apocalypsehowcomm | Dogtown Aftermath (Closed for now)

Entry tags:

Dogtown Aftermath (Closed for now)

Who: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, and medical assistance (John Carter, Luka Kovač, and any other medical personnel)
When: Mid-late December
Where: Outside Dogtown
Summary: John and Rodney's delightful mission ends in a maelstrom of cosmic horror, as is tradition.
Warnings: gun violence; blood; potential for severe injury/death; supernaturally induced violence/aggression; mention of violence to animals; spiders/spider-bites; swarms of bugs/spiders; cosmic horror; induced madness; fugue state; body horror; PTSD; disassociation; paranoia;

You pass into a clearing in the forest that appears... normal, but the way home is distant. Perhaps this is a safe place to camp, if you must? Those who test those waters will find that the night brings its own horrors. Whether inside a tent or not, the stars grow visible, and they are wrong. They howl and shriek their pain. They laugh, rich and full-bellied. They whisper to you in an unfathomable language that slowly pushes you toward madness. In the morning, anyone who has rested here will find themselves in a fugue state, racing for the exit as quickly as their feet will carry them, mindless to spider bridges, to violent birdsong, to bullets that sing through the air for blood. Any supplies and collected items are left behind to hopefully be retrieved at a later date. For now you run and run and run. The stars chitter in your mind for hours after, but you understand nothing. You understand nothing.

He understands nothing.

He doesn't remember what made him get up, if it was one specific thing, or maybe it was everything. His mind is filled with the star-language, with the sounds, the shrieks, the chuckles, the noise, noise, noise, so much noise--he can't bear it, he can't stand it any longer. There's So Much, all of existence and he is just him, against it all he's like a dust mote in a hurricane. The stars judge him, the stars gossip, the stars know what he did.

It feels like he's being torn in a million little pieces--how can there be anything left of him after this?

The stars press down on him, on his soul, and he is small, small, so small against the vast of everything else, against the endless universe, all the universes and dimensions--it's like a knowledge that can't be known, shouldn't be known, scratching at the surface of his mind and making him mad with awareness. He was laughing. Maybe crying. Maybe both.

He knows nothing when he runs across the spider bridge, not thinking of Rodney, not able to. All that he knows is that he simply has to run, the only course of action possible at this point.

He runs across the clearings and groves that house the maddening birds, they echo and chirp in his mind and only the fugue state stops him from wanting to hunt them again.

And then he runs across the section of woods where the ghost bullets aim towards anything that makes noise.

He'd like to say that it was speed that saved him, he was faster now thanks to the Hunt, but later on, when he looks back at it, it was pretty much luck.

A bullet tears clean through his shoulder. Another goes right in his abdomen. One in his back. More clip his forearm, side, his hand, his leg--he stumbles, but he keeps going.

He doesn't notice. He can't notice.

And then he's out, breathing heavily, bleeding heavily, when awareness finally comes back to him, but not his mind.

No, his mind is broken and shattered, the chattering noises of unknowable star-language filling his head.

He's outside the opening now, and he looks around, his eyes unseeing, his claws out, not realizing how hurt he was, not realizing anything except a need to get away.

He's somewhat aware that Rodney isn't with him anymore, but he doesn't have enough understanding or the presence of mind to look for him.

He starts to run.

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[Things are...better. Still not great, but...better, now that he's trying to make an effort. He's trying to feed the least amount possible, which is...not ideal, but at least it lessens the guilt.

Besides, it's what Carter wants. Needs. Maybe one day he can stop feeding completely, even though he knows it takes it's toll. There's dark circles under his eyes but his demeanor is brighter than it's been in awhile. He even stands up a little taller, a little less slouchy, as if he was trying to hide away.

It's a good idea, Carter's plan to help people searching through Dogtown. It almost feels like going on a field run. It almost feels normal, even though there's nothing normal about this.

He's worried, too, about what this place really is, what it does. Admittedly he's a little curious to go in, but from the sounds of it, it seems extremely dangerous. It's probably best for him to help on the medical side of things.

He didn't expect them to be needed immediately, and like this.

It's like a bad day at the ER.

He's close to the entrance, setting up a small table and a chair, as well as a couple of warm thermoses for coffee and hot cocoa, and some cups. There'd be other medical personnel stopping by to take their shifts and he knows that the hot drinks will be appreciated.

