Dismantling Destiny - Rewritten Fates
Summary:
The way things ended with the Trust agent in their midst doesn't sit right with John Sheppard. But he has to make a choice between hunting old ghosts and saving a friend. It is a decision that will lead him down a path he had never travelled before - An unknown, a little scary, yet wholly exciting path he's not afraid to traverse for the first time in his life.
Unfortunately, the universe doesn't take a step back and let things stay nice and calm while John navigates his personal life though. More trouble and chaos arrive in the shape of a volatile plague and a defiant, de-aged Ancient. John has a chance to learn a bit more about his life and its drastic changes... if he can weather the storm that barges into his life in the wake of the said meddling Ancient.
Then, of course, when things finally start to settle down a little, Cam goes and finds more trouble for himself in another twisted world.
AN:
Hi all,
I'm back with the next fic of the series.
Dismantling Destiny - Rewritten Fates will include episodes, Babylon, The Fourth Horseman Part I & II and Collateral Damage, reimagined and rewritten with John Sheppard joining SG-1 and bravely facing all the chaos that follows. (And vice versa, lol)
There will be a lot more progress between Cam and John. They will talk a little (Maybe even fight a little) and finally figure out what they want to do with each other now that their lives are intertwined. Hopefully, things will get hot and steamy on the romance side of the deal towards the end.
As always, I would like to thank everyone who had read the series and enjoyed the two previous stories. Your comments and reviews have been a daily source of happiness and inspiration. I hope you all will continue to enjoy the adventure as much as I do writing it and sharing it with all of you.
Warnings of Note:
Alternate Universe/Canon Divergent, Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Swearing, Graphic depictions of Prior Plague, Shep whump, Cam Whump, Canon typical violence and whump, Additional warnings (when applicable) on ANs at the beginning of the chapters.
Chapter 1 - Getting to know your Friendly Sodans.
Sodan Village
P9G-844
Cameron Mitchell woke up to the sound of the chirping alien birds, the laughter of the Sodan kids, and the familiar agony flaring on his side. Well, it was more of an annoying twinge these days after two weeks - or was it three? - of Jolan's special band of TLC, to be fair, but it was admittedly less than ideal.
He still couldn't believe how the mission to find the elusive bunch of Jaffa warriors had turned out, with him killing one of their warriors and then getting kidnapped by the rest of them for his troubles. It was a really bad way to make first contact with a bunch of natives who had a reputation as a fierce fighting nation. Especially when Earth and SGC kinda sorta needed their knowledge and help.
The reason his life was spared turned out to be even worse. The plan was to train him relentlessly in their rather brutal and messy fighting style, by the same guy who patched him up no less, so Mitchell could put up a lively show before they killed him in some extravagant ass-kicking ceremony called Kel Shak Lo.
To make matters worse in apocalyptic proportions, Mitchell had glimpsed a Prior walking towards the hut of the villager leader during the ass-kicking session the day before. Haikon, the Sodan leader had welcomed the pasty asshole with much more enthusiasm and vigour than Mitchell had ever received.
Since Mitchell had killed one of their warriors during the introductory stage (though completely justified and in self-defence), he knew he couldn't really complain about the treatment he was getting. The Prior had most probably given them the nicer goodies out of their bag of tricks; the miracles, the healing, the fantastic reading material and the preaching. So it was almost fair that the Ori's thug got the red carpet and the blinding smiles while Mitchell got beaten to oblivion on the regular. Almost.
The thing was, Sodans were so isolated and cut off from the rest of the world, Mitchell was sure he was the one who delivered the news about the demise of the Goa'uld to Haikon. Not that it got him any gold stars for freely giving out that great piece of news.
"The Goa'uld should have been defeated five thousand years ago. My ancestors were one of the first of the Sodan. They were part of an elite command force under the Goa'uld Ishkur. For years, they pillaged and plundered under his name. Driving fear into the hearts of all those that would oppose his rule. The further they ascended among the ranks, the more they were able to discern the truth. That he was not a god at all, but merely an imposter. Our true gods are those that came before us."
The Sodal Leader had revealed a little bit of their mysterious history in answer to Mitchell's remark.
That had, of course, helped him to put a few things together.
"You're talking about the Ancients."
"Ishkur branded my ancestors as traitors and ordered their deaths. They tried to fight, to show their brothers the faith. But the odds were too great, and they were forced to flee. They set out to find Kheb, hoping that their souls would find peace. But instead, their search led them to this world."
"You knew about the Goa'uld," Mitchell had pointed out, unable to keep the accusatory tone fully out of his tone. "But you didn't help the other Jaffa defeat them–"
When the Sodan leader had stayed silent, Mitchell had decided to push a little, getting to the main reason SG-1 had been looking for them in the first place. "Look, for the first time in their history, the Jaffa are free. But it won't last without strong leadership. They need your help."
