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SGA - Sacrifice (Left Behind Series)
The big "how it all began" fic is not yet completed (partially because I lost a large portion of it), but this is another snippet of the team's life post-abandonment and pre-rediscovery.
Title: Sacrifice
Series: Left Behind
Genre: AU, OT4/Team (Series is OT4, nothing explicit in this part)
Length: ~ 2100 words.
Rating: This part, PG-13 for language
Synopsis: There would be no dramatic rescue this time, but maybe he could at least ensure the safety of the others.
Author’s Notes: Part of the Left Behind Series. Eventually I’ll post a timeline for these, but this happens prior to Changes.
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, people with a lot of money do. I’m just borrowing them to play and making no money from this. I’d love to claim rights to this particular universe, though I don’t think that’s going to happen.
~~~~~~~~~~
John struggled against his bonds, straining against his outstretched arms, feeling the ropes cut deeper into his wrists, tearing the already raw skin open to the cool night air. Sagging, he let the ropes take his weight, just for a moment. He was so tired, so fucking exhausted, he couldn’t see straight. The concussion from being beat over the skull repeatedly probably didn’t help much either.
He lifted his dizzy head, vision swimming in front of him, staring across the dancing firelight to the woman on the other side. She caught his gaze and nodded, biting her bottom lip and showing him something he had so rarely seen from her in the past: fear. It made him want to renew his struggle, but he knew he would only succeed in tiring himself out further at this point and he needed to save what little strength he had left if there was even the slightest chance of escape.
He was strung up between two poles driven deep into the ground, too deep to uproot. The tunic he had been wearing had been sliced down the center, arcane symbols of what was once probably the Ancient language were painted across his sternum and down his sides, the oils burning as they made contact with all the scrapes and bruises that currently lined his skin. More of the colored smears decorated his palms and he caught drops dripping into his eyes as the paint-like substance ran with his sweat.
He was the night’s sacrifice, an honored gift to be given to some unknown god, trussed up and decorated like some fucking deranged Christmas present. All because he made a little box light up when he touched it.
They had been at this gig for a while now, trying to find new trading partners now that Atlantis and her allies could not be trusted. Every so often, someone would offer them a piece of Ancient tech, watch it do its thing, and usually that was the end of it. Sometimes, and he was no longer ashamed to say this, it even sweetened the deal. So imagine his surprise when a culture that claimed to honor the Ancients beat the shit out of him for being a human light switch.
Ronon had reached for his gun, but had been taken out by some sort of weapon he would love to get his hands on. Even now, hours later, he lay unconscious, tied to his very own pole in a half-sitting, half-slouching position. John was really starting to get concerned about permanent damage at this point. He had been assured that the big guy was off the sacrificial list for the evening, but no one said anything about any other sort of death, not to mention other serious effects.
Teyla had been overpowered, but not stunned, which was a damned good thing. They had threatened her with it though, and it had been enough for her to lower her weapon and acquiesce to going along with their general plan. She was tied to her own pole, arms at her sides, the ropes grotesquely outlining the bulge of her belly. She had managed to loosen one hand just enough to cradle the bottom, eyes pleading in the universal image of “Get me the fuck out of here – now.”
It was selfish, he knew, but he almost wished Rodney had been along on the trip, instead of still recuperating from his injuries in the oversized bed they called home. It wasn’t that he wished him trussed up like this, and he sure as hell didn’t want these freaks to know about his gene and add him to the pot, but the thought of him not being here at the end, of not getting one last chance to say goodbye was too hard to take.
The village headman stepped into his view, gleaming curved blade in hand. “Just me,” he confirmed. There would be no dramatic rescue this time, no force of the SGC sweeping in to save the day. He had to take what he could get and, currently, that was the safety of the others. “You promise it’s just me.”
The old man nodded, white braids swinging with the motion. “Yours is the only life needed on this night,” he verified.
John didn’t like the way he phrased that. “And the others? They’re free to go, right?”
“The man will be set free once he is conscious and once the ceremony is complete.”
“And the woman?” John demanded, locking eyes with Teyla, hoping she knew she was so much more than that to him.
The headman stepped back as yet another bowl of incense was lit. “Should she survive the birthing of the child, she shall be free to go. The child may follow once it is certain its blood is not needed for the Gifting.”
