Lt. Col. John Sheppard [Stargate: Atlantis] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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apocalypsehowcomm2022-12-24 05:08 pm
ferriswheelsandfootball) wrote in apocalypsehowcomm2022-12-24 05:08 pm
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.
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.
For John
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?
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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--
no subject
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.]
no subject
[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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]