Haikon, wholly unlike the image Teal'c had painted about them, had dismissed his words as if they were nothing but an irritation. "Their fate is of no concern to us." he had said before pinning Mitchell with a look and a smile that had borne no humour. "I hope you are prepared to die well, Mitchell."
Since that conversation had gone nowhere, that was what Mitchell had been doing for the past several days - preparing to die well. If you could call groaning like a dying man every time you rolled out of bed every morning to count the fresh bruises during a cold shower, that.
As always, his thoughts wandered to Sheppard at that point. Thinking about him brought back a few warring emotions; mainly worry, uncertainty and a hefty dose of annoyance.
The man had been allowed out of the infirmary after three days since the debacle that ended with a dead psychologist/double agent, a miraculously contained explosion of a Goa'uld bomb and an injured and drugged Sheppard. Mitchell had tried to slap the SG-1 ownership patch on the man's sleeve the moment he had gotten the chance. Sheppard hadn't turned him down, per se, but the man hadn't exactly been receptive to the offer either.
Replaying the conversation in his mind as he lay there on the hard, uncomfortable bed didn't really help to clear the matter any better.
...
"Hey, you're up," Mitchell said, sticking his head through the open infirmary door to find Sheppard fully dressed and sitting on the edge of his bed, nursing a mug of coffee.
We really have to stop meeting in this place like this, Mitchell thought as he went inside to take a seat next to him.
"I am," Sheppard grinned. "Just waiting for the doc to let me out."
"Already?"
How was it that everyone else got kicked out before they should when Mitchell had to stay extra days just to appease Lam's weird theories?
"Yeah, I'm a fast healer." The combination of his twinkling eyes and smug smile was pretty enough that Mitchell found it hard to get annoyed about anything just then.
"That's great," Mitchell said, meaning it. Sheppard had kinda earned that smugness with his latest stunt. "How are you feeling?"
"Ribs bother me a bit, but other than that, I'm fine."
Mitchell was relieved to hear that. He still had nightmares of Sheppard being assaulted by the Trust Agent while he could hardly defend himself.
"Have you heard the news?" He asked with a grin. "We're getting a new shrink since you offed the last one."
Shepard shrugged a shoulder, supremely unconcerned. "Yeah, well, he needed an offing."
"True," Mitchell agreed before turning serious. "We all saw the footage. Teal'c said Goldstone could have easily controlled you with that drug, but you kept fighting." Thank fuck for that inherent stubbornness the man had been born with, Mitchell thought. He didn't even want to imagine what would have happened, otherwise.
"Made my brain go all muddled and my body weak," Sheppard said softly, his eyes going distant as he recalled the incident. "It was not the best experience. Goldstone was trying to get us both off-world so he could hand me off to Ba'al–"
Mitchell had read Sheppard's statement. It still chilled him to hear the words.
"You were his assignment."
"Yeah, pretty much."
"No wonder you couldn't stand his guts," Mitchell said quietly. "That's what you must have been picking up off of him, even when you couldn't be sure–"
"Guess so."
"Well, Landry wants me to keep an eye on those feelings, and you, for that matter, because clearly, we can't leave you by yourself for too long without you getting into trouble," Mitchell smiled, making it clear that he was teasing. Then he pulled one of his patches out of his pocket and held it up for Sheppard. "Join SG-1, John."
Sheppard cocked his head to the side and studied the small round insignia on Mitchell's hand without making any move to take it. "I heard you put this on everyone before they could say no–"
"Yup, that's how you do it," Mitchell shrugged. He refused to feel guilty about his tactics. "I had to do it while all of them were distracted enough to say yes. And, now it's too late. So, what'd you say?"
"I'll say, thanks," Sheppard said with a soft smile, trying to take the sting out of the rejection. "But not just yet."
Mitchell shook his head, feeling more than a little dejected. "Knew I should have just slapped it on while you were still out. Why?"
"Well, for one thing, I'm still not cleared for duty," Sheppard's smile went a little rueful as he patted Mitchell's shoulder. "And another, I have some stuff to sort out before I join your bandwagon."
"Sheppard–"
"It's not a no," Sheppard assured him. "I will. Just give me a few days…"
...
And then, Mitchell had returned from an off-world recon mission to find the man gone, vanished again without a trace, just like the last time all those years ago. At first, he had thought something he said had driven Shepard off for good. That had not been a good realisation. Then Landry had announced Sheppard had gone off to render his services to the NID for a few days, rounding up the stray Trust Operatives who had slipped through the net the first time around.
