doctor Rodney McKay." Suit introduced himself in a sharp, clipped tone, not bothering to offer his hand. "I realise that you have no way of grasping what's going on here. There's really only one thing you need to understand. If you fail to cooperate, I have the power to ruin your life."
The man delivered the artless threat with all the finesse of every bad guy he had probably seen on TV during his teens and had tried hard to practise in front of a mirror. It would probably have worked on Sheppard if he had any fucks left to give at that point.
"You don't realise how little I have to lose." Sheppard pointed out when the suit, McKay, continued to glare at him with his supervillain squint.
That information, of course, was not received in the spirit it was shared. McKay puffed up and started spitting out his miserable life story in rapid-fire as if he was in need of a good reminder of exactly how fucked up it was.
"I know everything about you," he started, lips smirking and eyes blazing. "You've never been married. The only thing you own is a car. You have $2,363.00 in the bank and are $13,000.00 in debt…not counting the off-the-books gambling losses to a guy named 'Mikey.'"
Sheppard swallowed. It was just downright creepy, in his humble opinion. For the hundredth time, he wished that dried-up, shrivelled corpse hadn't ended up finding its way to his desk at the precinct. Nothing good had followed the damn thing; radioactive wounds, disappearing pathologists, arrogant assholes in black SUVs who apparently got their ya yas out by cyberstalking washed-up detectives.
"What else? You finally passed your detective exam after four years and two failed attempts…"
McKay didn't stop, incredibly smug and relentless. Sheppard rolled his eyes and mumbled something disrespectful about his mother under his breath.
"And now barely scrape by on quarterly performance reviews. Am I getting this right?"
"I also like spearmint gum," Sheppard added, just for the hell of it.
McKay tossed a pack of spearmint gum on the table. "Have some."
Sheppard swallowed some more. The Creep Factor of this entire conversation had jumped up a few notches. "I was joking."
"No, you weren't." the man stated with conviction before he contorted his face into a frown. Then he walked around the table and came to stand directly in front of him. Sheppard just knew he was going for the jugular the way those blue eyeballs gleamed.
"Let's go back further, shall we? You were a helicopter pilot in Afghanistan but were dishonourably discharged for disobeying orders and trying to rescue a field medic trapped behind enemy lines. You were shot down—obviously survived, but unfortunately, the crash killed four American soldiers, along with eight civilians…"
Sheppard shuffled. He was having a hard time keeping his unaffected and uninterested mask in place. Too bad this wretched bastard could only hack into files in the system, no matter how many classifications those were sealed and buried under. Not the real incident that happened, the one that only existed in the minds of four people, including himself and one whatever that thing was to this day.
That was also the day Sheppard learned never to sign any cursed 'non-disclosures' ever again. Of course, the lesson only hammered itself in after his so-called patriotism led his life down the crapper never to be able to surface again.
They had warned him of the fact that his life as he knew it was over. Had preached that his sacrifice was going to save countless lives in the long run. Simpered that he was the only person who was at the right place at the right time with the right attitude to pull it off.
Their threats, however, the list of consequences he would face should he refuse, had been delivered in a much more subtle and decidedly terrifying manner compared to McKay's posturing.
"…you avoided jail time. The record was sealed for various 'political reasons.'..." McKay was prattling on when he wrenched his mind back to the present. "These things happen, right?" He went back around the table with a sneer, turning his back to Sheppard.
"Somehow, you've managed to live with yourself since then," he picked up again, obviously feeling superior in his moral high ground, staring down at Sheppard like he was something unpleasant stuck on the heel of his shoe. "But I'm not sure other people would if they knew the truth."
Asking me why I haven't killed myself out of guilt yet? Well, that's because there is no guilt. There are no fucking dead soldiers or civilians. Just a stupid pilot who was sweet-talked into taking one for the team. And got left behind to rot after he served his purpose. Ask me why I haven't gone on an avenging killing spree instead, you asshole…
"I don't really care," was all he said, doing his best to feign indifference.
"Yeah. That's too bad." the fucker had the audacity to sound actually sad.
Sheppard dropped himself on the chair by the table and grabbed a stick of gum when McKay headed for the door, done with his little stunt at persuasion. He paused just as Sheppard stuck the gum in his mouth and turned back.
