A/N - say, who's an ugly duckling? Not I! LOL
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"Lemme... go… "
"Dumb decision, Sheppard."
"Yeah, well. That dumb decision was… for me… to make."
John found himself dangling and flailing over the edge of the balcony, his forehead butting concrete, his naked ass in the air and catching the chill, evening breeze. He could feel the skin scraping from his palms, his knees and even his chest as he slammed into the wall time and time again from the momentum of his half-baked leap to either freedom or oblivion.
Salvation.
On his own terms at last.
Bat Wing had grabbed him by his left ankle just as he'd pushed off. He thought he might just have gotten away with a cool launch into infinity, with all about him suitably stupefied into non-action, but that Bat Wing had freakishly leapt into life, throwing himself towards him, snatching at him, and finding instant purchase like he'd been tickling salmon his whole damn life.
John tried to kick out with his free foot, but the recent mauling had weakened his entire right leg, rendering it useless. John went limp - maybe they'd drop him if there was no fight left in him - but Bat Wing began to howl, like a revved up motor about to spend the last of its fossil fuel. Yeah, he'd witnessed vehicles once when he was owned by those humans. Even racing cars. He prayed none of their kind were ever captured by the wingless Horgo. They'd made his life a misery for two sorry years.
Bat Wing tightened his grip.
The Horgo.
He'd been kept in a dank, dimly-lit repair shop, chained under some discarded metal panel attached to and overhanging some nasty-assed, barely fit-for-spare-parts engine too heavy for him to lift in some sick twist on the whole ball and chain thing. He was mostly sent in to fix that heaving, cranking, giant machinery with wrenches and screwdrivers because he was small and thin compared to them, and they either couldn't access any of it or were just too damn lazy. He'd have to clamber up and over, in and around, and even through and along, down endless scary pipes and sometimes into tanks to exact repairs and patch-ups. With his wings scrunched up right along with his balls.
He'd spent those two years covered in oil and dirt, terrified that fire could easily break out. If he didn't do a good job, they would take the tools of the trade to his bare skin. He fucking hated screwdrivers, the way they could be stabbed then twisted into his flesh to exact pain as much as draw blood. Make his scream.
On the plus side, he'd been able to take those racing cars out for a spin.
Some of them were sweet rides. Yeah, there were good days. At least he'd learned to drive, not that it ever did him any good. It was just one more brief escape from his pathetic lot. Once he'd delivered, it was back to cowering under that panel, awaiting his next task, and hoping a little food and water might get dumped in his bowls.
John fought, flapping both wings in a futile attempt to gain some loft. He realized he would have plummeted after all. His right wing was splinted rigidly against his torso, and the primaries on his left were - missing! Damn! He'd have flapped himself in circles, and spiraled into the sea. On the way down, he would have thought of a time when he was happy, back when the seals of Mardol loved him.
It would have been a fine way to go. He clung onto that one good memory. It would have to sustain him through whatever these new owners held in store for him.
"You. Clipped. Me."
"No, son. I wouldnae. Not by a long shot. Really."
As he swung free like a piece of strung-up meat, John spied Butterfly Wing come at him from his right, and Gray Wing from his left. He twisted his upper body away from the wall only to see a flock of identical White Wings hovering in formation, training their weapons on him. Soldiers. Or guards. John slumped, allowing the fight to ebb from him.
Dammit! He punched and pummeled the outer wall of the tower with both fists, bloodying his knuckles, drawing blood he didn't have to spare but longed to release forever, and screamed his defiance. Then he sank. Went limp.
He was spent. He allowed the three of them to haul his sorry ass back through the open window, scraping his belly from his crotch to his navel in the process, and set him on the floor of their healing room. That Black Tip was on him in an instant.
John was carrion.
"I'm so sorry, lad."
"You… clipped me," he repeated inanely as he struggled to catch his breath.
"Och, no, lad. You were sorely injured. A cat got you. It did much of the damage, not us. I'm afraid your primary feathers were mostly pulled out. We, conversely, want you to heal. Honest."
"Why? Uh, forget I asked." He'd already figured it out for himself. They needed his feathers for some ritual; magic, they called it, and he'd be a living factory for them. They... needed him to heal.