Stuff to sort out. It had hurt to find out exactly what that meant through Landry instead of Sheppard.
There had been no contact; no calls, messages, no nothing, except for an occasional call from the NID to let the SGC know that he was alive and in the field, nothing else. For almost three fucking months.
Then, of course, this happened.
Mitchell was worried about Sheppard, there was no denying that. He had no clue how he was doing, whether he had anyone looking out for him or whether he had returned.
Whether he had gone and gotten himself in trouble again.
Did he even know that Mitchell was counting days stuck on death row? Would he even care if he knew?
That was stupid, Mitchell shut down that thought quickly. Of course, he would, Mitchell was mostly sure. It was just that the way he had left without saying anything, had left some lingering doubts.
There were so many things Mitchell wanted to get out of his chest, and make Sheppard talk to him, truly open up to him, even if he had to tackle the man to the ground and sit on him if he had to.
As it was, Mitchell didn't have a whole lot of hope any of that would even be possible, considering his current circumstances.
He let out a weary sigh, putting an end to his customary mental bitching and moaning session so he could roll out of bed and get ready for the day. Jolan usually came to take him to the training grounds as soon as Mitchell gulped down a bland porridge for breakfast.
The round of torture, as usual, consisted of Mitchell running through the cursed forest. There were flags hanging off tree branches at points, blue to hang a left, and red to hang a right. Jolan, the jerk, put on his fancy cloak and knocked him out when his exhausted mind and body forgot which was which. He even took a few shots at him with a freaking staff weapon when he thought Mitchell was lagging in his pace.
Finally, when he got to the end point, his knees trembling and his lungs struggling to drag in air, Jolan gave him a disappointed headshake, jerking his head at the already empty bag of sand with the hole which he used to time Mitchell. Then, he gave Mitchell a moment to gulp down some water and catch his breath before dragging him back to the training ground to the next part of the torture.
Mitchell's two little admirers were already there, pretending to do the chores. In reality, they were mostly there to laugh at him every time he ended up on his ass, or with his face buried in the mud.
He caught the wooded staff Jolan threw at him and took his position.
Jolan came at him at lightning speed, swinging his staff in precise movements designed to get inside Mitchell's guard and test the strength of his poor abused muscles and bones. Mitchell managed to block the first hit and dance out of the way of the second, but his third follow-up caught him in the ankle, bringing Mitchell's ass to land on the ground, hard.
During the second attack, Mitchell could only barely duck to keep his forehead from bursting open and went down on a knee with a snarl when the cursed staff impacted with his thigh again.
Jolan waited for him to get back on his feet, which he managed somewhat unsteadily, before turning towards the corner they stowed their training gear.
"You may rest now," he said, sounding like he was doing Mitchell a favour.
He probably was. But Mitchell was not done with the uptight asshole just yet. "No, I'm good, let's keep going."
That surprised him. "You are not tired?"
"Six weeks of Airborne training at Fort Benning, that's tired," Mitchell replied, smiling, knowing that the other guy had no clue what he was on about. "This is nothing. Come on. If I'm gonna survive this Kel Shak Lo thing, I'm gonna need to know a hell of a lot more than you're teaching me. Quit pussy-footing around, and stop holding back. Let's go!"
With that grand declaration, he went back to position again, swinging the staff around in the same fancy way a drum major would play with their batons.
"Do you believe that this staff is what makes you strong?" Jolan sneered at him before moving back to engage.
Mitchell managed to block the first slew of attacks until Jolan distracted him with a thrust of his staff. Then he used his left hand to strike while Mitchell was distracted, which only worked partially as Mitchell managed to block that sneak attack with his own forearm.
Jolan smiled at the stalemate before disengaging. " The krantu is nothing but an extension of your body," he lectured, pointing at the staff. "No true warrior depends on a weapon for strength or advantage."
"See, that's what I'm talking about!" Mitchell grinned, leaning on the staff like an old man to keep his balance.
Jolan retrieved a small leather bag from the edge of the ring and tossed it at him. " Drink."
Mitchell caught it and opened the cap. It was another one of the man's infamous brews. The strong smell that wafted from it did not encourage him to drink. He grimaced after the first sip. It tasted worse than the smell had already warned him. " I'm not gonna get used to this stuff."
"Were it not for my brews, you would have died many days ago." Jolan pointed out.
Mitchell went to sit on the bench which was only a few feet behind him. Jolan did have a point. He remembered how agonising the burned wound had felt when he first woke up in the middle of Jolan's not-so-gentle ministrations. He had used the same leaves he had used as a paste on Mitchell's wound to brew the ungodly tea he had forced down his throat every day since then.