John’s heavy eyes shot wide open at that. He felt the ropes bite against his skin once more as he strained against them, shouting, “That was not part of the agreement!”
The man did what John assumed was this culture’s equivalent of a shrug. “I only promised their lives were not needed on this night, not that they may not be in the future.” He handed the blade off to a woman who, if possible, appeared even more old and decrepit than he did.
John remembered her from earlier, the way she kept patting and rubbing Teyla’s stomach with a toothless smile. He had asked how they had both managed to survive so long in a galaxy infested with life-sucking aliens, and had simply been told that their ways had served them well and were not to be questioned. It was right about then that things had gone to shit.
“You son of a bitch!” he swore, feeling his skin tear, the oil drip. “We had a deal!”
“Did we?” the crone smiled, gums shining with saliva.
The smoke curled around the old man, forming a cloak of gray and purple as he simply laughed, “You are in no position to renegotiate.”
“Yeah, but we are,” a familiar voice cut in.
John forced his head up, peered through the smoke and the haze to see a truly beautiful sight: Rodney armed to the teeth, surrounded by what appeared to be every Athosian of hunting age, weapons already trained on the guards not tucking tail and running.
“Let them go,” he demanded.
The woman cocked her head to the side and lurched for him, blade in hand. A hoarse cry fell from John’s lips, mingled with her own screech as an arrow embedded itself in her shoulder, throwing her back and knocking her down to the ground.
Halling appeared from the treeline, bow cocked with another arrow, four other archers surrounding him, and wow Jinto was getting big and intimidating. “He said, let them go,” Halling repeated calmly, voice carrying across the clearing.
“Blood must be spilt, the god must be honored!” the old man declared, pulling another, shorter, blade from his belt.
“What, hers wasn’t enough?” Rodney asked incredulously, gesturing towards the still crouching woman. “How about this?” There was a flash, the familiar resonation of what John knew had to be one of their last rounds of nine mil ammo. Trust Rodney to go with what he knew.
The man fell to the ground, grasping his side, knife clattering harmlessly to the ground below. “How?” he gasped.
“Why don’t you ask your precious god?” Rodney sneered. Another gesture and the Athosians fanned inwards, easily disarming the guards and random priest- and priestess-like people.
John let himself be cut down, collapsing into the arms of Jinto and Wex, not at all ashamed to let them take his weight. He watched as Teyla was cut free, running to Rodney to give him both a kiss and the traditional greeting before taking his knife and using it to free Ronon. John tried to shuffle in that direction, finally getting his legs under himself enough to travel the distance, only to plop down nearly on top of Ronon when he got there.
He reached out a hand to check the other man’s pulse, knowing he would not be satisfied until he felt it for himself. He saw the hideous colors on his palms and wiped as much as he could onto his trousers before finally feeling skin and the blood that coursed beneath it. “He’s alive,” he whispered, swearing he felt even a slight twitch of muscle at the contact.
“Thank fucking god,” Rodney sighed, falling in a heap into their midst.
John reached out a shaking hand, the trembles of circulation returning making his movements jerky as he grabbed onto Rodney’s collar and pulled him close. Teyla grasped his other hand, leaning into them both. An exchange of kisses, breath, and sweat later, and he finally managed to get out, “How the hell did you find us?” The colors on his forehead had smeared onto theirs; blues and greens against tan and sallow skin.
Rodney leaned back slightly, but no one missed how he stayed within their touch, or how the hand not clasped with Teyla’s was gripping onto Ronon’s boot for dear life. “You didn’t check in and Marta got worried,” he explained. He coughed, shaking his head as if to clear it from the smoke still surrounding them. “A quick recon later, and we found out just how much trouble you had gotten yourselves into.” Another cough and he added pointedly to Teyla, “By the way, she says you’re not allowed anywhere without her until the baby comes. Oh, and that she plans on staying home so you will too.”
John smiled at the affectionate, yet annoyed, look Teyla gave him. He leaned into the shaking form at his side and whispered, “You came.”
“Of course I fucking came,” Rodney scoffed. “It’s what we do for each other.”