"You know, I once met another version of you," he said, tone soft, almost reflective despite the sheer absurdity of his words. "He was very different."
"What?"
"Nothing is what you think it is."
Right back at you, smug bastard! "That really doesn't come as a surprise to me."
McKay let out a weary sigh and sat on the chair opposite to him. "Look…we're not bad guys. We just want to keep the planet safe."
It was Sheppard's turn to sneer right back. Hello, deja vu, my dear old friend. "I doubt that very much."
"I don't expect you'll believe me at first. I'm about to tell you some incredible things: wormhole travel through a device called a Stargate, ancient races of humans on other planets, other dimensions in space and time, even infinite variations of our own, known reality, where alternate versions of you and I play out events in ways you can't…possibly imagine–"
The man had seemingly forgotten the fact that Sheppard hadn't signed the dotted lines on the thick binder the size of a YellowPages. But also, what the fuck?
"Space aliens?"
John couldn't hold his mocking grin for long at the deadly serious look on McKay's face. He felt something stir inside him that hadn't made an appearance for years. It scared him because the only other time he had felt this cold dreadful thing opening inside somewhere deep in his gut was when he had signed his life to hell for the sake of national security.
The feeling also told him that he might not even make it out alive this time around.
Area 51 - Chair Room
Sheppard stared at the glowing, silver-blue chair, wishing it would stop humming and buzzing inside his head like a swarm of bees that had just lost their damned queen. The Antarctic Ancient Chair, McKay had called it, reverently, caressing it in a way that made Sheppard take a step back, just in case.
Before he could delve further into the madness of why he was so sure that the Chair was actually making a fuss inside his mind, McKay started talking.
"It was found under a mile of ice in Antarctica five years ago and later moved here. It runs on a power source that extracts energy from vacuum space. We call it a "ZedPM.'"
Zed-what?
McKay interpreted his frown for what it was. Sheppard had a feeling it happened to him a lot.
"Well, 'ZeePM'. Sorry, I'm Canadian." He went on. "If you have the right genetic code, it allows you to control some pretty cool weaponry remotely with your mind. That's how we were able to defeat the Wraith hive ship that attacked Earth three months ago."
Genetics? Mind-controlled weapons? Wraith?
Jesus, Sheppard prayed. He was rusty. Please tell me I have finally lost my mind for good. I can now go and sign myself into a Psych Ward…Please, damn it.
"Are there more?" he asked, wincing at the hoarseness of his voice.
"What? Chairs?"
To give him more damned headaches? No, thanks, numbnuts. "No. Aliens."
"Oh, yeah. Lots more. Fortunately, they're in another galaxy—and for now, don't know where Earth is."
With that wholly unhelpful declaration, McKay walked towards the exit. Sheppard tried to break his eye contact with the Chair that was practically begging and screaming at him to 'come sit and take a look."
"Detective?"
McKay snapped, somehow distracting him enough to break out of the overwhelming urge to touch the alien furniture. He quickly followed the man out, firmly keeping his gaze forward.
Warehouse Room
Area 51
The rest of the impromptu, and probably illegal, tour was a whirlwind of looking at alien spaceship wreckages called darts and learning about hybrid aliens that literally sucked the life force out of humans. That was when Sheppard actually got the confirmation that his serial killer was a crashed and starved alien, going about snacking on humans as if he was in an all-you-can-eat buffet.
As it happened, McKay and his team had been recalled from the Pegasus galaxy to deal with the alien infestation because they apparently were the experts on the subject.
McKay kept up the lively information dump as they continued along another deserted corridor while Sheppard tried not to lose what few marbles he had left rattling inside his brain. Then, in a moment of unforgivable insanity, he made the mistake of asking what the actual Wraith looked like without the goth disguise.
McKay led the way to a locked door and opened it with a flourish. "Normally…they look like that."
Sheppard stared in horror at the pale-green sickly-looking thing inside the glass cell. It, the thing - Warith, was unkempt, manic and smelled like a rotting corpse.
"Why do they eat people?" Sheppard muttered, unable to avert his gaze from the…Wraith.
"You mean feed on humans? That's just what they are. We're just…cattle to them."
