Brace yourselves – there's whump up ahead!
--//--
He knew his rampage into the arms of the dead would be fruitless. But he was angry, restless, and he felt the need to do something.
The faces disappeared in a wisp of smoke. Very cliché. The echo of his gunfire drifted off in the driving rain. Some drops escaped the canopy above, flattening his unruly hair against his forehead.
Breathing hard, he struggled to find his center. If he was going to survive this, he had to be rational, clear-headed. He closed his eyes. Breathed in. Breathed out.
I want to see my team. Alive.
He opened his eyes.
All three of them were standing before him, unharmed. Their expressions were blank, as if they were not really there, in body, mind, or spirit.
That had been too easy. Which told Sheppard a little bit about who was doing this to him.
He paced back and forth, watching as their eyes traced his movements. He stopped and stood before Rodney. The man blinked at him, but there appeared to be no recognition in those vacant eyes.
"You're doing a piss poor job of getting me out of this, McKay!" Spittle flew from his mouth as he antagonized his teammate.
Nothing. Not even a blink for a reaction. Frustration began to mount to new levels within him. The rain began to fall harder, sending leaves from overhead to the muddy ground under foot. Sheppard took a small step forward, standing nose to nose with Rodney.
"McKay." His tone demanded a response. A quick glimpse to the other two and Sheppard began to wonder if they could even hear him.
"Meredith!" He growled through clenched teeth, not a hint of humor in his face. Nostrils flaring, Sheppard took a centering breath, even as a muscle twitched at his jaw.
He took a few steps back so that he stood before the three, staring them up and down in chilling silence. The rain was soaking them all to the bone by this point, the wind beginning to pick up and making it sting against their exposed skin.
Thunder rolled overhead. Lightning frequented the scene, lighting it up like a crowd of paparazzi surrounding a celebrity.
An idea came to him and Sheppard straightened his posture to address his team.
"I've had enough! None of you are dead!" He started to pace again, going up and down the line before his stone-faced teammates, as if they were soldiers standing at attention. "I order you to stay alive!"
He stared each and every one of them down. Nose to nose. Rain spilled down their faces. Their pupils dilated in the lapses of darkness. It was like they were there physically, but not in any other sense. It sent chills crawling across his skin.
A loud crack sent his attention upwards. He saw light, the outline of a snake-like form, and then nothing.
--//--
There was at least an inch of murky water swirling around his face. Bubbles formed at the surface of the puddle, an inch from his opening eyes. It took him a moment to realize the bubbles were coming from his nose. It took him another couple of moments to feel the wetness through his clothes.
He was lying in a puddle of water. Or was it blood? He couldn't tell in the twilight, or dawn, or whatever type of dim light existing at the present. The puddle beneath him was dark and slightly chilly.
He moved achy muscles. How long had he been lying there?
The rain had stopped long ago. The storm clouds had dissipated. The sky was clear.
And it felt like a huge railroad spike had been driven through his head. Even his eyeballs hurt. Pain like this tended to make one aware of every muscle, nerve and tendon. Not only that, there was the worsening sensation that the world was spinning and taking him along for the ride.
His fingers dug into the cool soil at the edge of the puddle as he forced himself to roll over onto his back. Eyes squeezed shut, Sheppard gathered in several small gasps of air before releasing one long breath.
Nausea threatened to reign. He wouldn't stand for it (surely not literally). It was bad enough that he was lying in a puddle…of something…that he was too incapacitated to remove himself from.
A low groan escaped him. He blinked several times as something threatened to trickle into his left eye. Bringing a shaky hand up, he wiped at the offending trickle and came away with a blurry, but definitely red-tainted hand. Great. He was still bleeding.
He blearily looked as far around himself as he could without moving his head. Difficult as that was, he saw the culprit of what had hit him lying within an arm's length of his head.
A branch.
A. Mother. Fricken. Branch.
He groaned again. The branch was the size of one of Ronon's bulging biceps.
After a few moments of floating in a near daze, Sheppard managed to snap himself back into the situation at hand. He gingerly raised himself up by resting his forearms on either side. The scene before him was a blur of browns and blues. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and opened them again. His vision settled just a little. It was enough for him to see what was right before him.
Standing there, as permanent a fixture in the landscape as statues, was his team. They looked like they had never moved. It took him a few more moments to realize with shock that were dry as well.
He finally found the strength to raise himself to a sitting position, his legs flailed out before him. Shoulders drooping, hair flat against his head, mud and blood streaming down the side of his face, Sheppard studied the still figures of his team.
His head was pounding with the beat of his heart. Black and white fuzzy dots were fighting each other to pervade his vision.
And then he smiled.
They had listened.
For the telltale sign in the mud at their feet gave Sheppard hope. Rodney, Teyla, and Ronon had each taken a step backward, to avoid the branch.
A moment later, however, as his fading mind caught up with his logic, his smile morphed into a frown. They hadn't, to his detriment, pushed him out of the way.
In the back of his mind, he realized that if there were a next time, he would have to be a little more specific with his orders.
--tbc--