“But you’re still recovering, shouldn’t barely be on your feet yet,” John countered, babbling as relief washed over him. Images of just what exactly he was recovering from flooded his mind for a moment, reminding him of yet another near miss.
Rodney looked at him like he was a moron as he repeated, “It’s what we do for each other.” His gaze drifted between the three of them, shaking his head as he added, “I am so figuring out a way to make you all personal shields.”
John snorted at the incongruity of the comment, and that seemed to be just enough to open the floodgates of emotion they were all just barely keeping in check. Teyla gripped his hand harder, burying her face into Rodney’s neck as her body shivered with silent sobs.
Rodney looked over to John, completely out of his depth. Despite his dramatic entrance, he apparently did not know the full story. “How bad?” he asked.
It was Teyla who answered, sniffing against his shoulder. “They were going to kill him,” she said shakily. “They were going to kill him and take the baby.”
Rodney’s face hardened and his entire body stiffened as he pulled away. His gun was in his hand again as he tried to push himself up, demanding, “Where are they?” He looked around, the Athosians having already successfully corralled and restrained everyone.
John pulled on his shirt, the true state of his supposed recovering letting itself be known when even that light action sent him sprawling back down. “It’s over,” he said, willing his voice to calm.
“Is it?”
John could picture it, just how easy it would be to take out these bastards, make them suffer for everything they had done and more. He could hear their screams, see their hollow eyes. He pushed it away, instead shakily promising, “Yeah, it is.”
Feeling Rodney relax against him, he knew he had made the right choice.
Ronon groaned beneath them, starting on his trip to consciousness and reminding John he had no idea how the hell to carry the big guy out of there. Looking to the others, he knew they would figure a way.
“What did they do to him?” Rodney asked, hand drifting from boot to forehead to neck, just above his tattoo.
John resisted the urge to rub at his tingling wrists as he answered, “Some fancy energy weapon. Took him out with one shot.” Looking over, he was not surprised to see Rodney looking impressed. “Hey, wanna steal it?”
The first true grin he had seen in far too long split across the other man’s face as he replied, “Hell yes.”
“I get first dibbs,” Ronon grunted, blinking himself awake.
John looked to the others, the hope and happiness on their faces as it looked like maybe something was actually going to go right for a change and smiled, “I think that can be arranged.”
End.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
Title: Sacrifice
Series: Left Behind
Genre: AU, OT4/Team (Series is OT4, nothing explicit in this part)
Length: ~ 2100 words.
Rating: This part, PG-13 for language
Synopsis: There would be no dramatic rescue this time, but maybe he could at least ensure the safety of the others.
Author’s Notes: Part of the Left Behind Series. Eventually I’ll post a timeline for these, but this happens prior to Changes.
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, people with a lot of money do. I’m just borrowing them to play and making no money from this. I’d love to claim rights to this particular universe, though I don’t think that’s going to happen.
~~~~~~~~~~
John struggled against his bonds, straining against his outstretched arms, feeling the ropes cut deeper into his wrists, tearing the already raw skin open to the cool night air. Sagging, he let the ropes take his weight, just for a moment. He was so tired, so fucking exhausted, he couldn’t see straight. The concussion from being beat over the skull repeatedly probably didn’t help much either.
He lifted his dizzy head, vision swimming in front of him, staring across the dancing firelight to the woman on the other side. She caught his gaze and nodded, biting her bottom lip and showing him something he had so rarely seen from her in the past: fear. It made him want to renew his struggle, but he knew he would only succeed in tiring himself out further at this point and he needed to save what little strength he had left if there was even the slightest chance of escape.
He was strung up between two poles driven deep into the ground, too deep to uproot. The tunic he had been wearing had been sliced down the center, arcane symbols of what was once probably the Ancient language were painted across his sternum and down his sides, the oils burning as they made contact with all the scrapes and bruises that currently lined his skin. More of the colored smears decorated his palms and he caught drops dripping into his eyes as the paint-like substance ran with his sweat.
He was the night’s sacrifice, an honored gift to be given to some unknown god, trussed up and decorated like some fucking deranged Christmas present. All because he made a little box light up when he touched it.