There's a strange sound coming from Dogtown. He frowns. It's faint, very faint, but it almost sounds like--

And then something else. A sound like-someone--someones were running quite quickly. Before he knows it, someone goes running out. They're off like a shot, and he's too close to the entrance to really make a run for it.

Dammit.

He hovers near the entrance, just in case there's another person.]

[I'm pretty messed up, Rodney had once said to John about the state of his mind, about what lurks within.

And he'd been so wrong.

Compared to this, his mind is an eccentric, maybe slightly warped cabinet of curiosities. This? This is real madness, horrific, mind-crushing insanity beyond comprehension.

At least that's how he'd compare the two if he was able to.

Where did John go?

John is gone, there is no more John. There is no more him, either, he knows that he exists on some level but that concept, like everything else, is hard to grasp right now. There are only the stars and they are everywhere. The world is full of them, too full, and how is there space for humans, how is there space for him if they are here? It makes no sense. Nothing makes sense.

And they laugh and scream in his head and he thinks he's screaming, too.

They know while he knows nothing. They're angry at him, they're coming for him, they're whispering in his head but he can't understand them, he doesn't understand, they must know about Doranda, about what he did, that's why they're after him and maybe they'll make him explode, too, maybe that's what's in store for him--

And then there's no more Doranda because he doesn't know what Doranda is, he doesn't know who John is, he doesn't know who he is. All he knows are the stars and he doesn't even know them, they are just a something - no, an everything - he must get away from.

He runs. At least that's what he thinks he's doing, a wild scramble beyond his injured means, not feeling his pounding leg, not minding the spider bites as he hobbles across the bridge, oblivious to the birds, numb to ghostly bullets that rain down destruction and nick him again. He falls, crawls, scrabbles, anything to make it forward, to make it away until his arms and legs give out under him just as he reaches Dogtown's entrance.

No, no, he needs to move, he needs to keep moving and he pushes with his good leg, nails digging into the dirt uselessly with wild, terrified howl.]

I'm getting this one!

[Luka doesn't know if Carter is even close enough to hear him, having gone after the first person, but just in case he calls out anyway.

It takes Luka a second to figure out who the person is--collapsed on the ground, but still trying desperately to make it forward. It chills Luka to the bone, hearing that howl, seeing him scrabble--and he doesn't need to be an Avatar to tell that they have encountered something of the Entities, something so bad that it sent them screaming, racing out of Dogtown.]

Sir? Sir, I'm a doctor, I'm here to help--

[It's Rodney McKay--that guy who seems to be plaguing him with his mere...everything, but there's no time nor space for personal feelings in this. He's at his side instantly, assessing to see if he's able to move him because whatever was chasing them could still be out there, on its way towards them.]

[Someone grabs him, someone turns him around and Rodney screams again, voice raw and already starting to give out. Despite the injuries he rears up like a panicked horse and just like one, he seems to be close to frothing at the mouth in his fear beyond reason.]

No!!

[It's wild, an absolute frenzy, and he tries to beat up at Luka, push him, scratch him, anything to fend him off, fueled by pure adrenaline and terror.]

Get away from me! Get away from me!!

Sir! Sir, please, I’m only trying to help—ahhh!

[The fear is incredible and honestly, if he wasn’t in a better place he would have happily fed on him, it would have satiated him for ages but no, he can’t, especially not to a potential patient—

—but when Rodney manages to scratch his face and draw blood, he’s really starting to second-guess his decision to be good.

He mutters something under his breath about how lucky Rodney is and then he tries to reach for his shoulders or arms, attempting to stop him and hold him.]

Listen, you’re safe now!

[He's not hearing him, too out of it to realize what is happening. The stars still whisper in his head, laugh at him, taunt him and they're so loud and he can't understand it, he doesn't understand, he doesn't understand, he doesn't understand...

Rodney struggles against Luka's grip but his injuries and the utter exhaustion make it hard for him to keep up the fight. The screams turn into heavy sobs wrecking his body and he shakes his head, trying to wrestle free, to get away.]

No, no, no, no, no...

[He’s so afraid. He’s so terrified. What…happened to them in there?!]

I’m sorry, but you’re safe, I promise.