"Are you hurting?"
Hah! Was he ever. He was always hurting.
"I'm good."
What other response was left him? He squeezed his eyes shut, praying that a threatening tear wouldn't trickle down his cheeks. His body might be shot, even his memories, finally even his mind, but he still had his pride.
Then again, no. When he thought about it, he really didn't even have that. He'd been kidding himself all along. His tears were right there on the verge, making his vision blurry. He stifled a whimper, and twitched and squirmed under the vet's ministrations, but there was no wriggling away.
No freedom.
No oblivion.
No salvation.
Just here and now.
He let go.
Gah...
This was almost as bad as pissing himself. Holding on for hours until there was no holding back, finally messing his own bedding when he'd been caged for days on end, wrist chains preventing him from draining his aching bladder through the bars even in full view of the paying public. It had been a sorry relief. He'd been hosed down within a day, and given a change of bedding, a fresh wrap and even some greasy salve to slap into place, though he could never look those smug zookeeping warthogs in the eye ever again.
"We'll get you settled back into bed then. If that's all right with you."
John nodded. And winced. His head pounded. Yeah, dumb decision.
He was a mess. As his tears trickled then dripped then leaked then finally flowed freely, he wondered why they were all being quite so gentle with him, patting him, stroking him, lifting him. There was no rough handling. Go figure.
Then he remembered.
They wanted his feathers because they were different, and held some magical property according to their rites and customs. It stood to reason they'd want them reasonably intact. And him. He suspected he might be treated reasonably well wherever they kept him. He just hoped his next cage would be large enough for him to maneuver, and that he'd see daylight once in a while. Maybe sometimes even the stars.
"Sleep now then, there's a good lad."
Sleep was as good an oblivion as any, and for want of a marginally less dumb course of action, he complied. They reconnected him to their machinery, and jabbed him some more. Then - someone tucked him in? Whuh?
"Hi! My name's Marie, and I'll be your nurse for this evening."
Whuh? That was one act of comfort he never expected and had never experienced, not even as a pet.
In a flash, he recalled a dark-haired woman with pale green eyes a shade vastly similar to his own. In this memory, she gazed down at him lovingly, stroking his face, her almost black wings twinkling like a billion rainbows as beams of sunlight played over them through his open bedroom window. She was settling him down for a nap? No! He vaguely remembered protesting as it was still light out, and he was a big boy now. He didn't need to take a nap any more. That stuff was for babies.
In his mind's eye, she was beautiful. He hadn't ever remembered her. Until now. Could it be?
He fought sleep. Crap! He needed to remember! But whatever it was they put in that needle they stuck him with, it made his mind feel like it was floating on a cloud. As he succumbed to sleep, he fought for a single word from his childhood. The word fought against resurfacing, but it was there, somewhere, skimming across his lips.
"Mmhh… "
Then it came to him.
"M-Mahm."
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"It's called a pirouette."
"Whuh?"
"That funky little spin you just did that landed you on your ass."
Ronon was grinning. Bastard. John could feel himself grow a little pissed as he sat sprawled on the annexe floor, his hard-won dignity just a little bent out of shape.
"Could you maybe help me out here, Chewie? My crutch just snapped."
"Sure. Nureyev."
Ronon reached down, and grabbed John's left forearm, then yanked him upright. John bounced onto both feet, then found his balance. For a change he didn't trip over himself, and he landed neatly four-square. It was high time he ditched the crutch anyways, but Carson made him use it still. He guessed he could use what was left of it to spar with Teyla. The Atlantians called it either recycling or upcycling. Made sense.
Repurposing. Like they'd repurposed him.
He bent down to pick up the pieces, and felt a tug on his bum wing, causing him to wince. He paused to rotate the joint. It was stiff, but no longer sore, and both his wings had fully grown back in.
He was having most problems with his right leg after the mauling. Go figure. Still, Carson had him all neatly sewn up with minimal scarring, and whatever was left all raised and ragged he couldn't see anyways, so he really didn't care, as it mostly stayed hidden under his vest.
He'd been given a clean enough bill of health to be able to leave the infirmary for short jaunts, and build up his strength. If he was attempting some fancy moves on a single crutch, he was more than well on the way to a full recovery. He just had to take off. For the first time in three months.