They had been at this gig for a while now, trying to find new trading partners now that Atlantis and her allies could not be trusted. Every so often, someone would offer them a piece of Ancient tech, watch it do its thing, and usually that was the end of it. Sometimes, and he was no longer ashamed to say this, it even sweetened the deal. So imagine his surprise when a culture that claimed to honor the Ancients beat the shit out of him for being a human light switch.
Ronon had reached for his gun, but had been taken out by some sort of weapon he would love to get his hands on. Even now, hours later, he lay unconscious, tied to his very own pole in a half-sitting, half-slouching position. John was really starting to get concerned about permanent damage at this point. He had been assured that the big guy was off the sacrificial list for the evening, but no one said anything about any other sort of death, not to mention other serious effects.
Teyla had been overpowered, but not stunned, which was a damned good thing. They had threatened her with it though, and it had been enough for her to lower her weapon and acquiesce to going along with their general plan. She was tied to her own pole, arms at her sides, the ropes grotesquely outlining the bulge of her belly. She had managed to loosen one hand just enough to cradle the bottom, eyes pleading in the universal image of “Get me the fuck out of here – now.”
It was selfish, he knew, but he almost wished Rodney had been along on the trip, instead of still recuperating from his injuries in the oversized bed they called home. It wasn’t that he wished him trussed up like this, and he sure as hell didn’t want these freaks to know about his gene and add him to the pot, but the thought of him not being here at the end, of not getting one last chance to say goodbye was too hard to take.
The village headman stepped into his view, gleaming curved blade in hand. “Just me,” he confirmed. There would be no dramatic rescue this time, no force of the SGC sweeping in to save the day. He had to take what he could get and, currently, that was the safety of the others. “You promise it’s just me.”
The old man nodded, white braids swinging with the motion. “Yours is the only life needed on this night,” he verified.
John didn’t like the way he phrased that. “And the others? They’re free to go, right?”
“The man will be set free once he is conscious and once the ceremony is complete.”
“And the woman?” John demanded, locking eyes with Teyla, hoping she knew she was so much more than that to him.
The headman stepped back as yet another bowl of incense was lit. “Should she survive the birthing of the child, she shall be free to go. The child may follow once it is certain its blood is not needed for the Gifting.”
John’s heavy eyes shot wide open at that. He felt the ropes bite against his skin once more as he strained against them, shouting, “That was not part of the agreement!”
The man did what John assumed was this culture’s equivalent of a shrug. “I only promised their lives were not needed on this night, not that they may not be in the future.” He handed the blade off to a woman who, if possible, appeared even more old and decrepit than he did.
John remembered her from earlier, the way she kept patting and rubbing Teyla’s stomach with a toothless smile. He had asked how they had both managed to survive so long in a galaxy infested with life-sucking aliens, and had simply been told that their ways had served them well and were not to be questioned. It was right about then that things had gone to shit.
“You son of a bitch!” he swore, feeling his skin tear, the oil drip. “We had a deal!”
“Did we?” the crone smiled, gums shining with saliva.
The smoke curled around the old man, forming a cloak of gray and purple as he simply laughed, “You are in no position to renegotiate.”
“Yeah, but we are,” a familiar voice cut in.
John forced his head up, peered through the smoke and the haze to see a truly beautiful sight: Rodney armed to the teeth, surrounded by what appeared to be every Athosian of hunting age, weapons already trained on the guards not tucking tail and running.
“Let them go,” he demanded.
The woman cocked her head to the side and lurched for him, blade in hand. A hoarse cry fell from John’s lips, mingled with her own screech as an arrow embedded itself in her shoulder, throwing her back and knocking her down to the ground.
Halling appeared from the treeline, bow cocked with another arrow, four other archers surrounding him, and wow Jinto was getting big and intimidating. “He said, let them go,” Halling repeated calmly, voice carrying across the clearing.
“Blood must be spilt, the god must be honored!” the old man declared, pulling another, shorter, blade from his belt.
“What, hers wasn’t enough?” Rodney asked incredulously, gesturing towards the still crouching woman. “How about this?” There was a flash, the familiar resonation of what John knew had to be one of their last rounds of nine mil ammo. Trust Rodney to go with what he knew.
The man fell to the ground, grasping his side, knife clattering harmlessly to the ground below. “How?” he gasped.
“Why don’t you ask your precious god?” Rodney sneered. Another gesture and the Athosians fanned inwards, easily disarming the guards and random priest- and priestess-like people.