But he couldn't really argue with the results. He didn't have a hole near his left hip anymore, and the wound had healed nicely, leaving only a little scar.
"It was self-defence, you know. The Jaffa I killed," Mitchell said softly. "It was him or me." Which was why he refused to feel any guilt over it.
"It does not matter. Blood has been spilled. Our laws decree you must answer for it." Jolan replied matter-of-factly.
"So who was he?"
"His name was Volnek. A most skilled warrior."
"Look, for what it's worth…" Mitchell started to say and trailed off when he saw the unrelenting look on Jolan's face. "There's nothing I can say, is there?"
"No."
Mitchell sighed. Then he picked up the training krantu staff he had dropped on the floor and walked back to the centre of the ring.
"So, who do I fight?" he asked when Jolan joined him.
"Lord Haikon will determine that on the eve of your battle. Usually, it is the closest blood kin to the slain warrior."
As if that gives me any actionable intel, Mitchell sighed. "Right," he said out loud, getting ready to get life beaten out of him again. "And the next of kin is just as tough as he was. Do I stand a chance?"
Jolan gave him a look full of doubt and stayed silent. Mitchell took the initiative and went for the attack. He even managed to get a glancing blow on Jolan's left shoulder before the man dropped him in a heap on the ground again.
"We are done for today." Jolan declared as Mitchell got back to his feet.
Mitchell agreed and went to place his staff back on the rack at the edge of the ring. He figured he might as well use the chance to talk to the guy about the other thing that had been bugging him; The Prior.
"You know what, I promise I'll die well and all that jazz," he said when Jolan turned to leave. "But before I kick it, I gotta ask. Are you buying what these Priors are selling?"
A lot of emotions passed through the look in his eyes; doubt, confusion and fear were most prominent. Then he took a deep breath and wiped all of that away with one slow blink.
"Lord Haikon has led us for more than a hundred years," he said, putting as much confidence into his words as he could. "He knows what is best for us all."
"Yeah, yeah, look, I get it, you are a team player," Mitchell said, not willing to give up after what he had just glimpsed. "I'm asking, what do you think?"
"It is not my place to question Haikon's judgement," Jolan snapped, a little agitated. "Nor is it yours!"
"Well somebody better, because if you guys follow the Ori, all of your traditions, your krantu staffs, your precious path, your tasty beverages, it's all going down the drain!" Mitchell pointed out.
"Enough!" Jolan spat and grabbed the leather pouch full of tea out of Mitchell's hand before stalking away without a backward glance.
...
Later on, Mitchell's attempts at speaking some sense into the Sodan leader didn't go all that well either.
He found Haikon sitting on the wooden railing of his bamboo hut, strumming a small string instrument as he watched over his village slowly settling down for the night.
"Please, sit," he said when he saw Mitchell approaching.
Mitchell had a hard time walking with his stiff aching muscles, let alone sitting. "Ah, I'm good," he said with a smile that felt more like a grimace.
Haikon gave him a look and pointedly nodded at the low bench, indicating there would be no talks until he sat down.
"Ohhh kay. Maybe I will sit," Mitchell said, mostly to cover the groan that escaped his throat as he sat gingerly on the bench. "You know, I'm starting to get an idea why you guys attacked us," Mitchell opened up with the theory he had come up with about the less-than-warm welcome they had received when they had arrived on the planet weeks ago. "That Prior's been telling you we're enemies, hasn't he?"
Haikon turned to face him and pinned him with a grave look that reminded him of Teal'c. "Is he wrong?"
"You could have cut us down the second we stepped through the Gate, but you didn't," Mitchell remarked, inviting Haikon to explain.
"Generations of my people fought and died under exile…praying for the day when we could seek the path without recrimination. When we prayed to the gods, did they hear us, Mitchell? Did they once give us a sign as proof of their existence?" He slowly placed a hand on a copy of the Book of Origin he had on his lap. " I know that the Ori are not the Ancients. But can there be any doubt that they are gods? And if they can lead us to the path of enlightenment, how can I refuse them?"
Mitchell sighed. The Prior bastards were good. "You're making a big mistake," he insisted anyway because he had to at least try. "These Ori are not what you think they are. They are not even close."
"Perhaps, when you face your death, in your final moments, you'll understand."
Mitchell thought back to the few times he had come close, and that one time he even did float in a vastly different darkness before a medic brought him back.
"I've already been there. I understand," Mitchell said softly. "That's why I'm telling you, even though the Priors represent a race of Ancients, they are not the Ancients you want to worship."