I need to assess you for injuries.

[He can already tell he’s not alert to anything but he’s got to try. He gently tries to pull him, amid the wrestling—and him desperately trying not to lose his grip—-further away from the opening to Dogtown.]

Sir, do you know where you are? What day it is?

Shut up! Stop talking!

[He's yelling, sobbing, pleading but it's clear that he's not talking to Luka, not really, even though he seems on some level to be aware that he's there.

Luka pulls him along and he doesn't really have the means to fight back but he keeps muttering, cursing, crying all along the way.]

You're just astronomical objects comprising a luminous spheroid of plasma held together by their gravity! You don't even have mouths!

Ah. Right.

[Okay, so no on all accounts. At least he's moving with him, and that's something. He pulls him towards the table and chair he's set up, trying to sit him down in it by gently placing his hands on his shoulders. If that doesn't work, he'll have him sit on the ground for examination. Already he can see the injuries he's sustained, and he needs to treat them immediately, but the state of his mind is dangerous, what if he runs off again? He doesn't dare physically restrain him, and he's not sure if Carter packed any haldol, but at this point he would suggest that's one of the first things they need for this place.]

Please, just have a seat. I'm going to help you feel better, all right? You're going to be all right. You're safe now.

[He's not really listening, he just keeps on muttering. It sounds like equations, just numbers and variables, interspersed by astronomical events before his voice trails off again, pipes back up, ebbs away. His hand moves uselessly, his hand opening, closing. From time to time he snaps his finger weakly, then pauses, shakes his head.

He's still trying to figure it out. He can't stop.

His nose is bleeding.

At least it helps with the treatment. He has stopped fighting Luka or trying to get away, his eyes unfocused, staring at something far distant as he keeps muttering.]

I saw them.

[His hands shoot out suddenly, grabbing Luka's collar.]

I saw them but I couldn't-- do it. I couldn't figure it out, I... it was too much, I let him down...

[Luka uses the relative calmness to quickly try to assess him and begin treatment. It's beyond worrying--whatever was in there has altered them greatly and any second now he expects some monster to come crashing out of the trees. He doesn't waste a single second, quickly cleaning and bandaging lacerations, and re-bandaging anything that needs it. He also gently cleans the blood off his nose, making sure it wasn't bleeding too heavily. He looks around every few minutes to make sure they're not under attack--

--except when Rodney grabs his collar he nearly jumps right out from under him, his heart hammering in his chest by the startle.]

Them? Who were them?

[His voice is kind, gentle. He puts his gloved hands against Rodney's, in an attempt to dislodge them from his collar as kindly as possible.]

The stars.

[His voice is barely a whisper, ragged, terrified. His fingers are cramped, still curling when Luka manages to dislodge them from his collar.]

Why can't I figure it out? I studied them all my life. But they were-- they couldn't be, they can't be--

[Again he trails off, numbers and figures, density and red dwarves, black holes and dark matter--]

They were everywhere.

The…stars?

[He’s seen…and been…enough terrible things here that he knows that he might not just be mistaken or confused.

Even so, it sends a chill down his spine. What did he mean? Stars, like actual stars, everywhere?

He holds his hands gently, pulling them down to a more comfortable resting position.]

That sounds like it might have been Entity activity. You’re safe now.

Safe.

[He pauses at that, like that one word broke through to him.

And then he chuckles. It's not a good chuckle, it's wrong and slightly hysterical and deranged and afraid.]

You think that, don't you. That we're safe? But we are not, we aren't, we-- what, you think it's the tent? The tent? The tent doesn't do anything, we were in a tent and they were right there with us, and it makes no sense, there is no space in a tent for stars, right, you think there wasn't...

[He trails off, dissolving into giggles again that closely border on a sob.]

[It feels good having something to do, making plans. It keeps him busy, keeps the fear away, gives him agency.

They're not really clinic yet, more an assembly of... getting stuff out here and try setting everything up as quickly as possible. Carter knows there are people in Dogtown right now - John and Rodney for example - and he knows they're already injured and will need treatment once they come out.

So he works tirelessly, hour upon hour, wanting to at least have the emergency setup ready before the end of the day. But he is grateful that Luka takes care of the additional amenities, like coffee. He's very glad when he realizes Luka brought coffee.