Take off? He was free to go, they said, but they'd asked him to stay. Become a member of their expedition. Wow. He still had to make a decision. No-one bugged him about it. No-one even stared at him much any more, not even in the crowded mess hall. He'd become a fixture.
He had a real home here if he wanted.
Ronon beat him to snatching up what was left of the crutch.
"Here. You don't have to do everything," he growled.
John shrugged, grinned, then tested his wings. Yep, he could maybe tackle a short flight when no-one was babysitting him. He'd been assigned to Ronon and Teyla. As the only other non Tau'ri, apparently they thought he'd appreciate their company and insider view of things in the Pegasus Galaxy.
Rodney hovered around a great deal, looking expectant, grinning that lop-sided grin of his, practically mirroring his own, and the four of them had kind of hooked up. It was like having family. Which was really just as well.
They'd taken him to his birth planet only last week. He had a brother, who was some bigwig sheep tycoon. Or so they said. Rodney had called him a big fish in a little pond, which made John chuckle.
Dei'iv was suspicious of him at first, and had asked him outright if he wanted a piece of their inheritance. John told him he had places to visit, and if they ever let him, rescues to mount. He told him he wasn't Jo'uhn any more. As for being of the Shepherd Clan - that he wouldn't deny as it was a tiny part of who he once was.
It was a strange, stilted meeting, and he didn't feel he had anything in common with his one and only blood relative. Both parents were long dead, and any other close relatives were lost in an in-house war he had yet to fathom. Apart from verifying what he suspected, that he took after their mother, there was really nothing much to talk about.
Dei'iv's own wings were slate gray like the rest of his people, but Dei'iv himself had black tips to his flight feathers. Apparently that was unusual, marking him as special, feeding his already inflated ego, rising him up in some noble ranks.
And right back to some in-house war in which he might have once played an innocent part.
John shuddered. Politics. So not his bag.
Rodney had said Dei'iv was jealous, which made John laugh out loud. Still, it seemed his brother had only made the effort to locate him after their father had died, mostly to make sure there would be no contest re the successful enterprise they'd built together without him. John told him he was in no hurry to watch over others herding sheep from behind closed doors, and that he had nothing to fear from him.
They shook hands, and that was pretty much it. He was in no rush to go live there, especially since he wasn't wanted, and his dark, dark-winged presence might instigate yet another war. Of attrition.
His life was here now, in Atlantis. He only hoped Elizabeth meant what she said. That he could go out on search and rescue missions with them, and maybe one day even head his own team. That would be sweet.
John trudged wearily alongside Ronon who was now jogging on the spot. He was clearly itching to run.
"You go right ahead, buddy. I'm good." John flashed a lopsided grin. He looked forward to going running with Ronon some day soon. He missed his barefoot runs along the beaches of Mardol, but this was so much better. He'd have company. Human company. Whoa.
These humans had given him all kinds of cool stuff over the past few months, so much so that real soon he'd need a duffel bag to put it all in, but the running shoes they'd given him were the coolest.
"Here. Later." Ronon thrust the two broken pieces of crutch at him, and dashed off. John looked about him, wondering where to head. Maybe the mess hall for a snack? The rec room to catch a movie? He wasn't sure where he could go without an escort, though they were easing up on that. But he was alone right now, and unsupervised. He could get lost here if he wanted. He hoped to gain the east pier sometime, maybe even fly there under his own steam, though the transporters were great. Yep, he could fly there and transport back if he got tired.
Atlantis was huge. A living, breathing city that'd apparently come to half life the night they brought him there half dead. There was still so much of her to explore. The Atlantians had a fine collection of his shed feathers by now, and all key personnel either carried or wore one, activating devices and accessing otherwise locked rooms all over the city, using his feathers as a key.
It was all more than a little weird. According to Lorne, they could now fly those gateships through space gates, opening up a whole new realm of possibility. They didn't have much of an advantage over those Wraith they'd told him about, but at least now they'd managed to level the playing field. Apparently Lorne'd felt real bad about waking them up, but as John knew to his cost, shit happened.
"Hey! Sheppard! Wait up!"