"The Prior has healed our sick. Caused our crops to grow as if by magic. Why should I doubt the power of the Ori?" Haikon demanded, his voice turning sharp.
"Look, their power is not what you should question. It's how they use it," Mitchell explained. "Anyone refuses to worship them, and they die. And I'm not talking about a few non-believers here and there. I'm talking about whole planets wiped out!"
"And I should simply take your word for this?"
"You want to believe my people are godless and inferior? Go right ahead," Mitchell said, ignoring his sneer. "But we have never needed proof of our gods' existence in order to believe in them. Faith. It was your faith that sustained you for five thousand years, not the Ancients themselves. Don't throw your history away for a bag full of magic tricks."
...
The next day, during the infernal sparring session, Mitchell raised the issue with Jolan again.
"Admit it," he said, dodging the staff that went for his head and swinging his own staff back to block a hit that came for his ribs. "Haikon has totally lost his mind."
"A warrior cannot talk and fight at the same time," Jolan snapped before catching Mitchell painfully on the shin. "A fact you refuse to accept."
"Got it." Mitchell spat through clenched teeth as he straightened.
The next few minutes that followed, they sparred in silence and Mitchell managed to end the session in a tie to everyone's amazement.
"You may provide a challenge to your opponent, after all, Mitchell," Jolan remarked as they disengaged, sounding a little impressed.
"Followed by my violent death, of course," Mitchell griped.
"Of course."
Mitchell walked over to the rack and took the bag of tea, holding it up for a toast. " To my inevitable demise!" He said before chugging down half the nasty concoction in one long swallow.
"Why do you do this?"
"Do what?"
"Train this hard," Jolan elaborated, studying him. "These are the last days of your life. I would think you would spend more time in reflection."
"Well, all I know is, the moment you accept your fate, that's when you're as good as dead," Mitchell said easily. "Till then, all bets are off." He had never been the one to lay down and take what was coming for him anyway.
"You cannot survive Kel Shak Lo." Jolan sounded confident.
"Well, no offence, but I've endured things I wasn't supposed to survive before, and I'm still here."
Jolan studied him with an indecipherable look for a moment longer. Then he looked around and stepped closer to Mitchell.
"How can you be certain the Prior speaks falsely?" He asked, his voice low.
Mitchell stabbed the ground with the butt end of his staff. "Because I've seen entire planets wiped out because they refused to follow the Ori," he said, just as quietly. "Look, I'm not trying to tell you what to think, but if everything I believed was being threatened, I'd want to know. Jolan, your people shouldn't suffer for their faith."
...
Two days after that, the day of the Kel Shak Lo arrived.
Mitchell woke up, feeling all sorts of messed up and started to get dressed in the gear he had been provided for that day; knee-length pants, boots and sleeveless leather vests. For some reason, he couldn't stop thinking about Sheppard, couldn't stop wondering if he would ever get to see the man again.
To find out if there was going to be a chance to recover something that had been lost the first time around.
Something he would treasure for the rest of his natural life if he ever got to have it again.
If he survived to live another day.
If. A big, fat, and very doubtful if.
Jolan came to fetch him, dressed identically to his own garb. Once they were at the town centre, the formal fighting ring, which was almost directly below the balcony of Haikon's hut, Mitchell saw the entire village had gathered to watch his imminent demise.
Haikon was already there on his balcony and when he saw them approach, he banged on a large gong, silencing the entire gathering with one echoing ring.
"You have spilled the blood of a Sodan warrior, human!" He yelled, looking down at Mitchell who was waiting under the balcony. "Do you deny it?"
Mitchell wanted to argue the semantics, the reason for the killing - self-defence. But the looks on everyone's faces told him it wouldn't go down well. This was merely a formality so they could proceed with his scheduled killing.
"No, I don't deny it." He looked up and yelled back.
"If any blood kin of the warrior seek recompense, let them step forward, now!" Haikon demanded, letting his gaze pass over the gathering.
That was when Mitchell received a blow he hadn't seen coming.
"I seek it," Jolan said, stepping into the middle of the ring next to Mitchell.
To say Mitchell was shocked was an understatement. "You?!"
"In the name of Volnek of Geshrel," Jolan declared. "My brother."
...
Mitchell and Jolan moved to stand at the edge of the ring, on opposite sides from each other. Haikon came down the balcony to stand in the middle of the ring. He handed them both their official Kel Shak Lo weapons; the real krantu staffs with double-pronged metal blades at each end.
"May the blood spilled here today settle this debt, once and for all." Haikon declared with a loud, sharp voice before stepping out of the ring. "You may begin!"
Jolan stepped into the ring first. "May you die well."
"Likewise," Mitchell said, stepping inside the ring to face his inevitable end.