"Fish in a pond. Busy, busy. Lots to do, here and there," the Wraith started to rumble with no rhyme or reason.
"This one fancies himself a bit of a poet…not good." McKay sneered.
"Dry as a desert outside. No place to go."
"He's also delirious from starvation." McKay sounded convinced. Sheppard wasn't so sure. It also didn't help that there was something clawing inside his head again. His poor mind hadn't had this much traffic in…forever.
"Eat up! Get stronger! Think, and hope. Think…and hope. Don't look now! Oh, keep dreaming. There must be some other reason for your existence–" the Wraith glared at him.
"Didn't you get anything from him?" he asked McKay.
"Nothing. And believe me, we've tried…everything."
"Defiance tastes like life itself. No river. No water. Die in the desert. Darkness all around. The harvest moon is rising. Wraith are never-ending." The Wraith got closer to the glass wall where Sheppard was standing and locked its yellow, cat-like gaze on him. The creature was so close, when it opened its mouth, the glass frosted over. "I know the future. Come inside…I'll show you…your destiny, John Sheppard!"
"They can get in your head," McKay muttered, breaking the spell that had Sheppard frozen.
Nevada Road
The Next day.
Sheppard drove in his beat-up red Camaro down the highway, Johnny Cash's Solitary Man blasting out of the speakers to keep him company. Despite the Man In Black's best efforts, he couldn't ignore the bag of cash sitting so placidly on his passenger seat. Every time he stole a glance at it, his mind kept flashing back to the events of the last few days.
McKay's words were as sharp as blades in his memory, yapping on and on about life-sucking aliens, space battles and mind-controlled weapons. Then there was his argument with the other fussy suit and Woolsey about alien bombs, Wraith communicators, power requirements and signal boosts. He still remembered how agitated, legitimately worried the irascible man seemed at their inability to locate the damned life-sucker and his possibly planet-ending gadget.
Then there was the never-ending line of images that wouldn't stop assaulting him, even when he was awake. The dried-up corpses, the hungry alien and his unintelligible muttering.
The way it knew his name …
The CSI photos of the crime scenes joined the horror-inducing reel in his mind, interposing images of Antifreeze in the desert floor, Antifreeze puddle by that motel room, the dead bodies and the money, over the manic ramblings of the Wraith and cutting words of McKay.
He wasn't all that surprised when a plausible line of inquiry occurred out of the mess in his mind with sudden clarity, giving him an idea as to where to start looking. It was always how his brain worked; it put together things in the weirdest of times in the weirdest of ways. There was a certain truth to McKay's words when he mentioned that Sheppard's charges didn't always stick. Some things just could not be repeated under the threat of a bullet to his forehead, let alone in front of a Judge and Jury.
His foot hit the brake almost on its own accord, and before it even registered, he was on his way back, driving on the curving road that took him through the desert to see if his hunch had any merit.
He found the abandoned trailer in the forty-third minute.
Unknown Location
Nevada Desert
"I found him," he said to the phone, his gaze locked on the innocent-looking silver trailer that was half buried in the sand.
McKay repeated his words to people around him before returning to the call with a demanding, "How?"
"I remembered the trailer from the motel. It's one of those old Silver Bullets. It's just a hunch. You said he needed more power. So, I drove along some of the more remote power lines into the city," Sheppard explained.
There was more snapping on the line, McKay ordering people around. Then the line started to fill with static.
"Listen to…. I know what I said… but do not–"
That was all he could hear before the call cut completely. The phone screen announced no service. Sheppard grimaced.
"I know you'll probably think this sounds ridiculous, but, uh, a little while ago we accidentally opened a rift in space-time—went through to an alternate version of reality. It was very similar to ours in many ways. We met a team, much like the one I work with, only…you were the leader. You were a hero—saved the world several times over."
McKay's words came to the forefront of his mind, as if the man was right there next to his ear, saying those words like he meant them. Sheppard thought he had learned his lesson already about listening to people when they made him feel like he… mattered. He had thought he was done being that gullible; Like he could be persuaded into doing things when it meant he served some noble purpose. Like he could be trusted to do the right thing when the time came, despite the cost to himself.
Damn it all to hell.
He never learned.
He really was a fucking idiot.