"McKay?"
Rodney McKay ran puffing and panting towards him.
"Would you like to continue the guided tour of Atlantis now that you're uppish and aboutish?" McKay rubbed his hands together, and looked expectant.
"Sure, just so long as it's anywhere away from the infirmary." John shrugged, and thumbed over his shoulder to imply the opposite direction. He was feeling wilted, but he needed the exercise. Rodney was clearly vastly unfit. They could struggle to keep up with each other.
McKay snapped his fingers. "Ooh! Ooh! I know just the place! Stagger this way!"
McKay dragged him to a vast, sparse room, in the center of which lay a huge, ornate throne. So, some throne room? Big deal. Still, it was something new to him, and Atlantis was a place of discovery a minute not only for him, but for the entire expedition. The chair beckoned him, and he limped over to it. He was tired now, and needed to rest, though a small part of him still feared a beating if he ever did anything out of place.
"What is this?"
John ran his fingers along the arm rests. He pinched his thumb and forefinger together, brought his hand to his face, and sniffed. Yeah, dust.
"It's a chair."
"I see that. What's it for?"
"We dunno. It doesn't do anything except look pretty. It's all wired up like holiday decorations. We had once hoped it might be a weapons platform, though we're beginning to think it's merely a showy throne with bells and whistles and flashing lights for intimidation purposes during a royal audience or some such. Wait, what are you doing!"
"Like you said, it's a chair, and I broke my crutch. See? I just need to rest up for a few - " John parked his weary bones, heaving up his aching right leg with a hitch of his pants at the knee. Then the chair tipped backwards, and lit up. John froze.
"What the … "
Uh oh. McKay was mad at him.
"I just… I just sat down,' he replied with a brief nod. He'd done that once before, when he'd first been captured by those giant lizards way back when, only to elicit a sound thrashing resulting in a broken arm. He'd learned his lesson well that day.
"Don't move!" McKay tapped his earpiece. 'Elizabeth! You're gonno wanno to see this! Chair room! Get down here! Now!"
John must've dozed for a few. He heard the footfall of several personnel. He hoped he wasn't in too much trouble, and that maybe they wouldn't beat him too badly for this.
John absently rubbed his lower left arm, then reluctantly tore open one eyelid to see Elizabeth gazing down at him, an expression of barely controled excitement if not wonderment on her face. She was bouncing on her heels, looking like she had springs for feet, her hands fidgeting in her pants' pockets.
"John, I want you to think about where we are in the solar system."
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"Same as driving, right? How hard can it be?"
John ran through pre-flight checks, and felt a thrill as the ship reacted to his gene. Piece of cake. The ship was like a mini-Atlantis he could take with him out there, though it wasn't quite the same. He missed her already, and she him.
"When did you learn to drive? Seriously?"
John tightened his grip on the controls.
The Horgo.
He wasn't prepared to elaborate on them. They could try to beat it out of him but now he'd fully healed up, they'd get nowhere unless he chose to spill. The only place the Horgo would ever resurface was in his quarters at night, when they came at him from the shadows, wielding their screwdrivers, twisting them in, gouging and bruising and slicing his flesh until he could barely even crawl back to the shelter of that panel overhang.
John shook his head to rid himself of the memory, and sighed.
They now had enough intelligence to exact a rescue. He'd set a steadily curling photo of their tango on the console for each of them to commit his face to memory. John glanced over at it from time to time. Good-looking kid, if a little ingenuous. He spied a ding or two on his face, but no more than might occur along the lines of childhood accidents, like falling out of a tree or off one of those Tau'ri skateboards he coveted; or maybe childhood illnesses, the ones that left a pock mark or two, and scars that only showed up in strong sunlight. The kid's bright smile radiated hope and promise.
John winced, and chewed his lip. Teyla's cousin, Ayden son of Fawrd of the Emmagan clan had been taken by the damn Horgo. He felt himself shake. They had to get to the kid quick. Ayden wasn't much older than John was when he'd gone missing, and no-one had come looking for him, though he'd prayed for months. That's when he'd wrongly surmised he was a freak. He even once believed his own kind was glad to have shaken him off. His awkward meeting with Dei'iv hadn't helped him dispel that inane thought. He hadn't once spotted another with wings even remotely as dark as his on his birth planet during his brief visit. So, there was a constant threat of in-house war, huh? All because of wing color? Great.