There's boxes everywhere and Carter is outside, taking inventory, when he hears the commotion. And then he sees them zooming past with unnatural (supernatural?) speed. Was that...? It kind of looked like...

"I got this!" he calls over to Luka before he sets out after him.

It's hard to keep up at first, even though Sheppard is losing so much blood he could probably just follow the dark marks on the ground. Carter's stomach churns in sudden worry and self-reproach at the sight. He should have insisted the moment Sheppard told him about the ghost bullets that they come out, that they get treated...

He rounds a corner and thankfully, it looks like an alley with a dead end. Carter brings up his hands, approaching the bleeding man who exhibits all the signs of a patient either altered or in the middle of a full-blown panic attac.]

John? Hey! Hi. It's Carter. You remember me?

[Everything seems slow and unreal.

The stars chatter in his mind, not letting him have any rest, not letting up in the least. He knows nothing, and it tears at his soul, at his mind--

There's someone in front of him. He scarcely recognizes the words, much less his own name, or Carter's name, all he knows is that someone is there and he's blocked in. Is he from the stars? Did they send him?

He needs to fight.

The thing is, he's barely able to stand up at this point. He backs up against the wall, staggering and slumping against it, blood soaking into his clothes, dripping onto the ground. He's hurt, so terribly, and he just wishes that he was someplace safe, someplace with peace--

--but there is no peace, not with the stars in his mind.

He hisses at Carter, his eyes with no recognition whatsoever.]

[Yeah, that's not good. Did he just-- did he hiss at him? And are those claws?

All right. It's fine. Just another day at the ER. Wouldn't be the first time a patient tried to scratch or bite him. ... Or think they were a cat, for that matter. The joy of inner city hospitals.

Carter holds up his hands, trying to keep his body language non-threatening and de-escalating, keeping his voice low, calm.]

It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. I want to help.

[Please have another hiss, Carter.

Back. Off.

John tries to make himself smaller, backing into a corner, but the thing that's approaching--not of the stars--it's so hard to tell what is of the stars and what is not--isn't quite attacking.

He doesn't want to let him get closer, though.

John swipes at the air, but it's weak, feeble--it almost knocks him completely over, and he stumbles, losing his footing, his eyes starting to glaze over.]

[That's so aggressive. But he's also in such bad shape that Carter doesn't want to wait or leave him to get backup. What if he runs away and bleeds out in the street?

Instead, Carter slowly slips out of his jacket as he approaches.]

There's really no need for that, you know?

[It looks like Sheppard is getting weaker and Carter makes his move, trying to wrap the jacket around his hands to avoid getting scratched by those claws.]

There we go, easy now--

[There is such a need for that?

He eyes the jacket warily. What is that? What are you doing?

But he doesn't quite have the strength to really attack anymore, and when Carter wraps the jacket around his hands he snarls, his claws sinking into the fabric--but it works, at least.

He tries to bite at him but it's just as weak as his other movements, and he gets nowhere near Carter.

So he just hisses weakly again, sulkily.]

I know, I know, I suck...

[You're not the first patient to hiss at him, buddy.

Carter keeps the jacket wrapped tightly around his wrists, turning his head slightly to evade the bite attempts. He wonders; would haldol still do the trick if whatever changed him was magical?]

Come on. Let's get you back to the tent where it's warm and I'll take a look at those injuries.

[How dare you not let him bite or scratch. It’s rude, really.

He’s too weakened to really do anything much else, and Carter’s tone is…admittedly calming.

He seems to be marginally less agitated, at least. He stops trying to bite (so much, anyway), or maybe he’s so hurt and scared that even the slightest kindness is welcomed.

The stars still chatter in his mind, but he’s started to be a little more aware, though still lost in his instincts.

Carter is not of the stars. And that’s a very good thing.]

[That's him. Dr. Rude. No fun allowed.

Carter gently props him up while keeping a good grip on those wrists - don't you get any ideas, mister - and leading him back. Man, he really hopes the restraints already got delivered or this is going to be... interesting. Maybe he can wrap him up in one of the emergency blankets like he once saw a vet do with an aggressive cat...

Talking seems to help so he keeps doing that, steering him over to the clinic.]

It's okay. I bet you're in a lot of pain, huh? Don't worry, we'll make it better.