Sheppard opened his glove box and pulled out a pistol, checking the magazine was loaded and cocking the gun. He got out of the car and approached cautiously, eyeing the open window with suspicion. The sound of the shot rang out so loud in the otherwise quiet desert, it took a moment to register as a gunshot.
It even took longer for him to realise that he had been shot in the left upper chest.
He turned and ran for cover behind his car. More automatic weapon fire followed his trail, riddling the car full of holes. Sheppard emptied his gun at the trailer before scrambling back inside for a spare magazine in the glove box. The Wraith exited the trailer - again with much more supervillain swagger than McKay could ever hope to achieve in this lifetime - with automatic rifles firing in each hand. Sheppard continued to return fire, hitting the Wraith almost point blank, but having no effect.
He eventually collapsed, sitting up against the tire, his torso bloody from the bullet wound and sweaty and hot from the unforgiving desert heat. The Wraith rounded the car to stare down, lifting his guns to aim at him, almost in slow-motion to Sheppard's rapidly dwindling sight. He half-heartedly tried to fire, but his gun had been long emptied. The Wraith dropped the guns and flexed his hand, reminding his tired mind that there was a fate far worse than getting shot in the head.
He resignedly took off his glasses. The cold, dreadful feeling he had in his gut earlier was now gone, replaced by a tired sort of numbness in its place. He just knew he was going to die in pain, alone and as a failure.
Then, the sweet lethal sound of the A-10 jets approached, letting him know that maybe, just maybe, he hadn't just ended his life in a complete failure.
0000
000
00
0
Somewhere, Sometime and Something unknown
And,
That should have been the end of that. His final moment on this little floating piece of space rock called Earth. His grand exit from life, not with a glorious bang but with a pitiful whimper. At least there hadn't been anyone around to witness that, or so he had thought before closing his eyes, finally giving up on the body that he couldn't really feel any more.
He had expected to see the life he lived flashing before his closed eyelids, memories good and bad and everything in between. Wasn't that what they all said, and then something about a tunnel, or a door or something before complete and utter blackness?
Then, realistically, and probably justifiably, he should have woken up to a horned demon glaring down at him, ready to take charge of his earned time in Hell.
Except,
Instead of a horned demon, he got a tall, blond guy with green eyes who had apparently swallowed a set of massive floodlights before he died. Because, how the fuck else would he manage to glow like a fucking flare of bright white light like that?
The hot sand burned his back. Bile rose in his throat when the sharp, pungent smell of his own blood filtered through his nose. He was so goddamn tired, he didn't even have the energy to drag in the air to his lungs. His upper chest was at least done burning like it was on fire, and he couldn't really feel a thing on his entire left side.
He just wanted to…fade. But he couldn't do it with all this fucking brightness bearing down on his face.
John Sheppard.
An echoing voice called. He heard it from everywhere around him and inside his mind. He was getting positively tired of these voices.
Wake up, John Sheppard.
He was dead. He was supposed to be able to sleep all he fucking wanted. If only… Why did even his version of the afterlife seem thoroughly messed up?
You are not dead. Not as yet. Wake up.
The sounds were insistent. He opened his eyes again with effort and glared.
"Fine. What?" his own voice came out barely audible.
This is not your fate or your destiny. The man hovering over him with all his megawatt glory informed him. This is not your time to die, not by a long shot.
Was this the overgrown Glow-Stick's way of trying to bargain with John for an extension of life in exchange for some fucked up deal or other? No, thank you. He would pass. He was done.
Your life took a turn due to circumstances that were not permitted by the Rules. Said the man, sounding apologetic. I was unable to intervene to set things right until your last breath. Then he smiled, all teeth and no humour. Now is the time. The rift created in the space by the Wraith communication has given me interesting possibilities. This may work out even better than expected.
Okay. The grin on the guy's face was not quite so benevolent now. In fact, he looked downright unhinged and a hell of a lot scarier.
"Wait. what?"
John was sure he made a sound. But the Glow-Stick didn't listen. He just placed a glowing hand on John's chest, right over his bleeding wound, reminding him of a Wraith trying to eat him, of all things.
Make the right choices, John Sheppard, the voice whispered as it started to fade. For you might just be called in to save this planet and the galaxy, yet again.