John let himself be cut down, collapsing into the arms of Jinto and Wex, not at all ashamed to let them take his weight. He watched as Teyla was cut free, running to Rodney to give him both a kiss and the traditional greeting before taking his knife and using it to free Ronon. John tried to shuffle in that direction, finally getting his legs under himself enough to travel the distance, only to plop down nearly on top of Ronon when he got there.
He reached out a hand to check the other man’s pulse, knowing he would not be satisfied until he felt it for himself. He saw the hideous colors on his palms and wiped as much as he could onto his trousers before finally feeling skin and the blood that coursed beneath it. “He’s alive,” he whispered, swearing he felt even a slight twitch of muscle at the contact.
“Thank fucking god,” Rodney sighed, falling in a heap into their midst.
John reached out a shaking hand, the trembles of circulation returning making his movements jerky as he grabbed onto Rodney’s collar and pulled him close. Teyla grasped his other hand, leaning into them both. An exchange of kisses, breath, and sweat later, and he finally managed to get out, “How the hell did you find us?” The colors on his forehead had smeared onto theirs; blues and greens against tan and sallow skin.
Rodney leaned back slightly, but no one missed how he stayed within their touch, or how the hand not clasped with Teyla’s was gripping onto Ronon’s boot for dear life. “You didn’t check in and Marta got worried,” he explained. He coughed, shaking his head as if to clear it from the smoke still surrounding them. “A quick recon later, and we found out just how much trouble you had gotten yourselves into.” Another cough and he added pointedly to Teyla, “By the way, she says you’re not allowed anywhere without her until the baby comes. Oh, and that she plans on staying home so you will too.”
John smiled at the affectionate, yet annoyed, look Teyla gave him. He leaned into the shaking form at his side and whispered, “You came.”
“Of course I fucking came,” Rodney scoffed. “It’s what we do for each other.”
“But you’re still recovering, shouldn’t barely be on your feet yet,” John countered, babbling as relief washed over him. Images of just what exactly he was recovering from flooded his mind for a moment, reminding him of yet another near miss.
Rodney looked at him like he was a moron as he repeated, “It’s what we do for each other.” His gaze drifted between the three of them, shaking his head as he added, “I am so figuring out a way to make you all personal shields.”
John snorted at the incongruity of the comment, and that seemed to be just enough to open the floodgates of emotion they were all just barely keeping in check. Teyla gripped his hand harder, burying her face into Rodney’s neck as her body shivered with silent sobs.
Rodney looked over to John, completely out of his depth. Despite his dramatic entrance, he apparently did not know the full story. “How bad?” he asked.
It was Teyla who answered, sniffing against his shoulder. “They were going to kill him,” she said shakily. “They were going to kill him and take the baby.”
Rodney’s face hardened and his entire body stiffened as he pulled away. His gun was in his hand again as he tried to push himself up, demanding, “Where are they?” He looked around, the Athosians having already successfully corralled and restrained everyone.
John pulled on his shirt, the true state of his supposed recovering letting itself be known when even that light action sent him sprawling back down. “It’s over,” he said, willing his voice to calm.
“Is it?”
John could picture it, just how easy it would be to take out these bastards, make them suffer for everything they had done and more. He could hear their screams, see their hollow eyes. He pushed it away, instead shakily promising, “Yeah, it is.”
Feeling Rodney relax against him, he knew he had made the right choice.
Ronon groaned beneath them, starting on his trip to consciousness and reminding John he had no idea how the hell to carry the big guy out of there. Looking to the others, he knew they would figure a way.
“What did they do to him?” Rodney asked, hand drifting from boot to forehead to neck, just above his tattoo.
John resisted the urge to rub at his tingling wrists as he answered, “Some fancy energy weapon. Took him out with one shot.” Looking over, he was not surprised to see Rodney looking impressed. “Hey, wanna steal it?”
The first true grin he had seen in far too long split across the other man’s face as he replied, “Hell yes.”
“I get first dibbs,” Ronon grunted, blinking himself awake.
John looked to the others, the hope and happiness on their faces as it looked like maybe something was actually going to go right for a change and smiled, “I think that can be arranged.”
End.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.