John vowed to leave no man behind, and had practically begged Elizabeth to finally let him go on a mission, flashing his best seal pup eyes at her. She relented, and even let him pick himself a team. Yep, things were definitely looking up.
"Y'know, Sheppard. What was it that made you change your mind? Ow! That smarts, Conan!"
John chuckled. Conan. The Barbarian. Great movie, though he himself couldn't get enough of Star Wars and Indiana Jones reruns. On a loop.
He glanced over at Rodney, his fat-mouthed astrophysicist copilot. The man was busy making a big deal of rolling his eyes, and rubbing the back of his head, his face flushed red. Sooner or later, Rodney would end up with a bald patch there as well as a receding hairline.
John shot a glare at Ronon, who merely glowered darkly at him. John held his glare, though he added a smirk, to which Ronon nodded once. Grimly. They could all communicate with just a look, something that had been denied him for two decades. Well, apart from Rodney. He needed words like he needed air to breathe, and he'd probably go mute if his hands ever ended up tied behind his back.
John thought about what made him change his mind. It was that bitter-sweet memory of his mother, thanks to Nurse Marie. He'd had an epiphany, realizing in that moment he wasn't a freak, never had been, though his wing color was rare, and that he'd once been loved unconditionally. Then when the map of the solar system lit up above his head, he just knew he could reach the stars after all. The universe was open to him, he just had to claim it. In turn, he opened up to the people around him, just a little, but he'd never acknowledged his time with the Horgo until today, and even that was a wrench. He wished he hadn't thought about wrenches. Those things easily broke small bones in fingers and toes.
John sighed once more.
"John is… in a unique position to lead us on rescue missions, especially one such as this," offered Teyla softly.
"We'll get him back, Teyla. Bring him home." John nodded sagely.
She offered a wan smile, then heaved in a deep breath, gathering herself, steeling herself for this mission.
"Okay, kids. Puddle Jumper One is good to go." he declared.
"Puddle Jumper? I thought we were going with Gate Ship?"
John raised a single eyebrow in response, and smiled as he remembered the seals of Mardol. He needed to go back there one day, find out whether the colony survived the Great Walrus War. He prayed Grrshilk and Gwala were alive and well. To them he was Rowgli; their Pool Hopper, their Puddle Jumper, but now he could visit there on his own terms as John Sheppard. As for revisiting his circus days, well, let's just say that he wished Skwillin and Karrowin all the best on their new venture as a brother/sister veterinary team, and leave it at that. But all that was for further down the line.
In the meantime, John had a galaxy to explore. As they burst through the space gate, he drew in a breath at the dark yet twinkling vista. It reminded him somehow of his own healed wings.
Whoa. Holy -
He'd reached the stars.
Those stars were brighter and more plentiful than he could ever have guessed while planetbound, like dashes of sugar over Rodney's raided midnight brownies, which was almost as great as that popcorn he and Teyla couldn't get enough of on team movie nights.
As they began their descent towards where they believed Ayden Fawrd was being held, he wished they could become invisible, sneak in and take out the bad guys by surprise. He had high hopes for the success of this his first mission. They were all fighting fit, trained, well-equipped and had the advantage of flight. The Horgo were land-bound, and only had knives and other non-ballistic weaponry, whereas they were armed with P90s and -
"I think we just cloaked!"
"We just did what now?"
"Cloaked! That means turned invisible, Sheppard."
"Cool!" John grinned broadly.
The jumper had reacted to his thoughts! He guessed it was too much to wish for a turkey sandwich to materialize, though he found himself checking for a dispenser somewhere to his left. There were limits to his newfound abilities, he guessed.
A ZPM wasn't about to materialize either, but there were many more missions in his future. Not just rescues, the search for ZPMs, but outreach, exploration, trade, discovery. Like those stars, John's future was as bright and as tangible as his past was now dim and distant, and he would throw himself into it with all his heart and soul. For right now, there was a kid to save. Maybe one day, he could even save himself. He was almost there.
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