[As much as he hates this right now, he's also thoroughly defeated and manages to hobble back with Carter's help. Occasionally he'll tug at his wrists, and snarl or hiss softly under his breath, but at least the anger seems to be mostly relegated to his attitude than any serious physical attacks.

But the words help. Even if he can't quite understand them right now--even if he can't quite understand anything right now, he likes the sound of Carter's voice and words much better than the Stars.

It's...nicer.

It's not the Stars and therefore he just might not scratch Carter to ribbons simply based on that fact.]

[They're well enough to leave medical, at least. Well enough is probably relative. He's still wearing many, many bandages, some of his injuries will require him checking in every few days, and he's been ordered to stay in bed and rest for a few days. Which is what he's been doing anyway, but still.

At least he's not there, and it's always good to be--well, it's not home. But it's a place.

Going to a new place would help him avoid the nightmares, the triggers, the echoes of the screams that keep replaying in his head. But he knows even a change of scenery won't really change that. Even if he and Rodney were to suddenly be transported back to Atlantis right now, nothing would change that.

Nothing would change that.

And now he gets to remember, remember where it all went wrong, when his stupid drive to uncover the mystery got both him and Rodney shot at, got him to attack Rodney and knock him out, bit by spiders, driven mad, and shot at again when they both ran wildly out of Dogtown. Even that part he scarcely remembers, the fugue that gripped what was left of his mind and set him away.

He wouldn't have left Rodney if he had any measure of himself left.

It was a difficult recovery. The star chatter stayed in his mind for a long time and even now, even remembering flashes of it is nearly enough to send him into a state. A state where his instincts act up and his mind tries to retreat into the easier thoughts, the simpler thoughts, the animal thoughts. He knows what PTSD is, but this feels like something else, like supernaturally-induced PTSD from existential horror and a dash of losing yourself to the instincts an entity has saddled you with. Yay for him.

Sometimes a sound, like a squeak of a chair moving or laughter in another room sets him off. Sometimes he can't deal with it and he wants to go for a run or to exercise but he can't, because of his injuries, and sometimes it really is just easier to get lost in something that can ignore the memories, to just be in the moment...

...but is that person being in the moment really him? Or just some kind of weird cat-person thing that the Hunt wants to make him into?

...sometimes it's hard to remember how to be himself. How can he be himself, how can he be a person when there were things like those stars out there, when there's so much that he can't possibly understand, can't ever know? He's not Rodney, he's not a scientist, but he's smart enough to have a healthy curiosity and smart enough to have a pretty good understanding of complex things that Rodney explains to him, but this makes him feel like...

...well, like nothing. Like he's so insignificant, so painfully insignificant that it makes him want to yell, howl, do something wild and important to make him more than nothing but even that, even then, even if he was the greatest hero in the entire world, he would still be nothing compared to what else is out there.

It makes head hurt and he's not sure he'll ever stop screaming if he starts.

He's drawn the curtains together of his room to protect them from the stars. His movements are deliberate, careful not to tear the bandages, the aches from his injuries slowing him down. The room is a little neglected but clean, serviceable. There's a Johnny Cash poster tacked on the door to hide the gouges from his claws. A skateboard in one corner. Sudoku books stacked up in another, mostly finished.

Rodney's here.

Rodney shouldn't be here because he's dangerous, probably more dangerous than before because he's actively losing himself to his instincts more and more, slipping away when his mind needs the escape, but he also can't bear to be anywhere else, can't bear to have him away, where he can't protect him.

He failed to protect him.]

I...uh. Would've cleaned up a little more if I'd known I would have company, but y'know. Didn't exactly expect to be in the infirmary.

[He closes the door behind him. Can't have the stars sneaking in, after all.]

[It was a difficult recovery.

Is.

When he closes his eyes for too long, Rodney can still see them. Dancing. Laughing. Screaming at him. It's uncomfortable, like the ringing in your ears after music that was turned up too loud, like the lingering awfulness of too much alcohol, that strange sense of just feeling bad.

He's feeling so bad.

But at least he's lucid again. At least he can string his thoughts together again, can call himself a functional human being. Remembers enough to feel the shame over the time when he wasn't. When they're finally well enough to leave, Rodney never wants to see a medical worker again, his skin crawling with humiliation from the memory flashes he has. Screaming. Crying. Begging and laughing and just acting completely and utterly insane.

He wonders how many people saw. How many people know. He just wants to crawl into a hole (a dark hole without celestial bodies in sight) and disappear.

But he doesn't want to go back to his apartment either. He's not sure how exactly he ended up in Sheppard's, but it doesn't seem important. He's here. He just is.]

It's fine.

[Rodney then pauses and frowns, looking around the room and wondering what of this would be cleaned up if Sheppard had cleaned up. Huh.

He doesn't sit on his bed, not yet, instead he paces a little like he's prone to do in Atlantis when he drops by. There's something distracted about him, slightly scattered, as if part of his mind is still trying to figure out the impossible. That ineffable, inhuman... event that they witnessed and that he can't wrap his head around.

It makes no sense. Nothing makes sense.]

I should check on my equipment. Or what's left of it at this point...

[Honestly, with his luck and his roommate? It has probably all been disassembled and repurposed. But he can't bring himself to leave, can't bring himself to be there and face other people and have conversations. Or just... their presence in his vicinity. The infirmary has been bad enough.]

Yeah, it...it's been awhile.

[Has it been? It's been so hard to tell time lately. Right now things are just before and after. Before he had been subject to the horrors of the universe, which is saying a lot considering how many horrors of their own home universe he had personally witnessed and gone through.

He never thought he'd find something that made the Wraith look small.

It almost makes him want to laugh but if he stars he'll never be able to stop.

There's a stack of cardboard under the bed with scratches and gouges in it--a self-made scratching post, that he wants to sink his claws into and sharpen the hell out of them. But he holds back for now, not wanting to scare Rodney off with the noise (and the fact that he'd already done enough to scare him). But he flexes his hands, the claws stretching in and out, a nervous habit.]

Hey. At least we don't have to stick around the infirmary anymore, right? This is...serious freedom.

[Humor and sarcasm were his only defenses and even then they were quite broken down. He sounds a little defeated, as if he's just finding his footing again, as if he's trying to salvage the wreckage of his personality.

He sits gently down on the bed, not quite looking at Rodney.]

Get to rest and relax. Isn't that nice?

Rest. Relax. I'm practically in SPA mode already.

[How do you do that? How do you rest when you know what's out there? Except he doesn't know what's out there because it is ineffable so all he has left is this feeling of disquiet, crawling in his head like the memory of the spiders crawl on his body.

So humor and sarcasm are very good defenses indeed. Although it's more sarcasm and less humor. A lot less humor.]

Nothing a nice hot bath can't fix. Maybe a little massage. They really should add jacuzis to the bathrooms.

Exactly.

[He doesn't know how he'll properly rest again. He doesn't know how he'll get a proper night's sleep again. Right now it feels like he just shuts down into exhaustion until the fear jolts him awake to do it all over again.

...except.]

I'm not giving you a massage.

[A beat.]

I mean. Unless you're offering to give me a massage.

What?

[He looks at him, so caught off-guard that he doesn't know how to respond.]

Are you trying to get me to pet you again because I swear, if you even try to fear-feed off me right now...

I'm not--

[Actually, maybe he should--]

I'm not gonna fear-feed off you, Rodney! Come on.

[At this point he could try it once and probably get so much fear it'd make the Hunt explode, but he's not gonna do that.]

I'm just saying! That's all.

You did last time.

[Just pointing that out.]

Didn't hear you deny the pet thing either.

[A beat.]

Are you gonna purr again?

I was caught off-guard last time. I’m…much better at controlling it now.

[He thinks.

There’s a beat.

He could deny that there even were pets, could deny that he liked them, but both of these could mean for the possibility of no pets, and that is unacceptable.]

Well. I didn’t.

[Another beat.]

Please, Rodney. That was not purring. I was just hungry.

Yeah. Hungry for my fear.

You're like a cross between the Predator and Garfield.

I...

[That creates a truly baffling image in his mind.]

...wow. Okay. Fine. No, I won't fear-feed off you. Yes, if you so happened to feel the need to indulge in a little petting, I won't say no.

[But that brings up another point.]

You wanna watch a movie or something...?

[And they can try to be normal and relax and stuff.]

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Dogtown Aftermath (Closed for now)

For Rodney

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For John

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